Blind!Au

Facts; the sky was blue, the grass was green, he couldn't see any of it and he was okay with that.

Zak knew the theoretical explanation of color - and sight, anyway. The amount of light that enters the eye is controlled by the circular and radial muscles in the iris, which contract and relax to alter the size of the pupil. The light first passes through a tough protective sheet called the cornea and then moves into the lens. This adjustable structure bends the light, focusing it down to a point on the retina, at the back of the eye.

The retina is covered in millions of light-sensitive receptors known as rods and cones. Each receptor contains pigment molecules, which change shape when they are hit by light, triggering an electrical message that travels to the brain via the optic nerve.

From there, the electrical message that travels into the brain eventually creates an image; like a picture, the eye was essentially a camera. The only problem with his "camera" was that it was broken. He just slammed it down, ground his heel on the lens and walked away like he didn't just smash a perfectly good camera.

That's how he saw it, though, perhaps that was a false theory.

He could see, just not in the normal way.

Zak had facts to live on, not sight, so usually, he prided himself on being well above average intelligence. Who wouldn't when your parents are two of the world's most advanced minds? Doc and Drew Saturday were scientists. Good ones at that.

Their area of science simply wasn't well known; for a good reason.

Cryptozoology. A pseudoscience that proves the existence of entities thought to be folklore. Bigfoot, was one example that came to many people when they thought of cryptids. It wasn't all that exciting, in his opinion. For example, the platypus, Ornithorhynchus anatinus. The aquatic, egg laying mammal, was considered a cryptid until it was discovered and documented.

The cryptids that were tame enough - normal enough, were introduced to the public, the ones that were 'scary' were relocated. If people can't look at it without thinking it's from a cheesy horror flick? Hide it.

And that was his parents' job.

They weren't always Cryptozoologists, in fact; they had started out as archeologists.

Which brings him to his next point.

His powers, ergo, his sight.

When his mother was around six months along they had been called to an excavation site. The project they had worked tirelessly on since they met in college was finally coming up to its climax. They had found the tomb of an ancient cryptid called Kur.

They had dug up a stone, the Kur Stone, it was going to be a massive breakthrough! 'Was' being the key phrase. When the stone was unearthed a massive influx of mystical energy, or in his dad's words a sudden surge of particles that created a tear in the molecules of the atmosphere, which had caused a huge explosion.

The stone was fine, thankfully, however his mother had borne the worst of it, she just didn't know it at the time. Fetus-Zak, who was still in the fragile development stage, had absorbed the shock of power. It had altered him. For the worst.

Not that he thought it was the worst, honestly he was quite okay with how things turned out, but his parents had always apologized for it.

The last check up before they left for the extraction sight - the baby was fine, developing smoothly, no problems in sight!

The check-up after the extraction? Something was wrong, had Drew had a run in with a nasty disease, was she hit in the stomach at any time during her trip, any familial issues?

And so when he was born, the issue was revealed.

Zak Saturday, the only child of Solomon and Drew Saturday, had been born blind.

His eyes were not the standard 'baby blue' instead they had been a milky grey.

He was told he screamed for weeks on end.

He was told they had too.

A lot of special care had to be put in to take care of him. His parents always had to have contact with him for the first few months, there always had to be a sound for him to latch onto, he'd like to restate though, that he prided himself on above average intelligence. Despite his lack of sight, he still completed schoolwork, he still played and ran like any other kid, and he never once whined that it was unfair that he had lost his vision, he had made up ways to counteract his disability.

He had never gotten his hopes up to ever see, perfectly content with being in the dark; though he did wonder what his parents looked like. No amount of description could change that he wanted to see them on his own. He knew his mom's hair was soft, and her voice was raspy, she gave warm hugs and she said her hair was white - white being the absence of color but not the kind that he saw; she said it was the opposite of the black he was always subjected to.

He really wanted to see the color white.

His dad was large and rigid, but he was kind and Zak still easily rode on his shoulders. His voice was deep and smooth and he never felt any stubble on his dad's chin. His dad's nose was flat, like his, and his hand was big enough to fit both of Zak's. His dad was the reigning tickle champion, and his favorite color was Orange, like the supposed color on all of his shirts. Orange was eventually associated with home and comfort, and later fire.

He really wanted to see orange.

He was told what he looked like. He had spent hours mapping out the features on his face. A tiny nose, thick eyebrows, messy hair, a sharp jawline. He was told his hair was a combination of both his parents. White in the front and black in the back. He really wanted to see that too; he must have looked really goofy.

So yeah; he wanted to see so many things it made his heart ache, but he was fine with not being able to. He was fine with not seeing anything until one day when he did see something, he had gotten a taste of the vibrant colors and never wanted to turn back.

It was the day they brought Komodo home. It was the day they had nearly gotten in a lot of trouble, and it was the first day they let Zak leave the safety of his home. He had gotten his first friend, his sight, and a scrape with danger at the ripe age of five.

It had been an accident, if he was being truthful, he couldn't say it was some hasty revealed show of skill. He had been scared. His parents had to check out an illegal lab, it was run by a man named Dr. Animo, the mad doctor had experimented on animals in attempts to turn them into cryptids.

It was just poor timing that his normal baby-sitter Abbey, Abbey had short curly hair and smelled like tangerines and her voice was soft and sweet with a beautiful accent, had been preoccupied.

.

It was an emergency and they had to bring him.

He promised to stay on the airship and finish his maths that his dad had assigned that weekend. His parents had been proud at how mature he was and were glad he didn't put up a fuss like normal.

His mom had left the airship's ramp down.

And Zak, he wasn't any the wiser, had been sitting on it and enjoying the fresh air - even though his parents told him to stay in the airship, but really, he hadn't been out of the airship. He just hadn't been quite in it either.

His sensitive ears had perked up as he heard quick 'thuds' and harsh breathing before he released that something was heading his way. Something had roughly broken out of the cover that the forest foliage provided.

It had happened too fast

And he couldn't have protected himself

He was given only the warning of his father's agitated yell

And his mother's piercing cry

Before rough yet slender hands scooped him from the ramp

A hand covered in rubber had surrounded his throat

And then he had panicked because he couldn't breathe

And the person who was holding him wasn't his daddy

His parents were begging and he was there digging his nails into the older man's arm

Which wasn't working

And he was scared.

A hissing had come from his right, something else was scared too, he could feel it. The man who was choking him was holding onto someone else. And Zak, he was mad. This man had made his parents upset and was hurting him, and scaring someone else.

And suddenly, his blood burned.

He could hear his uneven and ragged breath and he could feel a connection!

The being beside him had shuddered, but he was malleable, he wanted to help! And it was odd, like an out of body experience, because suddenly, he could see.

He could see himself, brightly dressed and looking oddly calm, his bicolor hair had fallen in front of his misty eyes and mixed well with his mixed skin-tone. But he, his body? It had started crying. He knew what he looked like.

His eyes moved however reluctantly from his body to the man who held him hostage. He was thin, almost sickly so, he wore a very bloody lab coat and had long white hair that trailed to his lower back. The goggles on the doctors face were cracked and were smudged around the rims, perspiration had dipped from his brow to his cheek, he was not used to physical activity.

Zak could... Zak could save himself.

Using his new vision he felt split as he attempted to move, as he lashed out with his right arm, easily clocking the mad scientist in the jaw. The connection, the body next to him, it moved too.

Though he caught a quick glance, the hand was scaly and tipped in sharp nails, it had lashed out into the captors' jaw too - just on the opposite side.

In shock from the blow, more so the rough gashes that now adjourned his cheek rather than the child's punch, he dropped them. Zak stumbled to his feet; just for good measure kicked him in the shin before turning to his parents.

The connection was flickering, becoming weaker, and he just - he had to see his mama and papa. And he sobbed in joy when he did. They were magnificent! His dad was just as strong as he imagined in an orange and black jumpsuit that matched his mom's. He was so, so, tall and well built. His shoulders were broad and though his hands were clenched worriedly, Zak knew those were the hands he held before bed.

And his mom, she was beautiful! Her hair, her white hair, while short was almost ethereal to look at, sweat-slicked a few loose strands to her cheeks and forehead and the tips curled slightly. Her wide blue eyes were stunning even as tears leaked from the corners. Her voice cracked as she called out to him, but once again, he knew that was the voice that sometimes sung him to sleep when he had a nightmare.

And it was so, so, so childish but he immediately let out a sob upon seeing them. Ugly wails left his throat as he launched himself off the ramp and into his dad's strong, protective, arms. And his mom scrambled quickly, her orange covered hands sliding over his skin checking for injuries, and he couldn't even say his throat hurt anymore because he could see!

"Zak! Zak, honey, what's wrong, speak to mama." She had cooed softly, her fingers running through his hair and moving the rebellious strands from his eyes.

"Nothing." He croaked and his fingers traced his dads face while his eyes stared into her large eyes which were the color of the sky above, "Your eyes are blue, like the sky, mama."

And both of them were taken with shock.

"Zak? How many fingers am I holding up?" His dad asked in a whisper and he eagerly replied.

"Three."

And the fire that rushed through his veins faded quickly into dim embers but he struggled with all his might to hold onto them, to keep them burning, "You needa' shave daddy." He quickly added as the black sports moved to crawl over his remaining vision.

"Zak this is great- you can - how did?" His mother started as he felt, rather than saw, her bring him into a hug.

Another sob broke from his throat.

"Nonono, honey, it's a good thing - shhh…" He broke out of his mom's arms as he stared down, desperately trying to get another glimpse of his hands.

"No it's not.." fat tears rolled off his cheeks, "it's gone. I wanna see you again."

And then a hushed silence fell over what had been a joyful moment.

And he nearly had broken down

Because it wasn't fair

They couldn't just dangle that in front of his nose

And then take it back like that.

His dad's hand had braced his back and rubbed small circles as he cried.

It wasn't until a tug pulled at his pants that he remembered that he was intelligent and not a baby. He wouldn't cry. He had gotten to see his mama and papa and that was good enough.

It was hopeless but Zak was lucky and the tug at his pants returned.

And the other person, the one who had been held with him, the one who had helped him was by his side. Breaking from his parents hold and not bothering to listen to their warnings he stroked the reptiles back, kneeling he let his hands wander to the animals face, "Thank you for your help." He murmured as it keened and leaned into his hand.

.

At the time he had written off the incident as a rare stroke of luck, his parents weren't so easily deterred, dad didn't believe in luck and mom liked to re-use miracles. They continued to try and recreate the situation that had caused his sight to return, however briefly. This meant more missions, ones that he was allowed to go on. He still had to hold onto his parent's hands in temples and ruins but he wasn't coddled nearly as much.

And his fellow companion, the one who had been held hostage with him, had become an important member of the family. It was a Komodo dragon that had been seriously mutated via experimentation. It was a form of camouflage taken to the next level; Komodo could almost vanish with how his skin pigment could perfectly blend into the area around him.

The Komodo dragon, promptly named Komodo, had refused to leave Zak's side. He became Zak's always companion, never straying too far when they left the airship, and constantly at his side when he would try to navigate new places on his own.

Doc had originally wanted to get rid of the dragon, but after much pleading, from both Drew and Zak, had convinced him to open his home to the mutated reptile.

.

The next event in the series that would eventually lead to a long string of head and heartaches happened not two months later. His mother had surprisingly won a mysticism v. science debate with his father. The prize had been a visit to what his mother called 'Eden,' the world's most magical, yet unknown, garden.

It had previously been undiscovered; but thanks to his mom and her rather childish reasons for finding the gardens, He said it wasn't real Zak! I don't know how I married such a pig-headed man. Because only Drew would go to such lengths to disprove her husband.

She had single-handedly, with suggestions from Zak, found an elusive biblical garden.

His father had immediately backed down once Drew narrowed down the location and instead showered her in praises. They set course immediately. The garden, he was told, was absolutely filled with cryptid species of plants. Once his foot set place in the entrance he felt almost light-headed with how much energy that had bombarded him.

It was odd, the connection; the feeling of flight, he had felt with Komodo months prior had hit him again. The energy that buzzed in the air called to him curiously shifting across his cheeks. Did it want to be controlled?

And he did, somehow, control it.

The 'thump, thump, thump,' of his heart in his ears had nearly defeated him as the black that blotched his vision faded out. He was scared silent. Afraid that if he were to speak he'd lose whatever blessing that he had taken hold of.

Thankfully he didn't have to speak.

His parents had noticed on their own that their son was unusually quiet, not teeming with questions about the landscape around them, and had investigated.

Kneeing slowly, Doc noticed Zak's far off look. Waving his wand in front of his son he got a blink in return. Moving his hand to the left, his sons' eyes followed.

"Drew," he whispered, "Is he..?"

"Yeah." She murmured watching intensely.

Around them, the flora and fauna danced and swayed in time with Zak's twitching fingers.

Call them crazy, but it was almost like Zak was.. Controlling the plants?

"His eyes," he came back to his mom's voice, "their glowing."

"Mom?" He questioned, not taking his eyes off of the colorful plants.

"Yeah, honey?"

"I like seeing." He spoke softly.

Doc rose and snapped a picture, he could work with this, he was a man of science and now? He had a hypothesis. He just had to piece together the trigger to his sons' sight.

And that had become their pet project for two years.

It was a tricky process, but the answer became clear the more they took Zak out, it was the cryptids. He could see through the cryptids, he could siphon their sight and use it as his own.

Later, they'd find out Zak could do a whole lot more than use cryptids to see, he could practically control them.

It was a risky testing stage, but they'd managed. It was when he was eight and a half, that the conclusion of their tests had come true. It was when they had adopted the 'Fiskerton Phantom' to a part of their odd, but cozy, family.

Zak had a connection with Komodo, but it would never compare to the one he'd develop with Fiskerton, whereas Zak formed the bond with Komodo out of desperation, the one with Fisk had come out of Joy.

The circumstances hadn't been the best; they had rescued the rare cryptid from a swarm of humans that had lit his habitat on fire. He had been reluctant to go with them at first, but as soon as Zak had swung his head over the, extremely dangerous, lip of the airship the gorilla-cat was sold.

It was when he had first made eye-contact with the boy did the connection form.

Fisk had been freaked at first but had easily let him "share" his vision when he learned the child was completely blind.

.

"C'mon, we won't hurt you!" A tiny voice yelled from above the treetops.

The cryptid had paused, his eyebrows screwed up in thought, feeling the burning sparks nip at his feet he made up his mind. Leaping into the air he caught hold of the rope that dangled a few feet above. Easily scaling it he used the bulky man as a foothold as he vaulted into the wide plane.

Ignoring the hurt, 'hey!' he moved closer to the small child that had called out to him. Ignoring the efforts of the tiny woman that tried to move him away from her young Fiskerton crouched down to the kid's eye level when the child didn't look at him.

Snapping his fingers in front of the boy's face he growled as the child still missed him. Placing his furry hands on cherub cheeks he maneuvered the boy to stare him directly in the eyes. The larger cryptid had snapped back as unseeing grey-eyes looked through him. Murmuring out fast-paced apologies he tried to remove his hands but found he couldn't.

Instead, he was stuck clinging to the child as pale orange and dark yellow mist crawled from his eyes and over his cheeks. Gasping in alarm he tried to pull away but alas the thick miasma dug into his fur covered limbs and swirled around his head until he eventually stopped fighting.

"'M sorry." The small boy cried as his tiny hands wrapped around the Phantom's body in an imitation of a hug.

"Don't worry. I don't think your bad. You aren't a monster Fisk." He spoke confidently, nodding violently with smug self-assurance, "You can stay with us!"

And any reservations that the cryptid had melted. The child's eyes found his. The connection clicked instantly as the film that had covered the kid's eyes vanished.

Fiskerton would gladly let him see if it meant he'd be safe.

Sight in exchange for a home wasn't a bad deal at all.

Yipping in excitement Fisk scooped up Zak and placed him on his shoulders.

Unlike with Komodo, Zak didn't have to fight to maintain the bridge between his mind and the cryptids; Fisk was something special.

.

It was rare when Zak and Fisk weren't connected.

It was almost cute how upset Fisk would get when Zak would take a break from him and experiment on other cryptids. Though thanks to his experiments he concluded every cryptid he connected with altered his vision slightly.

Komodo could see colors brighter than Fisk; Fisk could see clearly in the dark, his mom's plants varied depending on the species; for example, one type had allowed his to see forty more colors he never knew existed, another one didn't give him sight but rather a form of echolocation. His eyes remained unseeing on that particular plant though he could tell exactly where his family was positioned.

Due to the fact he and Fisk were almost constantly linked it wasn't hard to believe him when he said he wasn't quite sure when his newest ability developed. He was pretty sure it happened when he was ten, on the dot, as he had really been craving a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and without even opening his mouth his brother had stood, entered the kitchen, and returned with the sandwich held between his fingertips.

At the time he had brushed it off; "Wow Fisk! How did you know I wanted one of those?"

Though in hindsight he should have known that despite all the home-training they gave Fisk he was clueless in fixing anything other than live bird over lightly-toasted wheat.

The next event of, what he thinks is mind-control, was when he and his family were queued in on something odd.

He was, once again, taken on a last minute mission. After his new-found power was unleashed he was taken out on a weekly basis. Nothing too strenuous, simple excavations; hieroglyphic readings; the occasional reconnaissance on a newfound cryptid.

The missions let him branch out more‒‒

discover how different connections to varying cryptids could alter his sight,

allowed him to put the massive well of knowledge he had hoarded to use,

finally being able to connect his theories to the physical realm.

Those were his excuses; in reality, he knew his parents just wanted to spoil him with everything he had missed out on. They gave him the world.

.
"Woah." Zak sighed as his abilities positively dripped off of him. He could feel every snake cryptid. They were surrounded, but he couldn't find it in him to be afraid, he was too amazed. His parents had proud grins on their faces as they scooped up on of the more passive snakes.

"Pretty neat right Zak? These little suckers are fast - whoops!" His mom amended, "Watch your feet, honey." The snake uncurled from her hand and dropped fast; it slithered furiously back into its den.

"Okay, it's time to shine! Let's see what those powers can really do." His father spoke as he led him forward. They stopped a few feet away from the main den - safety first, he wanted it to work, he needed this to work.

Closing his now unseeing eyes he spread his awareness to the hole in front of him. Several tiny, but rapid, heart beats hard conglomerated into his ears; he knew it was wrong to want to control someone. But the connection, how he had to claw and struggle to get them to bend to his will, it was exhilarating!

.

Once again they had been flung back to the drawing board.

How did Zak's new ability work?

Could he actually control the cryptids?

How much of his ability was related to his seeing abilities?

Where did these abilities come from?

Could it be an innate ability that had been provoked into existence due to some chemical imbalance?

Was it a gift? A curse?

How did their son attain such power?

His parents asked questions that they hadn't even considered before. Before, his sight was a gift from God; a miracle, now it was an unknown to a family of scientists. That was simply a no-no.

And so, they pushed, every chance they got they challenged him. Every new cryptid they found he tried to connect to. Tried to understand how it worked, why it came out of its habitat, tried to control it.

It was a struggle; for both the cryptid and Zak.

The cryptid would get spooked, and the feelings transferred to Zak, making him scared too.

And sometimes the connection would snap abruptly when the cryptid put up too much of a fight, hurting the both of them in the process. So a majority of his concentration went to making sure the cryptid felt safe, cooing softly in his head and whispering reassurances, once the cryptid was confident the process went much smoother.

It was a tiring repetition, but a worthwhile one, they were a great company and provided any information they could. It was on one of his missions that he felt absolutely terrified for the second time in his life. It had been smooth sailing up until he heard the sound of thrusters and a deep Russian accent.

Snapping his head up he watched in worry as his parents stepped protectively in front of the cryptid, and he and his brothers by default, and shouted in frustration for Van Rook to back off.

Van Rook had laughed them off and implored them to scramble, he had said he had no business with them, though he was itching for a fight if they wanted one. Disgustingly enough, the man had purred at his mother when she thoroughly told him off, they had known each other for a while supposedly.

Gross.

.

"Drew!" He hated the way his mother's name rolled off Van Rooks tongue, "looking as good as ever, baby!" He cat-called much to the annoyance of both Doc and Zak.

Fisk growled in outrage as he hadn't understood the jib but he obviously could tell it made his family upset. Zak stepped up from behind his brother and patted his arm, trying to reassure Fisk was one thing; trying to calm himself was harder, his fingers shook as he held tight to his brother's fur.

Now that they were more in the opening; and subsequently in the mercenaries line of sight, Zak felt far more exposed as the opposing man's head snapped in his direction. A groan filled the area as Van Rook zeroed in on him, "Oh? Who is that? A new addition - oh don't tell me you let that sad-excuse for a male knock you up!"

Cringing away from the spotlight Zak buried his head into his brothers' side. Doc's face reddened from the sheer force of his anger; his fists balled up tightly as he marched up to the Russian man, "Leave my son out of this Van Rook."

"Oh, that is precious!" Van Rook laughed rudely, "Is daddy upset? I would be too, look how scrawny the kid is. What a disappointment." Holding his ribs he wasn't prepared for the blow that smashed into his temple, the mask on his face cracked due to the massive strength of his father, the mask splintered and fell to the floor exposing the left half of his face.

"I recommend that you hold your tongue," Doc spoke tersely. Patience notwithstanding as any sense of maturity slunk out of his body and was replaced with fury. The Russian was quiet, for a moment Zak almost thought Van Rook would retreat, instead, he whistled. At the sharp sound, a rustle came from the bushes to the left and a blur tackled his dad.

The blood drained from his cheeks as the embarrassment faded to horror, his dad now lie on the floor with an equally big man straddling his chest, blow after blow fell on Docs' face before he regained his bearings. Snarling his dad responded by flipping the bigger man onto his back and now gave his own licks.

His mother unsheathed the sword strapped onto her back. Pausing briefly to look back at him she tried to give a smile, it failed and twisted into a grimace, nonetheless she ruffled his hair and spoke softly, "Get back to the airship, we'll be back soon."

Seeing the worry that outlined his face and set his lips into a frown his mother crouched and trapped him in her arms; the chill of the metal sword bit into his skin though it was hardly noticeable over his anxiety, "Don't worry sweetie, we've dealt with him before, he's just a jerk who has nothing better else to do but run his mouth."

"I can show you what else I can do with my mouth, Drew." His stomach contracted in disgust. That man was vile. His mom growled as she flung herself forward, her flame shaped sword clanging against Van Rook's metal arm plate.

Fisk swept him off his feet and allowed him to scale his broad shoulder to rest on his back. Once Zak stopped squirming the Phantom fell on all fours and took off in a sprint. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of grenades exploding.

It was scary; though he wouldn't admit that aloud. This, sans a few distressed cryptids, was the first time he had witnessed an act of violence. He was raised in a quiet, logical, closed off environment. Violence was never introduced. Even when his sight was returned; any TV channels that were gory or promoted senseless beating was blocked, though his parents had started him in gymnastics. His mom said that male or female, flexibility was useful. He was shown the basics in mixed martial arts but even then all spars he had with his parents were precise, controlled, and pulled.

He risked a glance back - the fighting that was taking place was neither precise nor controlled, it was rough and it was spontaneous. They were fighting not for fun or for discipline. They were fighting to survive.

And maybe he and Fisk had drawn too much attention with their mad romp across the clearing or maybe Van Rook's apprentice had seen him look back and decided that he didn't want any bystanders.

The brutish man had managed to knock his dad to the side, the gun on his arm was trained on them, the projectile was out of its home before his dad could knock the mercenaries arm aside.

Thankfully it wasn't a bullet - or a rocket, or one of the horrible things his mind had conjured. It was, however, another grenade. It flew in an even arc, a quick calculation in his mind told him it would hit his target true, a noise of distress escaped his throat as he scurried to grab Fisk's attention. He needed to make Fisk turn or stop but-

it was too late.

Fisk grumbled in confusion as the grenade landed in front of him and rolled to hit his hand, not knowing any better, he picked it up.

"Fisk, no!" A flash. A harsh gust of wind. He was knocked off Fiskerton's back and the connection cut.

He was blind to his surroundings.

He was vulnerable.

Desperately reaching out for his brother, he realized that he couldn't bridge the gap like normal, either Fisk had been knocked unconscious or..

An ugly sob left his lips.

He tried to stifle his tears, it would draw more attention, he really did try.

He didn't quite make it in time.

His mom yelled over the sound of his tears and battle. Doc screamed in anger that he seemed to mass produce. Trying to stand, he blindly (pun so not intended) stumbled around until he tripped over a lanky branch, feeling the ground with his fingers he latched onto the closest thing.

Which happened to be a thick, meaty, arm.

"Uh-Oh." He squealed.

"Out of the way brat." Van Rook greeted before the man's hand gripped the back of his shirt and threw him, the man's strength combined with his lack of weight, he soared through the air.

The ground smashed into his face before he had time to attempt a roll and thanks to that his wrist hurt horribly. Rolling to his knees he winced as he could practically feel the scrapes on his knee crying.

"Zak! Just- just stay put okay, baby?" His mom told him as calmly as she could.

Not going to happen.

Well, he was perfectly fine with following that plan, it just so happened however that a whoosh of wind, his fathers yell, and a loud thunk of a body hitting the tree behind him stopped that real quick.

The body was his dad who, fortunately, was fine, however that meant that the body heat he felt looming over him was not an ally. It was Mr. All-Muscle-hold-the-brain.

"What kind of parents bring their brat to a battlefield?" The mercenary joked as one meaty hand grabbed tight to his injured wrist and yanked him off the ground. Letting out a pathetic whine he tried to scramble out of his grip. Didn't work, if you were hanging on the edge of your feet to find out, nothing seemed to work at the moment.

Two grubby fingers grabbed his chin and forced it up and presumably in the direction of Mr. man's eyes. Spittle landed on his face as the man laughed, "Dead ones." He finished off his untasteful joke with a snort.

From a short distance away he could hear Van Rook's quickly tiring voice, "Enough with the babysitting! You've got a job to do apprentice. Put the baby down for a nap and finish your job!"

Fear. His dad still wasn't up and the grip on his arm continued to tighten. A cold circle poked into his head. Shock. Was he really going to go out as a hostage? Dread. He didn't even know if Fisk was okay. Petrified. He heard the click of the lock mechanism as the apprentice turned the safety off the gun. Numb. As a blank shot rang; the rush of air that collided with his skin enough to traumatize him for years to come.

He was still scared to death of guns, paintball, nerf, water; all of them invoked a horrible sense of foreboding he couldn't shake. His parents had made it a must that any and all weapons resembling a gun had a wide neck and an even wider barrel as to ward off any bad feelings.

He was torn from the man's bruising grip. Mr. Man had been distracted just enough in his belly-deep laughter for dad to regain himself. Even without his sight, he knew his dad was furious it rolled off him in waves. His calm breaths giving nothing away. Only a noticeable tremble gave off his true feelings.

His father quickly but thoroughly checked him over. His thick fingers roaming over his no-doubt bruised wrist, through his tousled hair, and over his quivering, tear-stained cheeks. He could feel his father lean down and place a quick kiss to his hair before he was off without a word.

"You're going to regret that." He remembered those words. He remembered the feeling of security they gave. He wasn't sure what happened after that as he had collapsed bonelessly onto the soft soil. When he came to he was taken care of in the infirmary with his family by his side.

No one mentioned the occurrence again.

His dad had checked in on him and still did, every night after that but he pretended he didn't notice. For his dad's sake.

.

He had been confined to the house for a long time after that mission gone bad. He needed time to recover; Fisk had been unharmed, for the most part, his eyes had been damaged. Go figure it was a flashbang not an explosive. Fisks' sensitive eyes had bared the full brunt of the attack. Which meant Fisk was temporarily blind. Zak didn't bother to connect to Komodo in the time it took for the Phantom's recovery. He didn't think it was right for him to be able to see but his brother couldn't.

The dark scared him then, it reminded him that his blindness was a disability. He had never been bitter about his disability but at the time it washed heavily over his tongue and saturated his lungs.

It was annoying and only served to make his ire grow stronger; they treated him like glass for months on end! Oh, and Abbey quit. Komodo attempted to cheer him up occasionally but rarely did he leave his room.

Time was the best medicine. His next birthday rolled around, he was 11, Fisks' eyes were healed.

The missions resumed. His parents thought it was a good idea to start small, they found a cryptid called the Flashlight Frog, should be simple enough. They suited up and set course for the tropics. How could a simple mission go wrong?

Well. It didn't go wrong but it did trigger a long line of tiring events.

I'm Zak Saturday, the blind, prodigal child of Solomon and Drew Saturday, my family is apart of a group of elite scientist called the Secret Scientist. Personally, I would have gone with something cooler, like Death Brain but no one asked me.

Hello and Welcome to Turning a Blind Eye! I am undecided if this is going to be a one-shot, it probably won't as i have many headcannons for this AU, but I am very hard pressed on time! If you liked this go check out my other SS work! It is much more dramatic (I didn't write it if its not dramatic tbh) and is a lot heavier than this is/will be! Comment down below on what you enjoyed! Stay tuned folks!