Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was meant to be a girl’s day out. Mother, daughter bonding time that Emma had begged for. Her mother had to take the day off to drive both of them over to the mall in the downtown area. 

Emma is only ten, and she’s looking down at her mother who lies in a pool of blood on the ground. 

It had been sudden, they had been going down the escalator when an ominous groan filled the air. They had both stopped talking and looked around for the source of the sound. A web of cracks went down the column next to them. People on the floors above them begin screaming, running down the escalators. The security around the mall are doing their best to bring order but there are too few of them, and just too many people. 

Her mother is grabbing her arm painfully. She yelps at the roughness, her mother has never acted like this before. 

Emma stumbles as she’s dragged along. 

The crowd surges, rushing around them; it's so suffocating. 

The groan gets louder, then a loud crash from the upper floors shakes the ground beneath them, and Emma realizes it's the building. 

It’s falling apart. 

The pillars around them are the only thing keeping the upper levels from falling on top of them. 

Her mother is sobbing into the phone. It sounds like the call is to her father. Her mother keeps repeating for him to come get them. 

Then the ceiling in front of them gives a loud series of cracks before collapsing in on itself.

Her mother is pushing her backwards falling on top of her to protect her, the debris and rebar miss both of them by just a few inches. 

It’s not enough though, the floor beneath them is beginning to crack from all the weight on top of it.

They’re falling to the level below. 

Emma blacks out for a few seconds, and now she’s standing there, staring at her mother, breathing fast, tears in her eyes, as the blood pooling around her mother’s head only gets bigger. She’s crouching down checking if her mother is still breathing with shaking hands. It’s there but faint, she doesn’t know for how long, her mother could stop breathing at any moment and it’s the most terrible feeling.  

There’s a sharp groan from above her, and when she looks up, it’s almost like gravity slows, she sees every pebble, glint of metal and glass, the rotation of the wall falling heading right for them, it would crush her. 

It would crush her mother. 

And then there’s a surge in her body, like her blood is running on vitriol, like every fiber of her being needs to do whatever it can in order to save her family. 

Her feet leave the ground, she’s pulling her arm back with a scream before surging her fist forward. The falling wall turns into pebbles. She’s quickly landing back on her feet and kneeling over her mother’s head to prevent further damage. The wall she turned into pebbles shower down on them from above, luckily small enough to not be painful. 

Then everything was quiet, the cracking and groaning had stopped. The collapse was over, the ceiling above them now opened up into the sky. Emma could see helicopters passing over the area, sirens from police cars and ambulances. 

Red zips across the sky, and she recognizes it. 

She sobs out, “Dad!” 

And then he’s there, hovering over the hole in the building, dressed in his red and white suit, his red cape billowing behind him.

Omni-Man would surely save them.

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Emma was an accident. It had been a surprise to both her parents when at a regular check up they had noticed the high amount of HCG in her mother's blood test.

Her father made a joke that he had strong swimmers, even when he used protection, which had earned him a smack from her mother.

Nine months later there was Emma Deborah Grayson. Brought home in a carrier, her brother who was five years old at the time giggled saying she looked like a shriveled prune. Her father laughed heartily and her mother gently reprimanded her brother even though her lips curled with amusement. Emma had been sleeping at the time and it's not like she had enough brain to even understand what was happening.

Soon the family realized that she wasn't just quiet when she was asleep but even when she was awake. She wasn't a terrible crier, unlike her brother who had apparently been an absolute menace when he was a baby. This worried her mother, but relieved her father, he had been worried both of them would be losing sleep with the new baby. Her brother was a little too young and naive to understand much of anything, he was just excited to have a small wriggly little sibling.

Emma is four when she begins having awful dreams. Unexplainable dreams of blood and gore. Dreams that made her almost shrink in fear over every loud noise and fast movements especially from her father. But she hides her dreams from everyone, she doesn't really understand why she does. She hides it well enough that both her parents never notice. Mark, her brother did though, for all his guilelessness, he had keen perception.

One late night Mark lets himself into her room and slides himself under the covers with her. She had been dozing lightly when she felt his cold feet against her shins and boney shoulders elbowing her sternum accidentally. Emma slits her eyes open and croaks.

"What're you doing?"

Mark turns his head on the pillow so he's facing Emma. It's his pillow he brought from his own room. The moonlight from the window slants over his face. Emma can see that Mark's brows are twinged with worry but he grins a gap toothed smile at her. He reaches clumsily under the covers until he's holding Emma's smaller hands in his.

"I'm protecting you Ems, you don't ever have to worry about anything when I'm here."

He wriggles closer until his forehead thunks clumsily into Emma's. Emma reaches up with her free hand to rub it, and Markus rubs his own forehead too.

"Ow."

"Sorry."

"Is okay."

Mark grins again and nuzzles down into the comforter getting comfortable. Emma watches as he begins to doze, her face scrunches with thought.

"How did you know?"

Mark snorts.

"It wasn't hard, silly, you ate your peas like a zombie today. You hate peas."

"Huh"

Mark begins to fall asleep again.

"Thank you…" Emma mumbles.

Marks hums and pulls Emma into his arms.

"Just go to sleep, I'm here. I'll be your hero."

That night was one of the best sleep Emma had in a long while. But the dreams also never stopped. That night marked the first night of many other nights after.

Emma is six when she realizes she wants to endear herself to her father. And isn't that a strange thought? Why would she need to actively endear herself to her own father when he should already love her unconditionally? Something in the back of her mind tells her it's necessary though. She shrugs at the thought, finding no issue with it. She likes her father enough, he was an intelligent man, but she noticed he was often distant, if emotionally. So perhaps it really was necessary then, she'd at least try.

Mom's gone on a business trip, and Mark's gone to have a sleepover at William's house. That leaves Emma alone for the first time with only her father as company. She leans against her father on the living room couch, her father's arm slung over her back lazily. They're watching one of those new animated movies. Well at least Emma is, she's enjoying looking at the bright colors and pretty little characters. She takes a minute to look up at her father. He's at least looking at the screen, but he doesn't actually seem to be seeing. Does he even care?

"Do you even care?"

Why did she just say that aloud? She was supposed to be endearing herself to him, not testing his patience with petty sounding questions.

Her fathers eyes flick down to look at her, for a second she sees unbridled rage. The arm slung around her tenses. She's caged between the face of a raging bull and an iron bar. 

It makes Emma's fight or flight senses ring. Just as quickly as it came her father's expression smoothes out into kind inquiry, the arm that was tensed rubs her back with a firm warmth.

"What do you mean sweetie?"

Emma contemplates what she'll say to her father. A satisfying response that doesn't involve admitting that she hadn't really meant to say what she did out loud. 

Emma swallows dryly and looks away from her father. She sees her empty glass on the side table before deciding to slide out from her father's arm, which thankfully she wasn't trapped under. She walks over into the kitchen and onto the short stool in front of the sink so she can fill her glass with water. Emma runs her finger across the expensive filter that was recently installed on the neck of the tap. Maybe if she fiddles around in the kitchen long enough her father would forget that she spoke at all. She wishes she hadn't been left alone with him. She should have insisted on going with Mark. She doesn't really remember ever having a full conversation with her father. She turns around ready to get back to watching the movie only to knock herself into a solid wall. Emma drops her glass with a gasp, the cup shatters making a mess across the floor.

"Sweetie, are you feeling okay?"

Emma looks up at her father in surprise. When did he get there? He was so quiet. He has a look of concern on his face. He pays no heed to the broken glass on the marble floor. Nor to the water that could potentially ruin the expensive flooring. Emma's answer is almost immediate.

"I'm okay dad."

Her father reaches a hardened hand to feel her forehead. Feeling for a temperature...she hopes. 

She can't afford to be reminded of one of her night terrors right now.

Especially the ones where she sees red gloved hands crushing heads with ease. Her father doesn't even wear red gloves. When her father seems satisfied that there isn't a temperature he slides his hands under her armpits and lifts her onto the island counter.

"Stay here, I need to clean up this mess." He begins bare handedly picking up the glass none too carefully.

Emma sputters. "Dad you're gonna get cut!"

He chuckles, "I've got thick skin, you have nothing to worry about Emma."

Emma sits obediently on the counter. She wrings her hands nervously as her father cleans up her mess. The dragging silence fills the air with tension. Her father finishes picking up the shards and throwing them in the bin. Emma could probably put herself back on the floor now, as she begins to slide off the counter her father holds up his hand to stop her. She halts. He walks over to the storage closet, gets a mop and sops up the water on the floor, before carelessly throwing it back into the closet. Emma cringes.

"Dad, the mop's gonna get moldy."

"Emma, you've really been rude tonight." He looks at her sternly.

Emma looks down into her lap ashamed, right, her dad just cleaned up the mess she created.

"Oh, right...sorry about the cup, I'll be more careful next time."

Her dad releases a heavy sigh, "This isn't about the cup Emma."

He moves to take a seat on one of the kitchen bar stools. Though Emma sits on the counter and her dad is seated lower he still manages to tower above her.

"You can't just attack, someone emotionally and leave them hanging."

"Oh..."

He looks at her seriously, "yeah, oh."

"Earlier, you asked me if I even care...do you feel like I give you less attention than your brother?" Emma is about to correct him when she pauses to think on that question. It certainly was true and because her father is mentioning it he probably knows it too, if subconsciously. She doesn't say so though because that really wasn't her primary issue.

"No..."

"Then? What is it? I want to be able to help you Emma but you gotta talk to me sweetie."

Emma breathes in deeply, she really may be digging herself into more trouble.

"Dad, do you wear red gloves?"

She honestly hopes to stump her father into confusion with this one. Maybe enough to just not pursue any more answers from her tonight. She looks at her intertwined fingers clenched tightly to stop herself from wringing her hands again.

"I didn't think you'd find out on your own."

Okay, now Emma is the one who's stumped, and the niggling unexplainable fear of her father raises its terrible face. She looks at her father wide eyed reminded of gore and bloody dreams, is he really the sadistic murderer in her dreams is he-

"Are you-"

"I'm Omni-Man." He pats her on the head. A proud smile on his face. "You'd have known sooner or later. Always knew you were a smart one."

She's still stumped. She hadn't expected the reveal of his hero identity but it made sense, her father clearly looked like Omni-Man, how did she never put it together? A poster of her father as Omni-Man lives in her brother's room, different figures of him litter his shelves. Mark already knew, it explained the literal hero worship he has for their father. It explained why her mother never worried even when her father would suddenly disappear with no explanation.

"Were you jealous that you were the only one who I didn't tell?" He grins like a cat who got the cream.

"...yes." Emma mumbles, it isn't true but she prefers this over the alternative, whatever that could have been.

He pulls her into a hug, "I didn't know if you were ready to hear it, I was going to tell you on your ninth birthday just like I did with your brother."

He pulls away, and smiles again it doesn't truly reach his eyes, but Emma thinks she's never really seen any of his smiles be genuine, "How about we finish up that movie of yours and then I'll put you to bed?"

Emma nods, glad she doesn't have to confirm anything from her dreams today. Well kind of. Omni-Man does wear red gloves but there's no way he'd ever do the terrible things from her dreams. For one he's her father, two he's a hero. Hero's don't hurt people, they save them. And she just found out her father is the best hero there is.

Chapter Text

Emma is thirteen and is just finishing middle school when boys begin to take an interest in her. She's late for family dinner, leaving out the rear school gates in a hurry when she walks by a group of boys smoking. They can't be any older than her. They leer loudly about the length of her skirt, and one of them even whistles. It feels utterly degrading.

She stops and gives them a furrowed look, and the disappointment or disgust must have truly been apparent because the tallest boy sneers back at her. She sees his face and realizes she knows him. He's the boy next door. Kyle Kimmel.

"You got a problem Grayson?"

She really doesn't want to cause any issues with them, and it's not like she wants to hurt them either. She's far stronger than they will ever be. Boys were stupid, they always would be.

"I heard your dad's been working with mine on a project. He'll be having dinner with us this Friday." She says it lightly, but the threat is there, thinly veiled, she'd tell on him.

"Huh, you're just a snitch aren't you Grayson?" He steps forward from his group. He glares down at her with a scowl, while taking a deeper drag of his cigarette.

Emma sighs, taking a step back, she has no desire to smell like second hand smoke. Maybe he sees her reluctance because he releases the smoke in her direction. Making her take another step back just to avoid it. How bratty. She hears the other guys snicker amongst themselves.

"Walk along Grayson. Be thankful that you were even pretty enough to catch anyone's attention." With that he flicks the butt of his cigarette at her. The mental shock at the idea that anyone would flick a cigarette at her temporarily makes her forget that she could have utilized any of her super reflexes to save herself. 

The butt lands on the lapel of her school uniform. She hisses as she pats her hands onto it to put it out, unfortunately there's an ashy singed hole on the once pristine cloth. She looks at the boy who now smirks at her condescendingly.

It would be so easy to throw a fist into his smug face, except she doesn't want to kill the boy with a singular punch, nor does she want to reveal to anyone that she has powers. She's opening her mouth to lay the boy down with some vile remarks when a large hand lands on her shoulder. She jumps in surprise and looks at the source.

She breathes, "Dad..." she steps towards him, her previous anger now dissipated. Her father cut an intimidating shape, larger and taller than anyone really had any right to be. A stormy look, directed at the boys. She glances back in their direction and she sees the boys are all putting their cigarettes out nervously.

Impressively, the Kimmel boy scowls back at her father and mutters, "We're outta here, lets go." And with that they leave. Her father stares at them as they leave, no doubt committing every face to memory.

Emma feels her father's hand tighten on her shoulder before releasing it. He looks down at Emma concerned, a hand cupped on the side of her head.

"Sweetie, are you okay?" Emma is already nodding her head before he even finishes the question.

"It's fine, it's fine Dad, I'm okay." Emma takes her dad's hand into her own. "Let's go, I'm sorry I made you wait, dad." It's obvious that he doesn't believe her but he leaves it be for now. And the dark look comes back on his face when he sees the burn on her lapel.

"I'll have a talk with the school. And the parents of those hooligans." He puts an arm around her shoulders as they walk over together to the car. He opens the door to the passenger seat for her.

"Please don't dad, it's really okay." Emma slides into the passenger seat. Her father closes the door before getting onto the driver side.

"Emma, those boys are trouble makers, if something isn't done now it's going to happen again," he probably sees the argument brewing on Emma's face because he continues with, "maybe not to you, it could happen to someone else, something worse." 

Emma leans her head into the car window, it vibrates gently as her dad begins driving home.

"Dad..." she groans. "I can- just let me deal with it, on my own." She hears her dad shift. "Emma-" she interrupts whatever he was about to say. "Please?" It was more like a demand.

Her father sighs, she can hear his reluctance, "Fine, just tell me if anything else happens okay?"

She nods.

When they get home Emma pulls her mother aside quietly after dinner. During that weekend they stop by the tailor to get trousers made for her uniform.

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Emma begins her first year of highschool. She's proud to say she earned her way into a higher class by testing out. She isn't in the same school as Mark, which was her choice. She preferred to continue going to the private school her dad insisted she attend, for safety he said. She wasn't ever the type to make friends easily, she was comfortable with her only interactions being her parents, her brother and his best friend.

Then she sees him again, the boy from next door. Kyle Kimmel. He approaches her with a saunter and it has her giving him a truly distasteful stare.

"Changed your uniform huh Grayson? You're pretty but with pants you look just like some dyke." Kimmel trails his eyes up and down her legs and torso slowly, he seems annoyed almost, hands in his pockets. Emma holds herself back, be responsible, don't cause trouble, at least not within the school building, she could crush the boy with just a finger if she wanted.

Then he's walking away, his friends jeering and laughing at Emma as they pass by. It seems even animals had more poise and graciousness than teenage boys during puberty.

Just before the school day ends, Kimmel gets her alone in a room with him and his buddies as he likes to say. They have her by the arms, if she had been any other girl this would have been truly terrifying experience. She flexes her hands, her bicep and forearms slowly and feels that teen boys holding her were infinitely weaker than she was.

Kimmel is bold to light a cigarette right in the classroom. The teachers weren't here now, but they would smell it the next day surely. He takes a drag and blows out the smoke.

Emma sneers at their behaviour, they had done this before, she could tell.

The tall boy looms over her blowing smoke into her face. She doesn't breathe; she wouldn't satisfy him with choking on the strong scent.

"What's your aim, Kimmel? Anything happens to me here, the school would know."

He keeps watching her, the teen boys who hold her arms haven't said a peep since they got into this room. There was something impressive about the loyalty they impressed upon Kimmel.

The cigarette is flicked off to the side, Emma is appalled by his behaviour once again, there are papers everywhere in this room.

"I really want no part in any of your plans if you intend to commit arson."

Kimmel laughs, it's short and singular, hard to define it as a laugh rather than just a bark of some kind. He bears his teeth at her, in a wide grin. It could have been charming in any other scenario, but right now it was obviously meant to be threatening.

"Grayson you think you're so funny don't you?" He presses in close almost nose to nose with Emma. "No, we're here for an investigation." He's grabbing her coat by the collars. The other two boys let out mean little snickers.

"Who's to say you're actually a girl under there? Maybe you've just been a boy all along hm?" Then his hands are moving to the front of her pants unbuttoning them and Emma has had enough. It's so easy to throw off the boys holding her arms. Then she's grabbing the sides of Kimmel's head and kneeing him in the face. A satisfying crunch rings out into the room, she's probably broken his nose.

The other teen boys are getting back up, coming at her with their fists but she knocks the air out of them easily with just her elbows. Only a total of four seconds had passed by and everyone but her has been left groaning pathetically on the ground. This may have been spiteful of her but she grabs Kimmel by his collar and lifts him off the floor. His ankles drag against the floor because Emma is still shorter than he is but she feels it's just as intimidating to be so easily lifted by someone almost half your own size.

Emma considers what to do with Kimmel, maybe break his arms, his fingers, continue pummeling him into the floor until he's just mush. Her eyes narrow at the thought, no, she wouldn't bring herself so low, she isn't vehement, or villainous. A simple taunt would do, she supposes.

"Even if you tell, no one would believe you. Kimmel and his buddies, beaten by a freshman girl. Even If they do believe you..."

Emma has Kimmel pulled nose to nose. He glares at Emma even though he shudders in pain, his previously perfect looks now ruined by a crooked swollen nose bridge. The blood dribbles over his mouth, down his chin and onto her hands. Her mouth twitches in disgust, but it turns into that same teeth bearing grin Kimmel had given to her earlier before she continues.

"If they do believe you, your reputation would be over anyway." Clearly in whatever situation, the damage would be done. She tosses him to the floor.

On her way out of the room she picks up the still smoking cigarette and stubs it against her hand before throwing it in the dust bin. It would take more than a lukewarm cigarette butt to hurt her skin.

They don't bother her again. She hopes her academic life continues being the same type of peacefulness.

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Mark gets his powers. It happens on an evening where her mother is making chicken in the kitchen. Emma is working on her assignments in the living room, she sits on the floor with her books placed on the coffee table. She hears Mark enter through the front door, she can smell the cheap grease of Burger Mart all over him. Her older brother plops himself down on the couch and she can already feel his giddy energy before he says anything.

"Oh Emma~" he's reaching over and ruffling her hair aggressively. Emma drops her pencil onto the coffee table and she's standing up with a huff. Mark knew she hated it whenever he does this, especially right after she's taken her hair out of their curling tubes, and especially when he's gross and oily. She is going to have to wash her hair and put them in the curling tubes again. She's getting on top of her older brother trying to tug painfully at his hair, he's guffawing like the idiot he is, dodging her fingers.

"Mark, Emma, stop fighting, can't you both just be civil for one day."

Emma is pulled under his arm in a headlock, and she feels it, the strength in the appendage. A strength that hadn't been there yesterday when they had the same fight. She stills, because she realizes it's time. The hourglass had run out of sand, the dreams that she had, she distinctly remembers where it began, Mark's powers, the causality. Blood, viscera, the red gloves, murder-

Mark doesn't notice Emma's internal turmoil, their mother is setting up the dining table, there's bratwurst from Mark's favorite bratwurst place that Emma always forgets the name of and the chicken fresh out of the oven. Mark separates himself from her, walking into the dinning room. She follows hesitantly behind. Their father is soon to arrive apologizing for being late.

The announcement happens with little fanfare, it was anticlimactic. Her father stops and stares, the gears turning in his head. Emma isn't looking at Mark, and her brother isn't paying attention to her either, they're both looking for their father's reaction. And it was like their father was coming to an inevitable conclusion that he was forced to accept.

"Right, of course."

Her mother smiles, keeping the mood up.

"This is definitely cause for celebration. Mark, I'm so happy for you."

After dinner Mark and her father are hashing out training details, and Emma helps her mother in the kitchen, cleaning up dishes and pans.

When Emma turns in that night, she's tossing and turning in bed, unable to make herself fall asleep, she stares up at the ceiling. If she slept that night she knew her dreams would come back worse than ever. There was a deeper anxiety, the fear that the dreams would become clearer, make more sense, that the people in it would become much more than dark shadows, now that it had finally overlapped with her physical reality. Wouldn't it make her responsible for what could happen? If she could see what was to come, shouldn't she do something about it, warn someone? But who? She may have powers but she has maintained the normalcy of any ordinary child her entire life.

There's a knock on the door, it opens before she even answers, her father was the only person who did that. His knocks weren't really asking for permission, it was just a brief warning before he would be walking in.

Emma looks up at her dad from her pillow, he's taken a seat on the edge of her bed.

"I can hear you tossing and turning from the other room, what's the matter sweetie?"

She slides her hands on top of the covers until she feels her father's rough hands. Even now her hands are still so small compared to his. She squeezes his hand, tries to at least, she can only wrap her hand around two of his fingers. Her father understands the sentiment though and wraps his hand around her instead.

"You know you'll get your powers too, maybe later, maybe even sooner than Mark, we don't truly know how Viltrumite dna affects humans."

Emma nods her head, it wasn't really something she was worried about, since, well she already had her powers. She turns to her side and considers silently for a bit. Her father sits there too, silently, just looking at her.

"Can I sleep in mom's and your room tonight?"

He kept staring at her, his expression was harder to read in the dark of her room. It's fine if he says no, Emma sighs, she hadn't asked to sleep in their room since she was in elementary school. Then there's a hand running through her hair carefully.

"What's this about?"

Emma shrugs, it was awkward and stilted when she did it lying on her side like this. She wouldn't say the truth but she could say half of it at least. "I've been having these dreams lately, like really bad ones."

Her father's hand goes still, before he gathers himself.

"Can you tell me what is in these dreams?"

She's pulling her hand out of her father's, turning her back to him, so she doesn't have to keep looking at him. Maybe she was also beginning to feel embarrassed at her own childishness.

"It's okay if you don't want me sleeping there, I know I'm too old to do that now." She scoffs weakly at her behaviour, she's thirteen, almost going on fourteen at this point, just what is she thinking.

There's a hand against her back now, pressed where it's closest to her heart. He often did this to Mark, but usually closer to his right shoulder when he suspects that her older brother had snuck out of the house the night before. Emma gathers that it was her father focusing on her brother's heartbeat to see if he would be caught in a lie. Why would he want to make sure she wasn't lying in this situation? His voice is low, there's a current of something almost grim underneath it.

"Sweetie, I just want to make sure you're okay first, do you think you can tell me about your dreams?"

She mentally prepares herself to say as much as possible without lying. It wouldn't be good to be caught in a lie, even though it isn't clear why her father wants to make sure she tells the truth.

"They're not really dreams I want to remember, they're gross and scary."

A shudder runs across her body unintentionally as she remembers a part of her dreams. She feels her father's warm palm rub her back in what she supposes to be comfort.

"Alright you can sleepover, but you're telling your mother because she had something special planned tonight for just me and her."

Gross... but Emma nods in agreement, readily grabbing her pillow from her bed, already sliding out of her comforter.

Chapter Text

Emma is walking over to Mark's room for sibling movie night when she overhears her mother on the phone. The door to her parents' bedroom is left open just a crack, the light leaking out into the dim hallway. Her mother sounds hushed and urgent.

Since getting her powers her hearing had become keener than before, she could stand at the end of the hall in front of Mark's room and perfectly hear a whispered conversation two bedrooms over.

"You told me she wouldn't be remembering anything after you did that, but Nolan was talking to her and she told him she's having dreams about it-"

Dreams? Is her mother talking about her?

The door in front of her creaks open. Mark is giving a packet in his hand a wary look. The laptop on his bed is open to the home page of a tv streaming platform that both Mark and Emma had to beg their parents to subscribe to.

"Hey Emma, I don't know about this." Mark turns the packet towards her, it's the facial mask she told him to put on during the movie.

"Galac-to-" he takes a closer look at the ingredients list squinting his eyes with concentration, "mices? Nia-ci-cimide, hydroponic acid! Just what am I putting on my face?!" His eyes were wide with horror, her brother could be just so immature sometimes, Emma lets out a huff. "It's Hyaluronic Acid, and you definitely need it." She grabs Mark's face, he releases an undignified squawk, as she rubs her hand recklessly over it, and the action confirms every single one of her suspicions. "Your skin is rough, uneven and you're forming wrinkles."

Her brother exclaims in panic, "Wrinkles?!"

Emma continues unperturbed, "I bet it's from that stupid hero mask of yours."

Mark makes an affronted noise, "It is NOT, stupid, it's awesome, just like me."

He's such a nerd.

He's putting the facemask on reluctantly after her explanation of its benefits. Halfway through the movie they head downstairs to pop another bag of popcorn. The kitchen lights are on, their mother is seated at the island counter nursing a cup of tea while working on some stuff on the laptop. Her attention sways towards Emma and Mark as she hears them coming down the stairs. There's an amused chuckle as she catches the facemask stuck to Mark's face. "Finally taking care of that rough face of yours?"

Mark groans, "Does everyone, think that?" The silence in the room spoke for itself.

He throws his hands up, "I'm just gonna make the popcorn."

Mark rummages through the cupboards to look for another pack of the good kind of popcorn, extra buttered, clearly. He floats slightly to check inside the cupboard more thoroughly, Emma hears their mom chastising Mark for flying in the house.

"Damn, it looks like we're out of popcorn, I'm gonna fly to the store and back, ten minutes tops." He zips out through the back sliding door in a blur.

Emma seats herself on the island table in front of her mother. She's scrolling through some funny animal videos on her mom's tablet, while her mother continues her work on the laptop. The sliding door is clicking open again sooner than she thinks. Her father is arriving back home from hero work, his red cape fluttering gently, he's already apologizing for being late. The chair in front of Emma scrapes with movement as her mother is getting up to share an unfortunately deep kiss with her father, which is fine, she supposes, but it's never comfortable to see your parents being intimate. Her lips curl in distaste, a noise must escape her because her mother makes a pointed comment, "Both you and your brother are such prudes about this, it's just kissing. Your father and I love each other very much, this could even be you someday." Her mother says this with such levity, but it doesn't make the intimacy any better.

"I think, I'm just gonna wait for Mark upstairs." She slides herself off the stool. Her father pulls her into a quick one armed hug and a peck on the top of her head as she passes by. She's making her way to the stairs when her parents begin talking again, their voices low, careful not to be overheard. A futile effort, she can hear just about anything within the house whether she wants to or not.

Her mother is speaking first, "I called him, he said the wipe is permanent, and there's no way that it could be resurfacing through dreams."

Her father releases an exasperated sigh, "How would he know how permanent it is when applied to a half human, half viltrumite brain? We can heal from just about anything you put our bodies through."

"When, when the time comes we can deal with it, together as a family, but for now we may have to believe Cecil."

Cecil.

Pavlov rang the bell everytime he would feed his dogs, and eventually they learned that hearing the bell meant that food would be served. Eventually the dogs would salivate whether there was food or not simply triggered from ringing the bell. A classic conditioning towards certain stimuli.

Emma recognizes the name, and something in her head just, clicks. She misses the second last step on top of the stairs and isn't able to catch herself in time. There's a terrible thud as her knees and ribs hit ground zero with the steps. She barely feels it because there's a ringing going through her ears. Then she's nine again and her piano teacher is pushing her onto the sofa, hands underneath her dress - the reaction is immediate and visceral. She loses the popcorn and dinner from her stomach. It's getting all over the stairs.

She's trembling uncontrollably and a sob escapes through her gritted teeth because her brain feels like it's melting. She's closing her eyes because they're beginning to burn, and there's a warmth trailing out from her nose, over her mouth, straight to the steps.

Over the haze of pain, she can faintly hear her parents' alarm. She feels her mother pushing a hand under her forehead, her father hovering close behind. And Emma is doing her best to say something so her parents don't think she's dying, but the pain lancing through her head is making it so, so difficult.

Then, peace.

She's slitting her eyes open in a hospital room, a steady beeping from a heart monitor greets her. The room is unlike any hospital she's ever seen. It was a slick design, prioritizing high tech features that felt over engineered, unfamiliar. There's a chair next to the bed with a blanket draped over the back of it, someone must have been sitting there until recently. She sits up, no pain, or aches present on her body.

There isn't anyone here, and she would appreciate someone telling her why she was here. She feels fine overall, healthy, strong, the same as she usually would, so finding someone to question isn't above her. She pulls out the intravenous in the back of her hand, peels the electrodes off all at once, the monitor flatlines.  Red light floods the room, the intensity is jarring, especially when the sound of alarms begin blaring.

The door to the room is slamming open, a few nurses stumble in, a man in a suit at the forefront, his face relaxes into indifference when he sees her sitting up in the bed. The alarm is turned off, and the lights return back to normal. The nurses file out of the room, but the suited man stays. He tightens his tie, before speaking.

"I'm glad you're awake, kid, both your mom and dad have been riding my ass about you."

Who is this guy, where did her parents take her?

The older man presents a hand, "We would have met eventually Emma, you could say I'm a friend of your parents, call me Cecil."

Cecil.

Emma stumbles forward, a piercing pain in her head. Burning in her eyes. Firm hands catch her across the front, before she collapses to the floor. She hears the older man swearing above her. 

She's waking up in her room, she groans, she has the worst migraine. She flops over to her side to check her alarm clock, her eyes widen, she overslept. Emma stumbles out of bed, getting her uniform off the wall hanger, she sees her reflection from the corner of her eye. She stops to stare, before looking down on herself, it wasn't what he had been wearing during movie night with Mark. It's the ruffled pajamas she stopped wearing when she turned thirteen a few months ago, she had shoved it to the back of her dresser to donate for the coming spring. She shakes her head, it doesn't matter, she is unimaginably late to school right now. She knows it's her own fault for not setting the alarm but she is so peeved that no one bothered to come wake her up.

She rushes out her room and runs right into a solid mass. There's only one person in the house that massive. She grabs her father's arm to steady herself.

"Sweetie, I'm glad you're awa-"

She interrupts, "Dad, do you think you could fly me to school? I'm so so late right now-"

He puts a placating hand on her back, "Whoa, sweetie slow down, it's the weekend you don't have school today."

"What?" She's stunned, her movie night with Mark was Sunday night.  "It's Monday, dad. What day do you think it is?"

Her father hesitates, as if he's about to give a loaded response, she sees her mom down the hall, having made her way up the stairs. "...it's Saturday now."

Emma stares at her father's face searching for a lie. An entire week after? She's got nothing, in between last Sunday, and right now.

Blank. An entire week missing.

Her mother places a hand on her shoulder, "Hey, honey why don't you come downstairs, we can talk about it okay?"

She drops her uniform to the floor, she can't make herself care, that she's going to have to iron the material again later. She steps back from her parents and turns towards the bathroom. She's going to shower first, extra hot.

Chapter Text

Emma doesn't remember much about the time she was between the ages of 7 and 9, but she distinctly remembered having wanted to play the piano. She had enough enthusiasm for the instrument that she convinces her parents to purchase one. Not a grand one, just one of the simple stand up ones. Her father convinces her mother into buying one of the electric ones where a headphone can be plugged into it, just in case, well, she's terrible at it. She had felt insulted when she overheard, of course she would be bad at it starting out. And when the piano arrives they have it installed next to the stairway.

Emma is immediately looking up videos from the internet, tutorials and lessons. Honestly she isn't great, but she's proud of the progress she's made by herself. She's also learned to really appreciate the headphones, they allowed her to closely tune in to all the minute changes in musical wavelengths, staccato,  crescendo, decrescendo, pianissimo, forte. Her parents are impressed at her commitment to being seated and practicing for hours on end when she wasn't busy attending elementary school or doing her homework. They hadn't heard her playing before since she had put the headphones on early into her practices. So it was inevitable that they would ask for an at home recital. Emma agrees enthusiastically, she would make sure she picked a good song for them.

They make a small affair of it, her mother plans a brunch for her work friends, her father invites people from his workplace, and Mark makes sure to have William and his parents come over too. And in the middle of the event, Emma would do a small performance. She had thought she would only be playing for her parents and Mark, but she is nothing if not adaptable. All great performers must play for more than just their families.

She practices with diction and commitment, the recital would only be four days away on a weekend, it wasn't as much time as she would have preferred to practice a piece but she would make do.

On the day of the recital, they move the keyboard to the middle of the living room. The guests begin arriving, all the adults talk to one another, and Mark is having a great time with William. She's invited to hang out with her brother and his friend but she couldn't possibly when she was so nervous about messing up today. She plays in her head mentally until her mother is announcing that she'll be doing a special performance.

All the guests take their seats, her parents and older brother sitting at the very front. Emma takes a deep meditative breath before she climbs onto the seat to begin the piece. A dreamy song that she found soothed a lot of her inner anxieties. She knew it was basic, and didn't require too much mastery of multiple techniques, but she would convey it to the best of her abilities.

Claire de Lune, is meant to be played dreamily and quietly, coming to a plume-ing crescendo, before taking control and tapering to its bittersweet closing melody, like a summer wind. She may have played with more gusto than she needed to around the end, but it felt so easy to be taken by the notes, to play louder than the written directions on the printed sheet, faster when it could have been slower. She would play it in her own way, that was the only way to show her personality as a performer. By the end of the piece she slides off her seat and takes a bow.

The audience is silent until someone is standing up and clapping, and then the others follow. Her mother grins ear to ear before running to take Emma into her arms.

"Honey, that was amazing! I didn't know we had a piano prodigy in our household." Her mother kisses her head.

The next week she's taken to official piano lessons. And as much as she tries to remember now, she just can't seem to remember the name of the teacher. She remembered that they were male, that they were tall, a lot older than her at the time but still young, maybe in his early twenties. Not much else, things get a little fuzzy.

Her first lesson is great, she achieves more than she has ever  done on her own. It was great.

Her second lesson, the teacher tells her she's so talented that the stars must have blessed her with this gift. It leaves her with a fluttering feeling in her belly.

In the tenth lesson he begins correcting her arms and fingers through touching, it made sense, it was common for teachers to make adjustments here and there when a position is just off.

She's made sure to never miss the lessons, even six months in. She's done more recitals in ostentatious places and in front of tons of people more than she could have ever hoped for because apparently her teacher was well connected. 

The lesson after her eleventh recital her teacher puts his hand underneath her skirt, she can't remember much of what happens afterwards.

The lessons after that, continue to be just as fuzzy in the recesses of her mind. 

She had continued to go to the lessons, she wanted to succeed, be the best performer she could ever be, make her parents proud.

When she's eight, she remembers lips being pressed onto her mouth, wet and sludgy, a tongue running against her teeth. She becomes obsessive with her mouth cleanliness after this, her father sees it as a positive because Emma sometimes forgot to brush her teeth twice a day, everyday.

And then she turns nine and the teacher is pushing her onto the sofa in the lesson room, getting between her legs and pulling her underwear to the side. She can't scream because there's a towel in her mouth, but she remembers asking for her mother, her father, for her brother, for anyone to come find her.

She's throwing up afterwards, getting sick on the floor of the lesson room, bleeding all over the carpet, and the teacher shushes her, kisses her forehead, her cheek, apologizes over and over again, asking for forgiveness, because he can't seem to stop her bleeding. She doesn't want to die, not here, not anywhere near him. She reaches for her phone, she needs to call her parents to take her away from here, but the teacher stops her, begs her not to say anything. Tells her it'll never happen again, and she believes him. She remembers a horrible churning feeling in her stomach as she agrees not to tell.

He puts a towel in her underwear, the same one that had been in her mouth. It was rough and uncomfortable.

She's quiet and withdrawn on her way home. Her mother seems worried but gives her space because Emma doesn't want to talk right now.

That night she stands in front of her parents room quietly, she hears the soft murmur of her parents talking, it's about her. Her quietness today just seemed so out of character. And Emma wishes she knew why too, because she hurts between her legs and had earlier found a towel in her underwear she didn't remember being there before.

She opens the door to the master bedroom, her parents are on the bed, her father on his tablet, her mother reading a book. She just stands there in the doorway silently. Her parents share a look before her mother is talking.

"Hey honey, did you have trouble sleeping?"

She doesn't know what she came here to say, she couldn't bring herself to say anything right now. She hears her father's voice, tense.

"Is that blood?"

And Emma looks down too, there's blood dripping to the rug on the floor, trailing down from her thighs underneath her night dress. She hadn't bothered to put the towel back in her underwear; she had just tossed it in the bathroom bin.

And suddenly, she can't breathe, there's snot bubbling from her nose and she's wailing. She's never done such a thing before, she felt like an animal trapped into a corner. Her mother is rushing to her side, her father is faster though picking her up, and then the wind is going through her hair, and stopping just as quickly, she hears her father talking to someone. 

Cecil. 

Her father sounds stony and grim, telling the man named Cecil to fix her. 

And they're trying to get her on a gurney and she isn't having it, she's holding onto her father's arm, she doesn't want to be separated from him, she doesn't know where they're taking her, the uncertainty would kill her. She's kicking out, and her feet land on an unfortunate nurse, and then there's a pinch in her arm and nothing.

When she wakes up everything feels glazed over and soft around the edges like she's in a dream. She remembers hearing her mother and father.

Her mother was crying, her father pulling her into an embrace talking as soothingly as he can, then there's a torrent of rage in his tone not aimed towards her mother but something or someone else. The next moment he's gone from the room.

Emma closes her eyes again, it feels nice, this floaty feeling, she feels her mother's trembling hand hold onto her own. Her mother is softly repeating the same thing over and over again. Apologizing, asking for forgiveness, sorry that she hadn't known sooner, sorry that she hadn't seen the signs, asking for forgiveness that she couldn't protect her own daughter.

It's okay, Emma thinks, it's fine now, there was nothing to forgive.

When she fully awakens, a lady she's never met before is called into a room with her. It's a white room with four walls, a mirror taking up the entirety of one of them. The toys and color block mat on the floor make a bright contrast with the white walls. The lady is asking her questions in a soft, and gentle voice, but Emma can't answer the questions, not really.

Because she can't remember what happened to her.

She can’t remember much of anything between seventh birthday, and her ninth, but there’s a name in her head that just sticks. Cecil.

Chapter Text

Her parents had tried to explain her missing time as a severe case of food poisoning. Honestly, it sounded so completely unbelievable, but her brother told her that when he got back from the store that night, she had apparently spewed all over the stairs. He was left to clean it up while their parents had gotten her to the hospital. Her parents may perhaps pass a lie to her occasionally, but Mark was not capable of hiding anything from her. She could always tell when he was lying. That was the only reason she would continue to oblige with the food poisoning narrative.

She's taking a walk around the neighborhood. She needed to clear her head. Get back on track, luckily her parents took a step back and let her have the time and space. There were more important things than the missing time right now. Like the dreams, if she could just put it all into logical order, she feels that she could do something, tell someone, because for some reason a few of them had come true, like the age Mark receives his powers. Whatever world changing violence and pain she had seen in her dreams, that would happen soon. It could be another week from now, or a month, in the worst case, even tomorrow.

She looks at the pavement, the trees, the leaves on the ground. Hoping, maybe something mundane will just help everything fall into place. There's an open lot in the neighborhood that everyone regularly used as a picnic area or gatherings, it's empty right now. She walks into the middle of the lot to lay on the grass, the sky is clouded and gray. This was her favorite type of day, the feeling of a brewing storm.

Footsteps on the grass pull her attention away from the sky. A familiar figure is walking into the lot, she hadn't seen him for a while, not since she put him in his place in the empty classroom. It was a wonder he would willingly approach her right now.

"Move Grayson, that's my spot."

Emma gives Kimmel a bewildered look, this is a public lot until someone or a private company buys the land. She notices Kimmel wearing a dark sweatshirt, the hood pulled over his head. He was hiding something.

Emma tilts her head at an angle, to get a better look at the tall boy. Emma may have been feeling like crap, but Kimmel looked like crap.

"Someone else must hate you, more than I do."

He had a massive shiner around his eye, a swollen cheek and split lip. His knuckles showed no signs of bruising, whatever row he had, was one sided. Kimmel begins to snarl, lips curling to make a snarky comeback, but his mouth shuts quickly. He's pressing the back of his knuckle to his now reopened lip wound.

Emma snorts lightly, "Sit or leave, it's super immature to feel ownership in a public lot." She expected Kimmel to tuck tail and walk back home, except he's choosing to sit down on the grass right next to her. Didn't the boy hate her guts?

"You're not a regular person are you? You have powers." He manages to sound disdainful even while speaking in an even and neutral tone.

Perhaps she underestimated Kimmel's intelligence too much. If it were her she wouldn't think it was normal to easily lift or throw off people almost twice their own body weight like cotton balls. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She messed up, she had always been so careful to not reveal it to anyone and now she got found out by the most spiteful person she's ever known.

Whatever Kimmel had planned, she decided she would punch it away into oblivion. But she isn't going to verbally confirm or deny his statement, and that must have been her pride speaking.

"I ain't a snitch like you, Grayson. It doesn't benefit me to tell on you."

She opens her eyes, focusing on the gray cloud travelling lazily across the sky. "Good to know."

Silence falls between them, it's the most civil they've been with each other ever.

"You could have just brooded at home."

Emma's lip twitches, it was amusing to hear the sulking tone in her once bully. "You could have too, Kimmel."

The tall boy hesitates, "...I can't." Emma turns towards Kimmel, it was uncomfortable to hear the cruel boy sound vulnerable, he's just never seemed the type that would have such emotions. Kimmel's slate gray eyes make eye contact with her dark ones.

Emma's huffs exasperated, she sounded close to insensitive but she's sure Kimmel wouldn't have appreciated sympathy anyway, "So your father did that to your face?"

A scornful look passes Kimmel's face, "No..." Emma stays quiet continuing to look at him. Kimmel shuffles in discomfort before continuing, "...it's the benefits of split custody."

Benefits, Emma thinks, what a way to make light of abuse. "So your mom."

Kimmel corrects her with a grumble, "Step-dad."

Emma deliberates, it's a classic case of socio-biological theory, a lack of concern or sympathy for non-genetic off-spring.

"That makes sense." Emma rises from her seat, she looks down on Kimmel, the boy glares up at her. She had wanted to get her dreams organized, but it wouldn't be happening right now. Stepping away from a problem she needed to solve might help her return with a better idea of how to solve it. Maybe she could solve the one in front of her right now, if partially.

"I hate you, Kimmel, but you don't deserve to get beat by an adult man." Her comment has the boy's glare intensifying, he makes a derisive noise. "Shut your trap Grayson."

She's making a choice that's easier than she thought it would be, she continues, "Well it's true. I can help you do something about it."

He's rising from his spot giving Emma an uncertain gaze. “Are you lying to me Grayson? I don’t care if you’re a super, I’ll bash your face in if you think you can trick me. 

Emma shakes her head, “No, I’m not.”

"What would you do to him?"

Emma tilts her head, lifting a single brow, "A taste of his own medicine."

.

.

.

Emma gets the dreams organized, well at least one of them is in respective order after Mark receives his powers. And she doesn't want to believe it, not really, but if her dream is correct at least six of the seven Guardians of the Globe would die soon. It would be world changing, the heroes would have to scramble to replace the hero roster. She just needs to figure out who the survivor is. The dreams were graphic in detail, visceral and gruesome but, the faces and descriptive details were always blurry, and all she remembered was yellow. It wasn't helpful when it only narrowed it down to five out of seven of the members. But luckily she had a good idea of who the survivor would be, and that man was aptly named, Immortal.

She could tell the hero about the dream, that he would possibly be the only survivor, but then what? He could think she's crazy or what if he thinks she had something to do with it? In the worst case he believes her but it isn't enough preparation, and all of them die instead. She can't be crossing bridges before they're even built, the bigger problem was how she would even get in contact with the man. She leans over her desk, groaning quietly into her hands. She had pushed her assignments to the floor earlier, she'd have to pick them up later to finish them.

There was a more attainable solution that she could pursue, such as telling the two heroes who already lived in the same house as her. Her older brother and her father. She wasn't sure if her brother could help, he was still learning to control and properly use his own powers, a fledgling hero with few hero connections, and unfortunately none of the connections she needed. Her opposition to her father though was harder to understand or even explain. She loved her father, but there was an innate fear he compelled in her. He had always been kind to her, loving even, but...something was stopping her, a niggling feeling in her head, the same fear she has had since she was six, a fear that pushed her to endear herself to him for her own survival. It was unnatural in a sense.

Her stomach rumbles loudly, she had arrived back home after sunset yesterday, she skipped dinner and then skipped breakfast because she wanted to finally get something done about the dreams.

There was a secondary reason, Emma knew she was being stubborn. But she had also been giving her parents the silent treatment, she'd been finding it difficult not to lash out in some way. She was already overwhelmed by her dreams. She was losing sleep constantly, and the missing week wasn't making it any better.

The missing week.

It was weighing on her more than she had first thought it would.

There's a tentative knock on the door. "Hey Emma~ the best big brother in the world has brought you, sustenance~" Mark, he was rarely home during the weekends, usually he was out doing hero business during the daytime hours. She knew what this meant, Mark was acting as their parents' back up. She huffs, leaning back into her chair, "Come in."

The door handle clicks open, Mark has a plate with a turkey sandwich and a small bag of chips, "Why, thank you your highness." Emma crosses her arms, giving him a narrow eyed look.

Mark grins sheepishly, closing the door behind him, "Too much?"

Emma  takes the plate from her older brother's hands and seats herself on the bed. Mark sees it for what it is, an invitation to sit next to her. He's too comfortable with her room though, he doesn't just sit, he takes the opportunity to fully lie down, and pulls her comforter over himself.

Emma picks at the sandwich, pulling at a bit of crust and rolling it between her fingers. "I thought you were here to console me, not steal my bed."

"I'm actually about to give it to you straight, you might not like it so, I'm grabbing whatever armor I can." He wraps her comforter around himself tighter. She flicks her rolled crust at Mark, it hits him on the cheek, "Whoa! Already attacking me?"

"I'm kicking you out." She puts down her plate on the nightstand, she'll have it when Mark leaves.

"Okay-okay, pause, rewind, sorry Emma." He sits up, with the comforter still wrapped tightly around himself. She waits for her brother to continue, the corners of her lips turning downwards.

He takes in a steadying breath, "Mom and dad, are pretty worried about you, because it's been like an entire week since you've been icing them out."

Emma nods, yes, tit for tat, a week for a missing week, but she's considering doubling the time now that Mark is here as their parents' proxy.

"And, mom has been trying, but the silent thing is beginning to really piss dad off, and you know he's kinda scary when he's mad."

She's by her desk now picking up the text book from the floor. She taps the end of it in the palm of her hand. Her father is mad at her?

"So, what do you say Emma? Do you wanna just get back to normal with them? I think it would be good for everyone." Mark could be such a great older brother at the best of times, and the worst older brother in the worst of times. Right now he's putting his stinking foot in his own mouth.

What about her? How she was doing? What about her feelings?

She hurls her text book at him, it hits him where he's protected by her comforter, "Ow!" He is so dramatic, Emma doubts it had actually hurt her brother, she wasn't using her powers to throw it. This was her warning shot, and it made her feel a little better.

Mark stumbles off the bed, comforter still wrapped tightly around himself. Arm out as if calming a rabid creature.

"Did I mess up somewhere? I thought I was being pretty good." She hurls her second text book at Mark. He's a public hero, unlike Emma he has no reason to be hiding his speed or strength, but the next book hits him again, this time in the shoulder. "Ow! Again?!"

"You suck!" Emma didn't often feel the need to yell, she always preferred cold, passive aggressive remarks, subtle insults, backhanded compliments. she felt justified in this though, because Mark could be so-

"Stupid! You're so dumb!"

She flings the next closest thing to her, her pencil case. The items in the case go flying out because she had forgotten to close it back up earlier.

"Whoa!" Mark catches every pen, marker, pencil and eraser before catching the empty case and placing everything back into it properly.

"Don't show off!" She snatches the pencil case back from Mark and tosses it onto the bed.

Mark puts his hands up in surrender, "Okay, okay, I was just trying to help."

"And-also! Put my blanket back on the bed, I bet you haven't even showered yet!"

"Okay, rude, I showered this morning, but I get it." He unrolls the comforter from around himself and places it back on the bed, moving the pencil case to the night stand.

Emma picks up another object, a smooth narrow piece of metal with a pointed end, it's her compass for math class. He's in front of her in a blink taking the compass from her hands, "Whoa calm down, you're gonna take someone's eye out with that."

Emma punches him in the arm instead, "Ouch! Okay that one actually kinda hurt, is your hand okay?" Her brother wasn't as solid as their father, but that didn't make him any less dense. She shakes her hand out, it was just for show, one day, she'll show her powers, but she's not ready yet.

It's Emma's turn to take in a deep breath, "You had your chance to be real with me, now let me be real with you." Mark nods quickly, he's probably just glad she's calmed enough to continue the conversation.

"You suck."

Mark's mouth tightens as he nods, he mutters, "Right..."

Emma puts a hand up, "That's not all, I don't think you get how important it is for me right now, to feel in control."

Emma is all thirteen years of independence, she knows what she wants and needs. "It's weird how mom and dad try to glaze over the week I don't remember." Mark nods, expression taking on a more serious tone.

"They're making me feel crazy about feeling upset over the missing days Mark! It's not just a simple, I can't remember, it must have slipped my mind." She throws her hands up. She knows she's being loud, her parents can probably hear her all the way downstairs.

"It's blank. Nothing! I thought I went to sleep and woke up the next day. But the next day happened to be an entire week later!" Her hands clench at her sides tightly, "So don't tell me, mom is trying and dad's mad. I'm trying and I'm mad at both of them-"

She stops suddenly, this was the foot in the door she needed. If her parents really wanted everything to return to normal she could use it to her advantage, they might be willing to do anything for her.

Mark stands there awkwardly waiting for her to continue, "Emma?" His brows raise in surprise at her next choices of word

"...Fine, I'll talk to mom and dad." It was a quick turnover of events.

Emma sits on the sofa chair in the living room. Her parents sit in front of her on the couch. Mark sits a distance away in the kitchenette area, ready to step in if anyone gets too heated she supposes.

Emma straightens her back, and delivers her ultimatum, "I promise to go back to how we were, if you help me with something I need."

Her father is grunting, rolling his eyes. Her mother elbows him in the gut for it.

"Anything, honey." Her mother agrees.

"I want dad to introduce me to the Immortal."

They give her incredulous looks, even Mark has looked up from fiddling on his phone to give her a confused stare. She has the perfect reason for why she needs the Immortal.

"I'd like to interview him for my history paper."

Her parents deliberate amongst each other quietly, her father doesn't believe it to be a good enough reason to have a meeting with one of the Guardians. Which, she would agree with in any normal circumstance. The Guardians of the Globe were far above simple school assignments, especially when it involved trying to schedule a meeting with the leadership of that group of heroes. She knew the reasoning she presented sounded petty but she so badly wanted for this to work, especially if it would lead to her successfully passing her warning to the Immortal.

She picks the skin on her fingers. She didn't know if she could live with herself if she knew the imminent demise of others and did nothing of it. The least she could do was say something to someone even without the guarantee that anything would change for the better, she had done her part in telling them.

She pays attention to the tail end of her parents conversation, her father turns fully towards her now expression stony.

"I will ask the Immortal if he would like to be interviewed for your school assignment. But it will be fully his choice to approve or refuse said interview, that is clearly beneath him."

She can see her mother's exasperated expression at her father's carefully pointed wording.

Emma is nodding as she pushes up from her seat to cross the living room. It's a huge relief for her to not have to figure out a way to meet the ancient man, she truly hopes the man says yes. She's pulling both her mother and father into an embrace. Her mother readily pulls her in tightly, and she feel's her father's tense shoulders loosen underneath her arms.

"Thank you, you're the best."

Chapter Text

She had gotten word back a day ago about the Immortal from her father. The Guardian had agreed to be interviewed and it was scheduled for tomorrow. Emma has it written down in her planner. She taps her fingers on the corner of the page before she closes the notebook. It was a nice day to be in the outdoor seating area, alot quieter than the mess hall she had exited. The school facilities were beautiful, and modern, and the outdoor courtyard area was just as well kept.

Someone takes a seat next to her, she hears the flick of metal against metal. Emma gives it a disapproving look.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, it's just a lighter." Kimmel drawls, he straightens his back, stretching out his neck with a hand.

Emma snorts, "Right, like you weren't going to use it to light a cigarette." She looks around the area searching for signs of his 'buddies' they were never far behind.

"They're not here, I ditched them." She's beginning to realize she's much easier to read than she wants to be. He's taking out his phone and scrolling through notifications. "Might unfriend them, they're not worth my time anyway."

Emma narrows her eyes at the comment, "That's cold, you've been friends with them since the seventh grade."

"Not my problem they latched onto me..." he stops scrolling on his phone to turn towards Emma. He taps his finger nervously on the table before continuing, "And, they've always been crappy to you."

Emma gives him an unimpressed look, "So have you."

Kimmel pauses before nodding, "True." He hasn't stopped looking at Emma since earlier, and it's strange that there's no animosity of any kind on his face. "I haven't thanked you properly yet."

Emma packs her planner carefully into her bag, she's gonna be needing a new one soon the old planner was falling apart at the seams, "For what?"

"For, getting back at my Step-dad." He was reticent, his fingers ran over his knuckles, and he looked off to the side saying this. "He hasn't bothered me since."

Right, she had dealt with the man several days ago. Kimmel had an unusual set up where both his separated parents lived in the same neighborhood, but in different houses, about half a mile away from each other. He had told her his step-dad had gone out to buy whiskey.

That day, she had borrowed Kimmel's hoodie to disguise herself, then went off to where Kimmel told her the older man would be and...just pummeled the guy. She had dragged him to the back of the liquor store, a shady parking lot with no security. She had let her power run through her body, using it to turn the man into a bloody pulp, careful not to break anything irreparably. 

It was cathartic, seeing an adult man begging her to stop. Blubbering like a child. She hadn’t expected for it to feel so therapeutic to release her stress with violence. It had made her think perhaps she had been hiding her powers for too long, her body seemed to have a lot of hidden tension. She didn’t feel guilty beating the man to the brink. Unfortunately the borrowed hoodie couldn't be salvaged.

The wind blows through the courtyard, Emma tucks her hair behind her ear to keep it out of her face. "That's good to hear."

She gets up from her seat, swinging her bag straps onto her shoulders. Lunch would be over soon, she should be heading to class if she wants to make it there on time.

There's a hand grasping her around the wrist. She looks down on Kimmel questioningly, "Is there more?"

Kimmel chews on his words before saying, "Tell me how to repay the favor."

Emma didn't think she could feel more surprised. She pulls her wrist out of Kimmel's hold. "You don't need to."

"I want to. Let me thank you properly."

It was so characteristic of Kimmel to sound so demanding even when his intention was thanking someone. It's a pity this wouldn't work on any other person. Even with his attractive looks, most people would be put off by his tone, and his other glaring personality defects. Emma found the thought almost funny.

"Fine, I'll let you know later."

Kimmel doesn't protest with how Emma is calling the shots. "Don't forget."

Emma nods wordlessly, before heading back into the building.

.

.

.

Sometimes her mother would pick her up after school, and sometimes it would be her father. It was rare for it to be William, that meant both her mother and father were unavailable. The teen leans out of his car window waving her over.

She stops next to William's side of the car, William pulls up his fist, and they tap knuckles. "Hey kiddo, surprise~"

"Where's Mark?" She opens up the back seat to put down her bag. There's college brochures stacked messily in one of the seats. She picks up the brochure that seems the most worn, "Upstate University?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm setting my sights high." William drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "C'mon, get in already." Emma gets into the front passenger seat, William leans over her to click her seat belt in place. She noticed her parents tended to do that for her, but she didn't think William would also start adopting that habit.

"And also, Mark has been ditching me lately, being all secretive."

He shrugs, as he starts the car.

"Dunno if he's like dating someone or like a superhero or what.” Emma snorts William's guess was far closer than expected.

"Oh, b.t. dubs, your mom isn't gonna be home until tomorrow, she had a last minute house deal for like, a VIP client or something. So she called moi." He wriggles his fingers at himself delicately.

"You are so lucky I'm dependable."

There was a lot of truth to it. There have been several other times where William would step in to pick her up when her parents couldn't. He would step in, in other ways too, even if he didn't have to, but it showed that he cared deeply for the people in his life. Mark was so lucky to have a friend like William. Aside from her actual brother, William was the next closest thing Emma had to an older brother.

"Thank you William, I don't think I tell you enough." She reaches over to lock fingers with the teen.

He grins and squeezes her hand. "You are so very welcome."

They arrive in her neighborhood, William parks at the front of her house. The windows are still dark from the inside. He leans into the dashboard trying to see further out the car window, "Uhh, looks like no one's home yet." 

Emma twists around from her seat into the backseat to grab her bag. William pushes her back into the passenger seat. "Whoa, whoa little lady, I'm not leaving you here unattended." 

"I'll be fine, It's not like I can't be home on my own." She's a little bewildered as William relocks the doors.

"Okay, maybe, I'm also lonely cause your brother ditched me and I would totally love to hear the hot gos at your fancy academy. Dinner? On me?"

Emma laughs, she wouldn't mind hanging out with William this evening, "Okay, I'll hang out with you."

William is already driving, "Great! There's this new sandwich place called Zoey and Co. that I really wanna check out."

The sandwich place turns out to be a thirty minute drive into the city. It's been a while since she'd been downtown. The last time she was here was with her mother when the mall collapsed. Her powers had kicked in just in time back then.

The car jerks to a stop, "Here we are," William unbuckles himself. They are stopped at a small sandwich deli with tall narrow windows. The inside is industrial gray with warm notes of wood and plants. They get in line with the other people in the store.

"Cute place," William takes his phone out to get a selfie in the store, he pulls Emma into the frame. "I'll send you the picture, wait," he looks at Emma, almost accusatory, "I almost forgot, you don't even have a phone." He pokes Emma in the side, she twitches away with a quiet squawk.

"I'll be getting one, later, I think."

"Girl, your parents are like upper middle class, they can afford to get you one right now."

William takes another selfie with Emma to make the point, "Plus, we could take so many cute pictures together."

Emma grins, "Okay, I'll ask tonight-" 

She whips her head around to look out the window. There was a noise like an explosion, faint in the distance.

William looks in the direction Emma is, "What's up-" The next explosion is louder, the store shakes on its foundation. People outside are beginning to run in one direction. The screams get closer. A few pedestrians run into the deli, one of them slumps to the floor, a bloody hole in their shoulder. Panic rouses in the store, the guy manning the counter is jumping over it to go help the bleeding person.

William is pulling Emma into his side, "Oh god, we have to get out of here." 

People in the store are trying to leave as the people that were outside try to find shelter here, it's disorganized chaos. 

Another explosion wracks the store, the ceiling above them cracks. Emma stares up as she hears the building groan, and it's so much like the mall collapse she had experienced when she was ten.

William turns his attention to the ceiling too, he swears loudly, He's pulling Emma towards the crowded entrance of the store. Emma pulls him back.

"Emma, what are you doing?! We have to get out of here, now!"

Emma can see it, they're not going to make it in time, not outside, not even through that crowd. The best they can do right now...is brace for the impact.

She pulls the older teen further inside of the deli, William stumbles after her, surprised at her strength. 

The ceiling bows with the weight of the floor above it. Debris begins to fall, it crushes a few of the people in the crowd. The screams are haunting. 

The glass in the windows break as the support in the walls begin to give away.

Emma pushes William into a corner, he's breathing fast, hyperventilating, confused and scared, "Emma, stop! You're gonna get us killed!"

She puts a hand under William's chin, having him only focus on her, she makes sure she looks into his eyes as she says her next words, "Everything is going to be okay." 

The calmness in Emma's tone gives pause to William's own fears.

She's pushing the teen down by the shoulder's to make him sit. She wouldn't be tall enough to cover him otherwise. She braces her arms and torso, makes sure they are in place to protect William's head, takes a wider stance so she stays stable. His eyes widen at her actions, realization dawning on him. 

The ceiling snaps.

Emma feels the cement land on her back, her head, everywhere around her. It hurt, but not any more than being pelted by hail. The air hit her back, her uniform was torn. Emma grits her teeth, legs shaking a little, she's strong but the persistent debris could still get her feeling off balance. 

William shakes underneath her, grabbing onto the front of her uniform. As the last bits of the building fall with a roar William jolts in surprise before releasing a half scream. 

The screams of the crowd inside the building are silenced, the sound of gunshots and marching, become louder. The sandwich deli is a pile of rubble now.

A minute or two later, Emma pushes the rubble off herself and William. She coughs as the dust settles, she grabs the older teen by the elbow to pull him out. They stand on top of the pile of concrete. Above all the other people that were just in the building with them.

William is all over Emma suddenly, turning her around, pulling her sleeves up, checking for injuries. Checking the tears in her uniform for blood, He's breathing fast again, "Oh my god, oh my god, you-you're, completely fine?" He pulls her face in-between his hands, "how is this even possible?!"

She keeps trying to give him reassurances. Half-hearted explanations about how the strongest point in any scructure is always the corners, interspersed with some basic laws of physics to explain how they both came out just fine. But he's too stunned to actually hear them.

Emma pulls her face out of William's hands to look around. It's chaos outside, people are running, and getting shot, and she notices for the first time, a gaping portal in the middle of the main street. 

Some sort of alien creatures are marching out of the portal. They're equipment is futuristic. Emma is strong but she hasn't fought enough to take on an entire army. 

She's grabbing William by the elbow again, he's going to have to get used to being manhandled by her today. Drags them both off the pile of rubble to find safety.

They pass by William's car, half of it is crushed under the building, the teen lets out a half groan half sob, "Oh, I really hope my insurance covers that."

They're running across the street, towards an area that looks clear of the alien things, William stumbles tripping to the ground. Emma stops, she's quickly kneeling to the ground to check on the older teen. They both turn to what made him fall, it's a dismembered arm, William turns to the side and hurls. Emma swallows feeling nauseous too. "C'mon William, we have to go," She's helping him stand, he leans all his weight into her with a hiss, "my-my ankle." She looks down at his ankle, it's swollen, and purpling already. It's too soon for it to look like that.

William shakes his head, "I got it from the building earlier." 

Emma's brows furrowed, so it had been her fault, she screwed up, William got hurt because she couldn't protect him.

A red beam of light passes over their heads, it disintegrates a hole into a concrete building. It would kill any normal person. Emma pushes William behind herself. There's several of those aliens in space suits in front of them. William is close enough to her that she feels him shaking.

The alien readies another shot, speaking in an unperceivable language. Emma takes a step back bumping into William. There's the sound of air being cut, a low vibration, as a yellow blur knocks all the aliens away in different directions. It stops, and Emma see's the familiar yellow and blue suit, Invincible, her brother. She can see the anxiety on his face as Invincible flies over to her, "Em-" She shakes her head, quickly, minutely. He finally notices William standing behind her. 

He changes his tone, lower and more authoritative, “Get to safety, there's emts if you keep heading that way.” He gestures with his hand.

William is letting out a sigh of relief, Emma see's the members of Teen Team arriving on the scene. Invincible and Emma share a silent look with each other, he would be checking back in with her when he gets home, he nods before zipping away to the thick of the battle. The sound of fighting increases.

Emma turns, pulling William's arm over her shoulders to support him, "As much as I'm traumatized from today, is it weird that I found Invincible kinda hot?" Emma snorts, she's definitely telling Mark later.

EMTs and emergency care tents are set up in the area that Invincible had pointed to. It's telling of how well prepared the city is for immediate care of their citizens. 

People with critical injuries are taken out of the lot. The minor injuries are being treated in the tents. Luckily they're quickly able to get William help for his injury. There are other heroes there too helping with damage control, and search and rescue efforts.

After William gets treatment, the two are able to find a relocation tent where they're scheduling rides to take the victims home, it's a well thought out setup, considerate. Both of them are able to get to their respective homes safely. Before they go their separate ways William is giving her a serious look, a promise that he'll be bringing up today’s events again at a later day.

.

.

.

Thank goodness she had thought to bring her backpack with her into the deli, the bag was worse for wear, there was a huge hole right in the middle of it, it was a wonder how nothing fell out. Her textbooks were damaged, and her assignments were definitely a goner, but at least she would be able to get into the house. The house key was still in her bag.

When she arrives at the door, the house is still dark from the inside, so still, no one is home yet.

Emma releases a long exhale, her shoulders untense. Today had been eventful to say the least, and she could do without people hovering around her right now. She grabs her key from the front pocket of her bag, unlocking the door. 

She yelps as he sees her father sitting in the dark living room. 

He had just been sitting on the couch, hands threaded under his chin. Looking into nothingness. He turns his attention towards Emma. The lights are turned on, she squints at the sudden brightness. 

“Emma, what happened?” Large hands are turning her around, checking her body, the same thing William had done before. She groans quietly, pulling away from her father. 

“Could we do this later?” She heads towards the stairs, “I just really want to shower first.” She stumbles as she gets pulled backwards by her backpack, “Ah-hey!” 

She’s turning to her father with a glare, but it dies down quickly when she sees the look on his face. It had been a long time since she'd seen him look so enraged. Her shoulders tense, shooting up to her ears almost. “I-I'm sorry-” 

Her father puts a hand up, to silence her, “You know, I am just really done with this attitude of yours.” He has her sitting down on the stairs. She feels so infantilized right now it was humiliating. “I've been patient, and caring, and I've even done you a favor for that paper of yours.” Her face scrunches, cringing internally, she had known her father would try to use it against her at some point. 

A loud smack against the wall has her flinching, she opens her eyes, her father had slammed a fist against the wall, it hadn't broken but it was a near thing, “Look at me when I'm speaking Emma.” 

Her father stood there looking down on her. His neck was tense and restrained. She's beginning to remember why she had always behaved so agreeable her whole life-Memories of the dreams, the red gloves-all she could do was nod meekly. She tightens her fists.

“Is it so hard for you to simply appreciate what I do for you? All I want is for you to have a little respect for your father.” She knew she had been pushing it the last week or two with the silent treatment and like the sudden bargaining. Her mother could tolerate it, but her father was different, even if she believed she was completely justified in her behaviour.

“You don't even know what I've done for you.” It almost sounded like he wasn't referring to the favor with the Immortal but something larger. Another one of her mysterious gut feelings.

She looked at the floor, she had tracked dust and dirt into the house, she could see them on the wood floor where her father stood.

She rubs her fingers together, dust falling off them too, “Y-you're right dad, I'm sorry.” She stands up slowly, watching her father's expression, “I've been disrespectful lately, I'll be better.” 

The backdoor opens, Mark comes back in dusty and worse for wear laser burns all over his suit, covered in blood. He pulls his mask off with a heavy sigh, he greets their father glumly, “Oh...hey dad.” 

Emma takes this chance to escape to her room, screw all the dirt she'd be tracking everywhere.

Chapter Text

Emma didn't know where she was, her father had her blindfolded before he had pulled the cloth off himself. The room was small, rustic, there was a stone fireplace off to the side. A cabin hadn't been a place that she expected she would be meeting the Immortal. The windows clattered gently, a snowy gust of wind running against the sides of the building.

She runs a hand over the table, it comes away with a layer of dust. Wherever this place was, it hadn't seen guests often.

"Dad, what is this place?"

Her father was hunched over near the fireplace, stoking the wood, encouraging the fire to take. He pushes his cape behind him absently, a muscle memory at this point to keep the cloth out of his way. She stared at his actions, he hadn't bothered with a fire poker, he was just using his hands. Another reminder of her father's alien qualities. Emma supposes she could do the same if she wanted.

"It's one of the Guardians' safehouses, you're not exactly allowed to be inside the real HQ, since it's highly classified." 

He said it while barely glancing in her direction. He was being curt, dismissive, a purposeful action to punish her in some way. As much as Emma hated to admit, it was the same behaviour that she would express whenever she would get into a disagreement with her parents. Except now she was experiencing it from the other side.

Her father pulls a small black mask from his pocket before tossing it in Emma's direction. She fumbles a little catching it.

"Wear it, I'd like to keep our identities from getting compromised during today's event."

Right, the Guardians' knowledge of each other was limited, her mother may know one of the Guardians' spouses, but neither of them know which Guardian the other was married to. Her father kept his civilian identity under wraps even with people he's worked with for years.

She gets the domino mask onto her face, it's a size too large but it sticks properly like it should.

A pleased look crosses her father's face after Emma gets the mask on. It's the most positive look she's gotten all day, she's going to have to smooth things over with him soon.

She runs her fingers over it, the material wasn't leather, it was a smooth, soft kind of rubber that was solid underneath. It felt expensive.

There's a light thud outside the cabin before the door is opened. Emma always knew that many of the heroes were built like tanks, male, female, non-binary or otherwise. But the Immortal was a frame larger than her father, and that was impressive already all on its own. Even with all the powers, the Immortal was fully human unlike her father.

Her father and the Immortal share a friendly greeting with one another, familiar, companionable, more distant than you would expect from a friendship of two decades. Maybe that's just how it is when you get older, it wasn't important for relationships to go beyond cordial.

Then the other hero is turning his attention to Emma, and it's more intimidating than ever.

She straightens herself, trying to look more presentable, professional in a sense. It's probably not a very successful attempt, she isn't dressed proper, just layered and puffy to be warm.

"I've never been asked to be interviewed for a history paper before." The older man has a kind smile. He was known to be firm, and commanding, it was the personality seen most commonly on the news. But meeting him now, there was just as much of a calm and patient quality about him. Emma could see why he would have been elected leader of the Guardians.

She begins nodding, slowly pulling her hands behind her back picking the skin. "Yes...I really want to succeed in my academics."

Her father releases a chuckle as he drops a heavy hand onto her shoulder, "She's smart, just like me, just like her mother."

They find their seats in the small cabin, but before the interview can even start, her father's watch begins beeping.

He's pressing a finger into his ear, talking, "I'm a little busy right now." He pauses listening to the other end, before he's standing up. He presses a few fingers to his forehead letting out an irritated breath, before he looks at Emma, "Sweetie, I'll be back soon," he leans over and kisses the top of her head, before getting to his feet, he points to the Immortal, "I'm leaving my child with you, don't let anything happen to her."

Then he's exiting the cabin then shutting the door. There's a boom as the sound barrier breaks, another boom higher, a sign of him leaving the atmosphere.

A golden opportunity, Emma had been racking her brain with how to pass on the message to the other hero with her father here but now that he's gone, she can just say it, aloud.

Emma presses her lips together, turning to look at the Immortal.

"Your father seems to love you very much." He looks almost reminiscent as he says this. Emma knows the Immortal must have lived for hundreds of years already, it's a wonder that he doesn't have any progeny of his own. Well, perhaps he did, at some point, but he had outlived them, it was a depressing thought.

"Yes, he definitely seems to." Her hands are beginning to feel raw with how much she's picking at them. She curls her fingers into a fist.

"Mr. Immortal-"

"Please, just Immortal is fine." He gives her an open look.

She looks down at her lap, "-Immortal, thank you for agreeing to meet me today."

She hasn't even said anything important, but cold sweat had already begun forming at the back of her neck. The Immortal waits, a pleasant neutral expression, he encourages her with a nod.

He doesn't know what she's about to say, She can ease into it.

"In, in ancient Mesopotamia, kings consulted dream interpreters, often for political reasons or personal ones, as seen in the, um..." She looks at Immortal, hoping he's still paying attention, and he was, sitting attentively, "Epic of Gilgamesh, the dreams played a role, serving as prophetic warnings."

Emma takes another breath in, stay calm, don't rush, he needs to understand, "In Ancient Egypt, dreams were seen as messages from their gods." 

The clatter of the window makes her jump slightly, she stops waiting to hear the familiar boom of the atmosphere, nothing but wind, she continues.

"Dreams have meaning even across different religions, like Hinduism and Buddhism...um, they were thought to be collections of Karma, visions of a past life or even glimpses of the future."

The Immortal pitches in, "That's an interesting topic you have, I did, maybe, live through the Mesopotamian times but, I unfortunately do not have much knowledge about dream beliefs, I'm not sure what input I could offer you."

"I'm sorry sir, I haven't been completely honest with you."

The older man raises his brows, "In what way?"

"I don't have a paper, but I have something just as important, I need you for."

She swallows, observing his body language, hoping he doesn't show any signs of suddenly leaving, so far, he's still calmly seated. 

There's a glint of something in the bookshelf, just behind the Immortal. It catches her eyes, she takes a second to stare at it, it almost looked like, a lense...is that a camera?

"What is it you need me for? I'll help in any way I can." She turns her attention back to the Immortal, she presses her hands tightly against itself, it's now or never.

"I have those dreams too, and it's not always clear but, some events always reoccur." She points to the Immortal's watch, "The watch begins beeping, an emergency. Calling in all the Guardians to HQ." 

She feels herself shake as she puts her hand back on her lap, the Immortal shifts, the first sign of movement she's seen from him. 

"The room goes dark, and then every single Guardian is murdered." She looks at his face for the first time in a while, his eyebrows are furrowed, mouth downturned, "You are the only one who survives the murderer."

He's silent as he stares at her, there's anger underneath the calm, "I respect Omni-man, but I will not sit here and listen to you play this joke on me." He's standing up, Emma is frantically shaking her head, her feet caught against the rug as she grabs onto the man's arm, to stop him from leaving.

"Please, wait!" The older man's arm is tense underneath her hands, ready to pull out of her hold, "I, I don't know how much time you have before it happens-" her hands are empty suddenly.

Immortal is already opening the door, Emma squints her eyes as a cold gust of wind enters the cabin, "I won't tell your father about your behaviour today, that is my kindness to your father. I'm sure you'll feel shame on your own."

He leaves the ground, flying away. The door stays wide open. Emma stares at it wide eyed. 

It wasn't like she hadn't anticipated this reaction, but it wasn't a good feeling. She knew she would be hard to believe. She should have planned for the fallout of it.

She slumps into the seat, head between her knees, she felt weary. Her fist hits the couch cushion next to her in her frustration.

"I'd like to hear more of what you were saying."

She starts up, it was an unfamiliar voice, there's a man now in a suit closing the cabin door. She stands up quickly, the end table clatters as she accidentally bumps into it, "W-Who are you, how'd you get here?"

The man puts his hands up, a placating gesture, his face stays as genial as possible with the scar taking up half his face.

"I'm the director of the Global Defense Agency, which means, all heroes are my responsibility. Even the call your dad got earlier, that was me, letting your dad know there was trouble in outer space."

She pauses, the man wouldn't know about that call unless he knew her dad right?

"...okay?"

He gestures to the seat in front of her, where the Immortal had been sitting just before, "May I?"

She gives the man a stilted nod, before she takes a seat of her own again, sitting at the edge of the seat. If anything happened she could probably take him, he seemed lean.

"You're Emma right?" She stiffens, the man knows her name too.

"I've known your father ever since he first came to earth." He explains. 

Emma nods again, "okay...um, what's your name? Since you already know mine."

The man opens his mouth, "I'm-" he hesitates, before continuing, "Cecil Stedman." He watches her for a bit, he releases an almost imperceptible exhale. "You can call me Cecil." He's gentle with his way of speaking, caring even. She couldn't see any obvious lies either, maybe, she could open up to him.

"So, you tell the heroes what to do, and when to do it?" She begins.

Cecil nods, "Essentially, yes."

"And what if the hero does something bad?" She looks at the scar on the side of Cecil's face, it looks old, healed over, but still painful.

"Then I do what I can, to put them in their place."

Maybe this was it, what she needed, the missing piece to all her troubles, the person she tells.

"So, you heard everything I said? To the Immortal?"

"Yes."

"You, believe me?"

"Yes."

Cecil had so much conviction, and it was a comfort to hear it in his voice. He leans forward in his seat, "Is that all you've dreamed about?"

She shakes her head, "There's more but what I said earlier was something that I spent days putting together to make sense of, I'm sorry..."

"It's okay Emma, do you think you can tell me who hurts the Guardians?"

Her heart beats faster, trying to figure out who the killer is always gave her the worst sort of anxiety, maybe it was something she never wanted to find out. "I can't see their face, but they have-" 

Her heart leaps to her throat, there's a boom in the atmosphere, she looks out the window, her father will be here soon. She turns back to Cecil, "Please, don't tell my dad what I said today."

Cecil is standing too he bends forward towards Emma, and it was strange to see him put his hand forward with his pinky out. It was something she had seen kid's do in the playground when she was much younger.

"I won't say anything, if you don't say anything about my visit today either, I promise."

She links her pinky with his, "Okay, promise."

There's a thud as her father lands outside.

Cecil disappears in the instant that the door to the cabin opens. It leaves Emma blinking in awe.

.

.

.

She's glad today had mostly been a success, she sits on the tiled floor next to the tub. The bathroom door was left open behind her. Emma runs her hand in the warm bubbly water, waiting for it to fill.

She hears her mother in the hall knocking on Mark's door, when there's no answer she hears footsteps come towards the bathroom.

Her mother leans against the open doorway, "What's this? Setting up a bubble bath?" Emma watches as her mother walks in and sits on the closed lid of the toilet. Her mother reaches over Emma's head and begins running fingers through her hair. She closes her eyes, it was nice when her mother did this to her.

Her mother takes on a soft spoken tone, "Are you feeling stressed out honey?" She keeps running her fingers through her daughter's hair.

"A little." Emma keeps her eyes closed, just enjoying the attention her mom is giving her.

"You know, I'm here for you whenever you need me." She leans forward and places a kiss on Emma's forehead.

"Mhm, I know."

They sit together quietly just enjoying each other's company, the sound of water in the tub filling the space. It was warm from the steam.

Emma opens her eyes as her mother gets back up, "Honey, when you can, do you think you could maybe check on your brother? He's been sulking all day."

Emma nods, "I'll check in with him."

"Thank you honey." Her mother leans in again to kiss her on top of her head before leaving the bathroom.

Emma stops by Mark's room after the nice, long bath.

Outside his door she hears a muffled sniffle, she hadn't heard him cry in a long time.

The door creaked as she turned the door knob. She didn't bother knocking, instead choosing to peek her head in. Mark was quickly trying to hide the evidence of his tears, throwing tissues away, rubbing at his eyes.

"H-hey Emma sorry I didn't check in with you yesterday." He tries to be casual with his runny nose, "...sorry, allergies."

Emma steps in, shutting the door behind her, "You don't have allergies. What happened yesterday?"

Mark has a nervous shake going through one leg as he sits on the edge of his bed. She takes her place next to him. He doesn't say anything for a bit before beginning in a stilted voice, "I couldn't save anyone...during that invasion downtown." He rubs the back of his hand across his mouth. "If, Teen Team didn't show up when they did, more people would have died."

She waited, it sounded like he had more to say.

He continues, "I'm a terrible hero."

Emma pushes into his shoulder with her own. "Don't take this the wrong way, but, of course you are."

Mark puts his face into his hands as he hunches over, she could see the despair increase tenfold.

"Mark, do you think you can save everyone? Do you think, dad, can save everyone?"

"Of course not, but dad would definitely try his best." He admitted.

She shrugs, "Then there's your answer right? You tried your best too. That's the difference between a terrible hero and a great one." 

"Also, you did save people yesterday, you saved me, and William yesterday."

Mark may be older than her but it was interesting how he always listened to her opinions with an open heart.

Mark sniffs again, this time with a watery chuckle, "I see what you mean Ems." He pulls her into his side for a one armed hug, "Now get out, I think I'm gonna wallow a little longer."

Emma takes a bow, "As you say your majesty." This has Mark rolling his eyes amused, before she leaves.

.

.

.

The next day the GDA come knocking. The Graysons are informed that Omni-Man has been hospitalized with life-threatening injuries.

Chapter Text

Emma steps out of the hospital room, she couldn't bear to watch her mother crying anymore. Mark wasn't back yet either, he was called out on hero business earlier. His assistance is more necessary than ever before, because the hero roster just lost all their best heroes.

But, there was a bigger issue at hand. Her father had been at Guardians’ HQ the night that all the heroes were killed. Her father was there, why? Her dreams never foretold that another hero would be present. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she knew what this meant, if her father wasn't included in her dreams as one of the heroes, that means he's...the alternative.

Bloody Red Gloves.

The GDA hallway was long, brightly lit, pristine white. It was beginning to make Emma feel dizzy. She slides down the wall to sit on the floor.

What good was she? Her dreams were a useless disorganized mess, it had taken her days just to figure out a singular meaningful event. She had tried to warn the Immortal, he hadn't even believed her. In fact, she may have made it worse because she's yet to hear about the man’s survival.

She looks down at her hands, she flexes the fingers, the strength in them thrums just underneath the skin.

Worst of all, she had the power to do something but chose to do nothing with it. It's not that she didn't want to, it felt like-

She closes her eyes.

When did all this fear begin? When she was younger? When the dreams first came to her? When she first got her powers? She didn't think twice about using her powers to teach Kimmel's step-dad a lesson, she enjoyed it. That was a self indulgent, depraved usage of her power. It made using it in the bigger scheme of things feel wrong. Helping people on a larger scale, having people see, having her mother and brother see, her father...

The alternative.

Her stomach drops, she’s getting nauseous.

She sucks in a sharp breath, releasing a shaky exhale. She knows. But does she want to believe it? It didn't make sense, because, why?

If she just made the connection sooner, she could have stopped her fa-

Don't lie to yourself. You always knew.

The voice in her head is taunting, lilting, condescending.

She pulls her hands into herself, presses the palms into the bottom of her ribs. Rapid heartbeat, a tightness beginning in her chest.

You always knew it was him.

She didn't, she was scared, young-

You have powers, stronger than any other human on the planet, just like your brother, just like your father.

You're just as-

Evil, is context-dependent, culturally constructed, subjectivism. Evil is not interpreted from a singular path. Moral relativism.

That's simply an excuse.

But what about the why? If the reason why, possibly outweighed the actions-

You're slipping, this isn't about your father. This is about you.

Evil, is a universal truth. Regardless of cultural context, acts of murder, torture, inflictions of pain and fear direct or indirect are inherently evil. Objective moral realism.

Evil is a banal noun that generalizes certain actions. The alternative-

So why don't you simply just admit it?

Her fingers dig into her ribs, the pulsing of her veins feel too much, breathing is like taking air through quicksand. Then, the sudden realization where everything just falls into place. Complete mental clarity, the lucid moment.  

She must have always known it was her father, ever since the first dream years ago. She was six, and she had seen the face that haunted her dreams, covered in blood, viscera, gore. She knew it was him, but she chose to forget. She endeared herself to a killer like an animal revealing its soft underbelly. Hoping to elicit an emotional response, affection, for survival. She erased the thought that her father could ever hurt the good and kind, because he was her father, he was caring, loving, strong. She was small then, she’s still small now, even with her powers now she wouldn’t have been as strong as her father. She’s been so afraid for so long.

Afraid that she would be next.

Afraid to die.

It was always denial.

If she had nipped this at the bud, perhaps confronted her father, she could have saved all the Guardians, and that was her burden to bear. Because she simply didn't do enough.

"Emma."

She's back in the GDA hallway. Sitting on the cold floor. Cecil knelt on the floor next to her. She stares up at him, she doesn't have the energy to talk right now.

"Do you like ice cream?"

The GDA hospital was packed with every medical innovation and more. The food in the cafeteria was worth all the stressors of saving heroes from the brink of death. Emma gets a vanilla soft serve in a wafer cone. She sits in a chair next to what looks like some sort of artificial zen garden. Cecil takes the chair across from her, nursing a cup of coffee.

"When I first started out as a GDA agent, I got this," Cecil touches the scar on his face. "Damaged from some flesh melting gas made by these villains."

Emma, looks at the scar, if it was damage caused by gas, it's interesting to see how it only affected one side of his face.

"The former GDA director had my skin re-grafted, I asked the doctors to leave this, as a reminder to myself."

Emma tilts her ice cream to the side, so the melted cream doesn't drip to the table. "Why do that, to yourself?"

Cecil looks down at the table, turning the coffee cup slowly on the table's surface. "I know a thing or two about guilt, I thought I didn't deserve to forget about the people I couldn't save. I knew I could have done better, and I simply didn't."

Emma stops eating her ice cream. It didn't taste so sweet anymore. Cecil is looking at her like he knows what is going through her mind. 

"I came to understand that sometimes things are just outside of my control, sometimes the ideal situation doesn't exist, and sometimes the right decision isn't good or bad."

Moral Ambiguity.

The icecream is making a sticky mess over her fingers. Usually Emma would be rushing to get her hands washed, she hated getting food on her fingers, the sensation had always bothered her. There were more important things at stake now, "I hate myself," she admits.

"I think I've been selfish for too long..." Emma slides lower in her seat, her ice cream had shrunk almost to half the size just from melting. She shrugs, "...I don't know."

"I don't know anything," she looks up at Cecil, "What would you do, if you were me?"

The older man sits, motionless for a while, fingers intertwined. Thinking deeply, "I'd do what is necessary."

Emma liked that, it wasn't good, or evil, but there was a commitment to something better, Necessary. 

And that was better than the Alternative.

"Can you help me, be better?"

Cecil leans forward in his seat, his coffee forgotten off to the side, "I can help with whatever you need, kid."

“When I put together my next dreams, I want to tell you. No matter how it sounds, you have to believe me, and do something about it.” 

She could hear the desperation in her own voice. What happened to the Guardians, she didn’t want that ever happening again. 

“You’re the person I tell now.” 

Heroes can rise and fall but real-world power structures don’t collapse so easily. Cecil was the director of a Global Defense Agency, Emma figures, he’s had more than his fair share of difficult decisions to make, he was an essential leader. He would make something happen, if it was under his power to do so.  

She had put the ice cream cone right onto the table at this point, the melted cream was making its way across the table. Emma stared at it because she didn’t think she could make eye contact with Cecil right now.

Weathered hands place a napkin onto the table, wiping the melted dessert. 

“I can do that.”

Emma blinks her eyes quickly, she didn’t realize how much she needed to hear this. She had felt so alone before, Cecil accepting her demand with no argument of questioning made her feel validated.  

She finally locks eyes with the older man, and there it was again, the same conviction she had seen before. 

Emma hoped she wasn’t placing her trust in the wrong person. 

“I…have something else to say…”

“Um, the killer…” Cecil shifts slightly again. Emma could think it, but she didn’t want to say it aloud, it would make it, too real, she begins again, “The killer he’s…” 

Cecil finishes for her, “I know.” 

Her eyes widened. Cecil repeats again, “I know who it is.” He leans into his seat, shoulders sagging just the slightest from his tight posture, “I’ve known him for years, I just want to know why.” 

Emma had thought the same thing, the reason why held a lot of importance. She couldn’t stop thinking, there must have been an important enough reason. 

Emma could only nod, she agreed with the sentiment, “I’m not telling, mom, or Mark.” Hiding this awful truth made her feel sick to her stomach. 

“Good. We need time for the truth to come to light.” 

After all that, Emma sort of felt empty, she had foisted a bunch of her burdens onto someone else, and then gained a new type of burden all together, and still she wasn’t done. Emma sucks her teeth softly. 

“Is there something more you’d like to say Emma? I’ll hear you out.” Cecil’s tone was still kind and patient. 

She’ll save telling him about her Viltrumite powers for next time. She shakes her head. “No, I think I just want to wash my hands, and go back to…dad’s room.” 

Emma returns to the hospital room after washing her hands, just like she said she would. Her mother sits by her father’s bed, she’s holding onto his bruised hands. Emma leans into the wall next to the doorway. 

Her mother notices Emma, and gestures for her to take the seat next to her. Emma sits down, she’s pulled into her mother’s side. She couldn’t help but lean in, her mother’s clothes smelled comforting. 

Her father didn’t seem so scary right now, he just looked sad. Bruised and defeated. His eyes were swollen dark purple. It must have hurt. She reaches a hand out to place it on top of her father’s. She squeezes his hand as best she can. 

.

.

.

That night she wakes up with a start, a shrill scream escaping her throat. She runs her hands over her body, hands shaking, looking down at her stomach where she still feels phantom pain. 

Her brother bursts into her room, ready in a fighting posture, her mother not far behind, a bat in her hand. 

“Emma!”

“Emma?” 

They’re both in her room, staring into the dark, looking for an intruder of some kind. 

Emma croaks out, “-sorry” She clears her throat, “Sorry, I just had a bad dream.” 

After much assurances that she’s okay, both her brother and mother leave her room. 

She flops her body back onto the mattress, she lays there awake, and tries not to cry. Her hands keep running over her stomach. She still feels that pain. 

She had never wished more that she could say that a dream was simply just a dream. She had become desensitized to experiencing the death of others, sometimes it was disturbing enough for her not to fall back asleep, but this time it was different. 

When she experiences a dream event, she would continue witnessing the events of the dream even after experiencing the death of that person. But this time. 

She not only experienced the pain of that death, but then, a sudden blackness. Nothing, afterwards.

She sniffs, releasing a shaky exhale.

It was her. 

She is going to die.

Chapter Text

Emma skips school. After her father’s hospitalization her mother had less time to take or bring her back from the academy. Mark could have flown her there but he was already struggling to get himself to not miss classes and do hero work at the same time. Emma didn’t think it was worth stressing them both out about something so trivial. So she took it upon herself to walk instead. It wasn’t too far, about a thirty to forty five minute walk depending on the pace, and it would be nothing if she simply ran the whole way. That is, if she was actually planning on going to the academy.  

She doesn’t bother to actually get there. Around halfway, she takes a left into a forest, then treks about a mile and a half more to where she knows there's an isolated clearing. It was a place used by some of the students in other nearby schools, usually for late night parties or a private…rendezvous.  

Emma sets her schoolbag down in the clearing, stretching her arms over her head as she takes a look around. The trees in this area had been cleared, old lumber equipment sat off to the side. Some of the cut logs were still here, chained together in a stack. It had stayed untouched since, judging from the overgrowth all over it. 

She sheds her school clothes, folds them into her backpack before getting on the tracksuit she had brought with her.

She had a goal today that she was determined to accomplish. 

Since getting her powers three years ago she hadn’t ever tried to use them to their full potential. Occasionally she would use her strength for her own benefit, but flying was something she hadn’t tried yet. She saw flying heroes every single day, and the thought of actually doing it herself still felt so unreal.  

She had seen the results of Mark’s landing training in the backyard, her mother had to hire landscapers to come and fill the craters in the ground. If she wasn’t careful she could seriously hurt herself.

She snorts, realizing how selfish it seems. Learning how to fly had never been a priority, but now she felt like there was a reason for it. She puts her hand unconsciously over her stomach. 

Yes, because it would certainly help you escape an imminent demise.

Emma shakes her head, she doesn't want to get stuck in her thoughts right now. What was it that her father and brother described about flying? That it was instinctual and that there was no need for external leverage? With that logic, that means, if Emma simply thought about the idea of flying, it would just happen.

Emma looks down at her feet, still planted on the forest floor. She jumps once, no floating or hovering. 

She looks around the forest, listening for the presence of others. Quiet, just forest noises, and critters.

Taking a breath in, she shakes out her arms and ankles. She decides to take a running start from the beginning of the clearing. After gaining a good bit of momentum, she jumps forward. Emma had hoped this would encourage the flight signal to kick in. 

Instead she scrapes along the clearing, landing on her side, and knees. She grits her teeth at the failed attempt. Heat rose to the back of her neck, it was embarrassing. Mark and her father talked about flying all the time, but it wasn't the same to try for herself. She couldn't give up yet.   

She gets back on her feet, dusts herself off, tries again. 

A tree breaks in half since she trips into it. Scrambling, she catches the trunk, adjusts the fall of it so it doesn’t knock into the other trees around it.  

Dusts herself off, then tries again. 

Runs, jumps, fails. 

One knee of her tracksuit tears off.  

Again. 

The elbows of her tracksuit tear off. 

Again.

And again. 

And again.

She punches the stack of logs in frustration, half of it splinters into pieces. 

The sun is high in the sky now, it’s past noon. Emma had decided to flop to the ground ages ago, laying in the clearing scuffed and worse for wear. 

No successes had been made in any of the attempts to fly. 

She lets out a strangled noise. Sitting up, she’s pulling her hair to the back of her neck to tie the sweaty strands down. This isn’t the time to throw a tantrum, as much as she can feel the temper emerging.   

School hours would end in the next few hours, she would soon have to make her way back home to get back in time. 

She sits up, the thought of coming away from today without having tried every possibility is a bitter pill. She pulls her backpack off the ground. 

There was one more place that she could try. 

The trees thicken around her as she walks further through the forest, the shrubbery increases westward until the trees begin thinning again and she comes upon another clearing.

This one opens up to the sky, Emma stands at the edge of a cliff. 

Feet shuffle nervously, a few small stones and pebbles give away to fall off the edge. There were no more trees under the cliff, nothing to break a fall, just a jagged drop into a stoney canyon. 

If she doesn't fly, at best she’s going to break a bone or two. At worst, die. She debates whether she should back out now, this might be going too far. What if she really does die? 

You know you don’t die this way.   

Right…she shouldn’t be worried about dying here. She had felt how it would end for her, and it certainly wasn’t a drop off a cliff. There should be nothing stopping her from doing this. Her feet shuffle closer to the edge, 

She breathes in, pauses, takes a long breath out. There wasn’t time for fear anymore. Learning to fly was necessary.  

Emma drops off the edge, it was a rush.

The wind whistles past her ears. 

Maybe it was morbid, but there was a certain sense of serenity when the world around was becoming a blur of colors, and impressions.  

She blinked a few times, the air flowing across her eyes were making them feel dry.

The ground was growing closer. 

There were no triggers in a sense to flight, no sudden tug of gravity, feeling of weightlessness, no physical instincts kicking in to save her hide from this terrible fall. 

Dread fills her, it was happening again, she didn’t plan for failure. This time the consequences were going to bite back way harder. Emma flails her arms out, then her legs. Upwards, forwards, side to side. Still nothing. 

“Shit.” 

She throws her arms out in front of her, protecting her head, legs curling inwards towards her body. The ground was just a few feet away now. Wincing her eyes closed, the muscles in her body tense bracing for the pain.

Time slows, in the moments between, before the impact to the ground, then she feels a tug, she’s dragged inwards, everything turns soft around the edges. The wind stops whipping around her. 

.

.

.

She opens her eyes.

The world is hazy, floating, distant. 

Wait. 

She looks around, this isn’t the stony canyon she had been in. It was different. The ruins of a city lay waste around her. It was familiar, but she hadn’t recalled ever being in this situation before. 

She winces as she slowly shifts around, the track suit was gone too, she was in different clothes, sleeker, skin tight, almost like a hero suit.

A ragged sound escapes her, she gasps at an aching pain in her body. Her head tilts downward.   

The only thing holding her body together is the firm grip her hands have over the open skin of her abdomen. The gaping wound stops just underneath her chest. 

Emma’s breath quickens, the blood bubbles out from between clammy fingers. The lungs expanding and deflating from within her is making the injury worse. 

Another strangled cry, she pushes her head back onto the broken wall she was leaned up against. Familiar. 

She'd dreamed this before.

Blood was pooling into her lap, her fingers were slowly slipping around the wet flesh. She could feel her insides pushing to escape from between her fingers. She forces herself to breathe more shallowly,rapidly becoming lightheaded, there wasn’t enough oxygen going to her brain. 

There’s a shuffle from next to her, a man stands beside her slumped form, she can’t look up, it’s taking all her energy not to slump over sideways. She can only see that he’s wearing a ragged pair of jeans and worn dirty shoes, slowly processing that he’s speaking to her. Her mouth moves like she’s answering back but she can’t hear herself.

There's a low ringing taking up her hearing. Everything begins blurring further, her vision swims, she’s grabbing at her own flesh. Then the man is underneath her, Emma has her fingers pressed into a soft tender throat. 

A light overtakes her vision. 

.

.

.

She’s gasping awake at the bottom of the stoney canyon, the air had been knocked out of her, the first breaths back in were burning and dry. 

Her back is flush against the uncomfortable ground. The sky above her has already turned darker, it’s after sunset now. 

The world wasn’t hazy anymore. Turning her head, looking at her arms, Emma notices she's back in her tracksuit. Quickly sitting up the sound of her spine popping makes her wince, her body feels stiff from the recent impact it had taken. She tries rolling her shoulders, but one of them grinds bone to bone unpleasantly. Emma pushed at the shoulder gently, it was ridgid, the arm attached to it limp.  

“That’s definitely busted.”

Emma staggers to her feet, her back feels light. Something feels missing. This has her turning to look at the ground around her in search of it. Something lands on top of her hair, it makes her jump in surprise. Using her good arm she pulls a thin silky cloth off of her head. It’s her necktie from her uniform. 

Her gaze shifts upwards, around the middle of the canyon, a small blip in the distance, her backpack is caught on a branch.

It was about a hundred feet up. She didn’t know how she would be getting the bag, she didn’t even know how she was getting herself back out of this stupid rocky crevice. 

Right, next time, plan for failure.

It was simply hubris, she's spent too long never having to swallow her own incapabilities.

Perhaps she should have considered that she might be a Viltrumite without the ability to fly, she had always assumed that all the people of her father’s alien race were able to fly. But the mixing of human and Viltrumite DNA could have caused a genetic change where flying would be an impossibility just for her. 

She presses a hand over her brows, trying to remember the first time her powers had come in, she remembered the super strength, and she remembered, her feet leaving the ground. 

Wasn’t that flying?

Above her, the swaying of her backpack is almost taunting. That backpack is the second bag that her mother had to buy within the last few weeks. She absolutely did not want to force her mother to get another one so soon.

Somehow this is what makes it happen, she slowly begins gliding upwards. So maybe, she hasn't felt true failure, just yet.

Her arms overbalance, swinging around. She’s flying closer and closer until finally being able to reach over to get her bag off the branch. Luckily it wasn’t damaged in the slightest. 

She swings the bag over her good shoulder. The extra weight makes her body rotate vertically. Taking a loop around and around. The world is flipping into a new perspective. Spinning slowly. Upside down then right side up. She lets out a breathy giggle. 

She steadies her core, controlling her body's movement before continuing her ascent upwards towards the top of the cliff. 

At the top she lands with a dusty thump, she thought she would feel the weight of what she accomplished today. Maybe celebrate a little, but her shoulder smarts badly, and all she could think about was getting back home.

If Mark and her mother saw, it would be hard to say what happened without revealing the entire truth. She wouldn't attempt to fly again until the shoulder was healed. Hopefully it was something that would get better on its own. Right now getting cleaned up was her priority before getting back home. It would be easier to ask forgiveness for being late than to explain why she looked like an absolute mess.          

.

.

.

The convenience store near her house has a public restroom, the sink was small and inconvenient. She scrubs the dirt off the best she can before carefully changing out of the ruined track suit and into her uniform. Her shoulder injury didn't make it any easier but at least it was well hidden when underneath clothes. 

Stepping out of the convenience store has her bumping into a person with her bad shoulder. She reaches a hand over to her bad shoulder with a grimace. 

“Grayson?”

The scowl was recognizable in the voice. She gives the taller boy a dismissive look before walking past him. 

Footsteps follow her. 

“You look rough.” He steps up next to Emma. 

Emma increases her pace. “I’m in no mood to talk to you, Kimmel.” Kimmel simply widens his strides to keep up with her. 

“I noticed.” He raises a hand up and roughly taps her bad shoulder. A high pitched sound escapes her before she can stop it. Emma steps away from Kimmel with gritted teeth, wacking at the boy’s hand. 

It was hard to tell whether Kimmel was concerned or just condescending, probably the latter, “You missed school today, and show up here with a dislocated shoulder.” They’ve both paused in their walking, Kimmel stands in her way forward, “What happened?” There was no curiosity there, his face was flat of all expression, the question must have stemmed from obligation.

She side steps him, only for him to side step in the same direction. A sour look passes Emma’s face. “You know I can hurt you.” 

“Not with your shoulder like this.” He flicks his fingers onto her bad shoulder again. Emma hisses, this time responds to the flick with a kick to Kimmel’s shin. The taller boy folds over with a swear.

Emma continues making her way home, she hears him call out behind her, “I can fix it.” She turns to look back at him. Kimmel rightens himself, limping his way over to her. “Your shoulder, I know how to fix it.” She gives the boy an incredulous look. 

“I’ve fixed my own before.” He says as an explanation.

Emma allows it, she gestures for Kimmel to have at it with her shoulder. He grabs her by the wrist and elbow rotates it in a quick smooth movement until it pops into place. There’s a brief flash of pain, the relief is almost instant though. Emma rolls out her shoulder carefully, no pain anymore, just a dull ache. Shocking how effective that was. 

“...thanks.” 

Kimmel nods wordlessly, he stands there almost expectly afterwards. Emma quirks an eyebrow up at him questioningly. The boy tilts his head towards the now fixed shoulder, “So? Answer my question.”

Emma lets out a wry sound, “I owe you nothing.” It was a cold remark, but that didn't seem to deter Kimmel.

“I just did you a favour didn't I?” 

Emma succeeds in side stepping him this time, “Not one I asked for.” 

The tall boy continues to follow her, Kimmel was being persistent and it was getting on her nerves.

He continues on, “You still haven't told me how to make it up to you. I'm not a fan of owing others, Grayson.” 

Emma releases a short snort, “Well, then, you owe me nothing Kimmel, I've told you already that I have no need for that.”

The steps behind her continue, “That doesn't sit right with me. I'm not some grifter like you.” Kimmel was so forthright.

The temper she had felt earlier today rears its ugly head.

Kimmel is the worst of both arrogance and superiority. His self inflated ego allowed him to live shamelessly without need for reflection of past actions. Usually, Emma could let the awareness of that roll off her conscience, but tonight, when she was already late getting home after almost failing to fly? Kimmel continuing to harass her after she told him to leave her alone? Nevermind that the boy had just fixed her shoulder for her, he had almost done much worse to her just weeks ago in the empty classroom. She was beginning to regret ever having helped the boy at all and that was making her feel spiteful.

Beating him down would feel so good wouldn't it?

Whipping around, she's grabbing Kimmel by the collar of his shirt, shoving him against the closest wall. Emma didn't bother holding back, the delicate bones creak underneath her hands. Kimmel chokes at the roughness, wheezing out a cry. 

"I told you I was in no mood to talk. I told you I would hurt you. You continued bothering me, you didn’t listen, Kimmel.”

Emma is nose to nose with him now, Kimmel smelled like nicotine. She hated it.

“What’s the matter really? You miss getting put in your place? I can fill in for your step-daddy if that’s what you’re begging for.”

Mocking and cruel, she wanted to make sure it hurt.

Even while sweating with pain, Kimmel pulls his lips back with hostility, brows curved low and intense. Emma presses down harder on Kimmel's collar.

You're so close, just crush his weak little bones, he'll never bother you again.

Hands scrabble against her own, Kimmel was talking to her, breathless, squeezing out barely audible words, “Do it-”

Hmm?

Emma freezes, squints her eyes at him, pupils barely reflecting the street lamp.

“You want me to.” She's dropping him almost immediately. Kimmel is a heap on the ground. She takes a step back as he's coughing up and spitting on the concrete. 

“You're playing me, doing this on purpose…” 

Emma feels it from the pit of her stomach like a scream. All the anger boiling over. She grits her teeth. 

“Is that why you fixed my shoulder?” Kimmel doesn't respond, just stares back at her. 

“That's crazy, you've got a different set of problems than I do Kimmel.”

She turns her back to him and leaves.

Chapter Text

Years ago, Cecil offered the memory wipe, it was the least he could do, especially for a child who deserved none of the pain inflicted on them. It should have been a perfect wipe, the GDA often did these wipes for their own agents and heroes alike who couldn't handle the PTSD from the field.

Then just five years later Emma returns to the hospital. Something triggered the wiped memories, and usually that wouldn't be a problem if the wipe worked the way it was supposed to have but perhaps not when the wipe isn't properly in place. Emma arrived with the vessels in her eyes popped and bleeding from her ears and nose, all theoretically signs of an incomplete wipe. So Cecil gives the go ahead, the doctor does the surgery again.

Emma is waking up two days later, two days earlier than they expected. Disheveled, wide-eyed, and staring into every dark corner. It was a look Cecil had become closely familiar with over the years, fear, confusion. 

"We would have met eventually Emma, you could say I'm a friend of your parents, call me Cecil."

Cecil quickly wraps an arm around the teen as her body seizes, protecting her head before she can hit the ground.

This time that Emma goes down, it's a surprise. The same signs of an incomplete wipe. Blamed on the possible incompetence of the doctor who operated. The man was swiftly dismissed for the failed wipe.

So the surgery happens again, this time four lead surgeons taking turns checking each other's work. Before suturing her head back together.

Cecil doesn't tell Nolan or Debbie, there wasn't a point to it and he'd rather not deal with any damage Nolan may cause with his temper. Then Emma is waking up again, two days earlier, Cecil isn't sure if it's the Viltrumite healing factor that's making her awaken early.

It happens when Debbie is out getting food for herself and Nolan as Omniman is out on an assignment.

Looking back it was a blessing in disguise, if Nolan or Debbie saw what happened soon afterwards, he may as well have kissed his life goodbye. So Cecil is in the room again, introducing himself.

"Hello Emma, I'm Cecil Sted-" he doesn't even make it through his entire name before Emma is going down for the second time.

"Fuck!"

Cecil catches the kid, yells out orders. He needed people on this, it didn't make sense.

Nurses flood in working to stabilize the kid, and prep her for a possible third surgery.

It was baffling. Why the hell isn't the wipe working?

Two doctors over the girl, checking her pulse, the operation area. Nurses check her eyes with lights, a few wiping the blood off her face.  

Then he makes the connection, everytime, Cecil had said his name, she went down almost immediately after. A strange manchurian effect was happening, and for some reason it was occuring with his name.

He mumbles to himself, “You're a troublesome kid Emma.” 

Cecil begins a new file, throwing it off to his R and D guys. Today is the day they realize that the memory wipes were imperfect and required further exploration. It wasn't as targeted and clean as the GDA researchers and developers thought it was. 

They look back to five years ago, thousands of hours of security footage to pinpoint the exact date and time in which the first wipe occured, they take in everything, weather, pollen count, humidity, every personnel within the building, around the kid. 

They theorize that the wipe had erased everything but his name from that same day that Emma had been brought into the GDA for the first time. Possibly because it may have been the last thing heard by the child before her sedation back then.

It's the third time Emma awakens, the room is dark, Debbie and Nolan have long gone home and it's just her and Cecil again. This time she's more aware than every other time.

“What are you doing to me?” She sounds exhausted, accepting of a fate unknown to her. 

Cecil comes to a decision.

Instead of another surgery, they have her go through the debriefing program, desensitizing her to Cecil's name all in favour of wiping everything clean, a ridiculous notion but completely necessary because it works. All happening in complete secrecy without her parents knowledge, without her brother's and especially not her own.

Emma doesn't remember anything, and his name no longer triggers the adverse effects of an incomplete memory wipe.

.

.

.

So, Cecil knew he wasn't a good person, he toed the line of questionable on a daily basis and he knew he would continue to do so in the future for the benefit of the human race. That is until Emma comes to find him in the middle of the night barefoot and in her pajamas. 

Cecil hadn't had a home to call his own in a long time. He lived where he worked. He slept on the couch in his office when he could. So how did Emma get into the Pentagon, all the way to his office before anyone was able to inform him of her arrival?

The older man wordlessly steps aside to let the girl into his office. 

She stops in the middle of the room and turns back to the older man.

Cecil clicks the door shut. 

“Emma…” 

A book Cecil hadn't noticed before gets thrown at his feet. It’s old, and beat up, cover crumbled and browning. 

“You told me you'd help.” The girl begins. 

They had that conversation a few weeks ago when Nolan was brought in, Cecil had made the promise to help her however he could. 

“Dad's gonna wake up soon, and-and things are gonna go down hill so much faster than you realize.” 

Cecil leans down to pick up the book, he begins flipping through it. Accounts of what would or could happen in the future, several events from the past that Cecil notes had already happened, but there was a critical flaw. 

“None of these have dates, kid.” 

Emma lets out a burst of air, “I know, But I can't look for a calendar in a dream Cecil.” He can see the kid's fingers, red and raw. Nail picking, a common sign of anxiety in children. Yeah, employing a fucking kid, his most questionable action to date. 

Cecil presses his fingers into his temples, he really needed a break. He takes a deep breath in to stave the coming migraine. 

“Okay, I'll look through this, send it to my historians or something to study it, maybe predict a pattern. You should get home, get some sleep Emma.”

Emma continues to stand in the office, her fingers clicked together again, nails now digging under a nail bed, around a nail. Tugging.  

Before Emma can continue her ministrations, Cecil grabs her hand more roughly than he means to and a bit of guilt tugs at him when it makes the girl flinch.

“You're gonna pull your nail off kid.”

Emma nods wordlessly. 

Cecil himself was equally at a loss for words. He knew he had agreed to become Emma's confidant, he had expected everything but he hadn't expected to be shown vulnerability. People avoided showing Cecil that side of themselves. They knew he was dangerous, that the more you knew him the less you could trust. That he hid things, that he was a born liar. 

The office felt colder than usual. Cecil tightened his hold on the book.

“You should go Emma, I'll keep in touch, you have a phone right?”

Emma shakes her head negative.

Cecil pauses.

“...I'll keep in touch when I can, go Emma, let me worry about this.” 

“You're all I've got right now Cecil.” Emma shifts, she was direct but it was obvious that she wasn't used to exposing weakness. 

That was another thing they seemed to have in common. But Cecil would die before he ever showed weakness.

“I know Emma.” 

They're standing at a precipice.

Emma shifts again, “You know, I can't tell-no one would believe me-.”

“You can trust me Emma.”

Cecil doesn't know how long it would take for her to find out he's just a liar.