Fandom: Star Trek
Notes: For the latest challenge at spock100. (Yeah, I’m way behind on these.) According to Memory Alpha, TAS named three of the kids who picked on Spock. One of them was named Stark. And I, for one, refuse to consider a Spock who lost every barfight and won every war.
It happens so fast, fourteen-year-old Spock can’t even feel it. He knows damned well that arms don’t bend that way — in fact, for that angle to make any logical sense, he’d need to have a second elbow, about three inches from the first, and it would have to be jointed about ninety degrees off from the real one. He lifts his head, eyes sparkling with amazement and cold passion.
"You have broken my arm, Stark."
Spock’s voice is as flat as any Vulcan’s — perhaps moreso, in this instance — and it is enough to raise the hair on the backs of the necks of the three slightly older boys who started with him. They know he should not be so stable, but adrenaline does strange things to a man, and stranger things to a Vulcan. There are three of them, and one of him, and he’s only half-Vulcan. He shouldn’t be a threat. But in that moment, he is the single most terrifying thing they have ever seen. In that moment, none of them doubt that vulkhansu and le-matya share an ancestor.
He doesn’t remember swinging, but Stark crumples backward, bleeding from the mouth, and Spock follows him down. By the time the os’savensu breaks them apart, Spock’s arm is swollen to an almost black-green, and his face is frozen in a mad rictus-grin, lips pulled back so far, they have split from the tension. He bites, claws, and snarls like a cornered le-matya, but finally falls limp after a hypospray to the neck. Fading out, he hears that Stark has a concussion and is missing two teeth. The corner of Spock’s mouth twists up. He is satisfied.