Cry's eyes burn as he stands in his father's office, listening to the doctors and trying not to sob as Dr. McGregor and Dr. Williams give him the news he's been dreading for months now. He always knew it was coming. His father's state has deteriorated steadily over the past month, and for the last two days he hasn't even been able to get out of bed.
"He only has a few days to live."
The masked villain's hands clench at his sides and he tries to hide the audible hitch in his breathing. He should be celebrating this news. He should be relishing in the fact that the villains are finally free from the man that's been torturing him, Jack, and Matthew for all these years.
He can't even smile. The panic, the terror, the paralyzing realization of his impending leadership; it's all too much for his brain to handle at once.
"We'll give him morphine so he'll be in as little pain as possible, and we'll make sure he's comfortable..."
Dr. William's voice fades to the background of Cry's mind, his own thoughts overriding everything else. He has to tell the others. He has to stare them in the eyes and tell them that in a few days he will own them, according to his father's will. He will see their eyes, but they won't see his. They won't be able to see his face crumple and his eyes fill with tears. They won't be able to see the regret. They'll only assume like they always have.
"Yeah, do whatever. I don't care anymore," Cry says. He takes a shaky breath and turns on his heel. "I have to go."
Dr. McGregor sighs heavily. "Yes, sir."
Slowly, the villain turns back to him. "Don't call me sir. I'm not your boss."
"But you will be—"
"No. As soon as my father passes, you can wrap up your work here and go home."
The doctors look at each other before staring back at Cry, jaws hanging open. They've been living at the institute since the boss' condition started declining at a steady pace. They haven't left to be with their families in two months. Cry knows this. He isn't dumb.
"Thank y-you," Dr. Williams stammers, shaking his hand tightly.
Cry shakes back before dismissing himself, breaking down more and more with each step he takes down the hallway. He pushes open the door to Matthew's room, where the two other villains sit, and steps inside.
"How is it?" Jack asks softly.
Cry opens his mouth to speak, but a choked sob is the only thing that escapes him. His skin starts to glow faintly and his panic only gets worse, leading him to try to cover his mouth over his mask and use his free arm to hug himself. He shrinks away, his mind screaming at him to make the glowing stop.
"Cry, hey, breathe," Matthew says softly, moving towards him with quiet footsteps and placing a hand on his arm gently. The masked villain flinches, but doesn't try to back away anymore. "It's okay."
"He's dying. He has a few more days," Cry says through quickened breaths. "Matthew, Jack, his will... his will..."
"Breathe, Cry. Breathe," Matthew encourages, settling him down on the bed. Jack scoots closer, his eyes filled with concern.
"You're in it. You're both in his will. You'll become my possessions after he dies," the masked villain manages to choke out.
Both Jack and Matthew tense considerably, shooting each other side glances. The Irishman shakes his head a little, but takes a deep breath to steady himself. "You won't hurt us, Cry. I know you won't."
Cry nods, trying to convince himself that hurting others isn't inevitable. "Yeah. I won't hurt you. I won't. I am not my father."
Jack sucks in another deep breath. "And... you can walk away. You can always walk away."
"No, no I can't. Jack, I can't. The moment the rebels and the NAI supporters find out that there's no leader, they'll hunt us down and execute us for the things we did under my father's reign. Or they'll send us to jail. Or they'll put us through another entire round of experiments to find out how my father managed to give us powers when being born with powers is enough of a rarity as it is."
Cry exhales sharply, trying to hold back another sob, and buries his masked face in his knees. Oh God, I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I'm drowning. He was supposed to be there for them. He can't break down. They need him.
"Breathe," Matthew murmurs again, rubbing small circles into his back. "It's okay. We won't get abused anymore, and I can live with that. And if you can't walk away, do the best you can for the people of San Francisco."
Cry nods faintly and exhales, trying to count his breaths. In out. In out. His loyalties lie with his brothers, not his father. It's taken him too long to realize that. In out. In out. He can be his own person.
In out.