Cal Meeting Slade

Fix-it-Cal. That’s what he was.

 He walked around, fixing up cars and bikes for cash or trades. He had a warehouse he stayed in that he was fixing up, and life was good. No scientists. No being called numbers instead of a name. And, best of all, nobody calling him the wrong name. Life was good.

 It was another day of the same. Fixing a car for the Mendez family (they always seemed to be breaking the damn thing-) and helping kids put their chains on their bikes again. Cal was standing up from looking inside a car when he heard it.

“Grant?” Instantly, he turned around, confused and wary. Did the scientists find him? Was it some weird bitch? Someone who used to know him?

 It was none of those things. At least, that’s what he thought. It was just an old one-eyed man with a weird ass beard and some gnarly scars. So, Cal decided to lay down some ground rules.

 “That ain’t my name. Name’s Caladrius. Call me Cal.” He was tight about it, sure but hey, he basically got deadnamed. He deserved to be an ass.

 “I’m pretty sure I know my son when I see him.” The man’s voice was icy. Hold up, son? This was one fucked up coincidence…

 “Look. I don’t know what tah tell you. I ain’t your son, and you sure as hell didn’t raise me. So, kindly, fuck off. I’m busy.” With that, Cal turned back to the car and bent over the engine. He was, in fact, busy. He didn’t have time to be fighting with an old man.

 That was, until said old man yanked him up by his collar and started snapping about something. Cal didn’t care about that. Instead, he just clocked the man with his wrench.

 It connected with a nasty thud, causing the old man to let go. This had to be that one fucker Cal was told about in the lab. What was his name? Some sort of stupid name, from what he remembered…

The man didn’t even bother with more words after that. They both just started fighting. Cal knew the basics of fighting, mostly from experience. Never take your eye off your opponent. Never fight fair. Use every advantage you have. That kind of shit. Apparently it served him well, because the man eventually backed off and walked away. Cal took that as a win and went back to working on the car. Fuck this guy.

The Mendez family came out soon after, fussing over Cal and asking if he was alright. He just brushed it off and went back to fixing the car. He could patch himself up when he got home. Right now, he just needed to get his job done.

         ***

Cal had come home after a long day, and all he wanted to do was shower and go to bed. He set his toolbox heavily on the new counter and sighed, moving to the bathroom before stopping and looking back. Something was off. He walked back into the kitchen and looked around, trying to figure it out. Nothing was out of place. A quick check to the living room revealed the problem.

There, on Cal’s new/old couch, was none other than the one eyed bastard who tried to say he was his son. “The fuck are you doin in my house?!” Cal shouted, completely on edge now. He was tired, sore, and just wanted to shower and go to bed.

 “I’d hardly call this a house.” Was that the most important thing on this fucker’s mind?!

 “Don’t matter! Why are you in it without permission?”

“Sue me for wanting to meet the child I didn’t know about.” Oh, he was still on that? What the fuck?!

 “First of all, I ain’t your kid. Second of all, get out of my house!” Cal shouted, grabbing a nearby piece of plywood he had been meaning to get rid of and holding it out. Curse his scrawny mechanic arms…

The fucker just stood up and walked over, raising an eyebrow. “Do you have any idea who I am, kid?”

Cal just scowled and held out the piece of plywood further. “I don’t care who you are, I just want you out!” The man, frustratingly, didn’t seem intimidated at all. He seemed more amused than anything.

“Well, I’m Slade Wilson. Your father.” Oh. That was his name. No thanks.

“Fuck you. I’m a test tube baby. No dad here,” he snarled, shoving the wood at Slade. He caught it easily. Shit. Right. Mercenary. And had military training. Oh fuck.

“I’d suggest you be a bit more polite, child,” he said, breaking off a piece of the wood to prove his point. Oh hell no Cal still had a piece of wood to work with. Fuck this bitch.

The piece of wood broke over his head. Damn. Welp, looks like it was just fists for now.

They fought. Hard. And Slade eventually left. With Cal on the ground, yeah, but he took that as a win. So what’d he do? He got up and took a shower. Because fuck that bitch.