Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cemetery, its golden light catching on the polished surfaces of countless headstones. Among them stood a figure, tall and lean, his dark clothing a stark contrast to the vibrant autumn foliage surrounding him.

Way stood motionless at the edge of the graveyard, his eyes fixed on a particular granite marker. In his hand, he clutched a bouquet of lilies, their pristine white petals trembling slightly in the cool breeze.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp scent of fallen leaves and damp earth. It was a smell that should have been comforting, reminiscent of new beginnings and the cycle of life. Instead, it filled Way with a sense of hollow detachment. He took a tentative step forward, his shoes crunching softly on the gravel path.

As he approached the gravestone, Way's heart rate quickened. It was surreal, seeing his own name etched into the cold, unyielding surface:

A year had passed since that fateful day. The day that should have been his last. Way's mind drifted back, memories of Tony’s mansion flooding his consciousness like a turbulent river breaking through a dam.

His hand twitched subconsciously at his side, fingers itching to reach back and splay across the spots where the two bullets had torn through flesh and bone. The wounds had healed, leaving behind webs of scar tissue – a permanent reminder of that day.

He should have died. By all accounts, he had died. The death certificate was meticulously detailed, listing the cause as "two gunshot wounds to the back resulting in massive trauma and blood loss." Way had seen it himself, had traced his fingers over the official seal and signatures that declared him legally deceased.

And yet, here he stood. Alive. Breathing. A ghost among the living.

Way crouched down, gently placing the bouquet of lilies at the base of his own headstone. The sweet, heady scent of the flowers mingled with the earthy aroma of the cemetery. He allowed his fingers to brush against the cool granite, tracing the letters of his name.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, though he wasn't entirely sure who he was apologizing to. His friends? The pack he had left behind? Or maybe to the version of himself that had died that day, the one who still believed in the possibility of redemption.

The Enigma stood, brushing dirt from his knees. He took a step back, regarding the grave with a mixture of emotions he couldn't quite name. Grief, certainly, but not for himself. He mourned for the relationships he had severed, the trust he had shattered. Regret, for the pain his apparent death must have caused those who cared about him. And underneath it all, a gnawing sense of guilt that threatened to consume him.

He had done terrible things in Tony's service. Betrayed his friends, betrayed Babe, all in the name of a twisted sense of fear and loyalty to the man who had raised him. Way had told himself it was to protect them, to keep them safe from Tony's wrath. But in the end, he had nearly gotten them all killed.

They were better off believing he was dead. It gave them closure, allowed them to move on with their lives without the specter of his betrayal hanging over them. Way repeated this mantra to himself, as he had countless times over the past year. It was easier to be a memory, a cautionary tale, than to face the consequences of his actions.

With a heavy sigh, Way turned away from the grave. He had lingered too long already. Not out of fear of being recognized – Way felt like a ghost most days, unseen and forgotten by the world at large. No, it was the weight of memories and regrets that urged him to leave this place of endings and false beginnings.

It was time to disappear once more, to retreat to the solitary existence he had carved out for himself in the wake of his "death."

He was halfway down the gravel path when the sound of an approaching vehicle made him pause. Way could make out the quiet purr of a well-maintained engine, the crunch of tires on the cemetery's winding road.

A sleek black car pulled up alongside the road. The engine cut off, and for a moment, all was silent save for the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Then the driver's side door opened, and a familiar figure stepped out.

Pete.

Way's breath caught in his throat. Pete, who had stood by them in their fight against Tony. Pete, whose vast knowledge and connections had been instrumental in bringing down the trafficking ring. Pete, who had shown Way kindness and understanding when he felt he deserved neither.

Pete, who had started to mean more to Way than he ever thought possible.

From his position on the path, Way watched as Pete made his way towards the grave, a bouquet of his own clutched in one hand. He moved with purpose, his steps sure and steady, until he reached Way's headstone. There, he paused, his shoulders slumping slightly.

Even from a distance, Way could see the sadness etched into Pete's features. It was a look he had seen before, in the final days before the auction. Back then, he had attributed it to the stress of their mission, the weight of what they were about to attempt. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, Way wondered if there had been more to it.

The older Enigma crouched down, setting his own flowers – a vibrant mix of sunflowers and daisies – next to Way's lilies. He remained there for a long moment, head bowed. Way found himself straining to hear, wondering if Pete was speaking, offering some private words to the person he believed to be gone.

After what felt like an eternity, Pete straightened. He took a step back, much as Way had done earlier, to survey the grave. His head tilted slightly to one side, a familiar gesture that Way recognized as Pete's "thinking pose." Then, to Way's mild surprise, Pete crouched down once more.

This time, his attention seemed focused on the lilies Way had left behind. Pete's fingers brushed against the delicate petals, a look of confusion crossing his face. Way watched, a strange sense of calm settling over him. He knew he should leave, slip away before Pete could notice him. But something kept him rooted to the spot, a mixture of longing and resignation.

Pete's head snapped up, his gaze sweeping across the cemetery.

Slowly, deliberately, Way turned and began to walk away. He made no effort to be quiet – what was the point? He was a ghost, after all. Unseen. Unheard. A phantom drifting through a world that had moved on without him.

He had almost reached the cemetery gates when a hand wrapped around his arm, pulling him to a gentle stop. An overwhelming scent flooded his senses – sandalwood and mandarin, warm and spicy and achingly familiar. It was Pete's scent, a unique blend that Way had committed to memory long ago. Now it enveloped him, making his head spin.

Way turned, coming face to face with Pete for the first time in a year. Pete's eyes were wide with disbelief, his hand still gripping Way's arm as if afraid he might disappear if he let go. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the rustle of leaves and their own slightly ragged breathing.

Finally, Pete broke the silence. "Way?" His voice was barely above a whisper, filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. His free hand came up, hovering just inches from Way's face before gently cupping his cheek. The touch was feather-light, as if Pete was checking to see if Way was truly solid and real.

Way closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself to lean into the warmth of Pete's hand. When he opened them again, Pete was still there, still looking at him with that mix of disbelief and dawning joy.

"How?" Pete breathed. "We thought... Your funeral... I saw your body, Way. How are you here?"

Way swallowed hard, his own voice rough when he finally spoke. "I don't know," he admitted quietly. "I should have died that day. By all rights, I did die. But somehow... I woke up. In a hospital two towns over, under a fake name. I don't know how I got there or who took me. I just... I survived."

Pete's thumb brushed gently across Way's cheekbone, the gesture so achingly familiar that it made his heart stutter. "Why didn't you come back to us?" he asked, no accusation in his tone, just genuine curiosity and a hint of sadness.

"I'm sorry," Way said, the words feeling inadequate even as he spoke them. "I'm so sorry you had to find out like this. I never meant... I thought it was better this way. That you were all better off believing I was gone."

To Way's surprise, there was no anger in Pete's expression. Just a deep, patient understanding that made his chest ache with forgotten longing. "Oh, Way," Pete sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Always trying to protect everyone but yourself."

Way managed a weak smile, feeling more exposed and vulnerable than he had in months. "Old habits," he murmured.

Pete's hand slid from Way's cheek to the back of his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. Way stiffened for a moment, then melted into the contact. He couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged him, had touched him with such care and affection. He breathed in Pete's scent, letting it wash over him and ground him in the present moment.

When they finally pulled apart, Pete's eyes were suspiciously bright. "Come back with me," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Please, Way. Let me help you. Let us help you."

Way felt a flash of panic at the thought. "I can't," he said, shaking his head. "The others... I can't face them. Not now. Maybe not ever. It's too much, Pete. They can't know."

Pete studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay," he said softly. "Okay, I won't tell them. Not until you're ready. But Way..." His grip on Way's arm tightened slightly. "I can't let you disappear again. Not now that I know you're alive. Please, don't ask me to lose you a second time."

The raw emotion in Pete's voice broke something loose in Way's chest. He found himself nodding, unable to deny this man who had always seen the best in him, even when Way couldn't see it in himself. "Okay," he whispered. "I... I'll stay. For now. But Pete, I don't know if I can ever be the person you remember."

Pete's expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You don't have to be," he said gently. "Just be you, Way. That's all I've ever wanted."

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, Way allowed Pete to lead him towards the waiting car. He cast one last glance back at his own grave, at the flowers left by those who mourned him. For the first time in a year, he felt a flicker of something that might have been hope.

The ride to Pete's penthouse was mostly silent, broken only by the soft hum of the car's engine and the occasional rustle of clothing as one of them shifted in their seat. Way found himself staring out the window, watching the familiar cityscape blur past. It felt surreal, being back in this part of town after so long. The streets he had once known like the back of his hand now seemed alien, as if he were viewing them through a veil of fog.

Pete kept sneaking glances at him, as if afraid Way might vanish if he looked away for too long. Way could sense the questions bubbling beneath the surface, but Pete held his tongue, giving Way the space he seemed to need. It was one of the things Way had always appreciated about Pete – his ability to read a situation, to know when to push and when to hold back.

As they pulled into the underground parking garage of Pete's building, Way felt a flutter of anxiety in his chest. The last time he had been here... He closed his eyes, willing away the memories that threatened to surface. Not now. He couldn't afford to lose himself in the past, not when the present felt so precarious.

The elevator ride to the penthouse was charged with an energy Way couldn't quite define. His Enigma senses, always heightened, seemed to go into overdrive. He could hear the steady thrum of Pete's heartbeat, could almost taste the cocktail of emotions rolling off him in waves – relief, joy, concern, and something deeper, more primal.

When the elevator doors slid open, revealing the familiar expanse of Pete's penthouse, Way hesitated. Pete placed a gentle hand on the small of his back, a gesture of reassurance that sent a shiver up Way's spine.

"It's okay," Pete murmured, his breath warm against Way's ear. "Take your time."

Way nodded, taking a deep breath before stepping into the apartment. The scent hit him immediately – a mixture of Pete's personal fragrance and the underlying musk of an Enigma's territory. It was achingly familiar, stirring memories that Way had tried so hard to bury.

As Pete moved around the space, turning on lights and shrugging off his jacket, Way found himself frozen in place. His eyes roamed over the sleek furnishings, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city, the abstract paintings adorning the walls. It was exactly as he remembered, down to the smallest detail.

"The last time I was here..." Way began, his voice barely above a whisper.

Pete paused in his movements, turning to face Way with a look of concern. "Way?"

But Way was already lost in the memory, his mind catapulting back to that night, just before everything had fallen apart.

The penthouse – its tranquility shattered by the unexpected sight of Kenta standing there. The sharp, invasive scent of petrichor polluting the air, so out of place in the pristine environment that should have been filled only with Pete's presence.

"Way? Way, can you hear me?"

Pete's voice, gentle but insistent, pulled Way back to the present. He blinked, finding himself seated on the familiar leather couch, Pete crouched in front of him in an echo of that long-ago night. The concern in Pete's eyes was palpable, his hand resting lightly on Way's knee, taking in his thoughts.

"Sorry," Way mumbled, shaking his head as if to clear it. "I just... being back here, it's..."

"Overwhelming?" Pete supplied, his voice soft with understanding. When Way nodded, Pete continued, "It's okay. Take your time. Do you want some water? Or maybe something stronger?"

Way managed a weak smile. "Water would be good, thanks."

As Pete moved to the kitchen, Way took the opportunity to gather himself. He focused on his breathing, using the techniques he had learned long ago to center himself. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slowly, the fog of memory began to recede, leaving him firmly anchored in the present.

Pete returned with two glasses of water, handing one to Way before settling beside him on the couch. Not too close – giving Way space while still being near enough to offer comfort if needed. It was such a quintessentially Pete thing to do that Way felt a surge of affection wash over him.

"Better?" Pete asked after Way had taken a few sips.

Way nodded. "Yeah, thanks. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to space out like that."

Pete waved away the apology. "Don't apologize. It's a lot to process. I can't even imagine what you've been through this past year."

At the mention of the past year, Way felt a familiar sense of disconnection wash over him. He stared down at his glass, watching the play of light on the water's surface. "I... I'm not sure I can talk about it," he admitted quietly.

Pete's scent shifted subtly, concern and understanding mingling in the air between them. "That's okay," he said gently. "You don't have to tell me anything you're not ready to share. But Way..." He paused, waiting until Way looked up at him. "I'm here. Whatever you need, whenever you're ready. I'm here."

The sincerity in Pete's voice made Way's chest ache. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak past the sudden lump in his throat.

After a moment, Pete changed tack, his voice taking on a lighter tone. "You know, I've been keeping busy with work. Still sponsoring X-Hunter – you remember our pack's racing team?"

Way nodded, grateful for the shift in conversation. "Yeah, I remember. How are they doing?"

"Really well, actually," Pete said, a note of pride creeping into his voice. "We've had some great finishes this season. And everyone's doing well, all things considered. Babe's taken on more responsibility with the team management, and..."

As Pete continued to update him on the lives of their friends and packmates, Way found himself relaxing incrementally. He let Pete's voice wash over him, anchoring him to the present moment. It was easier to focus on these snippets of a life that had continued without him than to dwell on the vast, empty spaces of his own past year.

"You know," Way said during a lull in Pete's recounting, his eyes scanning the familiar surroundings, "your place looks exactly the same as it did. It's like stepping back in time."

Pete chuckled, but there was a hint of something – sadness, or embarrassment? – underlying the sound. "Yeah, well... I haven't spent much time here, to be honest. I'm at the company most days. There's always something that needs my attention."

Way raised an eyebrow, a spark of his old self surfacing. "Sounds like someone's been a workaholic," he teased gently.

Pete's scent shifted again, a mix of sheepishness and something deeper, more melancholic. "I guess I have been," he admitted. "It was... it was easier to throw myself into work. To keep busy. It helped, you know? Distracted me from..."

He trailed off, but Way could fill in the blanks. Distracted me from missing you. From grieving. The realization sent a pang through his chest.

"Pete," Way began, not entirely sure what he wanted to say but feeling like he needed to say something.

But Pete shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "It's okay," he said softly. "You're here now. That's what matters."

The simplicity of the statement, the raw honesty behind it, hit Way like a physical force. He felt his carefully constructed walls begin to crumble, overwhelmed by the unconditional acceptance Pete was offering.

Without conscious thought, Way found himself leaning into Pete's space. Pete responded immediately, wrapping an arm around Way's shoulders and pulling him close. Way buried his face in the crook of Pete's neck, inhaling deeply. The familiar scent washed over him, sandalwood and mandarin and home.

For the first time in a year, Way felt the tight knot of tension in his chest begin to unravel. Here, in the circle of Pete's arms, he felt... safe. Protected. Like maybe, just maybe, he could start to piece himself back together.

Pete's hand came up to cradle the back of Way's head, fingers carding gently through his hair. The touch sent a shiver down Way's spine, his Enigma instincts purring with contentment at the physical contact.

"I've got you," Pete echoed his thoughts, his voice soft. "You're safe here, Way. I promise."

Way nodded against Pete's shoulder, unable to form words past the lump in his throat. He focused on Pete's steady heartbeat, on the comforting weight of Pete's arms around him, on the mingling of their scents in the air.

As the last rays of sunlight faded from the sky outside, casting the penthouse in soft shadows, Way allowed himself to truly relax for the first time in a year. He didn't know what the future held, didn't know how he would face the complexities of rejoining a world that had moved on without him.

But here, in this moment, none of that mattered. He was alive. He was safe. And he was no longer alone.

Chapter Text

The days following Way's unexpected return blended into one another, a kaleidoscope of quiet moments and tentative reconnections. Pete's penthouse, once a symbol of solitary success, had transformed into a sanctuary for two lost souls finding their way back to each other.

Way found himself adrift in this new reality, caught between the comfort of Pete's presence and the disorienting onslaught of memories that seemed to lurk around every corner. Bangkok, a city he had once known intimately, now felt like a minefield of potential triggers. Each familiar sight, smell, or sound had the power to catapult him back into the past, leaving him struggling to differentiate between then and now.

For his part, Pete seemed determined to make up for the year he had lost believing Way was dead. The usually workaholic CEO had surprised everyone, including himself, by deciding to work from home indefinitely. His staff had been bewildered by the sudden change, but Pete had been firm. He had a more important priority now.

On this particular morning, Way found himself standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, gazing out at the Bangkok skyline. The city was already bustling, a sea of lights and movement that seemed both familiar and alien. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, trying to ground himself in the present moment.

"Beautiful view, isn't it?" Pete's voice, soft and warm, came from behind him. Way didn't startle; he had sensed Pete's approach, the now-familiar scent of sandalwood and mandarin preceding him.

Way nodded, not turning around. "It's... different," he murmured. "The same, but different. Like looking at a photograph that's slightly out of focus."

He felt Pete move closer, and then there was a gentle hand on the small of his back. The touch was light, undemanding, but Way found himself leaning into it almost instinctively. Pete's presence had become a constant, a tether keeping Way anchored when his mind threatened to drift away.

"Different can be good," Pete said, his thumb tracing small circles on Way's back. "It means there's room for new memories, new experiences."

Way turned his head slightly, catching Pete's gaze. The older Enigma's eyes were warm, filled with a patience and understanding that made Way's chest ache. "You're always so optimistic," he said, a hint of his old teasing tone creeping into his voice.

Pete's lips quirked up in a small smile. "Someone has to be," he replied lightly. Then, more seriously, "How are you feeling this morning? Did you sleep okay?"

Way considered the question. Sleep was... complicated. Most nights, he found himself caught between vivid nightmares and long stretches of restless wakefulness. But last night had been different. "I... actually slept through the night," he admitted, a note of surprise in his voice. "No bad dreams."

The hand on his back stilled for a moment, and Way could practically feel the wave of relief emanating from Pete. "That's great, Way," Pete said softly. "I'm glad."

They stood there for a while longer, watching the city wake up. Way was acutely aware of Pete's proximity, of the warmth radiating from his body. It should have been overwhelming, this constant closeness. Way had spent a year avoiding human contact, living like a ghost on the fringes of society. But with Pete, it felt... right. Comforting.

Eventually, Pete spoke again. "I need to check in with the office, make sure everything's running smoothly. Will you be okay for a bit?"

Way nodded, offering a small smile. "I'm not made of glass, Pete. I can manage on my own for a few hours."

Pete's expression softened. "I know you can. I just..." He trailed off, but Way could fill in the blanks. I just worry. I just want to make sure you're okay. I just can't bear the thought of losing you again.

"I know," Way said softly. "I'll be fine. Go, do your CEO thing. I'll be here when you're done."

Pete nodded, his hand lingering on Way's back for a moment longer before he reluctantly pulled away. Way watched him head towards his home office, noting the way Pete glanced back at him before disappearing through the door. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes about Pete's state of mind.

Left to his own devices, Way decided to explore the penthouse more thoroughly. He had been here before, of course, but it felt different now. This wasn't just Pete's space anymore; it was becoming theirs, in a way that Way wasn't quite ready to examine too closely.

He wandered into the kitchen, trailing his fingers along the smooth countertops. Everything was sleek and modern, a testament to Pete's taste for the finer things in life. Way opened a few cupboards, noting with a mix of amusement and fondness that Pete still organized his spices alphabetically.

As he reached for a mug, intending to make some tea, a flash of memory hit him like a physical blow.

He was in a different kitchen, smaller and shabbier. His hands were shaking as he reached for a chipped mug, filling it with lukewarm tap water. The taste of copper lingered in his mouth, and when he looked down, he saw blood on his shirt. Not his blood. Someone else's. He couldn't remember whose.

Way gasped, the mug slipping from his suddenly numb fingers. It shattered on the tiled floor, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet penthouse. He stumbled backward, his back hitting the refrigerator as he slid to the floor.

His breath came in short, sharp pants. The kitchen around him blurred, reality bleeding into memory until he couldn't tell where he was or when he was. Was he in Pete's penthouse or that dingy apartment? Was the wetness on his hands water from the broken mug or blood from... from…

"Way? Way, can you hear me?"

Pete's voice cut through the fog, but it sounded distant, muffled. Way felt hands on his face, warm and solid, and then there was a forehead pressed against his own.

"It's okay," Pete's voice murmured, closer now. "You're safe. You're here with me. Can you feel my hands? Focus on that. Focus on my voice."

Way tried to do as Pete asked, concentrating on the points of contact between them. Slowly, painfully, the world began to come back into focus. He became aware of Pete kneeling in front of him, of the cool tile beneath him, of the scent of sandalwood and mandarin enveloping him like a protective cocoon.

"That's it," Pete encouraged softly. "Come back to me, Way. You're doing great."

Finally, Way managed to meet Pete's gaze. The concern in those dark eyes was palpable, but there was no pity there. Just understanding and a fierce protectiveness that made Way's chest tighten.

"I'm sorry," Way whispered, his voice hoarse. "I don't know what happened. I was just making tea and then..."

Pete shook his head, cutting off Way's apology. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he said firmly. "These things happen. It's okay."

Way nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was acutely aware of the broken mug on the floor, of the water slowly spreading across the tiles. "I made a mess," he mumbled, feeling childish even as he said it.

Pete's lips quirked up in a small smile. "Nothing we can't clean up," he assured Way. Then, more gently, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Way hesitated. The memory was already fading, slipping away like smoke through his fingers. But the feelings it had evoked — fear, confusion, a bone-deep weariness — lingered. He opened his mouth, trying to find the words to explain, but nothing came out.

Understanding flickered in Pete's eyes. "It's okay if you can't," he said softly. Then, after a moment's hesitation, "Would it be alright if I...?" He lifted his hand slightly, letting the question hang in the air between them.

Way knew what Pete was asking. The older Enigma's ability to read thoughts when in physical contact was both a blessing and a curse. It could provide clarity where words failed, but it also left the subject utterly exposed, vulnerable in a way that went beyond the physical.

For a long moment, Way weighed his options. The thought of anyone, even Pete, seeing into the fractured landscape of his mind was terrifying. But the alternative — being trapped in this fog of half-remembered traumas and unspoken fears — was equally daunting.

Finally, Way nodded. "Okay," he whispered. "Just... be gentle?"

Pete's expression softened further, if that was possible. "Always," he promised. Then, slowly, telegraphing his movements, he placed his hand on Way's cheek.

The connection was immediate. Way felt a gentle presence in his mind, like a warm breeze on a summer day. It wasn't invasive or demanding; Pete's touch was light, respectful, giving Way the option to pull away at any time.

Images and feelings flowed between them. The dingy kitchen. The taste of copper. The overwhelming sense of confusion and fear. Pete sifted through it all carefully, his mental touch soothing the jagged edges of Way's memories.

When Pete finally pulled back, both physically and mentally, Way felt... lighter. As if some of the weight he had been carrying had been lifted, shared between the two of them.

"Thank you for trusting me with that," Pete said softly. His thumb brushed gently across Way's cheekbone, wiping away tears Way hadn't even realized he'd shed. "You're incredibly strong, you know that?"

Way shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his throat. "I don't feel strong," he admitted. "I feel... broken. Like I'm held together with tape and willpower, and any moment I might fall apart completely."

Pete's gaze intensified, a fierce protectiveness radiating from him. "Then I'll be here to help put you back together," he said, his voice low and fervent. "As many times as it takes."

The sincerity in Pete's voice, the unwavering support in his eyes, made something in Way's chest crack open. He surged forward, burying his face in the crook of Pete's neck. Pete's arms came up immediately, wrapping around Way and holding him close.

They stayed like that for a long while, huddled together on the kitchen floor, surrounded by the remnants of a broken mug. Way breathed in Pete's scent, letting it wash over him and ground him in the present moment. Pete's hand carded gently through Way's hair, a soothing rhythm that slowly but surely calmed Way's racing heart.

Eventually, Way pulled back slightly, though he didn't move out of the circle of Pete's arms. "We should probably clean this up," he said, gesturing vaguely at the mess on the floor.

Pete chuckled softly. "Probably," he agreed. "But it can wait a few more minutes if you need it to."

Way shook his head. "No, I... I think I'm okay now. Or, well, as okay as I get these days."

Pete studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. How about this — I'll clean up in here, and you go get cleaned up. Then we can have some tea — in unbroken mugs this time — and maybe watch a movie or something. Sound good?"

The normalcy of the suggestion, the easy way Pete included Way in his plans, made something warm bloom in Way's chest. "Yeah," he said, managing a small but genuine smile. "That sounds good."

As Way made his way to the bathroom, he caught sight of his reflection in the hallway mirror. He looked... different. Tired, yes, with dark circles under his eyes and a pallor to his skin that spoke of too many sleepless nights. But there was something else too, a spark in his eyes that he hadn't seen in a long, long time.

It wasn't hope, not quite. But it was something close to it. A feeling that maybe, just maybe, with Pete by his side, he could find his way back to himself. Or at least, to a version of himself that could live with the ghosts of the past without being consumed by them.

Way took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. One day at a time, he reminded himself. One moment at a time. And for now, this moment — with the promise of tea and a quiet afternoon with Pete — was enough.

The aroma of lemongrass, kaffir lime leaves, and coconut milk wafted through the penthouse, a tantalizing blend that made Way's stomach growl appreciatively. He found himself drawn to the kitchen, where Pete stood at the stove, stirring a fragrant pot with practiced ease.

"That smells amazing," Way said, leaning against the door frame. "What are you making?"

Pete glanced over his shoulder, a warm smile lighting up his face. "Tom Kha Gai," he replied. "I thought you might appreciate something simple but comforting."

Way nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. Tom Kha Gai had always been one of his favorites, the perfect balance of sour, sweet, and spicy. The fact that Pete recognized this small detail made something warm bloom in his chest.

"Can I help with anything?" Way asked, taking a tentative step into the kitchen.

Pete considered for a moment, then nodded towards a cutting board on the counter. "You could chop some cilantro for garnish if you'd like."

Way moved to the task, grateful for something to do with his hands. The repetitive motion of chopping was soothing, grounding him in the present moment. For a while, they worked in companionable silence, the only sounds the gentle bubbling of the soup and the rhythmic thud of Way's knife on the cutting board.

As Pete began ladling the soup into bowls, Way set the table, the domesticity of the act both foreign and comforting. When they finally sat down to eat, Way took a deep breath, inhaling the fragrant steam rising from his bowl.

"This tastes good," Way murmured after his first spoonful, a hint of wonder in his voice.

Pete's eyes crinkled at the corners, pleasure evident in his expression. "I'm glad," he said softly. "I like cooking."

The 'for you' part went unsaid; the implication of those words hanging in the air between them. How many times had Pete made this dish over the past year, seeking comfort while alone in his ridiculously large penthouse? The thought made Way's chest tighten with a mixture of guilt and affection.

As they ate, Way found himself growing curious about the life he had missed, the people he had left behind. "How... how are the others?" he asked hesitantly, his spoon pausing halfway to his mouth.

Pete's eyebrows rose slightly, but he answered readily enough. "They're doing well, for the most part," he said. "Everyone's been keeping busy."

Pete hadn't spoken about the team since that first night, and Way hadn't asked — he didn't feel as though he deserved to know how they were all doing. The Enigma wasn't sure he wanted to know how they were getting on without him, but curiosity got the better of him this time around.

Way nodded, taking another spoonful of soup to buy himself time. "Tell me more about them?" he requested softly, surprising even himself with the question.

A warm smile spread across Pete's face, clearly pleased by Way's interest. "Well, Babe is still the team's best driver," he began. "Though Kim is giving him a run for his money these days. You should see them on the track together – it's quite something."

Way found himself smiling at the mental image. He could almost hear the roar of engines, smell the burning rubber. "I bet," he murmured. "Babe always did have a talent for bringing out the competitive side in others."

Pete chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Oh, and you wouldn't believe how much Charlie has improved since his early racing days," he continued. "He used to get so nervous before a race. Now he's cool as a cucumber, even under pressure."

"That's good," Way replied, genuine. He briefly remembered Charlie as a bundle of anxious energy before races, always second-guessing himself. The idea of him being calm and collected was hard to imagine.

"Yeah," Pete confirmed. "He's come into his own this past year. It's been incredible to watch."

Way nodded, trying to reconcile this new information with his flitting memories of Charlie. It was strange to think of how much people could change in a year. How much he had changed.

"What about Sonic?" Way asked, remembering the cheerful omega who had always been quick with a joke or a kind word.

A flicker of something – surprise? uncertainty? – crossed Pete's face. "Ah, Sonic," he said, his tone carefully neutral. "He actually left the team a few months ago. He's gone into the fashion industry."

Way's spoon clattered against his bowl, his eyes widening in shock. "Fashion?" he echoed incredulously. "But... racing was his life. He loved it."

Pete nodded, his expression softening. "He did," he agreed. "But I think... I think everything that happened made him reevaluate some things. He still visits often, though. Keeps us all up to date on the latest trends."

Way felt a pang of guilt at this. He hadn't considered how his 'death' and Tony's evildoing might have affected the others, how it might have changed the course of their lives. "I... I see," he murmured, his gaze dropping to his bowl. "North must miss him a lot. They were always so close."

"They were," Pete agreed softly. "Are. North's been supportive of Sonic's new path, even if it means seeing less of him. They still talk almost every day."

Way nodded, trying to process this information. It was strange to think of the team without Sonic's constant presence, his infectious laughter. "And... and Alan?" he asked, remembering the confident, kind-hearted alpha who had always been there for him.

A genuine smile spread across Pete's face at the mention of Alan. "He's doing great," he said warmly. "He and Jeff finally got together, you know. Jeff's really taken to the role of pack omega. It suits him."

Way felt a surge of happiness at this news. Jeff and Alan had been dancing around each other for months before everything went down, their mutual attraction obvious to everyone but themselves. "That's wonderful," he said softly. "They deserve to be happy."

Pete nodded in agreement, his expression warm. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he asked gently, "Have you... have you given any more thought to telling them? That you're alive, I mean."

The question surprised Way. His ears began to ring, the edges of his vision blurring slightly. He could feel his thoughts starting to drift, slipping away towards dark, scary places. What if they were angry with him for disappearing? What if they rejected him? What if they had moved on, and there was no place for him in their lives anymore?

Pete seemed to notice Way's distress immediately. "Hey, it's okay," he said softly, reaching across the table to place a gentle hand on Way's arm. "You don't have to decide anything right now. I shouldn't have brought it up."

Way shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his mind. "No, it's... it's fine," he managed, though his voice sounded distant to his own ears. "I just... I don't know. The thought of seeing them, of telling them... it's overwhelming."

Pete's expression softened with understanding. "I know," he said gently. "And that's okay. There's no rush, Way. You can take all the time you need to decide. And whatever you choose, I'll support you. You know that, right?"

Way nodded, grateful for Pete's unwavering support. "I know," he murmured. "Thank you."

They lapsed into silence for a moment, the only sound the gentle clink of spoons against bowls. Way focused on his breathing, on the warmth of the soup, on the solid presence of Pete across from him. Slowly, the ringing in his ears subsided, the world coming back into focus.

"This really is delicious," Way said after a while, offering Pete a small but genuine smile. "Thank you for cooking."

Pete's eyes crinkled at the corners, relief evident in his expression. "You're welcome," he said warmly. "I'm glad you're enjoying it."

As they continued eating, the conversation drifted to lighter topics. Pete told Way about a new car model his company was working on for X-Hunter, promising to show it to him later if he was interested. Way found himself nodding, surprised by his own curiosity.

When they finished eating, Way insisted on helping with the dishes, despite Pete's protests. As they stood side by side at the sink, Way washing and Pete drying, Way felt a sense of normalcy that had been missing from his life for so long. It was a small thing, this domestic task, but it felt significant somehow.

"Pete?" Way said softly as he handed over the last plate.

"Hmm?" Pete responded, looking at him questioningly.

Way hesitated for a moment, struggling to find the right words. "I just... thank you," he finally said. "For everything. For being here, for being patient. For... for not giving up on me."

Pete's expression softened, his eyes shining with an emotion Way couldn't quite name. "Way," he said gently, setting down the dish towel and turning to face him fully. "I could never give up on you. You're... you're important to me. You know that, right?"

Way felt his breath catch in his throat at the intensity in Pete's gaze. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Pete reached out slowly, telegraphing his movements, and cupped Way's face in his hands. "We'll get through this," he said softly. "Together. One day at a time."

Way leaned into Pete's touch, closing his eyes and letting out a shaky breath. "One day at a time," he echoed.

For a moment, they stood there in silence, foreheads pressed together, sharing the same breath. It wasn't a solution to all their problems, wasn't a magical fix for the trauma Way had endured or the grief Pete had suffered. But it was a promise, a commitment to face whatever came next side by side.

As they pulled apart, Way felt something shift inside him. It wasn't hope, not quite. But it was something close to it. A feeling that maybe, just maybe, with Pete by his side, he could find his way back to himself. Or at least, to a version of himself that could live with the ghosts of the past without being consumed by them.

"So," Way said, managing a small smile. "You mentioned something about a new model?"

Pete's face lit up, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I did," he confirmed. "Want to take a look?"

Way nodded, surprising himself with his enthusiasm. "Yeah," he said. "I think I'd like that."

As Pete led the way to his office where the blueprints were set up, Way felt a flutter of anticipation in his chest. It wasn't the same as being behind the wheel of a real car, feeling the vibration of the engine and the rush of adrenaline. But it was a step. A small one, perhaps, but a step nonetheless.

The night stretched out before them, full of possibility. And as Way settled in front of the design plans, Pete's encouraging presence beside him, he allowed himself to feel something he hadn't felt in a very long time: excitement for what the future might hold.

Chapter Text

Pete sat on the plush sofa, a tablet in his hands, but his eyes weren't focused on the screen. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the figure curled up in the armchair across from him.

Way sat with his legs tucked underneath him, a book held loosely in his hands. His brow was furrowed slightly in concentration, his eyes moving slowly across the page. The sight of him there, alive and breathing, still felt like a miracle to Pete.

A year ago, Pete had thought he'd lost Way forever. The memory of that day still haunted him: the frantic cries, the desperate fight, the gut-wrenching moment when Tony had fired that gun at Babe, catching Way in the crossfire. The days that followed had been a blur of grief and disbelief, each moment an exercise in surviving the unbearable.

Now, watching Way quietly read in his living room, Pete felt a surge of emotion so intense it almost took his breath away. Relief, joy, gratitude — they all mingled together, creating a warmth in his chest that spread through his entire body. Way was here. Way was alive. It still seemed too good to be true.

Pete's mind wandered back to the time before Way's disappearance. They had been on the cusp of something, he was sure of it. There had been moments — shared glances, lingering touches, conversations that stretched long into the night — that hinted at the possibility of more. But they'd never had the chance to explore it fully. There had always been another distraction, another drawback, another crisis to deal with. He'd thought they had all the time in the world.

And then, in the blink of an eye, Way was gone.

The year that followed had been the hardest of Pete's life. He'd thrown himself into his work, into the team, trying to fill the Way-shaped hole in his world. But nothing had quite managed to ease the ache of loss. Even as life went on around him, as his new friends found happiness and success, Pete had felt stuck. Frozen in that moment of loss, unable to fully move forward.

He'd tried dating, once or twice, at the gentle urging of X-Hunter. But each attempt had only served to highlight how much he still missed Way. How could he move on when his heart was still holding onto the memory of what might have been?

And now, against all odds, Way was back. Alive. Here in Pete's home, reading a book as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The joy Pete felt at this miracle was beyond words, beyond comprehension. It filled every corner of his being, threatening to overflow at any moment.

But along with that joy came concern. Because while Way was here physically, Pete could see that he wasn't entirely present mentally or emotionally.

Over the past few days, Pete had watched Way closely. He'd seen the younger Enigma wander aimlessly through the penthouse, his gaze unfocused, as if he wasn't quite sure where he was or why he was there. There were moments when Way would stop in the middle of a room, his eyes glazing over, lost in some internal world that Pete couldn't reach.

Way's emotions, when they showed at all, were muted. Most of the time, he maintained a calm, almost detached demeanor. It was as if he was observing the world from behind a thick pane of glass, present but not quite participating. But then, seemingly out of nowhere, a strong emotion would break through. A joke on TV would elicit a burst of genuine laughter, or a sad scene in a movie would bring tears to his eyes. These moments were like lightning strikes — bright, intense, and gone in an instant, leaving Pete both heartened by the glimpse of the old Way and worried by the stark contrast to his usual state.

Most concerning were the flashbacks. Pete had witnessed several over the past few days, moments when Way's eyes would widen in fear or pain, his body tensing as if bracing for a blow. But when Pete would gently ask what was wrong, Way often couldn't articulate what he'd seen or felt. It was as if the memories were there, just below the surface, but Way's mind was shielding him from their full impact.

Pete had a theory about this. He suspected that Way's mind, in an attempt to protect itself from overwhelming trauma, had suppressed much of what had happened during the past year. It was a coping mechanism, a way for Way to function without being constantly bombarded by painful memories. But Pete knew that this repression, while protective in the short term, wasn't a long-term solution. Eventually, those memories would need to be processed and integrated.

As he watched Way turn a page in his book, Pete felt a fierce surge of protectiveness. He would do whatever it took to help Way heal, to bring him back to himself. If that meant late nights holding Way through nightmares, or patient conversations helping him piece together fragments of memory, or simply providing a safe, stable environment for Way to rediscover himself — Pete was prepared to do it all.

Way shifted slightly in his chair, stretching out one leg. The movement caught Pete's attention, drawing his gaze to Way's face. For a moment, Way's eyes lifted from his book, meeting Pete's. A small, almost shy smile curved Way's lips before he returned to his reading.

That smile, brief as it was, sent a flutter through Pete's chest. It was moments like these that gave him hope. They were rare, these glimpses of the old Way, but they were there. Like flowers pushing through cracks in concrete, signs of life and resilience.

Pete allowed himself to really look at Way, to drink in the sight of him. His hair was longer now, falling across his forehead in a way that made Pete's fingers itch to brush it back. There were new lines around his eyes, testament to the hardships he'd endured. But underneath it all, he was still Way. Still the person who had captured Pete's heart so completely.

As he watched, Pete found himself making silent promises. He vowed to be patient, to give Way all the time and space he needed to heal. He promised to be strong when Way couldn't be, to be a safe harbor in the storm of recovery. And most of all, he promised to love Way, unconditionally and without expectation, through whatever came next.

Because that's what this feeling was, Pete realized with a start. Love. Deep, abiding, all-encompassing love. It had been there before, nascent and unacknowledged. But Way's loss, and now his miraculous return, had brought it into sharp focus. Pete loved Way, wholly and completely. And he would spend every day showing that love, whether Way was ready to receive it or not.

A soft sound drew Pete from his thoughts. Way had closed his book and was now looking at Pete with a slightly puzzled expression.

"Is everything okay?" Way asked, his voice soft. "You've been staring at me for a while now."

Pete felt a flush creep up his neck, caught out in his contemplation. But he didn't look away. Instead, he offered Way a warm smile. "Everything's fine," he assured him. "I was just... thinking."

Way tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "What about?"

For a moment, Pete considered deflecting. But something in Way's gaze, a hint of genuine interest, made him decide to be honest. "About you," he said softly. "About how glad I am that you're here."

Way's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of emotion passing across his face too quickly for Pete to identify. Then, to Pete's surprise and delight, a small but genuine smile curved Way's lips. "I'm glad I'm here too," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The admission, simple as it was, felt monumental. It was the first time since his return that Way had expressed any positive feeling about his presence here. Pete felt his heart swell with hope and affection.

"Would you like some tea?" Pete asked, seizing the moment of connection. "I could make us a pot, if you'd like."

Way considered for a moment, then nodded. "That sounds nice," he said. "Can I... can I help?"

Pete's smile widened. "Of course," he said, standing up. "Come on, let's do it together."

As they made their way to the kitchen, Pete walking slowly to match Way's pace, he felt a sense of quiet contentment settle over him. This wasn't going to be an easy road. Way's recovery would likely be long and challenging, with setbacks and difficult moments. But they were together. And for Pete, that made all the difference.

In the kitchen, Pete and Way breezed through the process of making tea, both perfectly attuned to one another. Way's movements were hesitant at first, but as they worked side by side, he seemed to relax slightly. By the time the water was boiling, Way was reaching for cups without prompting, a look of quiet concentration on his face.

As Way carefully poured the hot water over the tea leaves, Pete allowed himself a moment of pure, unadulterated hope. This was a start. A small step, perhaps, but a step nonetheless. And Pete would be there for every step that followed, no matter how long the journey.

Because Way was worth it. Worth the wait, worth the worry, worth everything. And as they stood together in the warm kitchen, the scent of brewing tea filling the air, Pete made one more silent promise. He promised to cherish every moment, every small victory, every tiny step forward. Because each one was a gift, a miracle he'd thought he'd never have again.

Way turned to him, offering a steaming cup of tea with a tentative smile. Pete accepted it gratefully, his fingers brushing against Way's as he took the cup. The brief contact sent a spark through him, a reminder of the connection they shared.

"Thank you," Pete said softly, meaning so much more than just the tea.

Way nodded, his eyes meeting Pete's for a moment before flicking away. But in that brief moment of eye contact, Pete saw something that made his heart soar. A flicker of warmth, of recognition. Of trust.

It wasn't everything. It wasn't a full return to the Way of before. But it was something. And for now, for Pete, it was enough. They had time now. Time to heal, time to reconnect, time to explore what they could be to each other.

And Pete intended to make the most of every single moment.

Pete stood in the penthouse foyer, keys in hand, hesitating. He glanced back towards the living room where Way sat, curled up in his favorite armchair with a book. The sight of him there, safe and present, made Pete's chest tighten with a mixture of affection and reluctance.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Pete asked, unable to keep the concern from his voice. "I can reschedule if you need me to stay."

Way looked up from his book, a flicker of exasperation crossing his face. "Pete," he said, his voice soft but firm, "I'll be fine. It's just a few hours. Go to your meeting."

Pete nodded, trying to push down the worry gnawing at his insides. He knew, logically, that Way would be okay on his own. But the thought of leaving him, even for a short time, made Pete's protective instincts flare up.

"I've left some food in the fridge if you get hungry," Pete said, his hand on the doorknob. "And remember, if you need anything—"

"—I can call you," Way finished, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "I know, Pete. Now go, before you're late."

Pete chuckled softly, acknowledging the gentle rebuke. "Alright, alright. I'm going. I'll be back as soon as I can."

With one last look at Way, Pete stepped out of the penthouse and into the elevator. As it descended, he took a deep breath, trying to shift his focus to the meeting ahead. This was important. As the primary sponsor for X-Hunter, he needed to be present and engaged for discussions about additional budget expenses for the next season.

The drive to X-Hunter's garage was familiar, a route Pete had taken countless times over the years. But today, it felt different. Every mile that took him further from Way made him more anxious. He found himself gripping the steering wheel tighter, his mind constantly drifting back to the penthouse.

What if Way had a flashback while he was gone? What if he needed something and Pete wasn't there to help? What if—

Pete shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the road. Way was right; he needed to stop fussing. Way was an adult, perfectly capable of being on his own for a few hours. This overprotectiveness wasn't healthy for either of them.

As he pulled into the parking lot of X-Hunter's garage, Pete took a moment to compose himself. He couldn't let his worry about Way show. The team couldn't know that Way was alive, not yet. It wasn't just about respecting Way's wishes; Pete knew that the shock of Way's return could potentially destabilize the team right before the new racing season. Timing would be crucial.

Pete stepped out of his car, straightening his jacket as he walked towards the garage entrance. The familiar sounds of engines revving and tools clanking filled the air, a symphony of automotive passion that usually lifted Pete's spirits. Today, though, it just reminded him of how much Way was missing.

As he entered the garage, Pete was greeted by a chorus of welcoming voices. Alan stepped forward first, his face breaking into a warm smile.

"Pete!" the alpha called, clasping Pete's hand in a firm handshake. "Good to see you, man. Thanks for coming down."

Pete returned the smile, falling easily into the familiar camaraderie. "Wouldn't miss it, Alan. How's everything been?"

Before Alan could answer, Jeff appeared at his side. "Pete," Jeff greeted, his face lighting up slightly. "It's been too long. You need to stop by more often."

Pete chuckled, accepting Jeff's polite acknowledgment. "I'll try, Jeff. Promise."

One by one, the rest of the team gathered around. Charlie gave Pete a respectful nod while North clapped him on the back with a grin. Kim and Babe, were more restrained, but both greeted him warmly.

As Pete made his way through the garage, exchanging greetings and catching up, he felt a pang of guilt. These people were more than just his team; they were his friends, his family. Keeping Way's return from them felt wrong, even if he knew it was necessary for now.

They settled into a makeshift meeting area near some of the cars, pulling up chairs and gathering around a table covered in diagrams and budget reports. Pete was just about to take his seat when he noticed Babe frowning, his nose twitching slightly.

Pete's heart skipped a beat. Babe, with his heightened alpha senses, was sniffing the air, his brow furrowed in confusion. For a moment, Pete feared the worst. Had he been so careless as to come to the meeting with Way's scent on him?

"Pete," Babe said quietly, his voice low enough that only Pete could hear. "There's a scent on you. It's... familiar somehow. I can't quite place it, but..."

Pete's mind raced, searching for a plausible explanation. He kept his face carefully neutral, even as panic clawed at his insides. "A scent?" he asked, injecting a note of casual curiosity into his voice. "I'm not sure what you mean, Babe. Maybe it's a new cologne or something?"

Babe's frown deepened, clearly not satisfied with this explanation. But after a moment, he seemed to let it go, nodding slowly. "Yeah, maybe," he said, though Pete could see the suspicion lingering in his eyes. "It's probably nothing."

Pete offered a small smile and a shrug, praying that his racing heart wasn't as audible to Babe as it was to him. He made a mental note to be more careful in the future. Perhaps he needed to start using scent blockers, or at least change his clothes before leaving the penthouse.

As they all took their seats, Pete could feel Babe's eyes on him, watchful and curious. He forced himself to focus on the meeting, pushing thoughts of Way and the near-miss with Babe to the back of his mind.

Alan started the meeting, diving into the details of the additional budget expenses for the upcoming season. Pete listened attentively, asking questions and offering suggestions where appropriate. He found himself grateful for the distraction, for the chance to immerse himself in the familiar world of racing finances and team management.

As the meeting progressed, Pete began to relax slightly. The team dynamics were as vibrant as ever, with each member contributing their unique perspective. Jeff chimed in with insights about necessary equipment upgrades, while Kim and Babe discussed the potential impact of new regulations on their driving strategies. Charlie, once shy and hesitant, now confidently presented his ideas for improving the team's performance analytics.

Watching them all interact, Pete felt a surge of pride. This team had come so far, had weathered so much. The loss of Way had hit them all hard, but they had pulled together, supporting each other and pushing forward. Pete's chest tightened as he thought about how Way would react to seeing them all now, how proud he would be of their growth.

The meeting wrapped up after a couple of hours, with everyone in agreement about the proposed budget adjustments. As chairs scraped back and people began to stand, stretching after sitting for so long, Pete felt a sense of relief wash over him. He had made it through without raising any more suspicions.

Pete was gathering his things, preparing to make a quick exit, when Alan's voice stopped him. "Hey, Pete," the alpha said, a thoughtful look on his face. "Is everything okay with you? You seem... different today."

Pete froze for a moment, his mind racing. Had he been that obvious? "Different?" he echoed, trying to keep his voice casual. "How so?"

Alan shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "I don't know, man. You just seem... happier, I guess. Less weighed down. It's good to see."

The rest of the team had gathered around now, all looking at Pete with varying degrees of curiosity and concern. Pete felt trapped, caught between the desire to share his joy and the need to keep Way's return a secret.

"Alan's right," Jeff chimed in, the omega clearly picking up on something. "There's something different about you, Pete. You're practically glowing."

Pete felt a blush creeping up his neck. He knew he should deflect, should come up with some excuse. But looking at the faces of his friends, seeing their genuine care and concern, he found himself wanting to share at least a part of his happiness.

"I, uh..." Pete started, then paused, weighing his words carefully. "I guess I have been feeling a bit better lately."

"Oh?" Kim prodded, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Any particular reason?"

Pete hesitated, then decided to offer a partial truth. "I've been... seeing someone," he admitted reluctantly.

The reaction was immediate. The garage erupted in a cacophony of excited voices, with everyone talking over each other to express their happiness and curiosity.

"Pete, that's wonderful!" North exclaimed, the alpha's face lighting up with genuine joy.

"About time, man," Babe said with a grin, clapping Pete on the shoulder.

"Who is it? Do we know them?" Charlie asked eagerly.

Pete held up his hands, feeling overwhelmed by the onslaught of questions and congratulations. "Whoa, whoa," he said, laughing despite his discomfort. "It's still very new. I'd rather not say too much just yet."

The team seemed to sense his reluctance and backed off a bit, though their excitement was still palpable. Alan stepped forward, placing a hand on Pete's shoulder. "We're happy for you, Pete," he said warmly. "You deserve some happiness after... well, after everything."

Pete nodded, a lump forming in his throat at the unspoken mention of Way. If only they knew... But no, this wasn't the time. Way wasn't ready, and neither was the team.

"Thanks, everyone," Pete said, managing a genuine smile. "It means a lot to have your support."

As the team began to disperse, returning to their various tasks, Pete made his way towards the exit. He was almost at the door when Babe's voice stopped him.

"Hey, Pete," the alpha called, his expression unreadable. "Whoever they are... they smell nice."

Pete felt his heart skip a beat, but he managed to keep his face neutral. He gave Babe a nod and a small smile before quickly making his exit, his mind already racing with the implications of Babe's comment.

As he drove back to the penthouse, Pete's emotions were a tangled mess. Relief at having made it through the meeting without revealing Way's return warred with guilt over keeping such a massive secret from his friends. Joy at being able to share even a small part of his happiness competed with anxiety over Babe's apparent recognition of Way's scent.

But overshadowing all of these feelings was an overwhelming desire to get back to Way. To see him, to make sure he was okay, to bask in the miracle of his presence. The drive seemed to take forever, each red light an eternity.

Finally, Pete pulled into the parking garage of his building. He practically ran to the elevator, his heart pounding with anticipation. As the doors opened onto his penthouse, he called out, "Way? I'm back."

The sight of Way, still curled up in his armchair with his book, sent a wave of relief washing over Pete. Way looked up, a small smile curving his lips. "Welcome back," he said softly. "How was the meeting?"

Pete crossed the room in a few quick strides, kneeling beside Way's chair. Without thinking, he reached out, taking Way's hand in his own. "It was fine," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "But I'm glad to be home."

Way's eyes widened slightly at the contact, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he gave Pete's hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm glad you're back too," he murmured.

As Pete looked into Way's eyes, he felt the stress and tension of the day melting away. Yes, there were challenges ahead. The secret of Way's return wouldn't stay secret forever, and they would have to face the consequences of that eventually. But for now, in this moment, they were together. And for Pete, that was enough.

He settled onto the floor beside Way's chair, still holding his hand, and began to tell him about the meeting. As he spoke, Pete felt a sense of peace settle over him. Whatever came next, they would face it together. And that, Pete realized, was all he had ever wanted.

Chapter Text

The darkness was absolute, pressing in on Way from all sides. He blinked rapidly, trying to adjust his eyes, but the blackness remained impenetrable. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the musty scent of decay. Way's heart raced, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings.

Suddenly, a sliver of light cut through the darkness. A door creaked open, spilling dim, sickly yellow light into what Way now recognized as a small, dingy apartment. The walls were stained with water damage and mold, the paint peeling in long, curling strips. A threadbare couch sagged in one corner, its stuffing spilling out of numerous tears. The floor was bare concrete, cold and unforgiving beneath Way's feet.

As his eyes adjusted to the meager light, Way became aware of a wetness on his hands. He looked down, a scream catching in his throat as he saw his palms coated in thick, dark blood. It dripped from his fingers, forming a growing pool at his feet.

"No, no, no," Way whimpered, frantically trying to wipe the blood off on his shirt. But no matter how hard he scrubbed, the crimson stain remained, seeping into his skin like a damning tattoo.

A movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Way's head snapped up, his gaze drawn to a dark shape huddled in the far corner of the room. His mind recoiled from the sight, refusing to process what his eyes were seeing. But he couldn't look away from the crumpled form, the unnatural angle of the limbs, the growing pool of darkness spreading out from beneath it.

"Quite a mess you've made, boy."

The voice, cold and familiar, sent ice through Way's veins. He spun around, nearly losing his balance on the slick, blood-coated floor. Tony stood in the doorway, his massive frame blocking the exit. His face was cast in shadow, but Way could feel the weight of his disapproving glare.

"I... I didn't..." Way stammered, his voice small and broken. "I don't remember..."

Tony stepped into the room, his footsteps echoing in the cramped space. "Of course you don't," he sneered. "Weak. Useless. Can't even do this one simple thing right."

Way flinched at each word, shrinking back until he hit the wall. He slide down, curling into himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. His blood-stained hands came up to cover his ears, but Tony's voice cut through, relentless and mocking.

"Look at you," Tony spat. "Cowering like a child. Is this what I wasted all those years on? Is this the result of all my hard work?"

"I'm sorry," Way whispered, rocking back and forth. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Tony crouched down in front of him, grabbing Way's chin and forcing him to look up. "I didn't fix you so you could be purposeless," he growled. "You have a job to do, boy. And you're going to do it, whether you like it or not."

Way tried to pull away, but Tony's grip was like iron. "No," he pleaded. "No, I don't want to. Please, don't make me..."

But Tony was relentless. "You don't have a choice. You're mine, Way. You always have been, and you always will be. It's time to come home."

"No!" Way screamed, lashing out blindly. His fists connected with something solid, and he heard a grunt of pain. The world tilted and spun, the dingy apartment dissolving around him.

"Way! Way, wake up!"

The voice was different now, warm and concerned rather than cold and mocking. Way's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst from his chest. He was tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, his limbs flailing as he fought against an enemy that was no longer there.

"Shh, it's okay. You're safe. It was just a nightmare."

Strong arms encircled Way, pulling him close. The scent of sandalwood and mandarin enveloped him, familiar and comforting. Pete. It was Pete.

Way's struggles ceased as reality slowly filtered back in. He was in his room in Pete's penthouse, not the nightmarish apartment. Tony wasn't here. He was safe.

But the relief was short-lived. As Way became more aware of his surroundings, he realized his arms were stinging. He looked down and saw angry red scratches marring his skin, some deep enough to draw blood. His stomach lurched as he remembered the feeling of blood on his hands from the dream.

"He's coming," Way whispered, his voice hoarse from screaming. "He's coming, he's coming, he's coming..."

Pete's hold on him tightened slightly. "Who's coming, Way?" he asked gently, his voice laced with concern.

Way shook his head violently, unable to form the words. The name stuck in his throat, choking him. But Pete seemed to understand anyway.

"Tony?" Pete asked softly. When Way flinched at the name, Pete continued, "Way, Tony is dead. It was just a nightmare. He can't hurt you anymore."

But Way couldn't shake the bone-deep certainty that had settled over him. "Not a dream," he mumbled, his fingers digging into Pete's arms. "Not a dream. He's coming. He's coming for me."

Pete's brow furrowed, a flicker of dread passing over his face. But his voice remained calm as he spoke. "Okay, Way. I hear you. But right now, you're safe. You're here with me, and I won't let anyone hurt you. Can you focus on that for me?"

Way nodded jerkily, trying to ground himself in Pete's presence. He became aware of a gentle pressure in his mind, warm and soothing. Pete was using his ability, carefully probing Way's thoughts, untangling the chaotic webs of terror left by the nightmare.

As Pete worked, fragmented images flashed through Way's mind. The dingy apartment, so vivid he could almost smell the mold and decay. His hands, coated in blood that wouldn't wash away. The crumpled form in the corner, just out of focus. And Tony, always Tony, his presence a looming shadow that threatened to swallow Way whole.

Pete's breath caught as he sifted through the memories. Way felt a spike of alarm from the older Enigma, quickly suppressed. But before he could question it, exhaustion washed over him, dragging him down into a hazy half-consciousness.

"I'm going to clean you up a bit, okay?" Pete's voice seemed to come from far away. Way managed a small nod, too drained to do much else.

He drifted, only vaguely aware of Pete leaving and returning with a damp cloth. The cool touch against his arms was soothing, washing away the sticky residue of dried blood. Way let out a shaky breath, some of the tension finally leaving his body.

"There we go," Pete murmured, his voice low and comforting. "That's better, isn't it?"

Way nodded again, his eyes heavy. He felt Pete shift, preparing to leave, and panic surged through him. His hand shot out, grasping Pete's wrist. "Stay," he whispered, hating how needy he sounded but unable to bear the thought of being alone. "Please."

Pete's expression softened. "Of course," he said, settling back onto the bed. "I'm not going anywhere."

Way curled into Pete's side, seeking the warmth and safety the older Enigma provided. Pete's arms came around him, strong and secure, anchoring Way to the present moment.

As Way drifted off into an exhausted sleep, Pete remained awake, his mind racing. The apartment from Way's nightmare was identical to the one from the flashback in the kitchen. It was too detailed, too consistent to be a simple fabrication of Way's subconscious. And Way's insistence that Tony was coming... Pete couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this than just a nightmare.

He looked down at Way's sleeping form, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the tension that lingered even in sleep. Pete's jaw clenched, a fierce protectiveness welling up inside him. Whatever was going on, whatever Tony had done to Way, Pete was determined to get to the bottom of it. And if Tony was somehow still alive, still a threat... Well, Pete would do whatever it took to keep Way safe.

For now, though, all he could do was hold Way close and stand guard against the nightmares. Pete settled in for a long night, his fingers gently carding through Way's hair as he kept watch over the younger Enigma's fitful sleep.

The rest of the night passed in a series of half-wakings and mumbled fears. Each time Way stirred, trapped in the hazy space between nightmare and reality, Pete was there. His voice, low and soothing, cut through the fog of terror. His touch, gentle but grounding, reminded Way where he was and who he was with.

As the first rays of dawn began to filter through the curtains, Way finally fell into a deeper, more restful sleep. Pete, exhausted but unwilling to leave Way's side, allowed himself to doze lightly.

It was mid-morning when Way finally woke fully. He blinked slowly, disoriented by the warm weight beside him and the unfamiliar feeling of being well-rested. As the events of the night came rushing back, he tensed, waiting for the wave of panic and shame to overtake him.

But it didn't come. Instead, there was a strange sense of calm. The nightmare still lingered at the edges of his mind, but it felt less immediate, less threatening in the light of day.

Way shifted slightly, looking up at Pete. The older Enigma's eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even. There were dark circles under his eyes, testament to the long night he'd spent watching over Way. A pang of guilt shot through Way, but it was quickly overwhelmed by a rush of gratitude and something deeper, something Way wasn't quite ready to name.

As if sensing Way's gaze, Pete's eyes fluttered open. For a moment, they just looked at each other, a world of unspoken words passing between them.

Finally, Pete broke the silence. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly, his voice rough with sleep.

Way considered the question. "Better," he said after a moment. "Still... shaky. But better."

Pete nodded, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from Way's forehead. The touch was casual, almost absent-minded, but it sent a shiver down Way's spine. "Do you want to talk about it?" Pete asked.

Way tensed, the calm of the morning suddenly feeling fragile. But as he looked into Pete's eyes, seeing nothing but concern and support, he found himself nodding. "Yeah," he said, surprised to find he meant it. "I think... I think I do."

Pete smiled, soft and encouraging. "Okay," he said. "Why don't we get some breakfast first? Everything's a bit easier to face on a full stomach."

Way managed a small smile in return. "Sounds good," he agreed.

As they made their way to the kitchen, Way couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope.

The smell of coffee and toast soon filled the air, a comforting reminder of normalcy after the chaos of the night. And as Way watched Pete move around the kitchen, his movements sure and familiar, he felt something settle in his chest. Whatever came next, whatever his fragmented memories might reveal, Way knew one thing for certain: he was exactly where he needed to be.

The days following Way's intense nightmare blended into one another, each marked by a heavy silence that seemed to permeate every corner of Pete's penthouse. Way had withdrawn into himself, more detached and distant than he'd been even in the early days of his return. His scent, usually a delicate blend of balsam and mimosa, had turned sour with distress, a bitter undercurrent that made Pete's nose wrinkle in concern.

Pete, ever attuned to Way's moods, tried to give the younger Enigma space. He kept his distance, allowing Way to process his thoughts and emotions without pressure. But as the days wore on and Way showed no signs of emerging from his self-imposed isolation, Pete's worry grew.

On the fourth day, unable to bear the silence any longer, Pete decided to change tactics. He found Way curled up on the window seat, staring out at the Bangkok skyline with unseeing eyes. The acrid scent of anxiety rolled off him in waves, making Pete's protective instincts flare.

"Way?" Pete called softly, approaching slowly to avoid startling him. "I made some tea. Your favorite."

Way blinked, his gaze slowly focusing on Pete. He nodded minutely, accepting the steaming mug with trembling hands. Pete settled beside him, close enough to offer comfort but not so close as to crowd him.

"I've been thinking," Pete began cautiously, his voice low and soothing. "Maybe... maybe it might be helpful for you to talk to someone. A professional, I mean."

Way tensed, his grip on the mug tightening. "You mean a shrink," he said flatly.

Pete nodded, keeping his tone gentle. "A psychiatrist, yes. Someone who can help you make sense of your nightmares and flashbacks. Someone who can give you tools to cope with everything you're experiencing."

Way's scent spiked with fear and apprehension. "No," he said, shaking his head vehemently. "No, I don't want someone else poking around in my head. It's bad enough when you do it."

Pete winced at the harsh words, but he understood the fear behind them. "I know it's scary," he said softly. "But Way, what you're going through... it's more than I know how to help with. I want to support you, but I'm worried I might do more harm than good if I try to handle this on my own."

Way's lower lip trembled, and he bit down on it hard. "I don't need help," he mumbled, but the words lacked conviction.

Pete reached out slowly, telegraphing his movements, and placed a hand on Way's knee. "It's okay to need help," he said. "It doesn't make you weak. If anything, it makes you incredibly strong."

Way didn't respond, but he didn't pull away from Pete's touch either. They sat in silence for a long while, the only sound the soft clink of Way's mug as he sipped his tea. Pete didn't push further, knowing Way needed time to process the suggestion.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, Way finally spoke. "I'll think about it," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Pete nodded, relief washing over him. It wasn't a yes, but it was a start. "That's all I ask," he said, giving Way's knee a gentle squeeze before standing up. "I'm here if you need anything, okay?"

Way nodded, his gaze drifting back to the window. Pete left him to his thoughts, hoping that he'd made the right decision in broaching the subject.

The decision was made for them two nights later. Way's screams tore through the penthouse, jolting Pete from a fitful sleep. He raced to Way's room, heart pounding, to find the younger Enigma thrashing violently in his bed, caught in the grip of another nightmare.

"Way!" Pete called, rushing to his side. "Way, wake up! It's just a dream!"

But this time, Way didn't respond to Pete's voice or touch. His eyes were open, but unseeing, fixed on some horror only he could perceive. His scent was overwhelming, terror and anguish so potent it made Pete's eyes water.

For over an hour, Pete tried everything he could think of to bring Way back to reality. He spoke softly, held him close, even attempted to use his ability to reach Way's mind. But nothing worked. Way remained locked in his own world, unresponsive and terrifyingly still.

When Way finally came back to himself, blinking in confusion at Pete's tear-stained face, the decision was made. Way, shaken to his core by the experience, nodded wordlessly when Pete suggested making an appointment with a psychiatrist.

The next day, Pete made some calls, leveraging his connections to secure an appointment with one of Bangkok's most respected psychiatrists. Dr. Apinya Saetang came highly recommended, known for her work with trauma survivors and her gentle, patient approach.

As they sat in the waiting room of Dr. Saetang's office, Way's leg bounced nervously, his scent sour with anxiety. Pete placed a calming hand on his knee, sending waves of reassurance through their bond. "It's going to be okay," he murmured. "I'll be right here waiting for you."

Way nodded jerkily, his fingers intertwining with Pete's. "Don't leave," he whispered, a plea in his voice that made Pete's heart ache.

"Never," Pete promised, squeezing Way's hand.

The door opened, and a petite Thai woman with kind eyes and a serene smile stepped out. "Way?" she called, her voice warm and soothing. "I'm Dr. Saetang. Would you like to come in?"

Way tensed, his grip on Pete's hand tightening. Pete gave him an encouraging nod, and slowly, Way stood. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, before following Dr. Saetang into her office.

The room was warm and inviting, with soft lighting and comfortable furnishings. The scent of lavender hung in the air, subtle but calming. Dr. Saetang gestured for Way to take a seat on a plush couch, while she settled into an armchair across from him.

"I'm glad you decided to come see me, Way," Dr. Saetang began, her tone gentle and non-threatening. "Can you tell me a little bit about what brought you here today?"

Way swallowed hard, his hands twisting in his lap. "I... I don't know where to start," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Saetang smiled encouragingly. "That's okay. Why don't we start with how you're feeling right now?"

Way took a shaky breath. "Scared," he said after a moment. "Confused. Like... like I'm not really here. Like I'm watching myself from far away."

Dr. Saetang nodded, jotting down a few notes. "That sounds very difficult," she said softly. "Can you tell me about when these feelings started?"

Way closed his eyes, steeling himself. "A year ago," he said. "I was... I was shot. Twice in the back. I died, technically. And when I woke up..." He trailed off, his breath hitching.

"Take your time," Dr. Saetang said gently. "We're in no rush here."

Way nodded, taking a few deep breaths before continuing. "When I woke up, a year had passed. And I couldn't remember anything. Still can't. It's all just... blank."

Dr. Saetang's expression was one of deep empathy. "That must be incredibly disorienting," she said. "And frightening."

Way nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat. "I keep having these... flashbacks. And nightmares. But they don't make sense. I can't tell what's real and what's not."

"These flashbacks and nightmares, can you tell me more about them?" Dr. Saetang asked.

Way shuddered, the memory of his recent nightmare washing over him. "They're... violent. Confusing. There's always blood, and... and this apartment. It feels so real, but I don't know if it is. And there's..." He hesitated, Tony's name sticking in his throat.

Dr. Saetang waited patiently, her scent exuding calm and safety. "There's someone there?" she prompted gently when Way didn't continue.

Way nodded jerkily. "My... my adoptive father," he whispered. "He's supposed to be dead, but in the dreams, he's there. And he's... he's coming for me."

Dr. Saetang made a few more notes, her expression thoughtful. "Way, what you're describing sounds like symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. The flashbacks, nightmares, feelings of detachment... these are all common responses to trauma."

Way blinked, surprised. "But... but I don't even remember what happened," he protested weakly.

Dr. Saetang smiled gently. "Our bodies and our subconscious minds often remember things that our conscious minds can't access," she explained. "The trauma is still there, even if you can't recall the specific events."

Way nodded slowly, trying to process this information. "So... so what do I do?" he asked, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. "How do I make it stop?"

"Recovery is a process," Dr. Saetang said softly. "It takes time, and it's not always linear. But there are things we can do to help you manage your symptoms and work through your trauma."

She leaned forward slightly, her gaze warm and compassionate. "Way, I want you to know that what you're feeling is normal. Your reactions are a natural response to an abnormal situation. And with time and support, you can heal."

Way felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. "I want to," he whispered. "I want to get better. For myself, and... and for Pete."

Dr. Saetang nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. "Pete is the man who brought you here today?" When Way nodded, she continued, "It's good that you have support. A strong support system can make a big difference in recovery."

She paused, her expression turning serious. "Way, I want to be clear about something. Recovering your memories isn't necessarily our goal here. It may happen naturally as we work together, or it may not. What's most important is helping you process your trauma and develop coping strategies to manage your symptoms. Are you okay with that?"

Way considered this for a moment before nodding. "I... I think so," he said. "I just want to feel... normal again. Or as normal as I can."

Dr. Saetang smiled warmly. "That's a great goal," she said. "And it's absolutely achievable. It will take time and effort, but I believe you can get there."

As the session wound down, Dr. Saetang outlined a treatment plan. They would meet twice a week initially, focusing on stabilization techniques and gradual exposure therapy. She also suggested some mindfulness exercises for Way to practice at home.

"Remember, Way," she said as he stood to leave, "healing isn't linear. There will be good days and bad days. But every step forward, no matter how small, is progress."

Way nodded, feeling a mix of exhaustion and cautious hope. As he stepped out of the office, the scent of Pete's concern hit him immediately. The older Enigma stood, his eyes searching Way's face anxiously.

"How did it go?" Pete asked softly, his hand coming to rest on the small of Way's back.

Way leaned into the touch, drawing comfort from Pete's steady presence. "It was... okay," he said. "Hard, but... I think it might help."

Pete's relief was palpable, his scent softening with pride and affection. "I'm so proud of you," he murmured, pulling Way into a gentle hug. "This was a big step."

Way nodded against Pete's chest, breathing in his comforting scent. For the first time in days, he felt a glimmer of hope. The road ahead would be long and difficult, but he wasn't walking it alone. With Pete by his side and Dr. Saetang's guidance, maybe — just maybe — he could find his way back to himself.

Pete's hand found his as they left the office, their fingers intertwining naturally. And as they made their way home, Way allowed himself to imagine a future where the nightmares no longer controlled him, where the gaps in his memory didn't feel like gaping wounds. It was a future that seemed distant and hazy, like a mirage on the horizon. But for the first time since his return, it felt possible.

Chapter Text

The soft glow of Bangkok's nightlife filtered through the curtains, casting muted shadows across Pete's bedroom. The air was thick with the mingled scents of sandalwood, mandarin, and the delicate balsam-mimosa blend that was uniquely Way. Pete lay on his side, watching the gentle rise and fall of Way's chest as he slept.

These quiet moments had become precious to Pete. Way's sleep was often troubled, plagued by nightmares that left him gasping and trembling. But tonight, Way seemed peaceful, his face relaxed in a way it rarely was during waking hours.

Pete resisted the urge to reach out and brush a stray lock of hair from Way's forehead, not wanting to risk disturbing his rest. Instead, he simply watched, allowing Way's calm to seep into him, soothing the constant worry that had taken up residence in his chest.

The sharp, insistent sound of knocking shattered the tranquil silence.

Pete tensed, his senses immediately on high alert. Who could be at the door at this hour? He glanced at Way, relieved to see that the younger Enigma hadn't stirred. Carefully, Pete slipped out of bed, his movements slow and deliberate to avoid waking Way.

The knocking came again, louder this time, more urgent. Pete's jaw clenched as he made his way to the front door, his mind racing through possibilities.

Had something happened at the company? Was there some emergency he wasn't aware of?

As he approached the door, Pete caught a whiff of a familiar alpha scent. It was sharp and slightly metallic, with an undercurrent of petrichor that made the hair on the back of Pete's neck stand up. His hand hesitated on the doorknob, every instinct screaming at him not to open it.

But the knocking continued, growing more insistent with each passing second. Pete took a deep breath, steeling himself, and opened the door.

The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold.

Kenta stood in the hallway, his broad frame filling the doorway. The alpha looked different from when Pete had last seen him – thinner, with dark circles under his eyes and a haunted look that hadn't been there before. But there was no mistaking him.

"Kenta," Pete breathed, his voice a mix of shock and wariness. His body tensed, ready for a fight. "What are you doing here?"

Kenta held up his hands, a placating gesture that did little to ease Pete's tension. "I'm not here to fight," he said, his voice low and rough. "I came to warn you."

Pete's eyes narrowed, confusion warring with suspicion. "Warn me?" he repeated. "About what? And how are you even here? You're supposed to be in prison."

A bitter smile twisted Kenta's lips. "That's part of what I need to warn you about," he said. "Can I come in? This isn't a conversation we should have in the hallway."

Every instinct Pete had was screaming at him to slam the door in Kenta's face. But curiosity – and a growing sense of dread – won out. He stepped back, allowing Kenta to enter the penthouse.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Pete turned to face Kenta, keeping a careful distance between them. "Start talking," he said, his voice hard. "How are you here, Kenta? What's going on?"

Kenta ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of agitation that seemed out of character for the usually stoic alpha. "Tony," he said simply, the name falling like a bomb in the quiet room. "Tony is alive."

Pete felt as if the floor had dropped out from under him. A roaring filled his ears, drowning out everything but the echo of Kenta's words.

Tony is alive.

Tony is alive.

Tony is alive.

"That's... that's not possible," Pete said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew they weren't true. Way's insistence after his nightmares, the vivid flashbacks, the certainty that Tony was coming for him – it all suddenly made a terrible kind of sense.

Kenta shook his head. "I don't know how he survived," he said. "But he did. And he's been busy. He got me out of prison, along with Winner and Dean."

Pete's mind raced, trying to process this information. "Why?" he asked. "Why would he break you out?"

"I don't know all the details," Kenta admitted. "But I think... I think he's planning something. Something big. And I think he's going to come after everyone who was involved before. You, X-Hunter... everyone."

The dread that had been building in Pete's stomach solidified into a cold, heavy weight. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. "You've always been on Tony's side. Even now, he got you out of prison. Why turn against him?"

Kenta's expression darkened, a haunted look passing over his face. "I don't want to relive what happened before," he said quietly. "The things Tony did... the things he made us do... I can't go through that again. I won't."

Pete stared at Kenta, trying to reconcile this version of the alpha with the cold, ruthless enforcer he'd known before. "I don't understand," he said. "Why come to me? Why not just... disappear?"

Kenta let out a bitter laugh. "You think Tony would let me disappear?" he asked. "No, he'd hunt me down. At least this way... this way maybe I can do something right for once."

Pete opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a new scent caught his attention. Balsam and mimosa, tinged with sleep and a hint of confusion. His heart sank as he turned to see Way standing in the doorway to the bedroom, his eyes wide as they took in the scene before him.

"Way," Pete said softly, instinctively moving to place himself between Way and Kenta. "It's okay. Everything's okay."

But Way wasn't looking at Pete. His gaze was fixed on Kenta, a strange calm settling over his features. It was an eerie contrast to Kenta's reaction – the alpha had gone pale, his scent spiking with shock and what Pete could only describe as fear.

"You," Kenta breathed, taking a stumbling step backward. "You're... you're alive."

Way tilted his head slightly, regarding Kenta with an unsettling intensity. "It would appear so," he said, his voice quiet but steady.

Pete looked between them, a chill running down his spine. "Way," he said carefully, "do you... do you remember Kenta?"

Way nodded slowly, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Yes," he said. "We... we grew up together. In Tony's foundation." His eyes suddenly sharpened, focusing intently on Kenta. "And I remember... before I died. You stabbed Tony."

Kenta flinched at the memory, but his shock quickly turned to confusion. "Wait," he said, looking between Way and Pete. "What's going on? How are you here, Way? How are you alive?"

Pete took a deep breath, realizing it was time to explain. "Way has been alive for the past year," he said, watching Kenta's face carefully. "But he has no solid memory of what happened during that time. He just showed up a few weeks ago, with little idea of where he'd been or what had happened to him."

Kenta's face paled, his scent thick with a mix of emotions Pete couldn't fully decipher. "A year?" he repeated. "But how? Why can't he remember?"

"We don't know," Pete admitted. "But from his nightmares and flashbacks, and what you’ve just told me, I think... I think he might have been with Tony for at least part of that time."

At the mention of Tony's name, Way's demeanor suddenly changed. His eyes glazed over slightly, his scent spiking with distress. "He fixed me," Way muttered, his voice low and slightly incoherent. "Fixed me, but I'm still... still useless. Lost. Can't do anything right..."

Pete moved to Way's side immediately, placing a comforting hand on his back. "Shh, it's okay," he murmured. "You're safe now. Tony can't hurt you anymore."

Kenta watched this interaction with growing seriousness, the pieces finally falling into place. "Tony survived," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He took Way, he's been planning something all this time. And now..."

"Now he's ready," Pete finished grimly. "He's gathering his allies. You, Winner, Dean... who knows who else."

A heavy silence fell over the room as they all processed the weight of this realization. Way leaned into Pete's side, seeking comfort, while Kenta clenched his jaw, looking dour.

Finally, Kenta spoke. "What do we do?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion. "Tony... he won't stop. You know that. He'll come for all of us."

Pete growled softly, his arm tightening protectively around Way. "We fight," he said firmly. "We gather our own allies. X-Hunter, anyone Tony might target. We pool our resources, our knowledge. And we stop him. For good this time."

As the gravity of the situation settled over them, Kenta's brow furrowed, a new thought occurring to him. He glanced between Pete and Way, hesitation clear in his scent before he spoke.

"Does X-Hunter know?" Kenta asked, his voice low and cautious. "About Way being alive, I mean."

Pete shook his head, his arm still protectively wrapped around Way's shoulders. "No," he admitted. "We haven't told anyone yet. Way's been... fragile. We've been taking things slowly, trying to help him recover and remember."

Kenta nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You should tell them soon," he said, his tone unusually gentle. "For two reasons. First, they're likely to find out even if you don't tell them. News like this... it has a way of spreading. And second," he paused, meeting Pete's gaze directly, "it'll help make them believe it's possible for Tony to be alive."

As soon as the words left Kenta's mouth, Way stiffened in Pete's embrace. His scent spiked with more distress, a sour note of fear cutting through the usual warm blend.

"No," Way whispered, his voice trembling. "No, I can't... I can't see them. They'll be angry. They'll hate me."

Pete turned to face Way fully, his hands coming up to cup the younger Enigma's face. "Way, listen to me," he said softly but firmly. "No one will be angry with you. Why would they be?"

Way's eyes were wide, unfocused, as if he was seeing something beyond the room. "For not being dead," he muttered. "For not telling them. For... for being broken. Useless."

Pete felt his heart breaking at Way's words. He could feel Kenta's gaze on them, but he kept his focus entirely on Way. "You are not broken," Pete said fiercely. "You are not useless. You survived something unimaginable, Way. Everyone will be overjoyed to know you're alive."

But Way was shaking his head, his breathing becoming rapid and shallow. "You don't understand," he gasped. "I... I remember things. Flashes. I think... I think I did things. Bad things. For him. For Tony."

Pete pulled Way closer, enveloping him in a protective embrace. He could feel the younger man trembling against him, the acrid scent of panic filling the air. "Shh," Pete soothed, running a hand up and down Way's back. "Whatever happened, whatever you might have done, it wasn't your fault. You were manipulated, controlled. No one will blame you for that."

From the corner of his eye, Pete could see Kenta watching the scene unfold, his expression a mix of confusion and growing concern. Pete realized he needed to explain, to help Kenta understand the delicate situation they were dealing with.

Still holding Way close, Pete turned his head to address Kenta. "Way's mental state is delicate," he explained quietly. "He experiences frequent dissociation, directly tied to the trauma he endured. From being shot, from dying, and then from whatever happened during the year he can't remember."

Kenta nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Way's trembling form. "I... I had no idea," he murmured. "When I saw him, I thought... I don't know what I thought. But I didn't realize..."

"It's been a long, slow process," Pete continued. "We've been working on helping him recover, on piecing together his memories. But it's not easy. Sometimes he seems almost like his old self, and other times..." He trailed off, tightening his hold on Way as another tremor ran through the younger man's body.

Kenta took a step closer, his scent tinged with a mixture of guilt and concern. "Is there... is there anything I can do to help?" he asked hesitantly.

Pete shook his head. "Right now, the best thing is to give him space," he said. "And to understand that this situation... it's complicated. Way isn't ready to face everyone yet. But with Tony out there, we might not have a choice."

As if triggered by Pete's words, Way suddenly pulled back. His breathing was still rapid, but he seemed to be listening, his eyes locked on Pete's. "But... but what if they ask questions? What if they want to know where I've been, what happened? I don't... I don't know how to answer."

"Then we'll tell them the truth," Pete said gently. "That you don't remember everything. That you're still recovering. They'll understand, Way. They'll want to help you, not judge you."

A heavy silence fell over the room as Way processed this. Pete could feel the tension in Way's body, could smell the conflict in his scent. Finally, Way spoke again, his voice small but steady.

"I... I'm scared," he admitted. "But I trust you, Pete. If you think we should tell them... if you think it's safe..."

Pete pressed a gentle kiss to Way's forehead. "I do," he said softly. "And I'll be with you every step of the way. We'll do this together, okay?"

Way nodded, taking a deep, shaky breath. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay. We'll tell them."

Pete felt a wave of relief wash over him. He knew this was just the first step in a long, difficult journey, but it was an important one. He turned back to Kenta, who had been watching the exchange with a thoughtful expression.

We'll contact X-Hunter, explain the situation. And then we'll start planning our next move."

Kenta nodded, his expression grim but determined. "I'll help however I can," he said. "I know... I know I have a lot to make up for. But I want to stop Tony. For good this time."

As Pete looked between Kenta and Way, he felt the weight of responsibility settling heavily on his shoulders. The road ahead would be difficult, fraught with danger and uncertainty. But as he held Way close, feeling the steady beat of the heart he'd once thought stilled forever, Pete knew one thing with absolute certainty: he would do whatever it took to keep Way safe, to stop Tony, and to protect the family they'd built.

As the weight of their conversation settled over the room, Kenta cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence. "I should go," he said, his voice low and gruff. "But I'll remain in touch. You'll need all the information you can get if we're going to stop Tony."

Pete nodded, still holding Way close. "Be careful," he warned. "If Tony finds out you've warned us..."

A grim smile crossed Kenta's face. "Don't worry about me," he said. "I've learned a thing or two about staying under the radar." With a final nod to both Pete and Way, Kenta slipped out of the penthouse, leaving behind a lingering scent of petrichor and unease.

As the door clicked shut, Pete felt Way sag against him, the younger man's energy seemingly drained by the night's revelations. "Come on," Pete murmured, gently guiding Way back to the bedroom. "Let's try to get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

The night passed fitfully, with Pete waking frequently to check on Way. By the time dawn broke over Bangkok's skyline, Pete felt as if he'd barely slept at all. Way, on the other hand, seemed oddly serene as they prepared to leave for X-Hunter's garage.

As Pete navigated the busy Bangkok streets, he kept glancing at Way in the passenger seat. The younger Enigma sat quietly, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery. It was a stark contrast to his panic the night before, and Pete couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry.

"How are you feeling?" Pete asked softly, reaching over to squeeze Way's hand.

Way turned to him, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I'm okay," he said, his voice calm. "It's... strange. I feel like I should be more nervous, but I'm not. It's like... like it’s all so far away from me."

Pete nodded, recognizing the signs of dissociation. It was a coping mechanism Way had developed, a way to distance himself from overwhelming emotions or situations. While it worried Pete, he also understood that it might be the only way Way could face what was coming.

As they pulled up to the familiar garage that housed X-Hunter, Pete felt a knot of tension form in his stomach. He turned to Way, studying his face carefully. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked. "I can go in first, explain everything. You can wait here if you want."

Way considered this for a moment before nodding. "Maybe... maybe that would be better," he said softly. "I'll wait here. But if you need me..." He trailed off, but Pete understood.

"I'll come get you," Pete promised, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to Way's forehead. "It'll be okay. I promise."

With a deep breath, Pete stepped out of the car and made his way to the garage entrance. He could hear the familiar sounds of work inside – the clanking of tools, the low hum of conversation. For a moment, he hesitated, his hand on the door. Then, steeling himself, he pushed it open.

The garage was as he remembered it – a controlled chaos of cars in various states of repair, tools scattered across workbenches, and the ever-present scent of motor oil and alpha pheromones. As he stepped inside, Pete barely had time to open his mouth in greeting before a blur of movement caught his attention.

Suddenly, he found himself pinned against the wall of the garage, a strong hand pressing against his chest. Babe's face was inches from his own, the alpha's eyes blazing with an intensity that made Pete's breath catch in his throat.

"Babe!" Alan's voice cut through the tension, a note of warning in his tone. "What the hell are you doing?"

From the corner of his eye, Pete could see the rest of the team – Jeff, Charlie, North, and Kim – all frozen in various states of shock and confusion. But Babe paid them no mind, his focus entirely on Pete.

"I've been going crazy for a week," Babe growled, his voice low and intense. "Ever since our last meeting. There was a scent on you – familiar, but I couldn't place it. It's been driving me insane." He leaned in closer, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. "But now... now I'm certain. I can smell him on you."

Pete's heart raced, his mind scrambling for a way to explain. But before he could form the words, a new presence made itself known.

A hand shot out, grasping Babe's wrist with surprising strength. Babe's eyes widened in shock as he turned to face the newcomer, and Pete felt a mixture of relief and apprehension wash over him as he recognized Way.

Way stood there, his expression calm but his eyes intense as he met Babe's gaze. "Let him go," Way said softly, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.

Babe jerked back as if burned, stumbling away from both Pete and Way. The rest of the team let out a collective gasp, the scent of shock and disbelief filling the air.

"Way?" North whispered, his voice trembling. "Is that... is that really you?"

For a moment, no one moved. The garage was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of rapid breathing and the distant hum of machinery. Pete quickly stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of Way in a protective stance.

"I know this is a shock," Pete began, his voice calm despite the racing of his heart. "But please, let me explain."

All eyes were on him, a mix of emotions playing across the faces of his teammates. Pete took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts.

"A few weeks ago, I found Way," he said, his voice steady. "He was alive, but disoriented. He didn't remember what had happened to him, where he'd been. I've been helping him piece things back together, trying to understand what happened."

Way remained silent beside him, but Pete could smell the distress in his scent, a sharp contrast to his outwardly calm demeanor. Pete resisted the urge to pull him close, knowing they needed to let the others process this information.

"How... how is this possible?" Charlie asked, his voice low. "We saw him... we thought he was..."

"Dead," Way finished, speaking for the first time since entering the garage. His voice was soft, almost detached. "I was. Or... I thought I was. I don't... I don't remember everything."

A heavy silence fell over the garage as the team struggled to process this information. Pete and Way stood still, waiting for the reaction, the anger, the disbelief they were sure would come.

But instead, Babe moved forward, his earlier aggression replaced by a look of wonder and disbelief. Before anyone could react, he pulled Way into a tight embrace.

Way stiffened at the contact, his eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, he stood motionless in Babe's arms, his scent a confusing mix of fear, relief, and uncertainty. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he brought his arms up to return the hug.

As if a dam had broken, the others began to move. Alan was the next to approach, tears glistening in his eyes as he wrapped both Way and Babe in a bear hug. North followed, his usual childlike demeanor cracking as he joined the embrace.

Jeff, Charlie, and Kim hung back, their scents a mix of joy and lingering disbelief. Pete watched the scene unfold, relief washing over him. This was better than he could have hoped for.

After what felt like an eternity, the group hug slowly disbanded. Way stepped back, his eyes slightly glazed, his breathing quick and shallow. Pete immediately moved to his side, a steadying hand on his back.

"Let's sit down," Pete suggested, guiding Way to a nearby workbench. The others followed, pulling up stools and leaning against cars, their eyes never leaving Way.

The garage fell into a heavy silence as everyone settled around Way and Pete. The air was thick with a mixture of scents - confusion, concern, and an undercurrent of joy at seeing their long-lost friend alive. Babe, who had been pacing restlessly, finally sat down on a nearby workbench, his eyes never leaving Way.

"Way," Babe said softly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, "what happened to you? Where have you been all this time?"

Way's gaze dropped to his hands, which were clasped tightly in his lap. Pete placed a comforting hand on his back, a silent reminder of his support. After a moment, Way took a deep breath and began to speak.

"I... I woke up in a hospital," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It was in Nonthaburi, just outside Bangkok. I didn't know how I got there or who had taken me there."

The team leaned in, hanging on every word. North's eyes were wide with concern, while Alan's brow furrowed in concentration.

"I was registered under a fake name," Way continued, his voice growing slightly stronger. "When I woke up, I was so confused. Everything hurt, and I couldn't remember much of anything. But I knew my name wasn't 'Somchai Rattanakul'."

Charlie let out a low whistle. "That's a pretty convincing Thai name," he muttered. North shot him a warning glance, and he fell silent.

"I kept asking the nurses and doctors what had happened to me, how I'd gotten there," Way said. "But they didn't know anything. They just told me I'd been brought in unconscious, with no ID. When I told them my real name..." He trailed off, his scent spiking with distress.

Pete squeezed his shoulder gently. "It's okay," he murmured. "Take your time."

Way nodded, taking another deep breath before continuing. "When I told them my real name, they looked at me like I was crazy. They left, and when they came back..." His voice cracked slightly. "They had a death certificate. My death certificate."

A collective gasp went through the group. Kim muttered a soft curse under his breath, while North's eyes filled with tears.

"That was a year ago," Way said, his voice hollow. "Everything after that... it's all a blur. I remember bits and pieces, but it's like trying to hold onto smoke. It just... slips away."

Babe leaned forward, his scent a mix of concern and barely contained anger. "But you've started to remember some things, right?" he pressed gently. "Pete said you've been piecing things together."

Way nodded slowly. "Yeah, little by little. It's like... like a puzzle where I only have a few pieces, and I'm not even sure they're from the same picture."

"What do you remember?" Alan asked softly, his usual gruff demeanor softened by concern.

Way's brow furrowed in concentration. "I remember... a shabby apartment. It was small, dirty. The windows were always covered. I was there for... I'm not sure how long. Days? Weeks? It's all blurred together."

"You were being held there?" North asked, his voice tight with barely contained anger.

Way nodded, a shudder running through his body. "Yeah, I think so. I remember feeling... trapped. Scared. But also... numb. Like I wasn't really there, you know?"

Pete's arm tightened around Way's shoulders, a low, protective growl rumbling in his chest. The others shifted restlessly, their scents sharpening with anger and protectiveness.

"Way," Alan said, his voice gentle but firm, "who was holding you there? Do you remember?"

The garage fell silent, the tension palpable as everyone waited for Way's answer. Way's scent spiked with fear and confusion, and for a moment, Pete thought he might not answer. But then, in a voice barely above a whisper, Way spoke.

"It was Tony."

The reaction was immediate. Babe shot to his feet, his scent blazing with fury. "That's impossible," he growled. "Tony's dead. We saw him die!"

The others erupted into a cacophony of voices, each talking over the other in their shock and disbelief. Way flinched at the sudden outburst, pressing closer to Pete's side.

"Enough!" Pete's voice cut through the chaos, silencing the room. He looked at each of them in turn, his expression grave. "There's more you need to know."

As the team settled back down, their scents still sharp with tension and confusion, Pete took a deep breath. "Last night, we had an unexpected visitor," he began. "Someone who brought us a warning... and confirmed what Way has been trying to tell us."

"Who?" Kim demanded, his patience clearly wearing thin.

Pete met Kim's gaze, knowing his next words would hit the alpha the hardest. "It was Kenta."

The garage exploded into chaos once more. Babe's roar of disbelief drowned out the others' exclamations of shock and anger. Pete held up his hands, calling for silence once more.

"I know this is hard to believe," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. "But please, hear me out."

Slowly, the team settled down again, their scents a roiling mix of emotions. Pete could feel Way trembling slightly beside him and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before continuing.

"Kenta came to warn us," Pete said. "He was released from prison, along with Winner and Dean. And the person who orchestrated their release... was Tony."

The silence that followed was deafening. Pete could almost see the wheels turning in each of their minds as they struggled to process this information.

"But... how?" Jeff finally asked, his voice small and frightened. "We saw him... Kenta stabbed him!"

Way flinched at the memory, and Pete instinctively pulled him closer. "We don't know all the details," Pete admitted. "Kenta didn't have much information. But he was certain about one thing: Tony is alive, and he's planning something big."

Babe, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up. "How do we know we can trust Kenta?" he demanded. "After everything he's done, why would he suddenly decide to help us?"

Pete nodded, acknowledging the valid question. "I asked him the same thing," he said. "He said... he's tired of destruction. Of pain. He doesn't want to be a part of what Tony's planning, whatever it is."

The team exchanged glances, their scents a mix of skepticism and growing concern.

"So what do we do now?" North asked, his voice low and serious. "If Tony's really out there, if he's planning something..."

"We prepare," Pete said firmly. "We gather information, we strengthen our defenses, and we get ready for whatever's coming."

The team nodded, their minds instinctively switching gears – they had not forgotten the sense of urgency from Tony's last attempt on their lives. They immediately began to discuss potential security measures, talks of leveraging favors for any information they could get their hands on.

Throughout all of this, Way had remained silent, his gaze distant. Pete turned to him, concern etched on his face. "Way?" he said softly. "Are you okay?"

Way blinked, seeming to come back to himself. "I... I don't know," he admitted. "It's all so much. I feel like... like I should remember more. Like I should be able to help more."

Babe, who had been watching Way intently, spoke up. "Hey," he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "You being here, alive... that's more than we ever could have hoped for. Whatever you can remember, whatever you can do to help... it's enough. We're just glad to have you back."

The others murmured their agreement, their scents softening with affection and support. Way's eyes filled with tears, and for the first time since entering the garage, a small, genuine smile crossed his face.

"Thank you," he whispered. "All of you. I... I missed you. Even when I couldn't remember everything, I knew there were people I was missing."

As the garage fell silent, Pete looked around at his team - his family. They were scared, confused, angry... but they were also determined. United. Whatever Tony was planning, whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

Pete's gaze returned to Way, who was watching the bustling activity around them with a mix of wonder and apprehension. "Hey," Pete said softly, drawing Way's attention back to him. "We're going to figure this out, okay? We're going to keep you safe, and we're going to stop Tony. Whatever it takes."

Way nodded, leaning into Pete's side. "I know," he said quietly. "I trust you. All of you."

The younger Enigma raised his eyes to meet Pete's gaze. There was a vulnerability there, but also a strength that made Pete's heart swell with pride and love.

Chapter Text

The days following Way's return to X-Hunter were a whirlwind of emotions and cautious optimism. Pete, ever vigilant of Way's fragile mental state, made it a point to bring the younger Enigma to the garage frequently. He hoped that the familiar surroundings and the companionship of their makeshift family would help ground Way, providing a sense of normalcy and belonging that had been absent for far too long.

At first, the strategy seemed to work wonders. Way's demeanor visibly brightened with each visit, his smiles becoming more frequent and genuine. The tension that had been a constant presence in his shoulders began to ease, and there were moments when Pete could almost forget the trauma that lay beneath the surface.

The team, for their part, rallied around Way with a fervor that warmed Pete's heart. They were careful not to overwhelm him, but their support was unwavering. North regaled Way with stories of their latest races, his animated gestures and infectious laughter drawing out chuckles from the younger man. Kim and Jeff took turns showing Way their newest modifications to the cars, patiently explaining each enhancement and occasionally asking for his input, a gesture that seemed to boost Way's confidence.

Babe, in particular, had taken it upon himself to be Way's silent protector. He kept a watchful eye on the younger Enigma, his usually gruff demeanor softening whenever Way was around. Pete had caught Babe more than once subtly steering conversations away from potentially triggering topics, his protective instincts in full force.

Alan, ever the paternal figure, made sure Way was eating properly, often bringing in home-cooked meals that he insisted were "leftovers" but were clearly made with Way in mind. The garage had never smelled so inviting, a mix of motor oil and home-cooked comfort food that seemed to wrap around them all like a warm blanket.

It was on the third day of this new routine that the fragile peace they had built was shattered.

The morning had started like any other. Way had woken up in Pete's arms, his nightmares kept at bay by the older Enigma's presence. They had shared a quiet breakfast before heading to the garage, Way's mood light as he anticipated another day with the team.

The garage was bustling with activity when they arrived. North was elbow-deep in the engine of a sleek sports car, his brow furrowed in concentration. Alan and Jeff were hunched over a laptop, arguing good-naturedly about some new software. Babe was nowhere to be seen, probably out on a parts run.

Way had settled into his usual spot, a comfortable chair near Charlie’s workstation, watching the organized chaos with a small smile. Pete kept glancing over at him, his heart swelling at the sight of Way looking so at ease.

It happened in an instant.

North, reaching for a tool, accidentally knocked a headlight off the workbench. The sound of shattering glass pierced the air, echoing through the garage like a gunshot.

Pete saw the change in Way immediately. The younger man's body went rigid, his eyes widening in terror. His scent spiked sharply with fear, filling the air with the acrid stench of panic.

"Way?" Pete called out, already moving towards him. But Way didn't seem to hear him. His gaze was fixed on some distant point, unseeing, his breath coming in short, rapid gasps.

The others had noticed by now. North stood frozen, the broken headlight forgotten at his feet. Alan and Jeff had abandoned their computer, hovering uncertainly nearby.

"Way!" Pete tried again, his voice more urgent. But Way was lost to them, trapped in the grips of a flashback more vivid than any he had experienced before.

In Way's mind, he was no longer in the bright, familiar garage. Instead, he found himself back in that dingy apartment, the one that had featured so prominently in his fragmented memories. The air was thick with the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap alcohol, the walls stained and peeling.

But this time, the memory didn't stop there. A new figure emerged from the shadows of his mind – a man he hadn't remembered until now. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a face that was more sneer than smile. Way could hear his own voice, younger and filled with fear, begging the man to leave him alone.

The man's laughter echoed in Way's ears, cruel and mocking. "You think you're too good for me, pretty boy?" the man taunted, his words slurring slightly. "Tony might pay me just to keep an eye on you, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Way could feel the man's hands on him, rough and demanding. He tried to pull away, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst from his chest. The man's grip tightened, painfully strong.

In a burst of desperate strength, Way broke free. His eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything to defend himself with. His hand closed around something solid – a lamp, he realized distantly.

The man lunged for him again. Way swung the lamp with all his might.

The sickening crunch of the lamp connecting with the man's skull echoed in Way's ears, drowning out everything else. The man's eyes widened in shock, then rolled back as he crumpled to the floor. Way watched in horror as a pool of blood began to spread beneath the man's head, the lamp lying broken beside him.

Back in the garage, Way was trembling violently, his eyes wide and unseeing. The team watched in helpless concern as Pete approached him cautiously.

"Way," Pete called softly, his voice cutting through the chaos in Way's mind. "Way, it's okay. You're safe. You're with us in the garage."

Way blinked rapidly, his gaze darting around wildly as he struggled to reconcile the dingy apartment of his memories with the clean, bright garage around him.

"Don't touch him!" Pete warned sharply as Alan made a move to approach. "He might lash out if he feels threatened."

The team backed away, giving Way space. Their scents were a mixture of concern and helplessness, filling the air with a thick, cloying aroma that made Pete's nose wrinkle.

Slowly, carefully, Pete moved closer to Way. He kept his movements telegraphed and non-threatening, his hands open and visible. "Way," he called again, his voice low and soothing. "It's me, Pete. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you."

Way's gaze finally focused on Pete, recognition flickering in his eyes. "P-Pete?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and trembling.

"That's right," Pete encouraged, inching closer. "I'm here. You're safe. We're in the garage with the team, remember?"

Way's eyes darted around again, this time taking in his surroundings with growing awareness. His gaze landed on North, still standing by the broken headlight, and he flinched violently.

"It's okay," Pete soothed, finally close enough to reach out. He cupped Way's face gently, turning the younger man's attention back to him. "You're okay. You're safe. It was just a memory. It's not real anymore."

Way's eyes filled with tears as he leaned into Pete's touch. "I... I remembered something," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Pete, I... I killed someone."

Pete's heart clenched at the pain and fear in Way's voice. "Shh," he murmured, pulling Way into his arms. "It's okay. Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. You were protecting yourself."

Way buried his face in Pete's chest, his body wracked with silent sobs. Pete held him close, murmuring soft reassurances and letting his scent envelop Way in a cocoon of safety and comfort.

The team watched in silence, their faces etched with concern and a dawning understanding of the depth of Way's trauma. North looked particularly stricken, his scent sharp with guilt as he realized his accident had triggered Way's flashback.

"Was that..." North started hesitantly, his voice low. "Was that one of the flashbacks you mentioned?"

Pete nodded, his arms still wrapped protectively around Way. "Yes," he said softly. "Sometimes the memories just... overwhelm him. They feel so real, so immediate. It's like he's living through it all over again."

Alan stepped forward, his usual gruff demeanor softened by concern. "Is there anything we can do?" he asked.

Pete shook his head slightly. "Just... give him space. Let him come back to himself. Too much stimulation right now could be overwhelming."

Way stirred in Pete's arms, his sobs subsiding into quiet sniffles. He pulled back slightly, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. "I want to go home," he whispered, his voice small and fragile.

Pete nodded immediately. "Of course," he said, pressing a gentle kiss to Way's forehead. "We'll go right now."

As Pete helped Way to his feet, supporting most of his weight, Babe burst through the garage door. He took in the scene before him, his eyes narrowing as he scented the distress in the air.

"What happened?" he demanded, moving towards Way and Pete with long strides.

Pete held up a hand, stopping Babe in his tracks. "Way had a flashback," he explained quickly. "We're heading home now. He needs some quiet and rest."

Babe's expression softened with understanding. He nodded, stepping back to clear a path to the door. "Call us when you get home," he said, his gruff voice gentler than usual. "Let us know how he's doing."

Pete nodded gratefully. "I will," he promised.

As Pete guided Way towards the door, the team parted silently, their faces a mix of concern and helplessness. North looked like he wanted to say something, but a quick shake of Pete's head silenced him. There would be time for apologies later. Right now, Way needed peace and quiet.

The drive back to Pete's penthouse was silent, save for the soft hum of the car's engine and Way's occasional shaky breaths. Pete kept one hand on the wheel and the other on Way's knee, a constant, reassuring presence.

As they pulled into the parking garage of Pete's building, Way finally spoke. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the car's engine shutting off.

Pete turned to him, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Sorry? Way, you have nothing to be sorry for."

Way shook his head, refusing to meet Pete's eyes. "I ruined everything," he said, his voice thick with unshed tears. "Everyone was so happy to have me back, and I... I had to go and fall apart like that."

Pete's heart clenched at the pain in Way's voice. He reached out, gently tilting Way's chin up until their eyes met. "Listen to me," he said firmly. "You have nothing to apologize for. What happened to you... it's not something you can just shake off. The team understands that. They're not upset with you, Way. They're worried about you. They want to help."

Way's lower lip trembled, but he nodded slightly. "I just... I want to be normal again," he whispered. "I want to stop being afraid all the time."

Pete pulled Way into his arms, holding him close. "I know," he murmured into Way's hair. "And you will. It'll take time, but you'll get there. And we'll all be right here with you, every step of the way."

They sat like that for a long moment, the silence of the parking garage wrapping around them like a cocoon. Finally, Way pulled back, wiping at his eyes. "Can we go up now?" he asked softly.

Pete nodded, pressing another gentle kiss to Way's forehead before getting out of the car. He hurried around to Way's side, opening the door and offering his hand. Way took it gratefully, allowing Pete to help him out of the car and towards the elevator.

As they rode up to the penthouse, Pete kept his arm wrapped securely around Way's waist, offering silent support. Way leaned into him, his eyes closed and his breathing slowly evening out.

Once inside the penthouse, Pete guided Way to the bedroom. "Why don't you lie down for a bit?" he suggested gently. "I'll make you some tea."

Way nodded, sinking onto the bed with a weary sigh. Pete helped him remove his shoes before pulling the covers over him. "Rest," he murmured, brushing Way's hair back from his forehead. "I'll be right back."

In the kitchen, Pete moved on autopilot, preparing Way's favorite chamomile tea. As he waited for the water to boil, he pulled out his phone, remembering his promise to Babe.

The call was answered on the first ring. "Pete?" Babe's gruff voice came through, tinged with concern. "How is he?"

Pete sighed, running a hand through his hair. "He's... he's resting now," he said. "The flashback took a lot out of him."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. "What can we do?" Babe asked finally. "There has to be something."

Pete smiled slightly at the frustration in Babe's voice. The alpha had never been good at feeling helpless. "Just... be patient," Pete said. "Way's worried that he's disappointed everyone. He needs to know that you're all still there for him, no matter what."

"Of course we are," Babe growled. "He's family. Nothing's going to change that."

Pete's smile widened. "I know," he said softly. "And deep down, I think Way knows that too. He just needs reminding sometimes."

They talked for a few more minutes, Pete reassuring Babe and the rest of the team that Way would be okay. By the time he hung up, the tea was ready.

Pete carried the steaming mug back to the bedroom, his steps quiet in case Way had fallen asleep. But as he entered the room, he found Way sitting up in bed, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them.

"Hey," Pete said softly, setting the tea on the nightstand. "How are you feeling?"

Way shrugged, his gaze fixed on some distant point. "I don't know," he admitted. "Everything feels... fuzzy. Like I'm not quite real."

Pete sat on the edge of the bed, close enough for Way to feel his presence but not crowding him. "That's normal after a flashback," he said gently. "It'll pass."

Way nodded absently, then turned to look at Pete. "The man in my memory," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The one I... I killed. Do you think he was real? Or just another part of whatever Tony did to me?"

Pete's heart ached at the pain and confusion in Way's eyes. "I don't know," he said honestly. "But Way, even if he was real, you were defending yourself. You didn't do anything wrong."

Way's eyes filled with tears again. "But I killed him, Pete," he whispered. "I took a life. How can that not be wrong?"

Pete reached out slowly, giving Way time to pull away if he wanted to. When Way didn't move, Pete gently took his hand. "Sometimes," he said carefully, "when we're in danger, we have to do things we never thought we were capable of. It doesn't make us bad people, Way. It makes us survivors."

Way looked down at their joined hands, his thumb tracing absent patterns on Pete's skin. "I don't feel like a survivor," he murmured. "I feel... broken."

Pete squeezed Way's hand gently. "You're not broken," he said firmly. "You're healing. And it's okay if that takes time. It's okay if it's messy and painful sometimes. What matters is that you're here, you're alive, and you're fighting. That's what makes you a survivor."

Way looked up at Pete, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. For a long moment, he was silent. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Okay," he whispered. "I... I'll try to remember that."

Pete smiled softly, reaching out to cup Way's cheek. "That's all anyone can ask," he murmured. "And remember, you're not alone in this. We're all here for you. Always."

Way leaned into Pete's touch, his eyes drifting closed. "Thank you," he whispered. "For everything."

As Way's breathing evened out, exhaustion finally claiming him, Pete settled in beside him. He knew the road ahead would be long and difficult. There would be more flashbacks, more moments of fear and doubt. But as he watched Way sleep, finally peaceful, Pete felt a surge of determination.

Whatever came next, whatever challenges they faced, they would face them together. And somehow, someway, they would find a way through.

The atmosphere following Way's intense flashback at the garage was fraught with tension and quiet worry. Pete had been hesitant to leave Way's side, his protective instincts in overdrive. But when the day of Way's scheduled appointment with Dr. Apinya Saetang arrived, Pete knew they couldn't postpone it. If anything, the recent events made the session even more crucial.

The drive to Dr. Saetang's office was quiet, the silence broken only by the soft hum of the car's engine and the occasional rustle of fabric as Way fidgeted in his seat. Pete kept glancing over, noting the tightness in Way's jaw, the slight tremor in his hands as they rested in his lap.

"Hey," Pete said softly as they pulled into the parking lot of the nondescript office building that housed Dr. Saetang's practice. "It's going to be okay. Dr. Saetang is here to help, remember?"

Way nodded, but his scent spiked with anxiety. "I know," he murmured. "I just... I don't want to disappoint her. Or you."

Pete's heart clenched at the vulnerability in Way's voice. He reached over, gently taking Way's hand in his own. "You could never disappoint me," he said firmly. "And Dr. Saetang isn't here to judge you. She's here to help you work through things at your own pace."

Way squeezed Pete's hand, offering a small, grateful smile. "Okay," he whispered. "I'll try to remember that."

As they made their way into the building, Pete kept a protective arm around Way's waist, offering silent support. The waiting room was mercifully empty when they arrived, the soft lighting and muted colors designed to create a calming atmosphere.

Dr. Saetang's assistant, a kind-faced beta woman, greeted them with a warm smile. "Way, Dr. Saetang is ready for you," she said gently. "You can go right in."

Way tensed, his scent spiking with anxiety once more. Pete gave him a reassuring squeeze. "I'll be right out here," he promised. "You've got this."

With a shaky nod, Way straightened his shoulders and made his way to Dr. Saetang's office. As the door closed behind him, Pete let out a long, slow breath, running a hand through his hair.

"Can I get you anything while you wait?" the assistant asked. "Water? Tea?"

Pete shook his head, offering a small smile. "No, thank you. I'm fine."

As the assistant returned to her desk, Pete settled into one of the comfortable chairs in the waiting area. He pulled out his phone, knowing he needed to make some calls while he waited. There was still so much to do, so many loose ends to tie up.

His first call was to Babe. The alpha answered on the second ring, his gruff voice tinged with concern. "Pete? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, we're at a psychiatrist's office," Pete replied, keeping his voice low. "I wanted to check in, see if there's been any news."

Babe grunted, frustration evident in his tone. "Nothing solid," he said. "There's been some chatter, whispers about Tony resurfacing, but nothing we can pin down. It's like chasing smoke."

Pete nodded, even though Babe couldn't see him. "Keep digging," he urged. "And Babe? Be careful. If Tony really is out there..."

"I know," Babe cut him off. "Don't worry about us. You just focus on taking care of Way."

After exchanging a few more words, Pete ended the call. He stared at his phone for a long moment, debating his next move. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he dialed a number he never thought he'd have in his contacts again.

Kenta answered on the first ring. "Pete," he said, his voice low and cautious. "I was about to call you."

Pete straightened in his chair, instantly on alert. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Not much," Kenta admitted, and Pete could hear the frustration in his voice. "That's what's worrying me. Since our release, Tony's been... quiet. Too quiet. Dean, Winner, and I have been on standby, but we haven't heard much of anything."

Pete's brow furrowed, a knot of unease forming in his stomach. "That doesn't sound like Tony," he murmured.

"No," Kenta agreed. "It doesn't. I don't like it, Pete. It feels like the calm before the storm."

Pete ran a hand over his face, feeling the weight of worry settling heavily on his shoulders. "Keep your eyes and ears open," he said. "And Kenta? Be careful. If Tony suspects you're not fully on board..."

"I know," Kenta cut him off. "Don't worry about me. Just... keep Way safe, okay?"

The genuine concern in Kenta's voice caught Pete off guard. "I will," he promised.

As he ended the call, Pete leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. Tony's silence was unsettling. It went against everything they knew about the man. What was he planning? What was his endgame?

Pete was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed the sound of Dr. Saetang's office door opening. He looked up to see the doctor herself standing there, her face a mask of professional calm.

"Pete?" she said softly. "Could you join us, please?"

Pete was on his feet in an instant, his heart racing. For Dr. Saetang to call him in during a session... something must be wrong. He followed her into the office, his eyes immediately seeking out Way.

The younger Enigma was sitting in one of the plush chairs, his head bowed and his hands wringing nervously in his lap. The scent of distress rolling off him was so strong it made Pete's nose itch.

Without hesitation, Pete moved to Way's side, kneeling beside his chair. "Hey," he said softly, reaching out to cover Way's fidgeting hands with his own. "I'm here. What's going on?"

Way didn't answer, but he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Pete's. Pete let his scent wash over Way, the familiar notes of sandalwood and mandarin acting as a balm to the younger man's frayed nerves.

Dr. Saetang allowed them their moment, her eyes soft with understanding as she watched the interaction. When Way's scent began to even out, losing some of its sharp edge of distress, she spoke.

"Pete," she began, her voice gentle but professional, "Way became quite agitated while recounting his most recent flashback. I thought it might be helpful to have you here."

Pete nodded, not moving from his position. He could feel Way trembling slightly against him, the younger man's scent a mix of fear and... shame? The realization made Pete's heart ache.

Dr. Saetang continued, her words careful and measured. "In Way's retelling of his recent memories, there were... allusions to attempted assault."

Pete felt as if he'd been doused in ice water. His scent spiked sharply with anger before he could control it, causing Way to whimper and press closer to him.

"Shh, it's okay," Pete murmured, forcing his scent to calm, to become soothing and protective rather than angry. "You're safe, Way. I've got you. No one's going to hurt you."

Dr. Saetang watched them closely, her eyes sharp and assessing. "Way," she said softly, "would you like to tell Pete what you told me? Or would you prefer it if I explained?"

Way was quiet for a long moment, his face still pressed against Pete's. Finally, he pulled back slightly, though he kept his eyes downcast. "I... I remembered more," he whispered. "About the man in the apartment. The one I... the one who died."

Pete nodded encouragingly, keeping his hands steady on Way's. "It's okay," he said softly. "You can tell me."

Way took a shaky breath. "He... he tried to touch me," he said, his voice barely audible. "Said that Tony was paying him to watch me but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. I was so scared, Pete. I didn't want him to touch me."

Pete felt a wave of protective fury wash over him, but he kept it carefully contained, not wanting to upset Way further. "You did what you had to do," he said firmly. "You protected yourself. That's nothing to be ashamed of, Way."

Way finally looked up, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "But I killed him," he whispered. "I took a life, Pete. How... how can I live with that?"

Dr. Saetang leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle but firm. "Way, we've talked about this," she said. "What happened was not your fault. You were in a situation where your life and bodily autonomy were threatened. Your actions were those of self-defense."

Pete nodded in agreement. "She's right, Way," he said. "You didn't do anything wrong. You survived. And I'm so, so grateful that you did."

Way's lower lip trembled, a tear finally escaping to trail down his cheek. "I just... I wish I could forget it all," he admitted. "I wish I could be normal again."

Pete reached up, gently wiping away Way's tear with his thumb. "You are normal," he said firmly. "You're healing from trauma, but that doesn't make you any less whole, any less worthy."

Dr. Saetang watched their interaction with a small smile. "Way," she said softly, "I think it might be helpful if Pete joined us for part of our next session. Would you be comfortable with that?"

Way looked surprised, but after a moment of consideration, he nodded. "I... I think I'd like that," he said quietly.

Pete squeezed Way's hands gently. "Whatever you need," he promised. "I'm here."

Dr. Saetang nodded, making a note in her pad. "I think that's enough for today," she said. "Way, you've made incredible progress. I know it doesn't always feel like it, but you should be proud of yourself."

As they prepared to leave, Dr. Saetang pulled Pete aside while Way gathered his things. "You're doing well with him," she said quietly. "Way is lucky to have someone so loving and patient in his corner."

Pete felt a warmth spread through his chest at her words. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "I just... I want to do right by him."

Dr. Saetang smiled. "You are," she assured him. "Just keep doing what you're doing. And remember, if you need support yourself, my door is always open."

Pete nodded gratefully before turning back to Way. The younger Enigma was standing by the door, his posture tense but his eyes clearer than they had been at the start of the session.

"Ready to go?" Pete asked softly, holding out his hand.

Way took it without hesitation, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as their fingers intertwined. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I'm ready."

As they made their way out of the office and back to the car, Pete kept Way close, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of Way's hand. The younger man's scent had evened out, the sharp edges of distress fading into something calmer, though still tinged with lingering sadness.

"How about we get some lunch?" Pete suggested as they reached the car. "There's that quiet little place by the river you like. We could get a table on the terrace, enjoy the fresh air."

Way's lips curved into a small but genuine smile. "That sounds nice," he said softly.

The drive to the restaurant was peaceful, the tension from earlier slowly dissipating as they left the city behind. Way gazed out the window, watching as the urban landscape gave way to more greenery, the river coming into view as they approached their destination.

The restaurant was a hidden gem, tucked away from the bustle of Bangkok. Its terrace overlooked the river, offering a tranquil view that never failed to soothe Way's frayed nerves. As they were led to their table, Pete kept a gentle hand on the small of Way's back, a constant, reassuring presence.

Once seated, Way seemed to relax further, his shoulders losing some of their rigidity as he took in the peaceful surroundings. Pete watched him, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. These moments of calm were precious, all the more so for their rarity.

"What are you in the mood for?" Pete asked softly, not wanting to disturb the tranquil atmosphere.

Way considered for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly in thought. "Maybe the khao soi?" he said, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "If... if that's okay?"

Pete's smile widened. "Of course it's okay," he said warmly. "Get whatever you want. This is about making you feel better, remember?"

A faint blush colored Way's cheeks, but he nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. When the waiter came, Pete ordered for both of them – khao soi for Way, green curry for himself, and a plate of fresh spring rolls to share.

As they waited for their food, Pete reached across the table, gently taking Way's hand in his own. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly. "After the session, I mean."

Way was quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on their joined hands. "I'm... I'm not sure," he admitted finally. "It's all still so jumbled in my head. But... I think talking about it helped. Even if it was hard."

Pete squeezed Way's hand gently. "I'm proud of you," he said, his voice warm with sincerity. "I know how difficult this is for you. But you're facing it head-on. That takes incredible strength, Way."

Way looked up, his eyes shimmering with emotion. "I couldn't do it without you," he said softly. "You... you make me feel safe, Pete. Like maybe... maybe I can get through this after all."

Pete felt his heart swell with love and protectiveness. "You can," he said firmly. "And you will. We'll do it together, every step of the way."

Their food arrived then, the aromatic scents of lemongrass, coconut, and spices filling the air. Way's eyes lit up at the sight of his khao soi, the creamy coconut soup steaming invitingly.

As they ate, Pete kept the conversation light, telling Way about some of the more amusing mishaps at the garage, carefully avoiding any mention of Tony or the looming threat they faced. Way laughed softly at Pete's stories, the sound warming Pete's heart.

It was only as they were finishing their meal that Way broached the subject they'd both been avoiding. "Pete," he said hesitantly, pushing the last bit of his food around. "What... what's going to happen now? With Tony out there somewhere..."

Pete set down his fork, giving Way his full attention. "We're doing everything we can to find him," he said, his voice low and serious. "Babe and the others are following every lead, no matter how small. And we've got... unexpected allies helping too."

Way nodded, his brow furrowing. "You mean Kenta," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Pete admitted. "I know it's strange, but he seems genuinely want to help. To make amends, I think."

Way was quiet for a long moment, his scent a complex mix of emotions that Pete couldn't quite decipher. "Do you trust him?" he asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Pete considered the question carefully. "I trust that he wants to stop Tony," he said slowly. "Beyond that... I'm cautious. But right now, we need all the help we can get."

Way nodded, seeming to accept this. "I'm scared, Pete," he admitted, his voice small. "What if... what if Tony finds me again? What if he takes me away?"

Pete reached across the table, taking both of Way's hands in his own. "Listen to me," he said, his voice low and intense. "I will never let that happen. Never. You're safe with me, Way. I promise."

Way's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but he nodded, squeezing Pete's hands. "I believe you," he whispered.

As they left the restaurant, Pete kept Way close, his arm wrapped protectively around the younger man's waist. The future was uncertain, fraught with dangers they couldn't yet see. But in this moment, with Way safe beside him, Pete felt content.

Chapter Text

The days following Way's appointment with Dr. Saetang were a delicate balance of recovery and cautious optimism. Pete watched Way closely, noting every small improvement with a mixture of pride and relief.

It was on the third day after the appointment that Way approached Pete, his demeanor a mix of nervousness and determination. "I think... I think I'm ready to go back to the garage," he said softly, his eyes searching Pete's face for a reaction.

Pete felt a surge of pride at Way's courage, even as worry gnawed at his insides. "Are you sure?" he asked gently, reaching out to cup Way's face. "There's no rush, you know. We can wait as long as you need."

Way leaned into Pete's touch, closing his eyes briefly. "I'm sure," he said, his voice stronger now. "I can't... I can't let fear control me forever. And I miss everyone."

Pete nodded, understanding the mix of emotions Way must be feeling. "Okay," he said softly. "We'll go tomorrow. And if at any point you feel overwhelmed, just say the word and we'll leave, no questions asked."

Way's smile was small but genuine, warming Pete's heart. Before Pete could react, Way leaned in and pressed a soft, quick kiss to his lips. Pete's eyes widened in surprise, his heart skipping a beat at the unexpected gesture. They had shared countless forehead kisses and embraces, but this was their first kiss on the lips.

As Way pulled back, a faint blush coloring his cheeks, Pete felt a rush of emotions — joy, love, and a fierce protectiveness. But he was careful not to push, not to make Way feel pressured or uncomfortable, especially given the recent memory of attempted assault that had resurfaced.

"Thank you," Way whispered, his eyes searching Pete's face for any sign of discomfort.

Pete smiled softly, running his thumb gently along Way's cheekbone. "You never have to thank me," he said warmly. "I'm here for you, always. At your pace, whatever you need."

The next morning dawned bright and clear, as if the weather itself was trying to bolster Way's courage. As they drove to the garage, Pete kept glancing over at Way, noting the way the younger Enigma's hands twisted nervously in his lap.

"Remember," Pete said softly as they pulled into the garage's parking lot, "we can leave anytime you want. No one will think any less of you."

Way nodded, taking a deep breath. "I know," he said. "But I want to do this. I need to."

As they entered the garage, the familiar scents of motor oil, leather, and the unique blend of their pack's scents washed over them. For a moment, Way tensed, his eyes darting around as if searching for potential threats. But then, as the team came into view, their faces lighting up at the sight of Way, he relaxed slightly.

"Way!" North called out, his voice a mix of excitement and relief. "It's so good to see you, man!"

The others echoed the sentiment, their scents a whirlwind of joy and concern. But before anyone could approach, a new scent cut through the air — sweet and floral, with an undercurrent of something distinctly omega.

"Way?" a soft voice called out, and suddenly a blur of movement caught everyone's attention.

Pete felt Way stiffen beside him as a slender figure pushed through the group, brown eyes wide with disbelief and shock. Sonic, the pack's resident fashionista and omega, stood before them, his scent a potent mix of joy, confusion, and a hint of anger.

For a moment, everyone held their breath, unsure of how this reunion would unfold. Pete's hand twitched, instinctively wanting to pull Way behind him, to shield him from potential overwhelm. But he held back, knowing that Way needed to face these moments on his own terms.

Sonic's eyes darted between Way and the rest of the team, his expression a whirlwind of emotions. "You're alive," he whispered, his voice thick with disbelief. "You're really alive."

Without warning, he surged forward, wrapping Way in a tight embrace. Way stiffened for a moment, clearly caught off guard, but then slowly brought his arms up to return the hug.

"I can't believe it," Sonic murmured, his voice muffled against Way's shoulder. "We thought... I thought..."

As they embraced, Pete noticed Sonic's scent shift, a sharp note of irritation cutting through the joy. The omega pulled back, keeping his hands on Way's shoulders as he turned to face the rest of the team, his eyes narrowing.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" he demanded, his gaze settling on North. "I had to find out from a phone call? Days after you all knew?"

North shifted uncomfortably under Sonic's glare. "We... we didn't want to interfere with your work," he said, his scent tinged with guilt. "You were living your dream in the fashion industry, and it's only been a few days since we found out ourselves."

Sonic's eyes flashed with hurt and anger. "A few days too long," he retorted, his voice sharp. "You should have called me the moment you found out. I care more about Way than any career."

The tension in the room was palpable, everyone's scents a mix of guilt, anxiety, and lingering joy at Way's presence. Way himself seemed overwhelmed, his eyes darting between Sonic and the others.

"I'm sorry," Pete said, stepping forward. "We should have told you immediately, Sonic. You're right. We were just trying to protect Way, to give him time to adjust. But you deserved to know."

Sonic's expression softened slightly at Pete's words. He turned back to Way, his eyes scanning the younger Enigma's face as if memorizing every detail. "Are you okay?" he asked softly. "Really okay?"

Way managed a small smile, though Pete could sense the exhaustion and emotional strain behind it. "I'm... I'm getting there," he said quietly. "It's been... a lot. But having everyone here, it helps."

Sonic nodded, his scent shifting to something more protective. "Well, I'm here now," he said firmly. "And I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you need, Way, I'm here."

As the initial shock of the reunion settled, Pete guided everyone to the comfortable seating area they had set up in one corner of the garage. Way positioned himself between Pete and Sonic, seemingly drawing comfort from both of them. Pete felt a warmth spread through his chest as Way's knee pressed against his own, a small but significant gesture of trust and need for proximity.

Sonic, his omega instincts in full force, fussed over Way, adjusting cushions and asking if he needed water or a snack. Way endured the attention with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude, his scent a complex blend of emotions that Pete couldn't quite decipher.

Once everyone was settled, an expectant hush fell over the group. Pete knew they were all bursting with questions, concerns, and expressions of support. But before anyone could speak, he cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

"I got a call from Kenta the other day," he said, his voice low but carrying easily in the quiet garage. He felt Way tense slightly beside him at the mention of Kenta's name, and he instinctively reached out, placing a comforting hand on Way's knee.

"What did he say?" Alan asked, his alpha voice rumbling with concern.

Pete shook his head slightly. "Not much, and that's what's worrying. Tony's been... quiet. Too quiet. Kenta’s keeping his eyes and ears open, but he hasn't heard much of anything."

A ripple of unease passed through the group. They all knew Tony well enough to know that his silence was more threatening than any overt action.

"That doesn't sound like Tony," Babe growled, his alpha scent spiking with protective fury. "What's he playing at?"

"I don't know," Pete admitted. "But I've got men out there searching. We're following every lead, no matter how small."

Way shifted beside him, his demeanor tense. Pete squeezed his knee gently, a silent reassurance that he was safe, that they were all there to protect him.

"So what do we do now?" North asked, his usually cheerful face serious. "We can't just sit around waiting for Tony to make a move."

Alan was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of his position as pack alpha. "I think we should all stay together for now," he said. "Safety in numbers. My house is big enough for all of us. We can set up a command center there, coordinate our efforts to find Tony."

The team nodded in agreement, their scents a mix of determination and relief at having a plan. But Pete felt Way tense beside him, anxiety radiating off him in waves.

"Way?" Pete said softly, turning to look at the younger man. "What's wrong?"

Way bit his lip, his eyes downcast. "I... I don't know if that's a good idea," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if... what if being in Alan's house triggers more memories? More flashbacks? I don't want to cause problems for everyone."

Pete's heart clenched at the pain and worry in Way's voice. Before he could respond, however, the others chimed in.

"Way, you're not a problem," Sonic said firmly, reaching out to take Way's hand. "You're family. We want to help you, no matter what."

"Sonic's right," Alan added, his voice gentle but firm. "We're a pack. We face our challenges together. If you have flashbacks, we'll help you through them. You're not alone in this, Way."

The others echoed their agreement, their scents filled with love and support. Way looked around at them all, his expression a mix of gratitude and lingering uncertainty.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice small and vulnerable. "I don't want to be a burden."

"You could never be a burden," Pete said softly, wrapping an arm around Way's shoulders and pulling him close. "We love you, Way. All of us. Let us help you. Let us keep you safe."

Way was quiet for a long moment, leaning into Pete's embrace. Finally, he nodded slightly. "Okay," he whispered. "If... if you're all sure."

A collective sigh of relief went through the group. Sonic squeezed Way's hand, offering a warm smile. "It'll be like a big sleepover," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "We can have movie nights and everything."

Way managed a small smile at that, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "That... that sounds nice," he admitted.

As the team began to discuss logistics — who would bring what, how they'd set up security at Alan's house — Pete kept his arm around Way, offering silent support and comfort. He could sense the younger Enigma's exhaustion, the emotional toll of the day weighing heavily on him.

"Do you want to head home?" Pete murmured, his lips close to Way's ear. "We can start packing and come back tomorrow."

Way nodded, relief evident in his demeanor. "Please," he whispered. "I'm... I'm tired."

Pete looked up, catching Alan's eye. The pack alpha nodded in understanding, a small smile on his face. "Why don't you two head back and rest?" he suggested. "We'll handle things here and keep you updated. Come by tomorrow when you're ready, and we'll all head to my place together."

The others voiced their agreement, their scents a mix of concern for Way and determination to protect their pack. As Pete and Way stood to leave, Sonic pulled Way into another hug.

"I'm so glad you're back," the omega whispered. "We missed you so much. And I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner."

Way returned the hug, his expression softening with gratitude and affection. "It's okay," he murmured. "You're here now. That's what matters."

As they made their way out of the garage, the team called out goodbyes and reassurances. Pete kept his arm around Way, supporting him as they walked to the car.

The drive back to Pete's penthouse was quiet, Way's exhaustion evident in the way he slumped in his seat, his eyes half-closed. Pete reached over, taking Way's hand in his own, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of Way's hand.

"I'm proud of you," Pete said softly as they pulled into the parking garage of his building. "You did really well today."

Way turned to look at him, a small, tired smile on his face. "Really?" he asked, his voice laced with uncertainty.

Pete nodded, bringing Way's hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. "Really," he confirmed. "You faced your fears, you let the pack support you. That takes incredible strength, Way."

Way's expression warmed with pride and love. "Thank you," he whispered. "For being there. For... for everything."

As they made their way up to the penthouse, Pete kept Way close, his arm wrapped protectively around the younger man's waist. Inside, the familiar surroundings seemed to further relax Way, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

"Why don't you rest for a bit?" Pete suggested, guiding Way towards the bedroom. "I'll start gathering some things for us to pack."

Way nodded, fatigue clear in every line of his body. "Okay," he murmured. "But... will you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep?"

Pete's heart swelled with love and protectiveness. "Of course," he said softly. "Whatever you need."

As Way settled into bed, Pete lay down beside him, pulling the younger man close. Way curled into Pete's embrace, his face pressed against Pete's chest, taking comfort in his presence.

"Pete?" Way murmured, his voice already heavy with impending sleep.

"Hm?"

"Do you... do you think we'll be okay? At Alan's house, I mean?"

Pete pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Way's head. "We will," he said firmly. "We're stronger together, Way. And no matter what happens, I'll be right there with you. Always."

Way nodded slightly, his body relaxing further as sleep began to claim him. "Thank you," he whispered, the words barely audible.

"Always," Pete murmured, holding Way close as the younger man drifted off to sleep.

As Way's breathing evened out, Pete allowed himself a moment of quiet reflection. The road ahead was fraught with danger they couldn't yet see. But in this moment, with Way safe in his arms, surrounded by the love and support of their pack, Pete felt a glimmer of hope.

With that thought, Pete closed his eyes, allowing himself to rest alongside Way. Whatever came next, they would face it together. As a pack. As a family. And Pete silently vowed that he would do whatever it took to keep Way safe, to help him heal, to give him the life and love he deserved.

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the bedroom. Way stirred, his eyes fluttering open to find Pete already awake, watching him with a soft smile.

"Morning," Pete murmured, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from Way's forehead. "How are you feeling?"

Way took a moment to assess himself, the events of the previous day washing over him. "Nervous," he admitted quietly. "But... okay, I think. Better with you here."

Pete's smile widened, his scent wrapping around Way like a comforting blanket. "I'm not going anywhere," he promised. "We'll face this together, remember?"

They went through their morning routine in comfortable silence, the air thick with anticipation for the day ahead. As they finished packing the last of their belongings, Way paused, his hand resting on a framed photo of the team.

"Pete?" he said softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "What if... what if I have a flashback at Alan's? What if I can't handle being there?"

Pete moved to Way's side, gently taking the photo from his hands and setting it aside. He cupped Way's face, his touch feather-light but grounding. "Then we'll deal with it," he said firmly. "And if it becomes too much, we'll leave. No questions asked. Okay?"

Way nodded, leaning into Pete's touch. "Okay," he whispered. "Thank you."

The drive to the garage was filled with a tense silence, both men lost in their own thoughts. As they pulled into the familiar lot, Way's scent spiked with anxiety. Pete reached over, taking Way's hand in his own and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Ready?" he asked softly.

Way took a deep breath, steadying himself. "As I'll ever be," he replied with a small, determined nod.

The garage was a flurry of activity when they entered. The team moved with practiced efficiency, stowing equipment and preparing the space for an extended absence. Way stood close to Pete, watching as their family worked in seamless coordination.

North was carefully covering the cars with protective tarps, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by focused determination. Alan and Jeff were in the office, sorting through paperwork and locking away important documents. Kim moved from station to station, double-checking that everything was in its proper place.

Babe approached them, his alpha scent tinged with a mix of concern and resolve. "Everything okay?" he asked, his eyes scanning Way's face for any signs of distress.

Way managed a small smile. "Yeah," he said softly. "It's... it's good to see everyone working together like this."

Babe's expression softened. "We're a team," he said warmly. "A family. And we take care of our own."

As the last of the equipment was stored and the final checks were made, a somber atmosphere settled over the group. This wasn't just about closing up shop for a while; it was a tangible reminder of the threat that loomed over them.

Sonic was the last to join them, having finished locking up the closet full of car parts in the corner of the garage. His omega scent was laced with worry as he approached Way, pulling him into a gentle hug.

"You okay?" he murmured, his voice low enough that only Way and Pete could hear.

Way nodded against Sonic's shoulder. "I'm okay," he assured him. "Just... taking it one step at a time."

As they pulled apart, Alan cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Alright, team," he said, his voice carrying the weight of his position as pack alpha. "We're all set here. Let's head out. Stay alert, and if anyone notices anything suspicious, speak up immediately."

The drive to Alan's house was tense, each car following a pre-arranged route to ensure they weren't being followed. Way sat in the passenger seat of Pete's car, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. Pete kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting reassuringly on Way's knee.

As they pulled up to Alan's sprawling property, Way felt his heart rate increase. The house loomed before them, a place that had once been a second home but now held so many conflicting emotions.

Pete parked the car, turning to face Way fully. "Hey," he said softly, waiting until Way met his eyes. "Remember, we can leave anytime you want. No pressure, okay?"

Way nodded, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "Okay," he whispered. "Let's do this."

They climbed out of the car, Pete grabbing their bags before taking Way's hand. As they approached the house, Way could feel the eyes of the team on him, their concern palpable in the air. He kept his gaze fixed on the door, drawing strength from Pete's presence beside him.

Crossing the threshold, Way braced himself for a flood of memories, for the panic that had become all too familiar. But as he stepped inside, he found himself enveloped in the comforting scents of pack and home. There was no immediate flashback, no overwhelming surge of emotion. Instead, he felt a strange sense of calm wash over him.

Pete watched Way carefully, noting the slight glaze that came over his eyes. He recognized the signs of dissociation, a coping mechanism Way had developed to deal with overwhelming situations. But Way's scent remained calm, his body relaxed, so Pete decided not to intervene immediately.

Quietly, he handed their bags to Alan, who nodded in understanding and moved to take them upstairs. The rest of the team, sensing the delicate nature of the moment, made themselves scarce. North and Sonic headed for the kitchen, while Jeff and Kim retreated to their designated rooms. Babe lingered for a moment, concern evident in his eyes, before Charlie gently guided him away, leaving Pete and Way alone in the entryway.

Way's eyes roamed the familiar space, taking in the photos on the walls, the well-worn furniture, the subtle signs of a house well-lived in and loved. Memories washed over him – movie nights curled up on the couch, boisterous team dinners, quiet moments of camaraderie. The good memories far outweighed the bad, he realized with a start.

Slowly, Way came back to himself, blinking as if waking from a dream. He turned to Pete, who was watching him with patient concern. "I'm okay," he said softly, offering a small but genuine smile. "There are... there are a lot of memories here. But mostly good ones."

Pete's relief was palpable, his scent wrapping around Way like a warm embrace. "That's good," he murmured, reaching out to cup Way's cheek. "Do you want to rest for a bit? Or join the others?"

Way leaned into Pete's touch, drawing strength from the contact. "Let's join the others," he decided. "I... I think I need to be around pack right now."

Pete nodded, his thumb tracing a gentle arc across Way's cheekbone before he dropped his hand, instead intertwining their fingers. "Whatever you need," he said softly.

They made their way upstairs, following the sound of Alan's movements. They found him in one of the guest rooms, setting their bags down. As they entered, Alan turned, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"I, uh, I hope it's okay that I put your bags in the same room," he said, his usually confident alpha demeanor softened by uncertainty. "I shouldn't have assumed... I can set up another room for Way if you prefer."

Way felt a warmth spread through his chest at Alan's considerate offer. He glanced at Pete, seeking reassurance, and found nothing but love and support in the other man's eyes. "It's okay," Way said softly, turning back to Alan. "I'd... I'd like to stay with Pete, if that's alright."

Alan's expression softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Of course it's alright," he said warmly. "Whatever makes you most comfortable, Way. This is your home too, remember?"

The words hit Way with unexpected force, bringing a lump to his throat. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Pete squeezed his hand gently, a silent show of support.

As they made their way back downstairs, the scents of the pack mingled in the air, creating a comforting atmosphere that helped ease some of Way's lingering tension. They found the others gathered in the living room, voices low as they discussed their next steps.

Sonic was the first to notice their arrival, his face lighting up as he made room on the couch. "Come sit," he said, patting the space beside him. "We were just about to order some food. Any preferences?"

Way settled onto the couch, Pete a comforting presence beside him. As the team debated menu options, Way found himself relaxing further, the familiar banter washing over him like a soothing balm.

They eventually settled on a variety of dishes from their favorite Thai place, a decision that brought a small smile to Way's face. It was such a normal, everyday thing – ordering takeout with family – and yet it felt profoundly significant in the face of everything they were dealing with.

As they waited for the food to arrive, the conversation turned to more serious matters. Babe gave an update on his latest intelligence gathering efforts, his voice low and serious. "Still no solid leads on Tony," he reported, frustration evident in his tone. "It's like he's gone completely off the grid."

A tense silence fell over the group, the ever-present threat of Tony hanging heavily in the air. Way felt Pete stiffen beside him, the older Enigma's protective instincts flaring. Without thinking, Way reached out, placing a hand on Pete's knee. Pete covered Way's hand with his own, their fingers intertwining.

"We'll find him," Alan said firmly, his alpha voice carrying a note of determination that seemed to bolster everyone's spirits. "And when we do, we'll end this. Once and for all."

The team nodded in agreement, their scents a mix of determination and protective fury. Way felt a surge of gratitude wash over him, amazed once again by the strength and loyalty of his pack.

A knock at the door cut through the moment, causing everyone to tense. Alan held up a hand, silently signaling for everyone to stay put as he moved towards the entrance. Way felt Pete shift slightly, angling his body in a subtly protective stance.

“It’s probably just the food,” the alpha called over his shoulder, uncertainty evident in his voice.

Alan approached the door cautiously, his posture alert. He peered through the peephole, his body language relaxing slightly as he reached for the handle.

But as the door swung open, it wasn't the delivery person standing there. Instead, a battered and bloodied figure stumbled forward, collapsing into Alan's arms.

"Kenta?" Alan's shocked exclamation rang out, his arms instinctively moving to catch the falling man.

The room erupted into chaos. Pete was on his feet in an instant, placing himself between Way and the door. Kim and Jeff rushed forward to help Alan, while Babe and the others hung back, their eyes wide with shock.

Way felt his heart racing, his mind struggling to process the scene before him. Kenta, the man who had once been their enemy, now lay unconscious in Alan's arms, his face a mess of bruises and cuts.

As Alan and Kim carefully maneuvered Kenta onto the nearby couch, Way found himself moving closer, drawn by a mix of curiosity and concern. Pete's arm shot out, holding him back, but Way gently pushed past it.

"It's okay," he murmured to Pete, even as his eyes remained fixed on Kenta's battered form. "I... I need to see."

Pete reluctantly lowered his arm, but stayed close, his presence a comforting shadow at Way's back.

Charlie, who had remained quiet until this point, was already examining Kenta's injuries. "He's been beaten pretty badly," he reported, his voice neutral but tinged with concern. "Some of these cuts look deep. We need to clean and dress them."

As the team bustled around, gathering first aid supplies and discussing what to do next, Way found himself frozen in place, his eyes locked on Kenta's unconscious face. This man, who had once been a source of fear and uncertainty, now lay vulnerable before them. And yet, he had come to them – whether by choice or necessity, Way wasn't sure.

A gentle hand on his shoulder startled Way from his thoughts. He looked up to find Pete watching him with a mix of concern and understanding. "You okay?" Pete asked softly, his thumb tracing soothing circles on Way's shoulder.

Way took a deep breath, considering the question. Was he okay? He wasn't sure. But as he looked around at his pack – at his family – all working together to help someone who had once been their enemy, he felt a strange sense of peace settle over him.

"I think so," he said finally, leaning into Pete's touch. "It's just... a lot to process."

Pete nodded, pulling Way closer. "I know," he murmured. "But we're here. All of us. We'll figure this out."

As the chaos around them continued, Way allowed himself to sink into Pete's embrace, drawing strength from the older man's presence. Whatever came next – whatever Kenta's arrival meant for their fight against Tony – they would face it head on, and put an end to everything once and for all.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Way stood in the kitchen doorway, his eyes fixed on the scene before him. Sun rays painted intricate patterns on the floor, creating a serene atmosphere as Kenta lay unconscious on the couch. Kim moved with quiet efficiency, tending to Kenta's wounds with a gentleness that seemed at odds with his usually stoic demeanor.

Way couldn't help but marvel at the change in Kim. The alpha, typically reserved and aloof, had barely left Kenta's side since the injured man had collapsed in their doorway the night before. Now, in the quiet of the morning, Kim's face was a mask of concentration as he carefully cleaned and redressed Kenta's injuries.

The sound of soft footsteps behind him made Way turn. Pete approached, two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands. He offered one to Way with a soft smile, his eyes reflecting the same mix of concern and curiosity that Way felt.

"How is he?" Pete asked quietly, his gaze moving to Kenta's still form.

Way accepted the mug gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma before taking a sip. "Still unconscious," he murmured. "But Kim's been taking good care of him. He hasn't left Kenta's side all night."

Pete nodded, his free hand coming to rest on Way's waist. His thumb slipped under the hem of Way's shirt, tracing soothing circles against his skin. The touch was grounding, a reminder of safety and comfort amidst the uncertainty that hung in the air.

"Kim's been with him all night?" Pete asked, his voice tinged with surprise.

Way nodded, leaning into Pete's touch. "Yeah, it's... it's kind of strange, isn't it? I've never seen Kim so... invested in someone's well-being before."

Jeff's voice, quiet but clear, came from behind them. "It's not that strange, actually," he said, moving to join them in the doorway. His eyes were tired, dark circles beneath them speaking of a restless night. "Kenta... he helped Kim escape from Tony in the past."

Way and Pete turned to Jeff, their expressions a mix of surprise and curiosity. Jeff ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his voice low as he continued.

"It was back when Kim was Tony's prisoner. Kenta was the one who treated his wounds, kept him alive. And later, he helped set Kim free. I think... I think Kim feels indebted to him."

The revelation settled over them, casting Kenta's presence and Kim's behavior in a new light. Way found himself looking at Kenta with fresh eyes, seeing not just the man who had once been their enemy, but someone capable of compassion and sacrifice.

As the morning progressed, the rest of the team slowly filtered downstairs, each of them bearing the signs of a restless night. North's usually cheerful demeanor was subdued, his eyes constantly darting to Kenta's still form. Babe moved with a tense alertness, his alpha instincts clearly on high alert. Sonic, ever the nurturer, busied himself in the kitchen, preparing a light breakfast for everyone.

The house was filled with a strange mix of tension and exhaustion. Everyone moved quietly, careful not to disturb Kenta or to break the fragile calm that had settled over them. Conversations were held in hushed tones, punctuated by worried glances towards the living room.

Way found himself unable to stray far from the scene. He and Pete settled on the stairs, close enough to keep an eye on things but far enough to give Kim space. Pete's arm remained a constant presence around Way's waist, his touch a soothing balm to Way's frayed nerves.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Way asked softly, his eyes fixed on Kenta's bruised face.

Pete was quiet for a moment, considering. "I hope so," he said finally. "His injuries... they're not life-threatening. But whatever happened to him, whatever drove him to come here... that's what worries me."

Way nodded, understanding the implication. Kenta's appearance wasn't just about his physical injuries. It was a sign that something had gone terribly wrong in their ongoing struggle against Tony.

As the morning stretched into afternoon, the team fell into a sort of uneasy routine. Alan and Babe huddled in the kitchen, speaking in low voices as they discussed security measures and potential threats. Sonic flitted about, making sure everyone ate and drank, his omega instincts in full nurturing mode. North and Charlie took turns patrolling the perimeter of the house, their vigilance a stark reminder of the danger that lurked beyond their walls.

Through it all, Kim remained a constant presence at Kenta's side. His dedication was both touching and slightly unnerving, a reminder of the complex web of relationships and histories that bound them all together.

It was nearing mid-afternoon when Kenta finally stirred. The change was subtle at first – a slight twitch of his fingers, a furrowing of his brow. But Kim noticed immediately, his posture tensing as he leaned closer.

"Kenta?" Kim's voice was soft, barely audible from where Way and Pete sat. "Can you hear me?"

Kenta's eyes fluttered open, unfocused and clouded with pain. He blinked slowly, confusion evident on his face as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

"Where...?" Kenta's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Kim leaned in, his hand hovering uncertainly over Kenta's arm. "You're safe," he said quietly. "You're at Alan's house. Do you remember what happened?"

Kenta's brow furrowed deeper, a look of concentration crossing his face. Suddenly, his eyes widened, a flash of panic crossing his features. "Pete," he gasped, trying to sit up. "I need to talk to Pete."

Kim gently but firmly pushed Kenta back down. "Easy," he murmured. "You're hurt. I'll get Pete for you, okay? Just... just stay still."

Kim looked up, his eyes meeting Pete's across the room. There was a moment of hesitation, a flicker of something – protectiveness, or jealousy? – in Kim's gaze before he nodded, silently giving Pete permission to approach.

Pete squeezed Way's hand reassuringly before standing. He moved towards the couch slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements that might startle either Kim or Kenta.

"I'm here, Kenta," Pete said softly as he reached the couch. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

Kenta's eyes locked onto Pete, a mix of relief and urgency in his gaze. "Tony," he managed to croak out. "He... he knew. About me contacting you."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Way felt a chill run down his spine, the reality of the danger they faced crashing over him anew. Pete's face hardened, his jaw clenching as he processed the information.

"He found out you were helping us," Pete said, his voice low and controlled. "And he did this to you as punishment."

Kenta nodded weakly, wincing at the movement. "I... I went to your penthouse first," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you and Way weren't there. I didn't know where else to go, so I came here to Alan's. I'm sorry for bringing this to your doorstep, but I..."

Pete cut him off with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You did the right thing," he said firmly. "You're safe here, Kenta. We'll take care of you."

The sincerity in Pete's voice seemed to ease some of the tension in Kenta's body. He nodded slightly, his eyes already beginning to droop with exhaustion.

"Rest now," Pete said softly. "We'll talk more when you're stronger."

As Kenta slipped back into unconsciousness, Pete straightened, his eyes meeting Kim's. There was a moment of silent communication between them, an understanding passing without words. Kim nodded once, resuming his position at Kenta's side as Pete made his way back to Way.

The team gathered in the kitchen, their faces grave as they processed this new development. Alan leaned against the counter, his alpha presence a steadying force in the room.

"So," he said, his voice low, "Tony knows Kenta was helping us. That changes things."

Babe nodded, his expression grim. "It means we've lost our inside source of information," he said. "And it means Tony's probably on high alert now. He'll be expecting us to make a move."

"But we can't just sit here and do nothing," North interjected, frustration evident in his voice. "We can't let Tony think he's won."

"We won't," Pete said firmly, his arm tightening around Way's waist. "But right now, our priority has to be keeping everyone safe. That includes Kenta."

There was a murmur of agreement from the group. Despite their history with Kenta, his actions in helping them – and the price he had paid for it – had earned him a place under their protection.

"So what's our next move?" Sonic asked, his usually cheerful face serious.

Alan was quiet for a moment, considering. "For now, we focus on getting Kenta back on his feet," he said finally. "He might have more information that could help us. In the meantime, we double down on security. No one goes anywhere alone. We stay alert, we stay together."

The team nodded, a sense of purpose settling over them. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was something to focus on, a direction to move in amidst the uncertainty.

As the others dispersed to their various tasks – Sonic to prepare some food for when Kenta woke up, Babe and North to review their security measures, Jeff to relieve Kim for a bit – Way found himself drawn back to the living room.

He settled on the far end of the room, curling up in a plush armchair that offered a clear view of Kenta's sleeping form. Pete joined him without a word, perching on the arm of the chair and pulling Way close.

"You okay?" Pete murmured, his lips close to Way's ear.

Way considered the question, taking stock of his emotions. He was worried, yes. Scared, definitely. But as he looked around at his pack – at Kim's unwavering vigil, at Sonic's nurturing care, at the protective presence of the alphas – he realized something.

"I think I am," he said softly, surprising himself with the truth of it. "I'm scared, but... I feel safe. Here, with all of you."

Pete's arms tightened around him, a soft kiss pressed to his temple. "Good," he whispered. "Because you are safe, Way. I promise you that. No matter what happens, I will protect you."

Way leaned into Pete's embrace, letting the warmth and security of it wash over him.

As the afternoon light began to fade, casting long shadows across the room, Way found himself drifting. The events of the past day, the emotional rollercoaster they had all been on, began to take their toll. His eyes grew heavy, his body relaxing further into Pete's embrace.

Pete, ever attuned to Way's needs, noticed immediately. Without a word, he shifted, maneuvering them both so that Way was cradled more comfortably against his chest. One hand came up to card gently through Way's hair, the rhythmic motion soothing and hypnotic.

As he held Way close, Pete began to scent him, releasing soothing pheromones that enveloped them both in a cocoon of comfort and safety.

"Rest, love," Pete murmured, his voice a low rumble that Way could feel as much as hear. "I've got you."

Way wanted to protest, to insist that he needed to stay awake, to be alert. But the safety of Pete's arms, the steady beat of his heart under Way's ear, and the calming scent surrounding him were too compelling to resist. His eyes fluttered closed, his breathing evening out as he allowed himself to be lulled by Pete's presence.

A soft purr began to build in Way's chest, a contented sound that vibrated gently between them.

As Way drifted off, Pete continued his gentle ministrations, his eyes alert as they scanned the room. He watched Kim tend to Kenta with unwavering dedication, noted the way the others moved quietly through the house, always keeping an eye on their injured guest.

In the quiet of the afternoon, with Way safe in his arms and their pack around them, Pete allowed himself a moment of hope. They had faced impossible odds before and come out the other side. Whatever Tony had planned, whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

Kenta’s recovery was a blur of tension and careful routines as the team fell into a rhythm. Despite the awkward past, they rallied around him, supporting the alpha’s gradual return to normalcy.

Kim's devotion to Kenta's care was unwavering. From the moment Kenta had collapsed on their doorstep, Kim had taken on the role of primary caretaker with a single-minded determination that surprised even those who knew him best. He changed bandages, administered medication, and ensured Kenta's comfort with a gentleness that seemed at odds with his usually stoic demeanor.

Only Jeff was allowed to relieve Kim, and even then, it was clear that Kim was reluctant to leave Kenta's side. Jeff's past relationship with Kenta seemed to be the only thing that made Kim comfortable enough to take brief respites.

Way watched this dynamic with a mix of curiosity and concern. He didn’t know Kim well, but he’d also never seen someone so invested in Kenta’s well-being before, and it was both touching and slightly unnerving. There was a protective gleam in Kim's eyes whenever he looked at Kenta, a tension in his shoulders that only slightly eased as Kenta's condition improved.

As the days passed, Kenta's strength slowly returned. The bruises on his face began to fade from angry purples to sickly yellows and greens. He was able to sit up for longer periods, eat more substantial meals, and engage in longer conversations without exhaustion overtaking him.

It was on the fifth day after Kenta's arrival that the team gathered for a more in-depth discussion about the events that had led him to their door. They assembled in the spacious living room, with Kenta propped up on the couch, still looking pale but significantly more alert than he had been.

Alan took charge of the meeting, his status as pack alpha a steadying force in the room. "Alright, Kenta," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "I think it's time we got the full story. What exactly happened with Tony?"

Kenta's eyes flicked nervously around the room, taking in the concerned faces of the team. His gaze lingered on Kim for a moment, drawing strength from the alpha's unwavering support, before he took a deep breath and began to speak.

"Tony... he finally came to visit us," Kenta said, his voice still rough from disuse. "Me, Dean, and Winner. We were hiding out in this small apartment on the outskirts of Bangkok. It wasn't much, but we thought we were safe there."

He paused, swallowing hard. Kim immediately handed him a glass of water, which Kenta accepted with a grateful nod before continuing.

"Tony wasted no time. The moment he walked in, I knew something was wrong. The look in his eyes... it was cold, calculating. He said he knew about my betrayal, about how I'd gone to Pete for help."

Pete leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "How did he find out?"

Kenta shook his head. "I don't know. He didn't say. But he knew everything. He knew I'd been feeding information to you guys, knew I'd tried to warn you about his plans."

Babe, who had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, straightened up. "This is serious," he said, his voice low and grave. "Tony's usually a man who likes to play games. He enjoys the build-up, the anticipation. But this... this is different. He's moving forward quickly, no warm-up, no foreplay before the main event."

Kenta nodded, wincing slightly at the movement. "You're right. It's like he's on a mission, focused and determined. There's no playfulness, no taunting. It's... it's terrifying, honestly."

The room fell silent for a moment as everyone processed this information. The idea of Tony abandoning his usual tactics was unsettling, a clear sign that whatever he was planning was serious enough to forgo his usual games.

"What about Winner and Dean?" Jeff asked, breaking the silence. "How did they react?"

A bitter smile crossed Kenta's face. "Winner was all too happy to partake in my punishment. He was always jealous of my position with Tony, always looking for a way to prove himself. He didn't hesitate to kick me when I was down."

Kim's hand, which had been resting on the back of the couch near Kenta, clenched into a fist at these words. Way noticed the subtle shift in Kim's scent, a spike of anger that was quickly suppressed.

"And Dean?" Alan prompted gently.

Kenta's expression softened slightly. "Dean... he was different. He seemed more hesitant. I could see the conflict in his eyes. He used to be part of X-Hunter, after all, before everything went down last year. I think... I think he felt conflicted."

Way felt a pang of sympathy for Dean. He remembered the beta from their shared past, remembered the conflict and pain that had led to his betrayal of X-Hunter. It was a stark reminder of the complex nature of the pack’s relationships.

"But he still participated?" Pete asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Kenta nodded slowly. "Eventually, yes. He was reluctant, but in the end, he joined in beating me. I don't blame him, though. Going against Tony... it's not an easy choice to make."

Pete leaned back, his arm instinctively tightening around Way's waist. "What about Tony's resources? Does he have anyone else helping him? When he supposedly died, all his assets were frozen and dispersed. Where's he getting his support from?"

Kenta shook his head, frustration evident on his face. "I wish I knew. All I can tell you is that he has a bunch of hired muscle. Big guys, ex-military types. But where he's getting the money to pay them? I have no idea. My best guess is that he had something stashed away before his supposed death, some hidden accounts or assets we didn't know about."

Charlie, who had been quiet up until now, spoke up. "It's clear that Tony had a reason for going after allies from the past. Kenta, Dean, Winner... and even Way." His eyes flickered to Way apologetically before continuing. "He's gathering people who know him, people he's worked with before. But why?"

Babe scoffed, his voice bitter. "It's exactly like Tony to reuse pawns. He probably thinks he can manipulate them easily, use their past loyalties against them."

Way felt a chill run down his spine at Babe's words. The idea of Tony manipulating people from their past, people they had once trusted and cared for, was deeply unsettling. And the fact that he had been one of those "pawns"... it made his stomach churn.

"But we still don't know why he took Way," Pete said, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger. "Or what he did that would cause Way to block out everything from the past year."

The room fell silent again, the weight of the unanswered questions hanging heavy in the air. Way felt all eyes turn to him, filled with concern and curiosity. The attention made him squirm, his breath coming faster as anxiety began to build in his chest.

Pete, ever attuned to Way's emotional state, noticed immediately. He stood up, gently pulling Way with him. "Okay, I think that's enough for now," he said firmly. "We all need time to process this information. Way and I are going to get some air."

Without waiting for a response, Pete guided Way out of the room and towards the back of the house. Way followed numbly, grateful for Pete's solid presence at his side. The cool air hit them as they stepped outside, and Way took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

Pete led them to the pool area, the water's surface a mirror reflecting the fading light of the day. They settled on one of the lounge chairs, Pete pulling Way close against his chest. For a long moment, they sat in silence, the gentle lapping of the pool water the only sound.

"You okay?" Pete asked softly, his breath warm against Way's ear.

Way considered the question, taking stock of his emotions. He was scared, yes. Confused, definitely. The weight of his missing memories, the knowledge that Tony had done something to him that was so traumatic his mind had locked it away... it was overwhelming.

"I don't know," he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm scared, Pete. What if... what if I never remember? What if what Tony did was so horrible that my mind is protecting me by keeping it locked away?"

Pete's arms tightened around him, a low, soothing rumble building in his chest. "Then we'll deal with it," he said firmly. "Whatever happened, whatever you remember or don't remember, it doesn't change who you are, Way. It doesn't change how I feel about you, how any of us feel about you."

Way felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, overwhelmed by the unconditional support and love in Pete's voice. He turned in Pete's arms, burying his face in the Enigma's chest and inhaling deeply, letting Pete's familiar scent of sandalwood and mandarin wash over him.

"I've got you," Pete murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Way's head. "We'll figure this out together, I promise."

Way nodded against Pete's chest, unable to form words but grateful beyond measure for Pete's unwavering support. A soft chirp escaped his throat, a sound of contentment despite the turmoil of his emotions.

Inside the house, the rest of the team continued to discuss the implications of Kenta's information. Kim hovered protectively near Kenta, his eyes constantly darting to the injured man as if afraid he might disappear. Jeff sat nearby, ready to offer support or clarification his assistance if needed.

Alan paced the length of the room, his brow furrowed in concentration. "We need to be prepared," he said, his voice low but firm. "Tony's moving faster than we anticipated. We can't afford to be caught off guard."

Babe sighed, frustrated. "Where would we even begin? We don’t know anything about Tony’s motives — other than the obvious need for revenge — or his movements. We have nothing concrete to go on."

“We’ve made inquires,” Charlie offered. “Someone out there knows something and will come forward. Pete might have to offer a reward for information, but I’m sure he’d be willing to spare a few baht to get results.”

Alan nodded approvingly. “That’s a good idea. Until then, no one goes out alone, understood?"

"And what about Way?" Jeff asked quietly, voicing the question that was on everyone's mind. "How do we help him remember? Or... do we even want him to?"

The room fell silent again, the weight of Jeff's questions hanging heavy in the air. It was Kenta who finally broke the silence, his voice weak but determined.

"I think... I think Way needs to remember," he said slowly. "Not just for our sake, for the information he might have about Tony's plans. But for his own sake. Living with that gap in his memory, always wondering what happened... that's its own kind of torture."

Kim nodded in agreement, his hand coming to rest gently on Kenta's shoulder. "Kenta's right," he said. "But we can't force it. We have to be patient, supportive. Let Way remember in his own time."

An uneasy silence fell over the room. North, who had been quiet for most of the discussion, suddenly spoke up, his voice hesitant. "I can't help but wonder... what could Tony have possibly done to Way to cause such repressive trauma?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and foreboding. The team exchanged uncomfortable glances, each of them grappling with the implications of North's words.

It was Babe who finally broke the tense silence, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't want to speculate," he said firmly, a hint of anger in his tone. "I don't even want to think about it. It's hard enough seeing how shattered Way is without wondering about the specifics of how it happened."

Alan sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "You're both right," he admitted. "We'll support Way however we can. But our primary focus has to be on protecting him – protecting all of us – from whatever Tony has planned."

As the team continued to discuss strategies and plans, outside by the pool, Way had finally relaxed fully in Pete's arms. The purr in his chest had grown stronger, a steady vibration that Pete could feel against his own chest.

Pete nuzzled gently against Way's hair, inhaling deeply. The warm scent of the younger Enigma, tinged with the lingering notes of distress but overwhelmingly content in this moment, filled his senses. He felt a fierce surge of protectiveness, a determination to keep Way safe no matter what.

"We should probably head back inside soon," Pete murmured, though he made no move to release Way from his embrace. "The others will be wondering where we are."

Way nodded against Pete's chest but didn't move either. "Just... just a few more minutes?" he asked softly. "I feel safe here, with you."

Pete's arms tightened around Way in response. "Of course, love," he said softly. "We can stay here as long as you need."

As the last rays of sunlight faded from the sky, giving way to the soft glow of the pool lights, Pete and Way remained entwined. Pete's mind wandered, not to the immediate challenges they faced, but to a future beyond them – a future where Tony was no longer a threat.

He imagined lazy Sunday mornings with Way, both of them sleeping in late, tangled in soft sheets and each other's arms. He thought about quiet evenings spent reading together, or perhaps teaching Way to cook some of his favorite dishes. He envisioned holidays with their pack, filled with laughter and the warm glow of family.

Pete allowed himself to dream of a day when Way's smile would be unburdened by the weight of his lost memories, when the shadow of fear no longer lurked in his beautiful eyes. He imagined building a life together, maybe even starting a family of their own someday.

These thoughts, these dreams of a peaceful future, filled Pete with a renewed determination. They would overcome this obstacle, just as they had overcome every challenge they'd faced before. And when they did, when Tony was finally out of their lives for good, they would have a lifetime of happiness waiting for them.

With these hopeful thoughts warming his heart, Pete pressed a gentle kiss to Way's forehead. "Ready to head back inside, love?" he murmured softly.

Way nodded against Pete's chest, slowly untangling himself from the embrace. As they stood, hand in hand, and made their way back to the house, Pete held onto that vision of their future. It wasn't just a dream, he decided. It was a promise – a promise of the life they would build together once this storm had passed.

Chapter Text

The surface of Alan’s pool sparkled invitingly, a stark contrast to the tension that had permeated the air over the past few days. The team had gathered for lunch, seeking a semblance of normalcy amidst the uncertainty that plagued them.

Kenta, finally strong enough to be up and about, sat on the edge of a lounge chair, his face turned towards the sun. The warmth on his skin was a welcome change from the confines of Alan's living room, where he had spent most of his recovery. Despite the lingering pain from his injuries, there was a sense of relief in his posture, a quiet gratitude for the simple pleasure of feeling the sun on his face.

Way watched Kenta from his spot next to Pete, noting the way Kim hovered nearby, his eyes never straying far from the injured alpha. The dynamics between Kim and Kenta continued to fascinate Way, but he was ultimately happy to see the level of affection being aimed at Kenta.

The team ate their food, a spread of sandwiches and fresh fruit laid out on the table. The mood was lighter than it had been in days, a temporary reprieve from the tension that had gripped them since Kenta's arrival.

"It's good to see you up and about," Charlie commented, passing Kenta a plate of food.

Kenta accepted it with a grateful nod. "It feels good to be vertical again," he admitted, carefully adjusting his position.

As they ate, the conversation inevitably turned to their current predicament. The lack of concrete information about Tony's whereabouts or plans hung over them like a dark cloud, dampening even the bright afternoon sun.

Babe, never one to sit idle, was the first to break the uneasy silence. "I've been thinking," he said, his voice low and serious. "We don't have much to go on right now, but there is one place we haven't checked out yet."

The others looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

"The apartment," Babe said, his eyes flicking to Kenta. "The one where Tony had you, Dean, and Winner staying. I think we should check it out."

The suggestion was met with a mix of reactions. Charlie nodded thoughtfully, while Pete's arm tightened almost imperceptibly around Way's waist. But it was Kim who voiced the strongest opposition.

"Are you out of your mind?" Kim snapped, his usually calm demeanor cracking. "Kenta's barely on his feet, and you want to drag him back to the place where he was beaten? Not to mention, Dean and Winner might still be there. What's your plan if we run into them? Start a fight?"

Babe bristled at Kim's tone, his alpha instincts flaring. "It's been days, Kim. The chances of anyone still being there are slim to none. They know Kenta got away and could lead us there. They wouldn't stick around."

"You don't know that for sure," Kim argued, his protective instincts clearly on high alert. "It could be a trap. We can't risk Kenta's safety – or anyone else's – on a hunch."

The tension between the two alphas was palpable, the air thick with their competing pheromones. Way felt Pete shift beside him, ready to intervene if necessary.

To everyone's surprise, it was Kenta who spoke up next. "I'll do it," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "I'll take you to the apartment."

Kim whirled to face Kenta, disbelief etched on his features. "Kenta, no. You're not strong enough yet. It's too dangerous."

Kenta met Kim's gaze steadily. "I appreciate your concern, Kim. But this isn't just about me. We need information, and that apartment might be our best lead. I can handle it."

The determination in Kenta's voice seemed to deflate some of Kim's anger. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Fine," he grumbled. "But I'm coming too. Someone needs to watch your back."

As the group discussed logistics, Way found himself drawn into the conversation. A strange feeling had settled in the pit of his stomach, a nagging sensation he couldn't quite place. Something about the idea of visiting the apartment felt significant, though he couldn't articulate why.

"I want to go too," Way said suddenly, surprising even himself with the declaration.

Pete turned to him, concern evident in his eyes. "Way, are you sure? It could be dangerous. You'd be safer here with Alan and the others."

Way shook his head, a stubborn set to his jaw. "I want to help," he insisted. "I can't just sit here while everyone else is out there risking themselves. Please, Pete. I need to do this."

Pete studied Way's face for a long moment, clearly torn between his desire to keep Way safe and his understanding of Way's need to be involved. Finally, he sighed. "Alright," he conceded. "But only if we bring a security team with us. I won't take any unnecessary risks with your safety."

The others agreed to Pete's condition, and soon, plans were being made. Alan, Jeff, North, and Sonic would remain at the house, maintaining a safe base of operations. Babe, Charlie, Kenta, Kim, Pete, and Way would go to the apartment, accompanied by Pete's security team.

As they finished eating and began to prepare for the mission, Way felt a mix of anticipation and anxiety building within him. The nagging feeling in his gut had only grown stronger, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.

The drive to the apartment was tense, the air in the car thick with unspoken worries and half-formed plans. Way found himself next Pete in the backseat, with Kenta and Kim riding in the far back. Babe drove, with Charlie in the passenger seat, navigating.

As they got closer to their destination, Way began to notice small details about the scenery that felt oddly familiar. The way the sunlight filtered through the trees lining the street, the faded paint on a particular storefront, the crack in the sidewalk shaped like a lightning bolt – all of it stirred something in the recesses of his mind, just out of reach.

His unease must have been evident, because Pete leaned in close, his voice low and soothing. "You okay, love?" he murmured, close Way's ear.

Way nodded, not trusting his voice to remain steady if he spoke. He leaned into Pete's solid presence, drawing comfort from the Enigma's warmth and familiar scent.

They pulled up outside a nondescript apartment building, its faded exterior and overgrown landscaping speaking of years of neglect. Way's heart began to race as he took in the scene, a sense of déjà vu washing over him.

Pete's security team arrived moments later, quickly and efficiently securing the perimeter. The team leader, a stern-faced beta named Sorn, approached Pete's window.

"The building appears to be clear, sir," Sorn reported. "No signs of recent activity. We're ready to escort you inside when you're ready."

Pete nodded, his expression grave. "Thank you, Sorn. We'll follow your lead."

As they exited the car, Way couldn't shake the feeling of wrongness that had settled over him. Every step towards the building felt like walking through molasses, his body instinctively resisting even as his mind pushed him forward.

The security team entered first, their movements precise and coordinated as they cleared each room. The rest of the group followed behind, with Pete keeping a protective arm around Way's waist.

The apartment was a mess, clear signs of a hasty departure evident in the scattered belongings and overturned furniture. Kenta moved through the space with a pained expression, his eyes darting from one familiar object to another.

Kim stayed close to Kenta, his protective instincts on full display. Babe and Charlie began a systematic search of the apartment, looking for any clues that might help them understand Tony's plans.

Way hung back, his feet seemingly rooted to the spot just inside the doorway. The nagging feeling had blossomed into full-blown anxiety, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure the others must be able to hear it.

Pete noticed Way's hesitation and turned to him, concern etched on his features. "Way? What's wrong?"

Before Way could answer, a flash of memory hit him with the force of a physical blow. The peeling wallpaper, the stained carpet, the way the light filtered through the grimy windows – it was all achingly, terrifyingly familiar.

This was the apartment from his flashbacks. This was where Tony had kept him.

The realization crashed over Way like a tidal wave, bringing with it a flood of fragmented memories. Tony's cruel smile, the feeling of utter helplessness, the pain – both physical and emotional – that had become his constant companion during his time here.

A scream tore from Way's throat, raw and primal, startling everyone in the room. His knees buckled, and he would have collapsed if not for Pete's quick reflexes.

"Way!" Pete cried out, cradling the younger Enigma against his chest. "What's happening? Talk to me, Way!"

But Way was beyond words, lost in the torrent of memories that assaulted him. His body shook with the force of his sobs, his fingers clutching desperately at Pete's shirt as if it were a lifeline.

The others rushed over, their faces a mix of concern and confusion. Kim crouched down beside them, his hand hovering uncertainly over Way's trembling form.

"What's wrong with him?" Kim asked, his voice tight with worry.

Pete shook his head, his own scent spiking with distress. "I don't know. He just... he just started screaming."

Charlie, who had been hanging back, suddenly gasped. "Oh god," he whispered, his face pale. "Way, he kept talking about the apartment – the one from his flashbacks. This... this is where Tony kept him, isn't it? This is where Way was held captive."

The group stood frozen, their expressions mirroring shock and disbelief as if lightning struck them. The rapid understanding of the situation hit them with such intensity that it felt like a physical force, leaving them momentarily speechless and wide-eyed. Pete's arms tightened around Way, a low, protective growl rumbling in his chest.

"We need to get him out of here," Kim said urgently. "Now."

Babe nodded, already moving towards the door. "I'll get the car started. Pete, can you carry him?"

Pete didn't bother to respond, simply scooping Way into his arms as if he weighed nothing. Way curled into Pete's chest, his body still wracked with sobs.

As they hurried out of the apartment, the gravity of the situation settled over them. This wasn't just a lead anymore. This was the scene of Way's trauma, the place where the horrors that had robbed him of a year's worth of memories had taken place.

The drive back to Alan's house was tense and silent, broken only by Way's occasional whimpers and Pete's soft, soothing murmurs. The others exchanged worried glances, the implications of their discovery weighing heavily on their minds.

As they pulled up to Alan's house, Pete didn't wait for the car to come to a full stop before he was out the door, Way still cradled protectively in his arms. He strode purposefully towards the house, his face a mask of determination and barely contained fury.

Alan met them at the door, his expression shifting from curiosity to alarm as he took in the scene before him. "What happened?" he demanded, stepping aside to let Pete pass.

"The apartment," Babe explained tersely as they followed Pete inside. "It was where Tony kept Way. It triggered... something. A flashback, maybe."

Understanding dawned on Alan's face, followed quickly by a mix of sympathy and anger. "Get him comfortable," he instructed Pete. "And let us know if you need anything."

Pete gently carried Way into their bedroom, his movements careful and deliberate as if Way were made of glass. The younger Enigma's soft cries tore at Pete's heart, each whimper feeling like a physical blow. As he approached the bed, Pete spoke in low, soothing tones.

"It's okay, love. You're safe now. I've got you," he murmured, his voice a calm anchor in the storm of Way's distress.

With utmost care, Pete laid Way down on the bed. Way's fingers were still tangled in Pete's shirt, reluctant to let go even in his semi-conscious state. Pete didn't force the issue, instead sitting on the edge of the bed and continuing his gentle ministrations.

"Let's get you more comfortable, okay?" Pete said softly, though he wasn't sure if Way could hear or understand him in his current state.

Moving slowly, telegraphing each action, Pete began to remove Way's shoes. He untied the laces with careful fingers, easing each shoe off and setting them neatly beside the bed. Next, he reached for the throw blanket at the foot of the bed, draping it over Way's trembling form.

Way's crying had subsided to quiet sniffles and the occasional hiccup, but his eyes remained unfocused, staring blankly at some point beyond Pete's shoulder. It was as if he was seeing something else entirely, trapped in memories that Pete couldn't reach.

Fighting back his own emotions – the anger at Tony, the guilt for not protecting Way, the fear of what memories might have been unlocked – Pete focused solely on providing comfort. He ran his fingers through Way's hair, the repetitive motion serving to soothe them both.

"I'm here, Way," Pete murmured. "I'm right here with you. You're safe at Alan's house. No one can hurt you here."

As he spoke, Pete released calming pheromones, filling the room with the scent of sandalwood and mandarin. It was a primal form of comfort, an instinctive response to his mate's distress. Gradually, Way's breathing began to even out, his body relaxing incrementally into the soft bedding.

Pete didn't press for information or try to make Way talk about what had happened. He knew that pushing now could do more harm than good. Instead, he continued his quiet reassurances and gentle touches, a steady presence in the face of Way's trauma.

"That's it, love," Pete encouraged softly as Way's eyes finally began to focus. "You're doing so well. Just breathe with me, okay?"

Way's gaze slowly shifted to Pete's face, recognition dawning in his tear-filled eyes. "P-Pete?" he whispered, his voice hoarse from crying.

"I'm here," Pete repeatedly assured him, squeezing Way's hand gently. "You're safe, Way. We're at Alan's house."

Way nodded slightly, wincing as if the movement caused him pain. His free hand came up to rub at his temple, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by Pete.

"Does your head hurt, love?" Pete asked, concern coloring his tone.

Way nodded again, this time more cautiously. "It's... it's like there's too much in there," he mumbled, struggling to articulate the sensation. "Too many... pictures. Memories? I don't... I can't..."

"Shh, it's okay," Pete soothed, seeing Way's distress rising again. "You don't have to explain right now. I’m going calling Dr. Saetang. She'll be able to help us understand what's happening."

At the mention of the doctor, Way's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of fear passing across his face. "No," he whispered. "No doctors. Please, Pete. I can't... I don't want..."

Pete's heart clenched at the fear in Way's voice. "Okay, love," he said quickly, not wanting to cause Way any more distress. "No doctors right now. It's just you and me here. You're safe."

Way seemed to relax slightly at Pete's reassurance, his grip on Pete's hand loosening just a fraction. Pete took the opportunity to adjust his position, moving to sit more fully on the bed so he could gather Way into his arms.

Way went willingly, curling into Pete's embrace like a child seeking shelter from a storm. Pete held him close, one hand cradling the back of Way's head while the other rubbed soothing circles on his back.

"I've got you," Pete murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to Way's temple. "I've got you, and I'm not letting go. We'll get through this together, I promise."

As they sat there, entwined in each other's arms, Pete's mind raced with questions and concerns. What exactly had Way remembered? How much trauma had Tony inflicted on him during that lost year? And how could they help Way process these resurfacing memories without causing him more pain?

But Pete pushed these thoughts aside for now. There would be time for questions later, time for plans and strategies and vengeance against Tony. Right now, in this moment, the only thing that mattered was Way – keeping him safe, comforting him, being the steady presence he needed as he navigated this storm of returning memories.

So Pete held Way close, his embrace a promise of protection and love. And as Way's breathing slowly evened out, his body relaxing into sleep, Pete made a silent vow. No matter what memories surfaced, no matter what challenges lay ahead, he would be there for Way. They would face this together, and they would overcome it.

With this resolve firmly in mind, Pete settled back against the headboard, Way still cradled in his arms. He knew sleep wouldn't come for him – he was too alert, too protective to let his guard down. But he could provide this safe haven for Way, a shelter from the storm of his own mind.

As the afternoon light began to fade, casting long shadows across the room, Pete remained vigilant. His eyes never left Way's sleeping form, watching for any signs of distress. And though his heart ached for the pain Way had endured and the challenges that lay ahead, there was also a fierce determination burning within him.

While Pete carried Way upstairs to their room, the rest of the team gathered in the living room, the weight of their discovery hanging heavy in the air.

"What do we do now?" North asked, his voice uncharacteristically subdued.

Babe, his face a mask of guilt and concern, shook his head. "We support Way," he said firmly. "And we make Tony pay for what he's done."

The others nodded in agreement, a sense of grim determination settling over the group. They had uncovered a crucial puzzle piece but at a terrible cost. As Way's muffled sobs echoed from upstairs, they knew that the real battle was just beginning – not just against Tony, but against the trauma that had stolen Way's memories and threatened to shatter his peace of mind.

Kenta, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since their return, suddenly straightened up. His hand went to his pocket, fishing out a small, crumpled piece of paper. "I just remembered something," he said, his voice low but steady. "Before we left the apartment, I managed to grab this. I remembered Winner had thrown it out and thought it might be important."

The others leaned in, curiosity piqued. Kenta smoothed out the paper, his expression thoughtful. "I think... I think Tony was giving Winner more information than he was sharing with Dean or me. It makes sense, in a way. Dean used to be part of X-Hunter, so Tony might have been wary of him potentially betraying him. And me... well, I did stab him before. He never fully trusted me after that."

Alan reached out, taking the paper from Kenta. He unfolded it carefully, his eyes scanning the contents. "It's an address," he said after a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. "But I don't recognize it. Does anyone else?"

The paper was passed around, each member of the team studying it closely, but no one could place the location.

Charlie, ever practical, was the first to speak up. "We should show this to Pete. He might recognize it, or at least have some ideas about what it could mean."

Sonic, however, shook his head emphatically. "Not now," he insisted, his omega instincts clearly on high alert. "Pete's taking care of Way. We shouldn't disturb them."

Charlie held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I didn't mean right this minute," he clarified. "Of course we'll wait until Pete comes down. I just meant we should make sure to show him when he's available."

The tension in the room eased slightly at Charlie's explanation. Alan nodded, tucking the paper safely into his pocket. "Agreed," he said. "For now, let's focus on what we can do. Sonic, why don't you start on dinner? The rest of us can help. It'll give us something to do while we wait, and I'm sure Pete and Way could use a good meal when they're ready."

The suggestion was met with nods of agreement. The team moved to the kitchen, falling into an easy rhythm as they prepared the meal. The simple act of cooking together provided a sense of normalcy, a brief respite from the heavy emotions of the day.

As they were setting the table, the sound of footsteps on the stairs made them all look up. Pete appeared in the doorway, his usual confident demeanor replaced by an air of exhaustion and defeat. The absence of Way by his side was immediately noticeable.

Jeff was the first to speak, his voice gentle. "How's Way doing?"

Pete ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that spoke of frustration. "He's resting," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "The... the memories hit him hard. He's physically and emotionally drained."

Kenta stepped forward, concern etched on his features. "Are you okay, Pete?" he asked softly.

Pete's gaze met Kenta's, a flicker of something – gratitude, perhaps, or understanding – passing between them. "I..." he started, then paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. "I read some of Way's thoughts," he admitted, his voice tinged with guilt.

The room fell silent, all eyes on Pete. They all knew of his ability to read people, but it was a power he used sparingly, especially with those close to him. The fact that he had done so with Way spoke volumes about the severity of the situation.

"What did you see?" Alan asked gently, moving to guide Pete to a chair.

Pete sank into the seat, his shoulders slumping. "It was... fragmented. Confusing. There were flashes of that apartment, of Tony..." He trailed off, his hands clenching into fists. "The things Tony did to him... the pain he caused..."

A low growl rumbled through the room, a collective expression of anger and protectiveness from the pack. Kim's hand found Kenta's, squeezing tightly, while Babe's scent spiked with aggression.

"We'll make him pay," Babe repeated his earlier words, his voice low and dangerous. "For everything he's done to Way, to all of us."

Pete nodded, a spark of his usual determination returning to his eyes. "Yes, we will," he agreed. "But right now, our priority has to be helping Way. He's remembering things, but it's overwhelming him. We need to find a way to help him process these memories without causing him more trauma."

Alan stepped forward, producing the piece of paper Kenta had given him earlier. "We may have a lead," he said, handing the paper to Pete. "Kenta found this at the apartment. It's an address, but none of us recognize it. We thought you might have some insight."

Pete took the paper, studying it intently. His brow furrowed in concentration, a flicker of recognition passing across his face. "I know this place," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's... it's one of Tony's properties. The first foundation, actually, where he raised me before upgrading to the mansion."

The revelation sent a ripple of surprise through the group. Kenta leaned forward, his face a mask of confusion. "Another house? I didn't know about that. I only ever knew and lived in the mansion."

Pete nodded, his eyes distant as if looking into the past. "I was really young when I lived there with Tony," he explained. "We weren't there for very long. Tony's foundation became very lucrative quickly, and he needed more space for more children."

The implications of this statement hung heavy in the air. The team exchanged glances, each of them grappling with the image of a young Pete in Tony's clutches, and the knowledge that there had been other children after him.

Kim, ever practical, was the first to voice the question on everyone's mind. "Why would Tony risk hiding out in a place you knew about, Pete? It seems careless for someone usually so calculating."

Pete sighed and ran a hand through his hair again. "Honestly, if I hadn't seen this address, I wouldn't have remembered it," he admitted. "It's been years since I've even thought about that place. Tony might be counting on that – betting that the memories are too distant or too painful for me to recall easily."

Babe leaned forward, his eyes meeting Pete’s. "Do you think Tony will be there?" he asked, his voice low and intense. "With Dean and Winner and whoever else he's working with?"

Pete's jaw tightened, a flicker of something dark passing across his features. "I wouldn't put it past him," he said grimly. "Tony's always been one for symbolism. Using the place where it all started as his base of operations now... it would appeal to his sense of dramatic irony."

The tension in the room ratcheted up a notch at Pete's words. The possibility of confronting Tony, of finally bringing him to justice, was suddenly very real and very immediate.

"If that's the case, we need to move quickly," Charlie said, already reaching for his phone. "Sorn gave us his number. He can have a team ready to—"

"No," Pete cut him off, his voice firm but not unkind. "We need to be careful. If Tony is there, he'll be expecting us. We can't rush in without a solid plan."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the faces of his pack. "I'll speak with our security team, start putting together a strategy. But right now..." his voice softened, a note of vulnerability creeping in, "right now, my focus needs to be on getting Way back on his feet."

The mention of Way sobered the group, reminding them of the traumatic events that had led to this discovery. Sonic, clearly worried about his friend, leaned forward. "Is there anything we can do to help?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Pete's expression softened, gratitude flickering across his features. "Thank you, Sonic," he said sincerely. "But right now, what Way needs most is time. I know we're pressed for time with Tony, but pushing Way will only make things worse. He needs to process these memories at his own pace."

A heavy silence fell over the room as the implications of Pete's words sank in. Each member of the pack grappled with their own emotions – anger at Tony, concern for Way, frustration at their current helplessness.

Pete wished he could be more reassuring, but his mind was already drifting back to the harrowing images he'd glimpsed earlier when reading Way's thoughts. The weight of what he'd seen settled heavily on his shoulders, and he found himself sinking deeper into his chair.

The Enigma's jaw clenched as the fragments of Way's memories flickered through his mind like a broken film reel. The physical torment Way had endured at Tony's hands was horrifying enough – flashes of pain, of hands that should have been gentle instead bringing nothing but agony. But it was the psychological torment that truly chilled Pete to his core.

He saw Tony's face, twisted into a mask of false concern, looming over a frightened and confused Way.

"This is for your own good," Tony's voice echoed in the memory, saccharine sweet but laced with an underlying cruelty that made Pete's stomach turn. "You need to learn, Way. You need to be better."

The scenes shifted, a kaleidoscope of manipulation and psychological warfare. Pete saw Tony systematically isolating Way, cutting him off from any potential support or outside influence. Way's world slowly shrank until it contained only Tony and the oppressive walls of that apartment.

"They don't care about you," Tony's voice whispered in another memory. "They've forgotten you. But I'm here, Way. I'll always be here for you."

Pete's hands clenched into fists as he witnessed the subtle ways Tony had worked to break down Way's sense of self. It was a masterclass in manipulation, in the slow erosion of identity. Tony would praise Way lavishly one moment, only to tear him down the next, creating a constant state of emotional whiplash that left Way desperate for any scrap of affection or approval.

"You're nothing without me," Tony's voice hissed in another fragment. "Worthless. But I can make you better. I can make you perfect."

The realization hit Pete like a physical blow. Tony had been trying to recreate his "perfect son" – the obedient, malleable child he had always wanted but never truly had. The year before had given Tony the opportunity he'd been waiting for, a chance to reshape Way into his ideal.

Pete saw flashes of "training sessions" – grueling physical and mental exercises designed to push Way to his limits and beyond. He felt Way's exhaustion, his desperation to please, to be good enough. The constant fear of failure, of disappointing Tony, became a heavy weight that Way carried with him always.

"You're improving," Tony's voice praised in one memory, and Pete felt the rush of relief and joy that had flooded through Way at those simple words. It was a stark reminder of how effectively Tony had manipulated Way's emotions, making him crave the very approval that was being used to control him.

But beneath the layers of manipulation and fear, Pete caught glimpses of Way's true self – a flickering flame of defiance that refused to be extinguished. It was there in the way Way would sometimes catch himself humming a tune from a song he’d heard at the bar, only to quickly silence himself. It was there in the dreams that still haunted him, filled with faces of friends and family he couldn't quite remember but somehow knew were important.

Pete's heart ached as he realized the enormity of the battle Way was facing. It wasn't just about recovering lost memories – it was about reclaiming his very identity, piece by painstaking piece.

The memories shifted again, and Pete found himself witnessing a particularly harrowing scene.

Way was curled up in a corner, shaking and muttering to himself. "I'm Way," he whispered, over and over, like a mantra. "I'm Way. I'm Way."

Tony's voice cut through the moment, sharp and disapproving. "No, you're not," he said coldly. "Way is gone. He was weak, useless. You're going to be so much more. You're going to be perfect."

Pete felt the wave of despair that had washed over Way in that moment, the feeling of his identity slipping away like sand through his fingers. But even then, even in that dark moment, there was a tiny spark of resistance. A small voice in the back of Way's mind that whispered, "No. I am Way. I am Way."

As Pete pulled himself out of the memories, he found himself blinking back tears. The depth of Tony's betrayal, the calculated cruelty of his actions, was almost beyond comprehension. But mixed with his horror and anger was a fierce pride in Way's resilience. Even in the face of such relentless psychological assault, some essential part of Way had refused to be broken.

Pete looked around at his pack, his family, and felt a surge of determination. They had gotten Way out of that apartment, away from Tony's immediate influence. But the real battle was just beginning. Helping Way recover his memories was crucial, but it was only the first step. They would need to help him rebuild his sense of self, to rediscover who he was beyond the distorted mirror Tony had tried to force him to become.

It would be a long, difficult journey. Pete knew there would be setbacks, moments of despair, times when the weight of the trauma might seem too much to bear. But looking at the faces of his pack, seeing the love reflected in their eyes, he knew they were up to the challenge.

"We'll get through this," Pete said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "Together, we'll help Way find himself again. And we'll make damn sure Tony never gets the chance to hurt anyone like this ever again."

The room remained silent as the others absorbed Pete's words, the gravity of the situation settling over them like a heavy blanket. But in that silence, there was also a sense of unity, of shared purpose. They had faced seemingly insurmountable odds before and come out the other side. They would do it again, for Way, for each other, for the family they had built together.

With a deep breath, Pete straightened in his chair, his eyes clear and focused once more. "Alright," he said, his voice steady and resolute. "Let's figure out our next move. We've got a lot of work to do."

Chapter Text

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of sizzling bacon, creating an atmosphere of comfort and warmth as the team settled around the rustic wooden table in Alan’s kitchen for breakfast. The team's expressions were a mix of anticipation and concern, their eyes reflecting the events of the previous day — the shocking discoveries at the apartment and the weight of Way's returning memories. The clinking of cutlery against plates was the only sound that broke the heavy silence, emphasizing the weight of the unspoken emotions hanging in the air.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs made everyone freeze. To their surprise, Way appeared in the doorway, Pete hovering protectively at his side. Way looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes testament to a restless night, but there was a newfound clarity in his gaze that hadn't been there before.

"Morning," Way said softly, his voice rough with fatigue but steady.

The team exchanged glances, unsure how to respond. They were all acutely aware of the trauma Way had endured, and no one wanted to say or do anything that might upset him further.

"Good morning, Way," Alan finally replied, his tone gentle. "How are you feeling?"

Way managed a small, tired smile as he took a seat at the table, Pete settling in beside him. "Tired," he admitted. "But... better, I think. Clearer."

The others murmured their own greetings, relief evident in their voices. Sonic quickly set about getting coffee for Way and Pete, while Babe busied himself with preparing plates of food.

Way wrapped his hands around the warm mug Sonic placed before him, taking a few sips before looking up at the concerned faces of his friends — his family. He glanced at Pete, who gave him an encouraging nod.

Taking a deep breath, Way began to speak. "I... I remember now. Not everything, not yet, but... enough."

The room fell silent, all attention focused on Way. He took another sip of coffee, gathering his thoughts before continuing.

"It started at the hospital," Way said, his voice low but steady. "After I woke up from... from being shot." He paused, his hand unconsciously reaching over his shoulder to where the scars remained. "I was confused, in pain. Everything was hazy. And then... Tony was there."

Way's grip on his mug tightened, his knuckles turning white. Pete placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Way leaned into the touch, drawing strength from it.

"He kept calling me Somchai — that fake name he’d registered me under," Way continued. "I didn't understand why. I tried to tell him that wasn't my name, but... I was so weak. Everything hurt, and my mind... it was like trying to think through fog."

The team listened intently, their faces a mix of horror and sympathy. Babe's fists were clenched under the table, barely contained rage evident in the set of his jaw.

"I tried to resist when he said he was taking me home," Way said, his voice trembling slightly. "But I couldn't... I couldn't fight. I called for help, but no one came. The doctors, the nurses... they just watched as Tony wheeled me out."

Way took a shaky breath, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, there was a flicker of anger amidst the pain. "I think... I think Tony paid them off. To keep my name off the records, to... to show me my own death certificate."

A collective murmur of unease went around the table. Charlie leaned forward, his face pale. "You mentioned seeing the death certificate before. But why..."

"To confuse me," Way replied, his voice bitter. "To make me feel crazy, to make me doubt everything I thought I knew about myself."

Pete's hand tightened on Way's shoulder, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Way placed his own hand over Pete's, the touch seeming to ground him as he continued his story.

"The apartment... it became my whole world," Way said softly. "Tony isolated me completely. No phone, no internet, no contact with the outside world. He... he made me dependent on him for everything. Food, clothes, even the simplest things..."

Way's voice trailed off, his gaze distant as he recalled those dark days. The team remained silent, giving him the space to gather his thoughts.

"Tony... he tried to erase me," Way continued after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not just my name, but... everything that made me who I am. My identity, my values, my beliefs... He'd spend hours talking, telling me how wrong I was about everything, how my memories couldn't be trusted."

Way's hands were shaking now, and Pete gently took the coffee mug from him, setting it on the table. Way didn't seem to notice, lost in the painful recollection.

"I tried to resist," he said, a note of desperation in his voice. "I swear I did. But it was... it was so hard. Tony, he... he knew exactly what to say, how to twist everything. He'd praise me one moment, and tear me down the next. I never knew what to expect, what would set him off."

Sonic made a choked sound, tears streaming down his face. North reached out, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly.

"The worst part," Way continued, his voice breaking, "was when he'd talk about... about what happened before. About how I'd betrayed the team, how I'd hurt Babe..."

Babe flinched at this, his expression a mix of pain and fierce protectiveness. "Way, no," he started to say, but Way held up a hand, silencing him.

"I know, Babe. I know now it isn't... it isn't like that now. But at the time, with Tony constantly reminding me, criticizing me... It felt like I was drowning in guilt. He made me feel like I was... inherently flawed, that everything I did was wrong."

Way paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Pete's arm had moved to wrap around his shoulders, and Way leaned into the embrace, his eyes briefly fluttering shut at the contact.

"I was always... vaguely aware of what was happening," Way admitted. "Even when I couldn't remember who I was, even when I started to believe the lies Tony was telling me... there was always this part of me that knew something was wrong. But sometimes... sometimes it became too hard to hold onto that. It was easier to just... give in."

The pain in Way's voice was palpable, and there wasn't a dry eye around the table. Even Kim, usually so composed, was blinking back tears.

"But then..." Way continued, a hint of steel entering his voice. "Then I reached a breaking point. I don't know what exactly triggered it. Maybe it was something Tony said, or maybe it was just... everything building up. But suddenly, I couldn't take it anymore. The emotional distress, the constant guilt-tripping... it became too much."

Way straightened in his chair, a flicker of his old determination shining through. "I waited until Tony's next visit. I knew I only had one chance. When he opened the door, I... I just ran. I pushed past him and bolted out of the apartment."

A collective breath of relief went around the table. Kenta leaned forward, his eyes wide. "Where did you go?" he asked softly.

Way's expression turned distant again. "I just ran," he said. "As far and as fast as I could. I had no idea where I was, no money, no ID... I ended up just... drifting. I was scared Tony would find me, but I was more scared of going back."

He paused, a look of confusion crossing his face. "I'm not sure how long I was out there. Days, maybe? It's all a blur. But somehow... somehow I ended up at the cemetery."

"The cemetery?" North echoed, his voice hushed.

Way nodded slowly. "Yeah. I... I found my own grave."

A shocked silence fell over the room. Way continued, his voice soft but steady. "Standing there, looking at my own name on that headstone... it was like something clicked into place. I remembered who I was, who I am. Not everything, not yet, but... enough to know that Tony had been lying. Enough to know that I needed to find you all."

A shocked silence fell over the room. The team exchanged startled glances, trying to process this information. It was Pete who broke the silence, his voice soft but steady.

"That's where I found him," Pete said, his eyes meeting Way's for a moment before turning to address the rest of the team. "I was visiting Way's grave when I ran into him and discovered he was alive."

The others leaned in, their expressions a mix of disbelief and awe. Pete took a deep breath, clearly struggling to find the right words to describe the experience.

"I've been going to the cemetery regularly," Pete continued, his voice thick with emotion. "It was... it was a way to feel close to Way, to remember him. That day, I was walking towards his grave, lost in my thoughts, when I saw someone standing there."

Pete's hand tightened on Way's shoulder, as if reassuring himself that Way was really there. "At first, I thought I was seeing things. I've had dreams like that before, you know? Where I'd see Way, think he was alive, only to wake up and..."

He trailed off, swallowing hard. Way leaned into him, offering silent support.

"I froze," Pete admitted. "I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. I just stood there, staring, afraid that if I blinked, he'd disappear. And then... then he turned around, and it was really him. It was Way."

Pete's voice broke on the last word, and he had to take a moment to compose himself before continuing. The rest of the team listened in rapt silence, many of them wiping away tears.

"I can't even begin to describe how I felt in that moment," Pete said, shaking his head. "It was like... like being hit by a tidal wave of emotions. Shock, disbelief, joy, confusion... all at once. I remember thinking, 'This can't be real. I must be dreaming. Or maybe I've finally lost it completely.'"

A watery chuckle escaped him. "I think I just stood there gaping for a good minute before I could even move. And then... then I was running. I reached out to touch him, half-expecting my hand to pass right through, like a ghost."

Way nodded, a small smile on his face. "I remember that," he said softly. "You looked like you'd seen a ghost. Which, I guess, from your perspective, you had."

Pete managed a smile in return. "When I felt him, solid and real under my hands... that's when it really hit me. Way was alive. He was here, he was real, he was alive."

The raw emotion in Pete's voice was palpable, and there wasn't a dry eye around the table.

"And then," Pete continued, "once the initial shock and joy started to fade, the questions started flooding in. Where had he been? Why hadn't he contacted us? What had happened to him? I was so confused, so worried..."

He turned to Way, his expression softening. "But none of that mattered, not really. All that mattered was that Way was alive, that he was here. Everything else... we could figure that out later."

Way nodded, tears streaming down his face. "I didn't... I didn't know how to explain," he said softly. "Everything was still so jumbled in my head. But Pete... Pete just held onto me and told me it was okay, that I was safe now."

Pete smiled, though his eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I was just so relieved, so incredibly happy to have you back," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "In that moment, nothing else mattered. You were alive, you were here, and I was never going to let you go again."

The room fell silent as the team absorbed this, the magnitude of that moment at the cemetery sinking in.

Way looked up, his gaze moving from face to face around the table. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry I wasn't stronger, that I couldn't fight Tony off sooner. I'm sorry for everything that happened before, for all the pain I caused..."

"No," Pete said firmly, pulling Way closer. "You have nothing to apologize for, Way. Nothing. What Tony did to you... that's on him, not you. You survived. You fought back. You found your way back to us. That's what's important."

The others nodded in agreement, murmuring words of support and love. Way's eyes filled with tears, overwhelmed by the unconditional acceptance he saw in the faces of his family.

"We're just glad you're home," Babe said, his voice rough with emotion. "We were broken up after you died — when we thought you died. It put a lot of things into perspective, for me at least."

Way managed a watery smile. "I know," he said softly. "I... I can feel that now. It's like... like coming out of a fog. Everything's clearer, brighter. Being here, with all of you... it feels right. It feels like home."

As the conversation gradually shifted to lighter topics, the team careful not to overwhelm Way, Pete found himself watching Way closely. He could see the exhaustion in every line of Way's body, the lingering fear and confusion in his eyes. But he could also see the strength there, the resilience that had allowed Way to survive and find his way back to them.

Pete made a silent vow then and there. They would help Way heal and stand by him every step of the way. And they would make sure Tony paid for what he had done.

The weight of Way's revelations hung in the air long after the last words had been spoken. The kitchen, once filled with the murmur of voices and the clinking of coffee cups, had fallen into a contemplative silence. Way sat at the table, his gaze distant, lost in thought. He seemed more at ease now that he had shared his memories, the burden of secrecy lifted from his shoulders. Yet, there was still a palpable tension in his posture, a hint of withdrawal in his demeanor that spoke of the emotional toll the morning had taken.

Pete, ever attentive, noticed the subtle shift in Way's mood. He hovered close, his protective instincts demanding he soothe the younger Enigma. His hand reached Way's back, stroking gently, a silent reminder of his presence and support. Every so often, his fingers would trail down Way's arm, a feather-light touch that seemed to ground them both.

"You okay?" Pete murmured, his voice low enough that only Way could hear.

Way blinked, pulled from his reverie by Pete's voice. He managed a small smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah," he said softly. "Just... processing, I guess."

Pete nodded, understanding. He knew better than anyone the overwhelming nature of recovered memories and how they could leave you feeling raw and exposed. His arm slipped around Way's shoulders, pulling him closer, and Way leaned into the touch, drawing comfort from Pete's solid presence.

The rest of the team, sensing Way's need for space, had begun to disperse. Charlie caught Babe's eye, tilting his head towards the stairs. Babe nodded, understanding the unspoken request for some alone time. They slipped away quietly, hands intertwined, seeking solace in each other's company after the emotional morning.

North, noticing the heavy atmosphere, decided some distraction was in order. He turned to Sonic, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Hey, Sonic," he said, his voice deliberately light. "Fancy a swim?"

Sonic's face lit up at the suggestion. "Really? Now?"

North shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Why not? It's a beautiful day, and I think we could all use a bit of fun."

Sonic didn't need to be told twice. He was already heading for the door, practically bouncing with excitement. North followed, chuckling at his friend's enthusiasm.

Alan and Jeff exchanged amused glances. "I think I'll pass on the swim," Alan said dryly. "But the patio looks inviting."

Jeff nodded in agreement. "I could use some fresh air," he admitted.

The two made their way outside, settling into the comfortable patio chairs. From there, they had a clear view of the pool, where North and Sonic were already engaged in what appeared to be a heated debate about a round of Marco Polo.

Only Kim and Kenta remained in the kitchen with Pete and Way. Kim lingered near Kenta, his instincts also on high alert. Kenta, for his part, seemed unusually concerned about Way. His brow was furrowed, his eyes darting between Way and Pete, as if trying to gauge the situation.

Finally, Kenta cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Way," he said hesitantly, his voice soft but clear. "Can I... can I ask you something?"

Way looked up, meeting Kenta's gaze. He nodded slowly, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face.

Kenta took a deep breath, seeming to gather his courage. "I was wondering... why did Tony go through so much trouble to... to brainwash you? What was his purpose?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with implications. Pete tensed beside Way, his nostrils flaring as a low, displeased growl rumbled in his chest. He didn’t want Way to relive any more painful memories or become upset.

Way, however, remained calm. He placed a reassuring hand on Pete's arm, his touch gentle but firm. "It's okay, Pete," Way murmured, his voice soothing. He turned back to Kenta, his gaze steady. "It's a fair question."

Pete's growl subsided, but he remained alert, his body angled protectively towards Way. Way gave him a small, appreciative smile before addressing Kenta's question.

Way was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice was low but clear. "Tony... he's always following more than one path at a time," he began. "One of those paths is always for his own amusement. He did that to me because he could because it amused him to have that kind of power over me."

Kenta flinched at the words, his own memories of Tony's cruelty surfacing. Kim's arm tightened around him, offering silent support.

Way continued, his voice growing stronger. "But there was more to it than that. Tony still wanted my ability - my power to hypnotize people through touch. He thought if he could get me under his control, he could benefit from that power again."

A collective shudder went through the room at the thought of Tony wielding such an ability. Pete's hand on Way's back stilled for a moment before resuming its comforting strokes.

"And..." Way hesitated, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "I think he knew how much it would hurt all of you. If he could use me as a weapon against you..."

He trailed off, unable to finish the thought. The pain in his voice was palpable, and Pete pulled him closer, a low, comforting rumble in his chest.

Kenta had gone pale, his body rigid with tension. Kim leaned forward unexpectedly, enveloping him in a protective embrace. Way blinked, momentarily distracted from his dark thoughts by the sight. He couldn't help but feel a flicker of surprise and amusement at the obvious affection between the two alphas. It was a development he hadn't expected, but one that brought a small smile to his face.

"I'm sorry," Kenta said suddenly, his voice rough with emotion. "I'm so sorry for what Tony did to you, Way. No one should have to go through that."

Way's expression softened. "Thank you, Kenta," he said gently. "And... I'm sorry too. For what Tony did to you. I know you suffered at his hands for most of your life."

Kenta's eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting the apology. He nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. Kim pressed a kiss to his temple, murmuring something too low for the others to hear.

The heavy atmosphere in the room began to lift as the conversation turned to lighter topics. Kim, sensing the need for a change of subject, began regaling them with stories of North's latest antics. Way found himself relaxing, drawn into the warmth of the pack's easy camaraderie.

Pete, relieved to see Way engaging more, began to scent him subtly. He leaned in close, nuzzling gently at Way's neck, inhaling deeply. The intoxicating blend of balsam and mimosa that was uniquely Way filled his senses, grounding him and soothing his protective instincts.

Way leaned into the touch, a soft sigh escaping him. The tension he'd been carrying since sharing his memories began to melt away under Pete's ministrations. He turned his head, catching Pete's eye, a small but genuine smile curving his lips.

"Thank you," Way murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Pete didn't need to ask what for. He understood. For being there, for listening, for accepting, for loving. For everything. He gently nudged Way’s jaw with his nose, his arms tightening around the younger Enigma.

"Always," Pete whispered back, the single word a promise and a declaration all at once.

As the afternoon wore on, the atmosphere in the house gradually lightened. The sound of laughter drifted in from the pool, where North and Sonic were still engaged in their aquatic escapades. Alan and Jeff's voices could be heard from the patio, engaged in a friendly debate about some obscure historical fact.

Inside, Kim and Kenta had moved to the living room, curled up together on the couch. Their relationship was clearly still new, marked by shy glances and tentative touches. But there was a comfort there, a sense of rightness that was beautiful to see.

Way watched them from his place in Pete's arms, a mix of emotions playing across his face. There was happiness for his friends, a touch of wistfulness, and underneath it all, a spark of hope. Hope that despite everything that had happened, despite all the pain and trauma, there was still room for love and healing.

Pete, sensing the shift in Way's mood, tightened his hold. "What are you thinking about?" he asked softly.

Way was quiet for a moment, his gaze still on Kim and Kenta. "Just... how much things have changed," he said finally. "And how much they've stayed the same."

Pete nodded, understanding. "Change isn't always a bad thing," he said gently. "Sometimes it's necessary for growth, for healing."

Way turned to look at Pete, his eyes searching. "And what about us?" he asked, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. "Have we changed?"

Pete considered the question carefully. "Yes," he said finally. "And no. The core of who we are, what we mean to each other — that hasn't changed. But we've grown, we've faced challenges. We're stronger for it."

Way nodded slowly, absorbing Pete's words. "I'm not... I'm not the same person I was before," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes I wonder if..."

"If I still have feelings for you?" Pete finished, his voice gentle but firm. "Way, look at me."

Way raised his eyes, meeting Pete's steady gaze. Pete cupped Way's face in his hands, his touch infinitely tender. "I love you," he said, each word clear and deliberate. "The you that you were before, the you that you are now, and every version of you that's yet to come. Nothing could ever change that."

Tears welled up in Way's eyes, spilling over onto his cheeks. Pete wiped them away gently with his thumbs, his own eyes shining with unshed tears.

"I love you too," Way whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "So much. It's just... we ran out of time before, you know? A year ago, when we first met, we never really got to explore what was between us. And now..." He paused, swallowing hard. "I'm afraid time will run out again. I don't know what I'd do without you, Pete."

Pete's heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in Way's voice. He pulled Way close, enveloping him in a tight embrace. "You'll never have to find out," he promised fiercely. "I'm here, Way. Always. We have time now, and I'm not going to waste a single moment of it."

Way buried his face in Pete's chest, his hands clutching at Pete's shirt. "Promise?" he whispered, the word muffled against Pete's skin.

"I promise," Pete said, his voice steady and sure. He pressed a kiss to the top of Way's head, inhaling the younger man's comforting scent. "We've been given a second chance, Way. And I intend to make the most of it."

As they held each other, the sounds of life continued around them. Laughter from the pool, quiet conversation from the patio, the soft murmur of Kim and Kenta's voices from the living room. It was the sound of family, of pack, of home.

Way closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of Pete’s arms wrapped around him. As he breathed in, he recognized the soothing blend of sandalwood and mandarin of the older Enigma’s own scent. And for the first time in a long while, the chaotic world around him seemed to fade away, leaving behind a sense of tranquility and security. Nestled in Pete’s embrace and surrounded by the unwavering support of their pack, Way found solace in the certainty that they would overcome the fight headed their way.

They had each other, and together, they could face anything. This time, they wouldn't let anything or anyone come between them. They had all the time in the world, and they were going to make every second count.

Chapter Text

The air was thick with tension as the X-Hunter team approached Tony's old property. The large house loomed before them, a shadow of its former glory but still imposing in its own right. Unlike the grandiose mansion that Tony had later called home, this structure spoke of more modest beginnings – a testament to the early days of his foundation.

The team had parked their vehicles some distance away, concealed by the dense foliage that surrounded the property. As they made their final preparations, the weight of their mission hung heavy on each member's shoulders.

Pete's gaze lingered on Way, concern etched deeply into his features. The younger Enigma's eyes were distant, his posture tense. The flood of memories triggered by their visit to the apartment had left Way in a fragile state, and Pete had vehemently opposed bringing him along. But Way had insisted, his voice trembling but determined.

"I need to face him," Way had said, his eyes meeting Pete's with a flash of the old fire Pete had fallen in love with. "I need to take back what he stole from me."

Now, as they prepared to move in, Pete couldn't shake the feeling that they were making a terrible mistake.

Nearby, Kim was having a similar internal struggle as he watched Kenta check his weapon. The alpha's movements were fluid, but Kim could see the slight wince of pain that crossed Kenta's face with certain motions. His injuries were still healing, and Kim had argued fiercely against Kenta's inclusion in this mission.

"I'm not sitting this out," Kenta had told him firmly. "I owe Tony, and I intend to collect."

The rest of the team was a mix of determination and nervous energy. Babe's face was set in grim lines, his usual cockiness replaced by a cold focus. Charlie stood beside him, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings, alert for any sign of danger. Alan, Jeff, North, and Sonic formed a tight cluster, their expressions mirroring the seriousness of the situation.

Sorn, the head of Pete's security team, approached with purposeful strides. "My team is in position," he reported, his voice low and steady. "We're ready to move on your command, sir."

Pete nodded, taking a deep breath to center himself. "Alright," he said, addressing the group. "We stick to the plan. My team takes the front, Alan's team takes the back. We move fast, we move quiet. Our priority is securing Tony, Winner, and any other key players. Watch each other's backs, and don't take unnecessary risks."

His gaze swept over the group, lingering for a moment on Way. "Be careful," he added softly. "All of you."

With a final nod, Pete signaled to Sorn, and the operation began.

The team moved swiftly through the overgrown grounds, their footsteps muffled by years of accumulated leaves and debris. As they neared the house, the first signs that something was amiss became apparent. The windows, which should have been dark and lifeless, showed faint glimmers of movement behind heavy curtains.

Pete's instincts screamed a warning, but before he could call for a halt, all hell broke loose.

The front door burst open, disgorging a flood of armed men. At the same moment, figures appeared at the windows, weapons trained on the approaching team. The air was suddenly filled with the deafening crack of gunfire and the acrid smell of cordite.

"Take cover!" Pete roared, diving behind a crumbling stone wall. The rest of the team scattered, seeking whatever shelter they could find in the overgrown garden.

Sorn and his security team returned fire, their training evident in their precise movements and coordinated efforts. But it quickly became clear that they were outnumbered and outgunned.

"We need to get inside!" Babe shouted over the din, his eyes wild with a mix of fear and determination. "We're sitting ducks out here!"

Pete nodded grimly. "Sorn!" he called. "Can you give us covering fire?"

The security chief nodded, signaling to his team. "On my mark!" he shouted. "Three... two... one... Now!"

A hail of bullets erupted from the security team's positions, forcing Tony's men to duck for cover. Pete seized the opportunity, sprinting towards the house with Babe, Charlie, Kim, and Kenta hot on his heels. They reached the relative safety of the porch, pressing themselves against the weathered wood as bullets splintered the railings around them.

"We're going in!" Pete shouted into his comm unit. "Alan, what's your status?"

Alan's voice crackled through the earpiece, punctuated by the sound of gunfire. "We're pinned down at the back!" he reported. "Heavy resistance! We'll try to push through!"

Pete gritted his teeth, frustration and worry warring within him. This was not how the plan was supposed to go. Tony had clearly been expecting them, and they had walked right into his trap.

"Breach and clear!" Pete ordered, nodding to Babe. The alpha kicked in the door, and they surged into the house, weapons at the ready.

The interior of the house was a maze of shadows and decay. What had once been a grand entryway was now a jumble of broken furniture and peeling wallpaper. But Pete had no time to dwell on the ghosts of the past. The sound of approaching footsteps sent them diving for cover behind an overturned table.

"Well, well," a familiar voice echoed through the hall, sending a chill down Pete's spine. "The prodigal son returns. And he's brought his friends."

Tony emerged from the shadows, his smile as cold and cruel as Pete remembered. Beside him stood Winner and Dean, the latter’s face a mask of conflicted emotions.

"Did you really think I wouldn't be prepared for you, Pete?" Tony asked, his tone almost conversational. "I trained you better than that."

Pete's grip tightened on his weapon, every instinct screaming at him to end this here and now. But he held back, knowing that a wrong move could endanger his entire team.

"It's over, Tony," Pete called out, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. "We have the place surrounded. There's no way out for you this time."

Tony's laugh was harsh and humorless. "Oh, Pete," he said, shaking his head. "Always so confident. But you forget – I always have a way out."

As if on cue, a fresh wave of gunfire erupted from behind them. Pete turned to see more of Tony's men pouring in from a hidden passage, cutting off their retreat.

"Fall back!" Pete shouted, firing off a series of shots to cover their retreat. They scrambled deeper into the house, the sound of pursuit close behind them.

They found themselves in what must have once been a grand sitting room. The remnants of ornate furniture provided some cover, but Pete knew they were trapped. The doors on either end of the room burst open, Tony's men flooding in with weapons raised.

Pete's team took up defensive positions, returning fire as best they could. But they were outnumbered and outgunned, and Pete could see the grim reality of their situation settling over his companions' faces.

Across the room, Pete caught sight of Alan's team being forced in at gunpoint. His heart sank as he realized that their entire force had been corralled into this one room.

The gunfire died down as Tony strolled into the room, Winner close behind him. "I must say, I'm disappointed," Tony said, his voice carrying easily over the tense silence. "I expected better from you, Pete. From all of you."

Pete's mind raced, desperately searching for a way out of this situation. But as he looked around at his team – at Babe's clenched jaw, at Charlie's defiant glare, at Kim's protective stance in front of an injured Kenta – he realized with a sinking feeling that they were well and truly cornered.

And then, with a jolt of panic, Pete realized something else. Way was nowhere to be seen.

The realization hit Pete like a physical blow, momentarily robbing him of breath. His eyes darted frantically around the room, searching for any sign of Way's slight form in the chaos. But there was nothing – no flash of his dark hair, no glimpse of his expressive eyes.

"Looking for someone?" Tony's voice cut through Pete's rising panic, a note of cruel amusement in his tone. "Your little pet seems to have wandered off. Don't worry, I'm sure we'll find him eventually."

Pete's blood ran cold at the implication behind Tony's words. The thought of Way alone and vulnerable in this house of horrors was almost more than he could bear. He forced himself to focus, to push down the fear threatening to overwhelm him. Way needed him to be strong, to find a way out of this mess.

"What do you want, Tony?" Pete growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You've got us where you want us. What's your endgame here?"

Tony's smile widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Oh, Pete," he said, shaking his head as if disappointed. "Always so impatient. This isn't about what I want. It's about what you're going to give me."

Babe's voice cut through the tension, sharp and defiant. "The only thing you'll be getting is another knife through the chest, Tony," he snarled, his eyes flashing with anger.

At Babe's words, Kenta visibly winced, the memory of his own attack on Tony clearly fresh in his mind. The movement didn't go unnoticed by Kim, who instinctively moved closer to Kenta, his protective instincts flaring.

Tony's response was a low, amused chuckle that sent chills down the spines of everyone in the room. His eyes, cold and calculating, swept over the group before settling on Babe. "And how exactly do you plan to get close enough to try that, my dear boy?" he asked, gesturing to the wall of armed men surrounding them. "Besides, do any of you really think it would work a second time?"

The implication in Tony's words hung heavy in the air. They had all seen Tony bleed out, had believed him dead. Yet here he stood, very much alive and in control. The impossibility of the situation was not lost on any of them.

Pete, his mind racing, saw an opportunity. If he could keep Tony talking, maybe they could buy enough time to find a way out of this mess. "How did you survive, Tony?" he asked, forcing his voice to remain steady. "We all saw you die."

Tony's smile grew, a twisted thing that spoke of secrets and danger. "Come now, Pete. You of all people should know how resilient we can be."

"And Way?" Pete pressed, unable to keep the edge of desperation from his voice. "You took him. You knew he was alive when we all thought he was dead. How?"

For a moment, Tony's eyes flickered with something – surprise, perhaps, or a hint of respect. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual mask of smug superiority. "Enigmas are hard to kill, Pete," he said, his voice taking on a lecturer's tone. "Surely you know this better than most."

The words sent a ripple of unease through the group. They all knew about Enigmas, of course. Pete himself was living proof of their extraordinary abilities. And Way... well, it wasn't an impossible stretch to imagine that he too might have survived against all odds.

But Tony... Tony had always been human. Hadn't he?

Pete's mind whirled, pieces of a puzzle he hadn't even known existed suddenly falling into place. The impossible survival, the uncanny ability to always be one step ahead, the obsession with creating the perfect child... It all led to one incredible, terrifying conclusion.

"You're an Enigma," Pete breathed, the words barely audible but carrying the weight of a thunderclap in the sudden silence of the room.

Tony's smile widened, a wicked, triumphant thing that sent shivers down the spines of everyone present. "Very good, Pete," he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "I always knew you were the clever one."

The revelation hit the room like a physical force. Babe's jaw dropped in disbelief, while Charlie's eyes narrowed in calculation, his brilliant mind already racing to adjust their strategies with this new information. Kim's grip on Kenta tightened, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he realized the true extent of the danger they were facing.

"That's impossible," Kenta said, his usually calm voice shaking slightly. "We would have known. There would have been signs..."

Tony laughed, the sound echoing off the walls of the dilapidated room. "Oh, there were signs, my dear Ken. You just weren't looking for them. You were all so caught up in your little dramas, your petty power struggles. You never stopped to consider that the real power was right in front of you all along."

Pete's mind was reeling. How had they missed this? How had he missed this? He, of all people, should have recognized another Enigma. But Tony had hidden it so well, playing the role of the brilliant but conniving human with such conviction that no one had ever questioned it.

The weight of Tony's words settled over the room like a shroud. The idea of Tony, with all his brilliance and cruelty, having the powers of an Enigma was terrifying enough. But the thought of him having had those abilities all along, perhaps even using them against the team... it was almost too much to comprehend.

The cacophony of gunfire erupted around Way, his heart pounding in his chest as adrenaline surged through his veins. In the chaos, he found himself separated from Pete and the others, instinct driving him to dart around the side of the house. The young Enigma pressed his back against the weathered siding, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he tried to make sense of the situation.

The sound of shouting and gunfire continued to echo from the front of the property, but here, on the side of the house, there was an eerie calm. Way's eyes darted around, searching for any sign of danger or opportunity. That's when he spotted it – an open window on the first floor, barely visible through the overgrown shrubbery.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Way made a split-second decision. He darted forward, his lithe form easily slipping through the narrow opening and into the house. He found himself in a small, empty room adjacent to what appeared to be the kitchen. The musty smell of disuse filled his nostrils, and he had to fight back a sneeze.

Way paused, listening intently. The sounds of the firefight outside were muffled now, but he could hear movement elsewhere in the house. Careful to stay low and keep to the shadows, he began to maneuver through the large, decaying structure.

The kitchen was a scene of abandoned opulence – marble countertops dulled by years of neglect, high-end appliances covered in a thick layer of dust. Way's footsteps were nearly silent as he moved across the tiled floor, his eyes constantly scanning for any sign of Tony's men.

A noise from above made him freeze. Footsteps, heavy and purposeful, moving across the ceiling. Way's gaze darted around, looking for a way up. That's when he spotted it – a narrow door, partially hidden behind what might have once been a pantry. A back staircase.

With one last glance over his shoulder, Way slipped through the door and began to climb. The stairs creaked ominously under his weight, and he winced at each sound, certain that it would give him away. But no one came to investigate, and soon he found himself on the second floor.

The upper level of the house was a maze of corridors and closed doors. Way moved cautiously, his senses on high alert. He was about to round a corner when he heard voices – familiar voices that made his blood run cold.

Dropping to his knees, Way peered carefully around the corner. His heart nearly stopped at the sight before him.

Below, in what must have been a grand living room, was his pack. Pete, Babe, Charlie, Kim, Kenta, and the others – all surrounded by Tony's heavily armed men. And there, at the center of it all, stood Tony himself, his posture radiating smug confidence.

Way strained to hear what was being said, his mind racing as he tried to figure out how to help his family. That's when Tony's words reached him, clear and triumphant:

"Very good, Pete. I always knew you were the clever one."

Way's brow furrowed in confusion. What had Pete figured out? He inched closer, careful to stay hidden in the shadows of the upper level.

"That's impossible," Kenta's voice drifted up, tinged with disbelief. "We would have known. There would have been signs..."

Tony's laughter, cold and cruel, sent a shiver down Way's spine. "Oh, there were signs, my dear Ken. You just weren't looking for them. You were all so caught up in your little dramas, your petty power struggles. You never stopped to consider that the real power was right in front of you all along."

Way's mind whirled, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. And then, like a bolt of lightning, the realization struck him. Tony was an Enigma. Just like him. Just like Pete.

The revelation left Way reeling. All this time, Tony had possessed the same designation as he and Pete. It explained so much – how Tony had always seemed to be one step ahead, how he had survived what should have been a fatal wound, how he had known about Way's survival when everyone else believed him dead.

As the implications of this revelation sank in, Way's attention was drawn back to his adoptive father. Tony had begun to pace, his back now turned to Way's position. Off to one side stood Winner and Dean, their postures tense as they watched the scene unfold.

Tony's voice rose again, filled with a terrible eagerness that made Way's skin crawl. "Now that we've cleared up that little mystery, let's discuss the future, shall we? I have such grand plans, and you're all going to play your parts."

Way watched as his pack bristled at Tony's words, their faces a mix of fear and defiance. He longed to call out to them, to let them know he was there, but he knew he had to bide his time. One wrong move could spell disaster for all of them.

"You see," Tony continued, his voice taking on the tone of a lecturer addressing a captive audience, "I've come to realize that my previous approach was... inefficient. Why waste more of my time playing games when I can finally get what I’ve always wanted right now?"

He gestured grandly, encompassing the entire group with a sweep of his arm. "Babe, my strong alpha with his enhanced senses. And Way, wherever he's hiding, with his unique ability to influence minds. Together, they'll produce offspring of unparalleled potential."

Way felt his stomach turn at Tony's words. The idea of being used as a breeding machine, of having his children raised by this monster, was almost more than he could bear.

But Tony wasn't finished. His gaze swept over the group, landing on Jeff. The young omega flinched under Tony's predatory stare. "And let's not forget our little seer," Tony purred. "The ability to glimpse the future – now that's something that will fetch a pretty penny on the open market. I already have several interested buyers lined up."

Jeff's face paled, and Way could see Alan move protectively closer to the omega, his eyes flashing with rage.

Tony's smile widened as he took in their reactions. "Oh, don't look so glum," he chided. "You should be honored. You're getting a second chance to be part of something truly extraordinary. Well... some of you, at least."

His tone shifted, becoming colder, more calculating. "The rest of you, I'm afraid, are rather superfluous to my plans. And I've never been one for loose ends."

Way's heart rate quickened as he saw Tony's hand move towards his pocket. He knew, with a terrible certainty, what was coming next.

"I think we'll start with my two most disappointing sons," Tony said, his voice dripping with false regret. His gaze locked onto Pete and Kenta. “I had such high hopes for both of you. But in the end, you've proven to be nothing but thorns in my side."

Way saw Pete tense, ready to spring into action. But they were outnumbered, outgunned. Any move now would be suicide.

Time seemed to slow as Tony began to raise his hand, ready to signal his men to open fire. Way knew he had only seconds to act. Without conscious thought, his body was already in motion.

He vaulted over the railing, his feet barely touching the ground as he landed. In three quick strides, he was behind Tony, his hand shooting out to grasp the back of the older man's neck.

The world around them exploded into chaos, but Way's focus narrowed to a single point of contact between his palm and Tony's skin. He felt the familiar surge of his power, the rush of energy as his ability activated.

"Stop," Way commanded, his voice low but thrumming with power. "Don't move. Don't fight."

Tony's body went rigid, his arm frozen mid-gesture. Way could feel the man's mind struggling against his control, but he pressed harder, pushing past the initial resistance.

"You're going to give up," Way continued, his voice steady despite the trembling in his limbs. "You're not going to fight anymore. You're going to confess to everything you've done and willingly go to prison."

From the corner of his eye, Way saw movement. Winner, lunging towards him with murder in his eyes. But before the alpha could reach them, another figure barreled into him, sending them both crashing to the floor.

Dean. The beta had thrown himself at Winner, preventing him from interfering. As they grappled on the ground, Dean shouted, "Way! Don't let go! Keep control!"

The room had erupted into pandemonium. Tony's men, momentarily stunned by the sudden turn of events, were now faced with a reinvigorated pack. Pete's voice rose above the din, shouting orders as he and the others took advantage of the distraction to turn the tables on their captors.

Gunfire erupted once more, but this time it was Tony's men who were scrambling for cover. Way could hear the sounds of hand-to-hand combat, the grunts and cries of pain as his family fought for their lives.

But he couldn't afford to be distracted. Tony was still fighting against his control, the man's formidable will straining against Way's influence. Way gritted his teeth, pushing harder, delving deeper into Tony's mind than he ever had before.

"You will confess," Way repeated, his voice growing hoarse with the effort. "You will face justice for everything you've done. To me, to Pete, to all of us. You can't hide anymore, Tony. It's over."

He could feel something changing in Tony's mind, a shift in the very fabric of the man's thoughts. It was working, but the strain was immense. Way's vision began to blur, dark spots dancing at the edges of his sight.

"Way!" Pete's voice cut through the chaos, closer now. "Way, hang on! We're coming!"

Way wanted to respond, to tell Pete that he was okay, that he had everything under control. But he couldn't spare the concentration. Every ounce of his being was focused on maintaining his hold over Tony.

And then, suddenly, something snapped.

Way felt a surge of resistance from Tony, stronger than anything he'd encountered before. It was like trying to hold back a tidal wave with his bare hands. He pushed back with everything he had, forcing his will deeper into Tony's mind.

For a moment, it seemed to work. Tony's body went slack, his resistance crumbling. But then Way felt something else – a sudden, terrifying stillness in Tony's mind. He barely had time to register what was happening before Tony's body began to convulse. The older man's eyes rolled back in his head, foam forming at the corners of his mouth.

"No!" Way cried out, releasing his hold. But it was too late. Tony crumpled to the floor, his body twitching uncontrollably.

The room fell silent, the fighting forgotten as everyone stared in shock at Tony's prone form. Way stumbled back, his legs giving out beneath him. He felt arms catch him before he could hit the ground, the familiar scent of Pete enveloping him.

"Way? Way, can you hear me?" Pete's voice sounded distant, muffled as if coming from underwater.

Way tried to respond, but his tongue felt too heavy in his mouth. The edges of his vision were growing dark, the world around him fading away. He was vaguely aware of voices shouting, of hands touching his face, checking his pulse.

But all he could focus on was Tony's still form on the floor. What had he done? Had he pushed too hard? Used too much of his power?

The last thing Way heard before unconsciousness claimed him was Pete's voice, desperate and afraid, calling his name.

"Way! Way, stay with me! Way!"

And then, mercifully, everything went black.

Chapter Text

The aftermath of the confrontation at Tony's old property was a blur of flashing lights, urgent voices, and the acrid smell of gunsmoke lingering in the air. Emergency services had descended upon the scene, alerted by the sounds of gunfire and the subsequent 911 calls from nearby residents.

Pete cradled Way's unconscious form, his eyes never leaving the young Enigma's face as paramedics worked around them. The chaos of the room seemed distant, secondary to the rise and fall of Way's chest – the only reassurance that he was still alive.

"Sir, we need to take him now," a paramedic said gently, trying to pry Way from Pete's arms.

Pete resisted for a moment before reason reasserted itself. He nodded numbly, allowing the medical professionals to transfer Way onto a stretcher. As they wheeled him away, Pete felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to find Babe standing there, his face a mask of concern.

"Go with him," Babe said, his voice gruff with emotion. "We've got things handled here."

Pete hesitated, his gaze sweeping over the scene. Tony's men were being led away in handcuffs, while others were receiving medical attention. His pack was scattered around the room, giving statements to the police or being checked over by paramedics.

And there, in the center of it all, was Tony's body. A sheet had been draped over him, but Pete could still see the outline of the man who had caused them so much pain. He felt a confusing mix of emotions – relief, anger, and a strange, hollow sadness.

"Pete," Babe's voice cut through his thoughts. "Go. Way needs you."

With a nod, Pete turned and hurried after the paramedics, his heart racing as he climbed into the back of the ambulance. As the doors closed and the vehicle lurched into motion, Pete took Way's hand in his own, silently willing the younger man to wake up.

The ambulance's sirens wailed as it tore through the streets, each second feeling like an eternity to Pete. His eyes never left Way's face, searching for any sign of consciousness, any flicker of movement beneath those closed eyelids. The paramedics worked efficiently around them, checking vitals and adjusting equipment, their voices a distant hum in Pete's ears.

"Way," Pete whispered, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of Way's hand. "I'm here. You're safe now. Just hold on."

The younger Enigma remained still, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that was both reassuring and terrifying in its constancy. Pete found himself counting each breath, as if by sheer force of will he could keep Way tethered to this world.

As the ambulance swerved around a corner, Pete instinctively tightened his grip on Way's hand, careful not to disturb the IV line snaking into his arm. The motion stirred a memory – Way, small and vulnerable, clinging to life as he bled out on the floor of Tony's compound over a year ago. Now, as then, Pete felt a fierce surge of protectiveness wash over him.

"Sir," one of the paramedics addressed Pete, breaking through his reverie. "We're almost at the hospital. Can you tell us any more about what happened? Any medical conditions we should be aware of?"

Pete blinked, forcing himself to focus. "He... he overexerted himself. Mentally," he explained, the words feeling inadequate to describe the immense power Way had wielded. "He's an Enigma, like me. But his abilities... they're different. More taxing, I think."

The paramedic nodded, jotting something down on a clipboard. "Any allergies? Previous hospitalizations?"

Pete hesitated for a moment, the memory causing a pang in his chest. "He was hospitalized about a year ago," he said, his voice tight. "Gunshot wounds."

The paramedic's eyebrows raised slightly, but he remained professional. "I see. Thank you for letting us know. That information could be relevant to his care."

As the paramedic turned to relay this information to her colleagues, Pete's grip on Way's hand tightened slightly. The thought of Way being hurt, being in the hospital without Pete there to support him, sent a fresh wave of guilt and protectiveness through him. He silently vowed once again to never let Way face such dangers alone.

The ambulance came to a stop, and suddenly they were in motion again. Pete kept his grip on Way's hand as they wheeled the stretcher out, jogging alongside as they entered the emergency department. The fluorescent lights were harsh after the dim interior of the ambulance, and Pete blinked against their glare.

A flurry of activity surrounded them as doctors and nurses converged on Way's stretcher. Pete tried to follow, but a gentle hand on his arm held him back.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but you'll need to wait here," a nurse said, her voice kind but firm. "We need to assess him and get him stabilized. Someone will come update you as soon as possible."

Pete wanted to argue, to insist that he needed to stay with Way. But the rational part of his mind knew that he would only be in the way. With a reluctant nod, he allowed himself to be led to a nearby waiting area.

The next twenty minutes were some of the longest of Pete's life. He paced the small waiting room, unable to sit still for more than a few seconds at a time. His instincts screamed at him to go find Way, to protect him, to ensure that no harm came to him in this strange place.

Pete ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. He was dimly aware of the other people in the waiting room, their curious glances at his disheveled appearance and agitated state. But he couldn't bring himself to care about their opinions. All that mattered was Way.

As he made another circuit of the room, Pete's mind raced with possibilities. What if there was something seriously wrong? What if Way had pushed himself too far this time? The image of Tony's convulsing body flashed through his mind, and Pete felt a chill run down his spine. No, he told himself firmly. Way was stronger than that. He had to be.

Pete was just about to march up to the reception desk and demand an update when he heard his name called. He spun around to see a doctor approaching, her expression neutral in that practiced way of medical professionals.

"Mr. Peeraphon?" she asked, extending her hand. "I'm Dr. Reeves. I've been overseeing Way's care."

Pete shook her hand, barely restraining himself from bombarding her with questions. "How is he? Is he awake? Can I see him?"

Dr. Reeves held up a calming hand. "Way is stable," she began, and Pete felt some of the tension leave his body at those words. "He's currently in an unconscious state, which appears to be secondary to severe mental exhaustion."

Pete nodded, unsurprised by this assessment. "He... he used his abilities. Pushed himself harder than he ever has before."

The doctor made a note on her tablet. "I see. Well, the good news is that his vital signs are strong. We're focusing on stabilizing him and allowing his mind the rest it clearly needs."

"But he will wake up, right?" Pete asked, unable to keep the note of desperation from his voice.

Dr. Reeves' expression softened slightly. "Based on what we're seeing, I have every reason to believe he will. His body is responding well to treatment, and there's no sign of physical trauma. What he needs now is time to recover."

Pete let out a shaky breath, relief washing over him. "Can I see him?"

The doctor nodded. "Of course. Follow me, please."

As they walked through the winding corridors of the hospital, Pete's mind was already racing ahead. He needed to call the others, let them know what was happening. And there would be questions from the authorities, no doubt. The events at Tony's property couldn't be easily explained away.

But all of that faded into the background as Dr. Reeves led him into a small, dimly lit room. There, on the bed, lay Way. He looked small and vulnerable against the stark white sheets, an IV line running into his arm and monitors beeping softly nearby.

"I'll give you some time with him," Dr. Reeves said quietly. "If you need anything, or if there's any change, just press the call button."

Pete barely registered her departure, his focus entirely on Way. He moved to the bedside, carefully taking Way's hand in his own. The younger Enigma's skin was warm, his pulse steady beneath Pete's fingers.

"Oh, Way," Pete murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He brought Way's hand to his lips, pressing gentle kisses along his knuckles. "You did it. You saved us all. Now it's time for you to come back to me."

Pete sank into the chair beside the bed, never letting go of Way's hand. With his free hand, he gently brushed a lock of hair from Way's forehead. Even in unconsciousness, Way's face held a tension that spoke of the burdens he carried.

"I'm so sorry," Pete whispered, tracing the line of Way's jaw with feather-light touches. "I should have protected you better. You never should’ve been forced to handle Tony alone."

He leaned in closer, resting his forehead against Way's. "But I promise you, it's over now. He can't hurt you anymore. Can't hurt any of us."

The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the silence, a rhythmic reminder of Way's continued fight. Pete closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth of Way's skin, the soft puffs of his breath. He was alive. He was here. That was what mattered.

"You know," Pete said softly, a wry smile tugging at his lips, "this wasn't quite how I imagined our reunion turning out. I had plans, Way. Dinner, maybe. A chance to really talk, to catch up on all the time we missed."

He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "But then, when have things ever gone according to plan for us?"

Pete's thumb traced idle patterns on the back of Way's hand as he spoke, his voice low and intimate in the quiet room. "Do you remember that night, Way? The night Kenta attacked me in my home? What am I saying, of course you do. You were so brave, even then. Scared out of your mind, but still willing to trust me."

The memory washed over him, bittersweet and vivid. "Back then, I promised myself I'd keep you safe. That I'd give you the life you deserved, free from Tony's influence. And for a short while, I thought I could."

Pete's voice caught, and he had to take a moment to compose himself. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from him in the end. Sorry that he found you, that he hurt you all over again. But Way, what you did today... you protected all of us. You were incredible."

He pressed another gentle kiss to Way's knuckles. "And now it's my turn to protect you again. I'm not going anywhere, Way. I'll be right here when you wake up. For as long as you need me. For as long as you want me."

The rhythmic beeping of the monitors continued, unchanging. Pete sighed, leaning back in his chair but maintaining his hold on Way's hand. He knew he should probably call the others, let them know what was happening. But he couldn't bring himself to leave Way's side, not even for a moment.

Back at the house, the rest of the pack rallied, working to bring order to the chaos. Sorn coordinated with the police, his quick mind and calm demeanor proving invaluable as he navigated the complex situation. Kim stayed close to Kenta, his protective instincts in overdrive as he watched his mate give his statement to a detective.

Jeff sat quietly in a corner, his eyes distant. The omega seemed to be in shock, and the events of the day and Tony's chilling plans for him were taking their toll. It was Alan who noticed first, making his way over to sit beside the younger man.

"Hey," Alan said softly, placing a gentle hand on Jeff's shoulder. "You're safe now. I've got you."

Jeff blinked, focusing on Alan's face. His lower lip trembled for a moment before he threw himself into the older man's arms, finally allowing himself to break down.

As the police began to clear the scene, Babe found himself face-to-face with Dean. The beta stood awkwardly, his eyes darting around as if looking for an escape route.

"You saved Way," Babe said, his tone neutral. "Stopped Winner from interfering."

Dean nodded, swallowing hard. "I... I couldn't let it happen. Not again. I've stood by and watched Tony hurt people for too long."

Babe studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Thank you," he said simply. Then, after a pause, "What happens now? With you?"

Dean let out a shaky breath. "I don't know," he admitted. "I'll have to answer for my part in all this, I suppose. But... I want to make things right. If I can."

Babe clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder, surprised to find he meant it when he said, "We'll figure it out."

As the last of the emergency vehicles pulled away, the pack gathered in what remained of Tony's neglected living room. The space felt different now – the oppressive aura of Tony's presence lifted, leaving behind a sense of tentative hope.

"What do we do now?" North asked, voicing the question on everyone's mind.

Charlie, ever practical, was the first to respond. "We need to get to the hospital," he said. "Check on Way, be there for Pete. And..." he hesitated, glancing at Kenta. "We need to make sure Tony is really gone this time."

Kenta nodded grimly. "I'll handle that," he said, his voice firm despite the pallor of his face. "I need to see it for myself."

Kim started to protest, but Kenta silenced him with a look. "I have to do this, Kim," he said softly. "For all of us. For closure."

As the group began to move towards the exit, Babe's voice stopped them. "Wait," he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "Before we go... I think we need to talk about what happened here. About what Tony said."

The room fell silent, the weight of the revelation hanging heavy in the air. It was Sonic who finally broke the silence, his voice small and uncertain. "He was like them," he said. "Like Pete and Way. An Enigma."

The word seemed to echo in the room, carrying with it a host of implications and unanswered questions.

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor had become a constant companion to Pete over the past two days. He sat in the now-familiar chair beside Way's hospital bed, his eyes fixed on the cityscape visible through the window. The sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, a stark contrast to the sterile white of the hospital room.

Pete's clothes were rumpled, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it countless times. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed his lack of sleep, but he refused to leave Way's side for more than absolutely necessary. The team had literally dragged him out of the room yesterday, insisting he go home to shower and change. He'd only agreed after extracting promises from each of them to stay with Way until his return.

As he watched the city lights begin to flicker on in the growing dusk, Pete's mind wandered over the events of the past few days. The confrontation at Tony's old property, the revelation of Tony's true nature, and Way's incredible display of power – it all seemed like a surreal dream. But the unconscious form of Way in the hospital bed was a stark reminder of the reality they now faced.

A soft rustling from the bed snapped Pete's attention back to the present. His heart leapt as he saw Way's eyelids flutter, his head turning slightly on the pillow. In an instant, Pete was leaning forward, his hand gently grasping Way's.

"Way?" he called softly, hope and anxiety warring in his chest. "Can you hear me?"

Way's eyes opened slowly, blinking against the dim light of the room. His gaze wandered, unfocused at first, before finally settling on Pete's face. Recognition dawned in those familiar eyes, and Pete felt a wave of relief wash over him.

"Pete?" Way's voice was hoarse from disuse, barely above a whisper.

Pete couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. "Hey there," he said softly, squeezing Way's hand. "Welcome back."

Way's brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to take in his surroundings. "What... what happened?" he asked, his voice gaining a little strength.

Pete reached for a cup of water on the bedside table, helping Way take a few small sips before answering. "You went beyond the extent of your power," he explained gently. "You fainted after... after everything that happened at Tony's place. You're in the hospital now. You've been asleep for two days."

Way blinked, processing this information. Pete could almost see the gears turning in his mind as the memories of that day came flooding back. Suddenly, Way's eyes widened, and he tried to sit up, only to be gently restrained by Pete's hand on his shoulder.

"Easy," Pete cautioned. "You need to take it slow."

"The others," Way said urgently, his eyes searching Pete's face. "Are they safe? What happened after I... after I passed out?"

Pete's heart swelled at Way's immediate concern for the team. "They're all safe," he assured him. "Everyone made it out okay. They've been here, visiting you, waiting for you to wake up. Babe's been threatening to draw on your face if you didn't wake up soon."

A small smile tugged at Way's lips at that, but it quickly faded. "And... Tony?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Pete hesitated for a moment, unsure how to broach this subject. But Way deserved the truth. "Tony's dead," he said softly. "He had a stroke."

Way's face paled, his eyes growing distant. "I... I killed him," he whispered, the words filled with a mixture of horror and disbelief. "I felt his mind go blank before he started convulsing. I did that."

Pete's heart ached at the guilt in Way's voice. He leaned in closer, his free hand coming up to cup Way's cheek. "Hey, look at me," he said firmly, waiting until Way's eyes met his. "You saved us. All of us. Tony was going to kill us, and you stopped him. You did what you had to do."

Way's eyes filled with tears. "But I... I didn't mean to kill him. I just wanted to stop him."

Pete nodded, his thumb gently wiping away a tear that had escaped. "I know," he said softly. "But Way, you have to understand. What Tony was planning... it was monstrous. He was going to use you, use all of us, for his twisted schemes. You protected us from a fate worse than death."

Way seemed to struggle with this, his emotions warring across his face. After a moment, he asked in a small voice, "Are you sure he's really dead this time? For good?"

Pete nodded solemnly. "Kenta confirmed it," he said. "We... we had Tony's body cremated yesterday. To make sure he can't come back."

A complex mix of emotions played across Way's face – guilt, relief, and a hint of something that might have been closure. Pete gave him a moment to process this information, simply holding his hand and offering silent support.

After a few minutes of quiet reflection, Pete decided a change of subject might be in order. He leaned in, nuzzling his nose against Way's in a gesture of affection. "I missed you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Way hummed contentedly at the contact, some of the tension leaving his body. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes meeting Pete's with a look of longing. "Kiss me?" he asked softly, almost shyly.

Pete didn't dare refuse such a request. He leaned in, pressing his lips gently against Way's in a soft, tender kiss. He was careful not to jostle the younger man, mindful of his weakened state. The kiss was brief but filled with all the love and relief Pete had been holding in for the past two days.

When Pete pulled away, Way let out a small whine of protest, his lower lip jutting out in an adorable pout. Pete couldn't help but laugh, the sound filled with genuine joy for the first time in days.

"We should call the doctor," Pete said, still chuckling. "Let them know you're awake."

Way grumbled a bit but nodded in agreement. Pete pressed the call button, and within minutes, Dr. Reeves entered the room, a pleased smile on her face when she saw Way awake and alert.

"Way," she greeted warmly. "It's good to see you back with us. How are you feeling?"

"Tired," Way admitted. "And a bit... fuzzy."

Dr. Reeves nodded as she began her examination. "That's to be expected. You've been through quite an ordeal. Any pain or discomfort?"

Way shook his head. "Just tired, really."

The doctor proceeded to check Way's vitals, asking him a series of questions to assess his mental state and memory. Pete watched anxiously from the side, only relaxing when he saw the satisfied look on Dr. Reeves' face.

"Well, Way," she said finally, making some notes on her tablet, "your vitals look good, and you seem to be recovering well. I think we can look at discharging you tomorrow, provided you continue to rest for the remainder of today."

Way's face lit up at this news, and Pete felt a wave of relief wash over him.

"I'll put in an order for some food for you," Dr. Reeves continued. "You must be hungry after your long nap. How does something light sound?"

Way nodded eagerly, and Pete couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. It was a small thing, but it felt like a step back towards normalcy.

"Excellent," Dr. Reeves said. "I'll have that sent up shortly. In the meantime, try to take it easy. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call."

With that, she left the room, leaving Pete and Way alone once more. As soon as the door closed behind her, Way turned to Pete, his eyes bright with a mixture of mischief and longing.

"So," he said, a small smile playing at his lips. "Where were we?"

Pete chuckled, shaking his head in fond exasperation. "You're going to inflate my ego if you keep asking for kisses like that," he teased.

Way's smile widened. "Maybe that's my plan," he retorted. "Now come here."

Unable to resist, Pete leaned in once more, capturing Way's lips in a kiss that was a bit less chaste than the previous one. He poured all of his relief, his joy, and his love into the kiss, feeling Way respond with equal fervor.

When they finally parted, both a little breathless, Pete rested his forehead against Way's. "I was so scared," he admitted quietly. "When you wouldn't wake up... I thought I might have lost you again."

Way's hand came up to cup Pete's cheek, his touch gentle but grounding. "I'm here," he said softly. "I'm not going anywhere."

They stayed like that for a moment, simply basking in each other's presence. Then Way's stomach gave a loud growl, causing both of them to burst into laughter.

"I guess I am pretty hungry," Way admitted sheepishly.

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door, and a nurse entered with a tray of food. The homey, calming smell of porridge filled the room, making Way's stomach growl again.

Pete helped Way sit up, adjusting the bed and arranging the pillows to make him comfortable. As Way dug into his meal with gusto, Pete settled back into his chair, content to simply watch.

"You should eat something too," Way said between bites, eyeing Pete with concern. "You look like you haven't slept or eaten in days."

Pete waved off his concern. "I'm fine. I'll grab something later."

Way fixed him with a stern look. "Pete," he said firmly. "I know you. You've probably been sitting in that chair for two days straight, haven't you?"

Pete had the grace to look a bit sheepish. "The team made me go home to shower yesterday," he admitted.

Way shook his head, a fond smile on his face despite his exasperation. "You're impossible," he said. "Promise me you'll get some real rest tonight? And some food?"

"I promise," Pete said, touched by Way's concern. "But I'm not leaving until you're discharged tomorrow."

Way seemed to accept this compromise, turning his attention back to his food. As he ate, Pete filled him in on what had happened after he lost consciousness – the arrival of the authorities, the questioning, the cover story they had concocted to explain the events at Tony's property.

"We're saying it was a hostage situation," Pete explained. "That Tony had lured us there under false pretenses and tried to hold us for ransom. It's not too far from the truth, and it explains the gunfire and Tony's... death."

Way nodded slowly, processing this information. "And the authorities bought it?"

Pete shrugged. "For the most part. There are still some questions, of course, but between our team's influence and the evidence we were able to provide, they don't have much reason to doubt our story."

Way was quiet for a moment, pushing the remnants of his food around on the plate. "And... what about Tony being an Enigma?" he asked hesitantly. "Do they know about that?"

Pete shook his head firmly. "No. We decided it was best to keep that information to ourselves. The fewer people who know about his designation, the better."

Way nodded in agreement, relief evident on his face. "What about Winner and Dean?" he asked suddenly. "What happened to them?"

Pete's expression turned grim. "Winner's in custody," he said. "He'll be facing charges for his role in Tony's operation. Dean..." he paused, a conflicted look crossing his face. "Dean actually helped us in the end. He stopped Winner from interfering when you were... when you were controlling Tony."

Way nodded slowly. "I remember."

Pete nodded. "He says he wants to make things right. We're... we're considering giving him a chance. Under close supervision, of course."

Way was quiet for a moment, digesting this information. "I think... I think that might be good," he said finally. "Dean was always different from the others, from Winner. Kinder, somehow."

Pete reached out, taking Way's hand in his own. "We don't have to decide anything right now," he said softly. "For now, let's focus on getting you better and home."

Way squeezed Pete's hand, a small smile playing at his lips. "Home," he repeated, as if savoring the word. "That sounds nice."

Pete's heart swelled at the simple statement. "It does," he agreed. "And speaking of home, the team is eager to see you. They've been messaging me non-stop asking for updates."

Way's smile widened. "I'd like to see them too," he said. "Maybe... maybe tomorrow? After I'm discharged?"

Pete nodded. "I'm sure they'd love that. I'll let them know."

As the evening wore on, Pete could see Way starting to tire, his eyelids growing heavy despite his efforts to stay awake. "You should rest," Pete said gently. "You've had a big day."

Way tried to protest, but a yawn cut off his words. "Will you stay?" he asked, his voice small and vulnerable in a way that tugged at Pete's heartstrings.

"Of course," Pete assured him, settling back into his chair and taking Way's hand once more. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

Way smiled sleepily, his eyes already drifting closed. "Love you," he murmured, the words slurred with exhaustion but unmistakable.

Pete's heart skipped a beat. It was only the second time Way had said those words. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Way's forehead. "I love you too," he whispered. "More than you know."

As Way drifted off to sleep, Pete remained vigilant by his side. But this time, the beeping of the heart monitor didn't fill him with anxiety. Instead, it was a comforting rhythm, a reminder that Way was here, alive, and on the road to recovery.

As the city lights twinkled beyond the window, Pete allowed himself to hope. Hope for healing, for happiness, and for a future where he and Way could finally be together, free from the shadows of their past. It wouldn't be easy, he knew. They both had scars, visible and invisible. But as he watched Way's peaceful sleeping face, Pete knew that together, they could face anything.

With that thought warming his heart, Pete settled in for the night, his hand still gently holding Way's, a silent promise of protection and love that would last through the night and beyond.

Chapter Text

The morning sun streamed through the hospital room window, casting a warm glow over Way as he sat on the edge of the bed, fully dressed and ready to leave. His legs dangled, not quite touching the floor, giving him an almost childlike appearance that tugged at Pete's heartstrings.

Pete stood nearby, carefully packing the few personal items they'd accumulated during Way's stay. He glanced over at Way, unable to suppress a smile at the sight of the younger Enigma fidgeting with excitement.

"Ready to go home?" Pete asked, zipping up the small duffel bag.

Way nodded enthusiastically, a bright smile lighting up his face. "More than ready," he said, his voice stronger after a few days of rest and recovery.

As if on cue, Dr. Reeves entered the room with a clipboard in hand and a warm smile on her face. "Well, Way," she said, "it looks like you're all set to be discharged. How are you feeling?"

"Much better," Way replied earnestly. "Thank you for everything, Dr. Reeves."

The doctor nodded, her smile widening. "You're very welcome. Now, remember what we discussed — plenty of rest, no strenuous activities for at least a week, and if you experience any unusual symptoms or concerns, don't hesitate to come back in."

Way nodded obediently, but Pete could see the impatience in his eyes. He chuckled softly, moving to stand beside Way and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"I'll make sure he follows all your instructions," Pete promised, giving Way's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Dr. Reeves handed Pete a packet of papers. "Here are his discharge papers and care instructions. Take care, both of you."

With one last round of thanks and goodbyes, Pete and Way were finally free to leave. As they made their way through the hospital corridors, Pete couldn't help but hover close to Way, his hand never straying far from the small of Way's back or his elbow, ready to offer support if needed.

Way, for his part, seemed to bask in Pete's attention. He leaned into Pete's touch, a soft smile playing at his lips as he allowed the older Enigma to fuss over him. When they reached Pete's car in the parking lot, Way paused, tilting his face up to the sun and taking a deep breath.

"It feels so good to be outside again," he murmured, his eyes closed as he savored the moment.

Pete watched him, his heart swelling with affection. "Let's get you home," he said softly, opening the passenger door for Way.

The drive back to Pete's penthouse was quiet but comfortable. Way gazed out the window, watching the city pass by with a look of contentment on his face. Pete found himself constantly glancing over as if to reassure himself that Way was really there, safe and recovering.

As they pulled into the underground parking of Pete's building, Way turned to him with a curious expression. "Is the team coming over later?" he asked.

Pete shook his head, keeping his face neutral to hide his surprise. "Not that I know of," he replied casually. "I thought we'd just have a quiet evening in, let you rest."

Way nodded, seemingly satisfied with this answer. Pete felt a twinge of guilt at the small deception, but he pushed it aside. The surprise would be worth it.

They rode the elevator up to the penthouse level, Pete's arm wrapped protectively around Way's waist. As the doors slid open, Pete felt Way tense slightly beside him.

"Pete," Way said, his voice low and uncertain, "I think I hear—"

But before he could finish his thought, they rounded the corner into the living room, and Way stopped short at the sight before him.

"Surprise!" a chorus of familiar voices rang out.

The entire team was there, gathered in Pete's spacious living room. Balloons and streamers decorated the space, and a banner hung across the far wall reading "Welcome Home, Way!" A spread of food and drinks covered the dining table, the aroma of delicious dishes filling the air.

Way stood frozen for a moment, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face, his eyes filling with tears.

Babe was the first to approach, engulfing Way in a bear hug that lifted him off his feet. "Welcome home, Way," he said gruffly, his voice thick with emotion.

As Babe set Way down, Alan was next, pulling the young Enigma into a gentler but no less heartfelt embrace. "We missed you," he said softly.

North and Sonic approached together, each taking turns to hug Way and express their joy at his recovery. Way seemed overwhelmed but happy, his smile growing wider with each greeting.

Then, to everyone's surprise, Kenta stepped forward. There was a moment of hesitation, a flicker of the old tension between them, but it passed quickly. Kenta pulled Way into a warm hug, patting his back gently.

"I'm glad you're okay," Kenta said sincerely as he pulled back. "You saved us all."

Way ducked his head, a blush coloring his cheeks at the praise. "We all did our part," he mumbled modestly.

Pete, who had been hovering nearby throughout these exchanges, finally stepped in, wrapping an arm around Way's waist. "Alright, let's not overwhelm him," he said, his tone light but with an underlying protectiveness that the others recognized.

"Come on," Charlie called from near the dining table. "Let's eat! We've got all of Way's favorites."

The group moved towards the food, chattering excitedly. Pete guided Way to the table, making sure he was comfortably seated before filling a plate for him. Way's eyes lit up at the sight of his favorite dishes — spicy tom yum soup, pad kra pao, mango sticky rice, and more.

As they ate, the conversation flowed freely. The team recounted the events of the past few days, filling Way in on the aftermath of their confrontation with Tony. Way listened intently, occasionally asking questions or offering his own insights.

Pete never strayed far from Way's side, constantly checking on him, refilling his drink, making sure he was comfortable. If the others noticed his hovering, they didn't comment on it.

As the afternoon wore on, Pete began to notice subtle changes in Way's demeanor. While he still smiled and engaged in conversation, his responses became shorter, his gaze sometimes drifting off into the middle distance. His body language shifted too, curling in on himself slightly as if trying to make himself smaller.

Pete recognized the signs. Way was beginning to retreat into himself, overwhelmed by the sustained social interaction and perhaps by the memories and emotions stirred up by their discussions.

Catching Babe's eye across the room, Pete tilted his head slightly towards Way. Babe nodded in understanding, quickly and discreetly spreading the word among the others.

"Well," Kim said, stretching exaggeratedly, "I think it's about time we let our patient get some rest."

The others quickly caught on, beginning to gather their things and clean up. Way blinked, seeming to come back to himself a bit. "Oh," he said softly, "you don't have to go..."

But Pete could hear the relief in his voice, see it in the slight relaxation of his shoulders. "It's okay," he murmured, squeezing Way's hand gently. "They understand."

The team said their goodbyes, each taking a moment to hug Way once more and express their joy at his recovery. As Babe, the last to leave, closed the door behind him, a hush fell over the penthouse.

Way let out a long, slow breath, some of the tension visibly leaving his body. Pete watched him carefully, noting the slight tremor in his hands and the distant look in his eyes.

"Come here," Pete said softly, gently tugging Way towards the couch.

Way followed without resistance, allowing Pete to guide him down onto the plush cushions. Pete arranged himself on his back, stretching out across the length of the couch, then gently pulled Way down to lie beside him.

Way immediately curled into Pete's side, burying his face in the crook of Pete's neck. Pete felt Way's nose press against his scent gland and heard the deep inhale as Way sought out his comforting scent.

They lay like that for a while, Pete's hand running soothingly up and down Way's back. He could feel Way's breathing slowly evening out, his body relaxing incrementally against Pete's side.

"You did great today," Pete murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Way's head.

Way hummed in response, the sound muffled against Pete's skin. He nuzzled deeper into Pete's neck, seemingly trying to surround himself with Pete's scent.

Pete understood. Way was seeking comfort, grounding himself in Pete's familiar presence after the emotional intensity of the day. He tightened his arms around Way, offering silent reassurance.

As they lay there, Pete's mind wandered to the future stretching out before them. With Tony gone, Way could begin to heal truly. But Pete knew it wouldn't be a simple or linear process. Healing rarely was, especially from the kind of trauma Way had endured.

There would be good days and bad days. Days where Way would laugh and smile, seeming almost carefree. And days like today, where the weight of his experiences would press down on him, causing him to retreat into the safety of his mind.

Pete knew there would be nightmares. Moments where Way would wake up screaming, disoriented, and terrified, reliving the horrors of his past. There would be times when a seemingly innocuous sight or sound would trigger a memory, causing Way to freeze or panic.

But none of that mattered to Pete. He loved Way, all of Way, in whatever form he took. On his brightest days and in his darkest moments, Pete's love remained constant, unwavering.

He thought back to the events over a year ago when a sullen, depressed Way had stumbled into his life. So much had changed since then, for both of them. They had faced trials and separations, confronted their pasts, and fought for their future. Through it all, their bond had only grown stronger.

Way shifted slightly in Pete's arms, letting out a soft sigh. Pete glanced down to find Way looking up at him, his eyes clearer now, more present.

"What are you thinking about?" Way asked softly, his voice slightly raspy.

Pete smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Way's forehead. "Us," he replied honestly. "How far we've come. How grateful I am to have you here, safe."

Way's eyes softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I'm grateful too," he murmured. "For you. For everything you've done for me."

Pete shook his head slightly. "You don't need to thank me, Way. I love you. Taking care of you, being here for you — it's not a burden. It's a privilege."

Way's eyes welled up with tears at Pete's words. He pushed himself up slightly, just enough to press a soft, tender kiss to Pete's lips. "I love you too," he whispered as he pulled back. "So much."

Pete cupped Way's cheek gently, his thumb wiping away a tear that had escaped. "We have all the time in the world now," he said softly. "To heal, to grow, to just be together. No more running, no more looking over our shoulders."

Way nodded, letting out a shaky breath. "It doesn't feel quite real yet," he admitted. "That he's really gone. That we're... free."

"I know," Pete said, understanding in his voice. "It will take time to sink in, to feel safe again. But we'll get there, together."

Way settled back down against Pete's side, his head resting on Pete's chest. Pete could feel the tension slowly leaving Way's body as they lay there, the rhythmic sound of Pete's heartbeat soothing him.

As the afternoon light began to fade, casting long shadows across the room, Pete found himself thinking about the future. Not in terms of grand plans or lofty goals, but in the small, everyday moments. Mornings spent lingering over coffee, evenings curled up on this very couch. Introducing Way to new experiences, watching him rediscover the simple joys of life that had been denied to him for so long.

He thought about the challenges they would face and the obstacles they would need to overcome. Way's healing process would be long and sometimes difficult. There would be setbacks, moments of frustration, and pain. But Pete was prepared for all of it. He would be there, steadfast and loving, offering whatever support Way needed.

As the room grew darker, Pete realized Way had fallen asleep, his breathing deep and even. He smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Way's temple. There would be time later for dinner, for more talking, for making plans. For now, this moment of peace was everything.

Six months later...

The faint sound of cars starting their day on the bustling city streets below, trailed in through the open window, carrying with it the first rays of sunlight, casting a warm glow over the two figures tangled together in the expansive, king-sized bed.

Way stirred first, his long lashes fluttering open to find himself nestled against Pete's broad chest. The older Enigma's strong arms were wrapped securely around him, offering a sense of comfort and safety in the quiet morning light.

For a moment, Way simply lay there, savoring the warmth of Pete's embrace. He listened to the steady rhythm of Pete's heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. It was in these quiet moments that Way felt most at peace, most grounded in the present.

Tilting his head up, Way studied Pete's sleeping face. Even in sleep, there was a hint of protectiveness in the way Pete held him, as if shielding Way from the world. Way's heart swelled with affection, and he couldn't resist leaning up to press a soft kiss to Pete's jaw.

The gentle touch was enough to rouse Pete. His eyes opened slowly, a sleepy smile spreading across his face as he met Way's gaze.

"Good morning," Pete murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," Way replied softly, snuggling closer.

Pete's arms tightened around Way, one hand coming up to card gently through Way's hair. Way hummed contentedly, practically melting into the touch.

They lay like that for a while, exchanging soft touches and tender kisses. There was no urgency, no rush to their movements. Just a gentle exploration, a reaffirmation of their connection.

It had taken time for them to reach this level of intimacy. In the weeks following Tony's death, Way had been fragile, his mind and body still recovering from the trauma he'd endured. Pete had been patient, never pushing, always letting Way set the pace.

There had been setbacks along the way. Moments when a touch or a gesture would trigger a memory, causing Way to freeze or panic. But Pete had been there through it all, steady and unwavering in his support.

Now, half a year later, they reveled in the completeness of their relationship. The trust between them was absolute, the love deep and unshakeable.

As Pete's kisses became more heated, Way responded in kind, his body arching into Pete's touch. But before things could progress further, Pete pulled back slightly, a rueful smile on his face.

"As much as I'd love to continue this," he said, his voice low and warm, "we have somewhere to be today, remember?"

Way blinked, confusion clouding his features for a moment before realization dawned. "The race," he said, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. "X-Hunter is racing today."

Pete nodded, pressing a quick kiss to Way's forehead. "And we promised we'd be there," he reminded gently.

Way nodded, a mix of emotions playing across his face. While he loved watching the races and supporting his friends, there was always a twinge of something — not quite regret, but a wistfulness perhaps — when he thought about racing.

Pete, ever attuned to Way's moods, caught the fleeting expression. "Hey," he said softly, cupping Way's cheek. "You okay?"

Way leaned into the touch, offering a small smile. "Yeah," he said. "Just... thinking."

Pete nodded in understanding. He knew that while Way had made incredible progress over the past six months, there were still hurdles to overcome. Getting behind the wheel of a race car again was one of them.

"You know there's no pressure, right?" Pete said, his thumb stroking Way's cheek gently. "If you ever want to race again, the team would welcome you back in a heartbeat. But if you don't, that's okay too."

Way nodded, gratitude shining in his eyes. "I know," he said softly. "Thank you. I'm not... I'm not ready yet. But maybe someday."

Pete leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to Way's lips. "Whenever you're ready," he murmured. "Or never. I love you either way."

Way smiled, some of the tension leaving his body. "I love you too," he replied.

With one last lingering kiss, they finally dragged themselves out of bed. They showered together, a routine they'd fallen into over the past months. It was less about efficiency and more about the simple pleasure of being close, of starting the day together.

As they got dressed, Way found himself smiling at the domesticity of it all. Six months ago, he couldn't have imagined feeling this... normal. This content. There were still bad days, still moments when the weight of his past pressed down on him. But they were becoming fewer and farther between, overshadowed by days like this — quiet, happy, filled with love.

Once they were ready, they headed down to the garage where Pete's sports car waited. The drive to the Hollows, the track where the race would be held, was filled with comfortable conversation. Way found himself growing more excited as they neared the track, the familiar sounds and smells stirring memories of his own racing days.

As they pulled into the VIP parking area, Way could see the excitement building around the track. Fans were streaming in, team crews were making last-minute preparations, and the air was buzzing with anticipation.

Pete led the way through the crowd, his hand resting protectively on the small of Way's back. As one of X-Hunter's main sponsors, Pete had access to a private booth overlooking the track. It was a space where they could watch the race in peace, away from the noise and chaos of the main stands.

As they settled into their seats, Way leaned forward, his eyes scanning the pit area below. He could see the X-Hunter team's distinctive blue and white cars being wheeled into position. A smile tugged at his lips as he spotted Babe's towering form next to one of the vehicles, gesticulating wildly as he spoke to a crew member.

"Looks like Babe's fired up already," Pete chuckled, following Way's gaze.

Way nodded, a fond smile on his face. "He always did get worked up before a race," he said. "I remember..."

He trailed off, lost in a memory. Pete waited patiently, his hand finding Way's and giving it a gentle squeeze.

After a moment, Way shook himself out of his reverie. "Sorry," he murmured.

"Don't apologize," Pete said softly. "It's okay to remember."

Way nodded, leaning into Pete's side. They sat in comfortable silence as the pre-race preparations continued below.

Finally, the announcer's voice boomed over the speakers, introducing the teams and drivers. Way felt a surge of pride as Babe, Kim, and Charlie were announced for X-Hunter.

"And they're off!" the announcer cried as the green flag dropped.

The roar of engines filled the air as the cars shot forward. Way leaned forward in his seat, his eyes fixed on the track as the vehicles jockeyed for position.

Babe, in his signature aggressive style, immediately pushed for the lead. Kim, always the strategist, held back slightly, waiting for his moment. Charlie, the youngest of the three, stuck close to Kim's tail, following his lead.

As the race progressed, Way found himself completely absorbed in the action. He pointed out maneuvers to Pete, explaining strategies and commenting on the drivers' techniques. Pete listened attentively, enjoying Way's enthusiasm as much as the race itself.

Halfway through, Kim made his move. In a series of daring overtakes, he surged forward, challenging Babe for the lead. The two X-Hunter cars battled it out, wheel to wheel, neither giving an inch.

"Come on, Kim," Way murmured, his hands clenched in excitement. "You've got this."

But Babe wasn't about to give up his position easily. With a burst of speed on the final turn, he pulled ahead, crossing the finish line just seconds before Kim.

Way leapt to his feet, cheering along with the crowd. Pete stood as well, wrapping an arm around Way's waist and pressing a kiss to his temple.

"That was incredible," Way said, his eyes shining with excitement. "Did you see that last move Babe pulled?"

Pete nodded, a warm smile on his face. "I did. But I was watching you more than the race," he admitted. "I love seeing you like this."

Way blushed slightly, but his smile didn't dim. "Thank you for bringing me," he said softly. "This... it means a lot."

Pete pulled him closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "Anything for you," he murmured.

As the excitement of the race began to die down, Pete and Way made their way down to the pit area. The X-Hunter team was in high spirits, celebrating their first and second-place finishes.

Babe spotted them first, his face breaking into a wide grin. "Hey, you made it!" he called, striding over to engulf Way in a bear hug.

Way laughed, returning the hug. "Wouldn't have missed it," he said. "That was some incredible driving out there."

Kim and Charlie joined them, both still flushed with excitement from the race. There were more hugs, more congratulations, the team's enthusiasm infectious.

"We're heading out for drinks to celebrate," Alan said as he came up behind them. "You two in?"

Way glanced at Pete, who nodded encouragingly. "Absolutely," Way said with a smile.

They ended up at a nearby bar, one that the team frequented after races. It was loud and lively, filled with other racers and fans celebrating or commiserating over the day's events.

As Pete went to get their drinks, Way found himself surrounded by his friends, drawn into animated discussions about the race. He laughed at Babe's exaggerated retelling of his winning move, rolled his eyes good-naturedly at Kim's insistence that he'd let Babe win, and offered encouragement to Charlie, who was slightly disappointed with his fourth-place finish.

When Pete returned with their drinks, he settled into the seat next to Way, his arm draped casually across the back of Way's chair. Way leaned into him instinctively, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him.

As the evening wore on, Way found his mind wandering, reflecting on how far he'd come in the past six months.

The nightmares still came sometimes, vivid and terrifying. He'd wake up gasping, his heart racing, the phantom pain of old wounds making him tremble. But Pete was always there, pulling him close, murmuring soft reassurances until the fear subsided.

There were still flashbacks too, pieces of memory that would surface without warning. A certain smell, a particular sound, and suddenly he'd be back there — in that small apartment or Tony's compound, scared and alone. But he was getting better at recognizing these moments, at grounding himself in the present.

And when he couldn't, when the memories threatened to overwhelm him, Pete was his anchor. With gentle touches and soothing words, Pete would bring him back, piece by piece, until Way felt whole again.

There were still days when he got lost inside his head, retreating into himself as a form of protection. But those days were becoming rarer, and even when they did happen, Pete was patient. He'd sit with Way in silence, or talk softly about inconsequential things, never pushing, always waiting for Way to find his way back in his own time.

Way glanced around the table at his friends — his family, really. They had all played a part in his healing process, offering support and understanding in their own ways. Babe with his gruff affection, always ready with a distraction when Way's thoughts turned dark. Sonic with his quiet presence, somehow knowing when Way needed companionship without conversation. North with his boundless enthusiasm, reminding Way that there was still joy to be found in the world.

And Pete... Pete, who had been there through it all. Who had seen Way at his worst and loved him anyway. Who had never given up on him, even when Way had given up on himself.

Way turned to look at Pete, finding the older Enigma already watching him with a soft smile. "You okay?" Pete asked quietly, his voice barely audible over the noise of the bar.

Way nodded, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Yeah," he said, and he meant it. "I'm happy."

Pete's smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that Way adored. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Way's temple. "Good," he murmured. "That's all I ever want for you."

As the night wore on and the celebration continued around them, Way found himself filled with a sense of contentment he'd once thought impossible. His life wasn't perfect — there were still challenges to face and wounds that were still healing. But he was loved. He was safe. He was home.

And for the first time in a long time, Way looked to the future not with fear, but with hope. Whatever came next, he knew he wouldn't face it alone. He had Pete, he had his friends, he had this life they were building together.

It wasn't the life he'd imagined for himself all those months ago when he'd first stumbled back into Pete's world, lost and terrified. It was better. It was real. It was his.

As Pete laughed at something Babe said, his arm tightening around Way's shoulders, Way leaned into him, savoring the moment. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but he was ready to face it. With Pete by his side and his family around him, Way knew he could handle anything.

For now, though, he was content to simply be. To laugh with his friends, to feel Pete's warmth beside him, to bask in the knowledge that he was loved. This moment, right here, was enough. More than enough.

It was everything.