#.. the one tiny fraction of the whole monster text wall. Though it is of course spaced out and organized into

[icewindandboringhorror]

just a few little bits from the past few days

[patchwork-panda]

If A Moment is All We Are (5.2/?)

This chapter is REALLY long so I split the text ver into 2 parts for Tumblr.

AO3 link: here

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Story type: Romance/Drama/comedy

Pairing: Dazai x OC/reader (Dazai is endgame, fic is long-running and will also feature Kunikida x OC)

OC (Kusunoki Kyou) and Ability are based off of "The Story of Your Life," written by Ted Chiang, aka the basis of the Amy Adams movie "Arrival."

Rating: M for Blood/violence/themes of depression, anxiety, suicide TW: The second half of this story will deal more heavily with themes of suicide, depression/anxiety. *No major character death will occur*

Story follows OC as she joins the ADA, partners up with the detectives to solve various cases around Yokohama and develops feelings for Kunikida and Dazai (Dazai endgame).

Written for those who want an immersive ADA experience :)

Updates every Sunday evening around 6pm PST

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“...Dazai-san, could you hang on a second?”

“Hm?”

He paused just a short distance ahead of me, waiting patiently as I pulled my light jacket a little closer around me and buttoned it up as high as it could go. I had no idea how long I’d been in the infirmary but it had to have been hours—in the time between nearly dying at the art gallery and stepping out of the Armed Detective Agency building, the temperature had dropped significantly. The sun had long since set (which made sense, given the sunset was the last thing I saw before I broke my neck in front of Yosano), a full, pale moon shone high in the sky and the night was as cold as it was dark. So much for spending a balmy, spring evening sketching with the windows open...

As I suddenly sneezed into my elbow, Dazai stepped forward.

“Here,” he said gently, taking off his trench coat and draping it around my shoulders. “The place we’re going isn’t too far away. Think you can handle the cold for just a little longer?”

As the residual warmth from Dazai’s large coat slowly seeped into my body, I felt a soft heat bloom in my cheeks. The coat was too large on me and it smelled faintly of coffee and cologne.

Here, walking along the river with him at night, in a part of the city I’d never been to, the whole day felt so far away. It was as if the static inside my head, the darkness inside me—they weren’t just gone, they didn’t even exist. Though I’d had nothing but strange encounters with Dazai, my heart suddenly felt light. I pulled the coat a little closer around me and smiled.

“Thanks. You didn’t have to...”

“Of course I did,” Dazai replied smoothly as we continued walking forward. “When you’re walking a beautiful lady back to her apartment at night and she gets cold—”

“It’s more than just that!” I insisted, hoping my face didn’t look too red.

The street was fairly deserted but to any passing onlookers, it might seem like we were coming back from a date, given I was wearing his coat and he was walking just a little too close to me. I took a small step away from him to try to slow the pounding of my heart.

“I wanted to say thanks for vouching for me back there. I’m actually surprised you did, given everything that’s happened... and how I reacted to it all...”

Without meaning to, I glanced at the bandages covering his arms, at the gauze that was slowly peeling away from his cheek—the tape must have come loose after I’d thrown the pillow at him and I abruptly looked away when I felt his eyes searching for mine. For a while, we walked in silence. I stared down at my shoes, Dazai’s coat suddenly feeling oppressively heavy on my shoulders. The words I really wanted to say kept sticking in my throat when I tried to get them out so I cleared my throat and tried to talk about something else.

“Dazai-san, do you really think I’m Agency material? I mean, I am an Ability User just like many of you but... I remember now. There were always so many rumors told around campus about you all. They say you’re strong, strong enough to take down monsters, and that when the Military Police or even the government has its hands full, they call upon you.”

My fingers fidgeted with the material of Dazai’s coat.

“If that’s true, then... why would you ask me to join you? I said it earlier, back at the infirmary. I can’t fight. I barely made it out of the gallery alive, thanks to the two of you. What makes you think—”

“Kusunoki-san.”

Dazai stopped walking. Standing under the glow of a nearby streetlamp, he studied me, his soft brown eyes compassionate, the top of his head framed in a warm, coppery halo.

“Some of the most dangerous and useful Abilities out there have nothing to do with fighting,” he said quietly. “Think about the fact that the Port Mafia came to collect you. Sometimes it’s not the Ability but the potential. And not everyone has potential.”

Taking a moment to let his words sink in, he smiled and inclined his head up, indicating I should look behind me.

“By the way... we’re here.”

I turned around and looked up to see a small, three-story apartment complex with soft sand-colored walls, tucked just inside a six-foot high barrier which hid the first floor of the complex from the streets. A set of stairs descended from the side of the building towards ground level and I trailed behind Dazai as he approached the main entrance, a modest opening in the barrier wall where a set of cheap, black wrought-iron gates separated us from the tiny courtyard within.

As he pulled out a set of keys from his pocket, I found my eyes drawn to the patch of dried blood on the palm of his bandaged hands—my blood, I forcefully reminded myself—and in an instant, the words I’d been struggling to get out all evening finally left my mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Dazai asked, turning to look at me.

The tape holding down the square of gauze on his cheek had peeled off even more and I felt a fresh stab of guilt when I saw the deep scratch underneath that was just starting to heal.

“For throwing that pillow at you.”

I looked away.

“And for everything else I’ve troubled you with... I’m really sorry.”

Dazai chuckled, a low, humorless sound and sauntered up to me as I took off his coat and gave it back. He placed the keys in the palm of my hand and closed my fingers over them.

“There’s no need to apologize,” he murmured, throwing his coat back on and guiding me towards the main gate. “You were just trying to survive.”

“Yeah, but...”

I sighed and leaned back against the barrier just inches from the break in the gate.

“Dazai-san... I couldn’t help noticing you were covered in bandages when we met. Now you have even more. Was there a reason you didn’t ask Yosano-sensei to heal you?”

I twisted the keys around in my hand.

“Was she unable to heal you because she spent so much time on me?”

Dazai shook his head.

“That’s not it.”

“Then, why—?”

“She can’t heal me, Kusunoki-san. Not in the same way she can heal you.”

I stared at him.

“What...?”

The corners of his lips turned upward and he slipped his bloodied hand out of his pocket and placed it on the wall, just beside my face.

“Would you like to take a guess?” he asked, looking somewhat amused at the prospect of a game, “At what my Ability is? I’ll give you a reward if you get it right.”

He moved a little closer and the scent of his cologne wafted through the air.

“In fact, I’ll even give you a hint, because I like you so much...”

Shadows danced within his eyes.

“It’s called ‘No Longer Human.’”

No Longer...?

Unable to guess, I shook my head and his smile grew even bigger.

“Like yours, my Ability is activated through touch. And like yours, it’s always active. What my Ability allows me to do... is cancel out all other special Abilities I come into contact with.”

I sucked in a breath. So that’s why I couldn’t see his future when he held my hand at the police station and earlier at the infirmary. It wasn’t that time stopped; my Ability had been rendered inactive. But that means...

“Yosano-sensei can’t heal you?”

I looked once again at the layers of bandages wrapped around his neck and forearms, the patch of gauze stuck to his cheek. I felt something thick and oppressive bubbling up in my throat and I swallowed thickly to push down the rising sense of fear.

“But then, what happens if you get seriously hurt working a case? What if you...?”

“What’s this?” Dazai laughed, sounding pleasantly surprised. “Kusunoki-san, you’re...?”

His laughter slowly fading, he leaned in close, so close I could count his eyelashes, taste the coffee on his breath. His gingerbread-brown eyes sparkled as they held my gaze.

“Are you worried about me, my sweet Camellia blossom?”

“I-I guess? I don’t know,” I admitted, looking over his shoulder as my face burned anew.

The moon was high in the sky and the building’s front wall felt cool against my back.

“I just wish that there was something I could do for you...” I mumbled at last.

Dazai grew quiet. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes never leaving my face.

“You wish to do something for me?” Dazai repeated, his gaze unwavering. “Don’t tell me, you’re feeling sorry for me?”

“That’s not it,” I lied, shaking my head. “It’s just, for a second... back at the infirmary...”

I swallowed.

“You just looked so lonely back there.”

His smile faltered. I heard the soft scratch of his fingernails next to my ear as his hand slipped a fraction against the wall.

“Lonely, huh?”

Slowly, the look in his eyes changed, subtle longing transforming into hardened purpose.

“I have been searching for a companion as of late,” he admitted, surprising me. “If you’d like to do something for me, there is this one thing...”

“What is it?” I asked a little too quickly—my guilt and my budding feelings were getting the better of me and judging by the contemplative look on Dazai’s face, he knew it too.

Still smiling, the shadows lengthening under his wine-dark eyes, he traced the corner of my jaw with one slender finger and whispered:

“Come away with me. We’ll go to a museum, have drinks at the bar, maybe take a nice long walk in the park by the sea... And then, if you’d like, we can end the night at the bridge. Have you ever been there? The view is to die for...”

“Dazai-san...”

I grasped his hand.

“Are you asking me on a date or are you asking me if I’ll join you in that double suicide you talked about?”

My fingers curled around his.

After rescuing me and stopping me from doing something stupid... after taking the darkness away... He asks me this...?

“The answer is no.”

I pushed him away and moved away from the wall, towards the gate, only to see that when I looked back at him, rather than appearing hurt, he seemed calmer than ever. Something about that serene smile unnerved me and I took another step back as he stuffed his hands back into his pockets.

“Why can’t it be both?” he asked. “Double suicide—no, a lovers’ suicide. It sounds romantic, don’t you think?”

“Not really.”

Dazai sighed. Heavily.

“Alright,” he said, shrugging. “It was worth a shot.”

He turned away from me and made to go.

“Dazai-san...”

Bitter disappointment welled up in my chest.

“Did you offer to walk me home just so you could try this out on me?”

“Not at all,” Dazai declared. “I was actually hoping you would say yes. Then all my hopes and dreams would finally come true.”

I sucked in a breath.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I was,” Dazai affirmed, turning back around to face me. “And I am. You don’t have to say yes right away, Kusunoki-san. Take your time, think about it. Just know that if you ever change your mind, you’ll know where to find me.”

A cold wind began to blow. As we stood opposite each other before the wrought-metal gates, our figures bathed in the harsh light of an enormous, full moon, an odd chill settled into my bones, one that had nothing to do with the unusually wintry night.

Dazai rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Actually, maybe you don’t. I should probably give you my number.”

“No, thanks.”

“Just to let you know,” he said, taking his own cell out of his pocket and shooting a text. “My apartment’s not very far from here. If you ever need anything—anything at all...”

The burner cell he’d given me buzzed in my pocket and I realized he’d just sent me the text.

“Just give me a call. I promise I’ll be right over.”

He winked.

“I look forward to hearing from you.”

And with that, he walked away into the night, his sand-colored trench coat billowing in the wind and the sound of his footsteps slowly fading away. I was left standing in front of the gates of my new home, alone.

***

The lock on the front door finally gave way and I fumbled for the light switch as I pushed my way inside the apartment. Fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered to life, illuminating a modest one-bed, one-bath studio apartment, not unlike the one I had just vacated. I was relieved to find my old laptop and charger sitting on a table in the kitchen area and a small bag of familiar-looking clothes underneath. My excitement at finding my favorite pair of bunny-print pajamas quickly turned to embarrassment as I pictured the strict Kunikida, the elegant Yosano or even coolly casual Tanizaki stepping into my old place and finding the walls covered in anime posters and the once-pristine tatami-mat floor fully concealed under all the layers of dirty laundry and plastic snack wrappers...

Pushing aside my embarrassment, I changed into my pajamas and went to the bathroom to wash up before bed, making a mental note to thank whoever was kind enough to not only retrieve some of my most important belongings, but also leave me a new toothbrush and cup. I’d probably slept most of the evening away already but after that last conversation with Dazai, I felt confused and drained enough to sleep for another week. As I rummaged through the closet in search of a futon, a jarring, piercing set of chimes rang loudly throughout the apartment and I dropped the futon in surprise.

It was my burner cell—I’d forgotten to take it out of my jacket pocket and it was bumping up against the door as it buzzed, the shrill tones barely muffled by the thick denim encasing it.

Praying it wasn’t Dazai, I picked it up and held it to my ear.

“H-hello?”

“Ah, Kusunoki-san?” Kunikida’s now-familiar voice came through the speaker. “Sorry to call you so late. Is this a good time?”

“Kunikida-san!” I exclaimed, breathing a sigh of relief as I flopped down, laying with my back against the tatami-mat floor. “Yes, yes it is. What’s going on?”

“Well, it’s about your request to join the Agency.”

Kunikida paused.

“I’ve spoken to the President. He’s agreed to let you take the Entrance Exam.”

“He did?!”

I sat up at once, pressing the speaker as tightly as possible against my ear.

“What else did he say? Is there something I should be studying off of? When’s the—”

“I’m very sorry, Kusunoki-san,” Kunikida mumbled (and he definitely sounded like it), “But I’m not able to give you any more information right now. I can call you again tomorrow morning if there’s anything more I can tell you—if that sounds alright?”

I slumped.

“Okay...”

There was a pause, followed by a quiet sigh on the other end of the line.

“Get some rest, Kusunoki-san.”

Kunikida’s voice was as soft as it was kind.

“It sounds like you could use it.”

[wulfrann]

The Hero & The Villain - Prologue

Original Work

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Story Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence & Major Character Death

Category: F/F, M/M

Characters: Misha 'The Hero' Malenkov, Cordelia 'The Restrainer' Kasabian, Nataly Faukner, Deb, Andy, Will, Danton, Tina, Idir, Liêm, Ginette Dubois, Amaal Al-Amin

Additional Tags: Superheroes, Supervillains, Superpowers, Science-fiction, Anti-hero, Anti-villain, Emotional Isolation, Found Family, Self-destructive Behaviors, POV Alternating, Multiple Endings

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of violence - Surgery - Body Modifications - Alcohol

[Chapter 1 out of 7 - 3 212 words - Posted 2019-01-04]

Story Summary:

Once again, the Hero had saved the day. She had smashed Chaos down, right through the macadam of the street, and now order could reign again. Until the next villain came, and it would start all over again.

The Hero lives to destroy evil, and hopefully herself in the process. The Restrainer perpetrates evil to take care of her family. This is the story of the confrontation that took one of them out - or both.

(Also posted on RoyalRoad.)

Read it on Ao3 or right here under the cut.

Chapter Notes:

Happy New Year, everyone! Here's to a 20biteen filled with peace, growth and all the healing you need.

This all started from a tumblr prompt, and tumbled down the hill of inspiration to become this monster you are now presented with. The themes are heavy, but the story is, hopefully, interesting - as for the ending, you get to keep the one you like best. Aren't I generous?

As always, a huge thank you to my precious friends and amazing (though unofficial) betas @nichanana​, @madeshika, @cupcakeofcrowns and @aoquesth. You all are the best and I would probably never post anything if it weren't for your support and comments.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Once again, the Hero saved the day. She had smashed Chaos down, right through the macadam of the street, and now order could reign again.

Her breaths came hard through her battered body, exiting her mouth tinted with the taste of blood. Drops of it dripped from her knuckles, knees, her cheek, her flank. She hated projectiles. Hated it when she couldn’t focus solely on reaching the villain and had to take too many other elements into account. She wasn’t as good in defense as she was in attack and it showed, especially with Chaos. Big scraps of ground, rocks, cars - everything had swirled and swung and soared. She was nothing if not one big throbbing pain - but the Hero was still standing, and Chaos was dead, and order would reign again.

Until the next villain came, and it would start all over again.

*

Sounds were coming back to her ears. Cries, cheers and the distinct flashes of the press. The Hero straightened her back. Looking like a winner - a savior -, the Hero gave the gathering crowd a solid smile for them to hold onto. They screamed and laughed and cried and the Hero stood in a plain of debris. Then the flock of journalists swooped on her, and the Hero smiled and smiled and talked, and the journalists asked and asked and fought, and when the questions became barbs the Hero pushed on through.

She flew off. The crowd on the ground gasping as one was the last thing she heard before wind filled her ears. She flew for a long time, too broken to speed through. She could feel the tissues starting to grow and mend and scar, and the blood stopping to drip. It itched terribly every time.

When she came home, she was greeted by silence. It almost felt off, this emptiness, but she remembered then and shrugged it through. She peeled her mask off in the equipment room, and walked on to the repair room before she stepped out of her suit. The material was solid, but it was not armor, and she would have to stitch it up before giving it a good wash. Speaking of a good wash… she left her suit next to the sewing machine, shuffling around in her underwear to the bathroom. She took a long, scalding shower, letting the water flow until it didn’t came down red, or dirty, or with piss. She was the only one to ever use that shower - if she was too tired to prevent herself from peeing right now instead of later in the toilet, no one would mind.

Once she was all dry and dressed, she poured herself a large glass of water. She gulped it down, then downed three more of them. When that was done she started to stretch, battling hard not to wince at every pull and flex and twist. It was a painful half an hour before she could finally eat something. She made meat, a lot of it, with vegetables and a big glass of milk. She did the dishes. She sat on the couch and ate an apple. She sewed her suit back up and put it in the washing machine. She brushed her teeth. She did not look at her phone. She went to sleep.

"Mom! I’m leaving!”

“Have fun at school!” Cordelia shouted from the lab and into the intercom, careful not to let her eyes wander away from the operation she was conducting. Surgery and transplant on the ocular system was always delicate - the one she was trying to achieve was more than that. One tiny fraction of a millimeter off and Danton could not only lose his left eye, but half of his face and probably his life as well. Cordelia was confident she could do it, as long as no one and nothing decided to chip at her concentration and distract her. She was the best surgeon to have ever surged, after all.

A few hours after Deb’s departure - and eleven and a half since the beginning of the operation -, Cordelia was done. She moved the camerarm (a robotic arm with a built-in camera of her invention that she used for particularly delicate or small-level interventions) away from Danton’s eye with extreme caution, then rolled it to the sanitizing room where it would be cleaned with a thoroughness no health facility could yet achieve. She rolled the rest of the equipment back in its place and away from the bed, which she pushed through the automatic door of the operating room. On her way to the resting room, she flicked the switch from a red OPERATION IN PROGRESS, DO NOT DISTURB to a green DONE, PLEASE CLEAN. The message was displayed in every room of the mansion, and on every device belonging to a resident. For those on cleaning duty, it would even come with instructions. Cordelia was pragmatic like that.

Once Danton’s bed was settled and Danton himself was connected to the monitors, Cordelia fished her phone out of her pocket. She typed a short message.

[To: William] I put him in room 05. He should wake up in about an hour.

She checked every screen and digits one last time to make sure it was as safe as could be, then hit send and left the room.

*

She was almost done with the pasta a la carbonara when her alarm went off. Danton was starting to wake up.

She texted Andy to come season the sauce and make sure lunch would be ready in half an hour, and was off. She ran down the flight of stairs to the underground floor, ecstatic and worried all at once. She really hoped the operation had worked. She stripped quickly and stepped into the sanitizing airlock, where she dressed back up into her surgeon clothes as the sanitizor did its work. When the screen on the right wall of the airlock declared she was clean, Cordelia was free to step out and half-run to Danton’s room.

William was here, of course, looking at a slightly stirring Danton with concern etched in every line of his body, craving but not daring to take his hand. He glanced up at Cordelia when the door slided open, and managed a small smile. Cordelia hoped the one she flashed back was as reassuring as she wanted it to be.

Then Danton made a feeble sound, and Cordelia stepped further into the room. She checked the monitors: everything was good. He was waking up normally, slowly, and with his regular heart rate. He didn’t seem in pain, either. William gasped, and Cordelia almost asked him why before she saw that it was just Danton gripping his hand. Somehow, in semi-consciousness, he had still managed to find it. It was Danton’s turn to gasp, then, and Cordelia turned to him.

“Breathe, Danton. Danton, it’s me, Cordelia. Breathe. I’m with William,” she said, stroking his mess of a hair. She glanced at the monitors. Still nothing. “Everything’s fine. Just breathe. You’re home, in the resting room, after your operation. Do you remember?”

Danton’s breathing slowed. His body relaxed back down, and his eye fluttered open. He fixed his eyes first on the ceiling, then Cordelia. Carefully, he nodded. Cordelia smiled.

“Good. Don’t talk yet, just breathe. You have to drink some water first,” she said, and as she did so turned to grab the glass of water she had prepared on the nightstand. “Will, can you make him sit up, please?”

William startled away from Danton’s face, and immediately bent down to push one of many buttons linked to the many functions of the bed. With very low speed, so as not to frighten or strain the patient, the first fifth of the bed raised Danton up in a sitting position. He was still holding William’s hand, and Cordelia had to touch his shoulder to make him look away from William long enough to drink the whole glass.

“How long,” he croaked at her, and Cordelia made him drink another full glass.

“About twelve and a half hours,” she said when he was done, and he nodded.

“How are you feeling?” Will asked, brows furrowed.

Danton smiled at him. “I’m fine. Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” he said back with a tremor and a smile.

Cordelia rolled her eyes, but let them have their moment. The operation hadn’t been without risks, and she could understand the emotion - she herself was being washed over by a wave of relief. And she remembered love, too; she remembered caring for someone so strongly she had feared it would break her. She remembered the meetings of eyes that shut everything else away from them, remembered holding hands like a lifeline. She remembered how intense it could be, and so she let them forget she was here, for a time. Then she clapped.

They both jumped. She grinned.

“Alright! Now let’s see what this eye can do. May I take a look at it?” she asked, and Danton nodded, letting go of William’s hand. She gestured for Danton to lie down against the mattress and scooted her chair closer to the bed. The eye looked good. Normal, or at least somewhat close to it. The pupil looked reactive, and bigger, as it occupied the space that the iris previously had. It didn’t look much different than if Danton’s iris hd been black, except that it shrank and extended depending on the light, like any normal pupil did. The eyelids were gone - she hadn’t had a choice.

“Well, this looks good,” she said, and patted Danton’s shoulder. “How well can you see with it?”

He blinked his right eye, looked around, squinted, then shut his right eye closed.

“P- Pretty good, actually. Better than with the other one, and much better than before. It… it does feel kinda weird though.”

“How weird?”

He frowned and shook his head, visibly troubled. “I don’t know, like… enhanced, or something. Saturated, but not just the colors, it’s everything. And it kind of hurts, too, but I’m guessing that’s normal.”

Cordelia nodded, smiling. “It’s all normal, really. The change is a lot to take in, and you’re going to have to get used to it before you can really deploy its full potential… Do you want something for the pain?”

“Oh, okay, cool, and uh, no thanks. I’m good,” he said, not really paying attention but looking around instead. “This is really cool.”

Cordelia smirked. “Wait until you try the coolest part.” Both William and Danton turned to look at her, a question in their look. She wiggled her eyebrows. “You can actually shoot laser with it.”

“What?” they said, then looked at each other.

“This is so cool, ” Danton whooped, at the same time that William said: “That’s terrifying.”

Cordelia grinned, pleased by both of their reactions. “Isn’t it great? You’ll have to learn how to use it first, but once that’s done you’re going to be amazing. And it’s perfectly safe, too,” she added, looking at Will. He seemed dubious, but Danton was excited enough for the two of them. “Wanna try it?”

He looked at her like she was giving him the best of gifts. “Can I?”

“Just look to the ceiling, and think about it. I built it like a muscle, so if your brain sends the command, your eye should respond.”

Danton did as she said. He looked up, frowning - and a ray of laser shot to the ceiling, not leaving so much as a trace on the surface. That all walls should be laser-proof was a doctrine of Cordelia she was particularly proud of.

Will and Danton gaped at her. She beamed.

The Hero woke up with a start and a gasp in a puddle of sweat. The whole room stank with it. It took her a second to figure out what’d woken her: her phone, ringing, buzzing, on the nightstand.  Without thinking she grabbed it and pressed ANSWER. She only realised her mistake when a voice started speaking through it.

“Hello? Misha?”

She wanted to throw up.

“I can hear you breathing, Misha. I know it’s you.”

“...Nataly,” she croaked, slumping back against the wall in defeat. Her ceiling was so white.

“So you still speak. Good.”

“Why are you calling?”

Silence. Then: “Are you serious?”

She sighed, and let her head thump backward against the wall. Nataly swore.

“You really are serious. I worry, Misha. That’s why I called. I saw the pictures and the articles they wrote about yesterday.”

Nataly waited for her to say something. She said nothing.

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

She heard Nataly sigh. “I’m not stupid, Misha. I saw the state you were in.”

She wanted to throw up. She wanted to punch something. She wanted to smash the phone.

“I’m fine.”

She hurt all over, but she was alive. She could still fight. She could still save the world.

“I don’t believe you.”

She pinched her nose, fighting the urge to crush the phone and the annoying voice within.

“I don’t care,” she groaned. Nataly swore.

“God dammit, Misha, I care about you. You’re going to kill yourself if you keep going on like that.”

She let out a breath through her nose, slowly and with intent. She made herself lighten her grip on the phone.

“We are divorced,” she forced out, through gritted teeth.

“So what, you think just because we’re not married anymore, I don’t worry? That I don’t care about you? I love you, asshole. I’m not going to stop loving you just because you divorced me.”

She wished she could just smash her head against the wall. Be done with Nataly and all those aggravating headaches once and for all.

“But I did.”

Silence.

The bile was rising in her throat.

“...I see,” Nataly said, and her voice broke on the last word.

She flinched, but said nothing.

“...Take care of yourself, Misha.”

Nataly hung up.

The Hero sagged against the wall, empty and drained and hurt. She hoped Nataly would stop calling. She hoped Nataly would be fine. She hoped Natlay would move on, now. She hoped Nataly would not find out she’d lied.

As Cordelia was leaning against the car, waiting for Deb’ to get out of class, she thought that trees were really beautiful. Both materialistically and metaphorically: labyrinth of intricate roots scavenging the soil, a solid, reliable trunk, branches like dozens of arms reaching for the immateriality of the sky. Life, growth, death, with reproduction thrown into the mix. Humans were really just ugly trees. Weak, mobile trees that made far too much noise.

The end of class rung then, and a flow of teenagers ran out the doors. Or dragged themselves out the doors, depending. Cordelia looked for a flash of blue on top of the most beautiful, most handsome face in the world. It wasn’t hard, in this mass of stupid, ugly trees, to find the one she was looking for. Deb’ was making their way through the crowd with ease and a grace none of the others possessed. When they spotted Cordelia, Deb’ shot her the brightest smile and pushed some kid out of their way, extracting themself out of the crowd with class. Cordelia grinned.

“How’s my favorite person ever?” she asked, ruffling Deb’s frizzy hair.

“I pushed an asshole down the stairs and he broke his leg,” they said, grinning.

“Good. Did anyone see you?”

“Nope, not even him!”

Cordelia smiled, feeling like her heart was taking all the room in her ribcage. She ruffled Deb’s hair again, smiling. “I’m proud of you, you know?”

Deb’ smiled back, dimples digging in their cheeks. Their dark skin shone like no other under the afternoon sun, reflecting the light like a little moon. Deb’ really was the most beautiful person in the world.

“I know, mom. I am too,” they said, circling the car to get to the passenger seat. Cordelia shook her head lightly and got into the car.

“Ready to go home?”

Deb’ looked at her, amusement and fondness shining in their eyes. “You know you don’t have to come get me every time, right?”

“Nonsense. Now work your magic, little beetle.”

Deb’ shook their head at their mom, smiling, and snapped their fingers. A fraction of a second later the school disappeared, and they were home.

Cordelia saw Andy jump at their appearance, and bang her head against the hood of the car she had been tinkling with. She stifled a laugh to spare her friend’s dignity, but Deb’ snapped their fingers again and appeared right next to Andy, scaring her to death. Cordelia shook her head, smiling despite herself, and got out of the car. Deb’ had always liked messing with others as soon as they’d discovered what they could do. Cordelia thanked the universe for linking the trigger of Deb’s power in a snap of their fingers, and not something easier to learn. She didn’t know if she would have survived a teleporting baby - raising a regular one had been hard enough as it was.

“Sorry we scared you, Andy,” she said, shooting a look at her kid. Deb’ shrugged.

“Couldn’t help it.”

“That’s alright,” Andy laughed, rubbing her head where it had met the hood. “I’ll get used to it eventually.”

Deb’ leant forward to peek into the car, eyes roaming along the pipes and pistons, trying to make sense of it all. “What were you working on?”

“Oh, uh, nothing much, just - trying to make this one work again, I guess,” she said, and blushed at the curious look Deb’ gave her. “What?”

“Why would you want this one to work, when we have dozens of others much nicer vehicles?” Deb’ gestured to the rest of the garage.

Andy looked around too, considering the question, but her gaze quickly found its way back to the old, dusty car she’d been trying to fix. “I like this one.”

“Why?” Deb’ pressed on, sounding frustrated. Cordelia smiled.

Andy shrugged, hand brushing along the red edge of the car’s guard, smiling fondly at its chipped paint job and dated engine. “I like that she’s old. They don’t make these anymore. They’re too slow, and too small, and not adapted to the engines we make today. Trying to fix her - it’s like flicking through an old photo album.”

“So you’re, what, nostalgic? Did you use to have one like this before?”

“No, I wasn’t born when they stopped making them,” Andy said, shaking her head. The light caught on the shaved skin, and Cordelia spied Deb’s eyes briefly glancing at it. “It’s more like looking into the past, I guess? And dusting it off,” she added with a grin.

Cordelia smiled. It was a nice thought, that in the present the past could be fixed.

“You know,” she said, “I don’t think I ever saw this car working. It’s always been sitting here, as far as I recall.”

Andy looked at her then turned to the car, looking wistful. “That’s a shame, it’s a beauty.”

“If you can fix it, it’s yours.”

“Really?” Andy gasped. There were stars twinkling in her eyes, brighter than Cordelia had ever seen.

She laughed, patting her shoulder. “Of course. Now come, the both of you. I smell dinner.”