Chapter Text
It’s a desolate looking kind of day in late summer. With only a week left in October, the heat still hasn’t broken, and it probably won’t break until mid-November. With each passing year, the summer starts earlier and sits heavy around the city for longer. Scientist will bemoan it, politicians will deny it, everyone else will ignore it and keep on living. It’s simply something that Billy has gotten used to as he’s grown up. Each year that passes feels like a year closer to Armageddon, that’s simply something that Billy and the rest have come to accept. Coastlines disappear, birds and insects go extinct, but the world keeps turning; trying to throw humanity off of its back like an angry old bull.
Today, the smoggy storm clouds cluster in swirling columns in the sky, threatening the kind of rain that falls thick and warm. Smoggy storm clouds of self-doubt swirl in Billy’s chest as well, so it’s a fitting atmosphere, he thinks bitterly. Billy’s private school uniform fits a little too large, obviously hand-me-down, and currently dirty and torn from the bullies who caught up with him in the alleyway after school. The clouds overhead swell; the change in the atmosphere becoming palpable at this point. Billy doesn’t care about getting caught in the rain, he doesn’t care about much at the moment. Instead, he walks with his head hung low and his backpack thrown over one shoulder. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby storefront window. He looks pretty worse for wear—a black eye and bruises blossoming over his cheekbones, hair disheveled, collar torn.
Back at home, Billy knows his parents are expecting him, but that’s not the direction that he’s walking today. Instead, he’s found himself on the edge of town, where the city blocks grow grittier in a place long ago forgotten. It’s technically a monument, a memorial, but nobody ever comes here anymore, not in nearly ten years. Maybe that’s why Billy likes it. It’s lonely and it’s forsaken, just like him.
Of course, the high gates that surround the remains of the Avengers Manor are padlocked and Billy knows that the protections go far beyond what meets the eye. So Billy just comes to a stop and peers through the rusted bars at the half crumbling manor within. It was never repaired after the incident, standing as a physical representation of the public’s view of vigilantes—damaged and long forgotten. Billy sighs and tears his eyes away. As a kid, Billy loved the Avengers, idolized them. He had their action figures, he devoured the videos of their heroism, he stayed up late at night with his parents to catch a glimpse of them on the news, he carried a Captain America lunch box to school. But now, that lunch box is faded, filled with equally faded clippings and pictures, tucked under Billy’s bed. He hasn’t opened that box in years. The clouds finally break and the rain begins to fall as Billy makes his way over to a dilapidated bus stop.
Billy isn’t sure how long he sits there as the rain continues to fall, steadily growing heavier. He quickly becomes drenched, fat drops rolling down his back and arms, soaking into his socks. But he’s pulled from his thoughts when a woman in a red hoodie pulled tight around her face sits down next to him.
“Excuse me,” she says softly. Billy doesn’t look over at her, he keeps his eyes on his tennis shoes. “Are you alright?”
“I’ll be fine, thanks,” Billy says tersely, hugging his backpack to him tighter and keeping his gaze on the ground.
“You’re bleeding,” the woman points out.
Billy swipes his sleeves across his face, the dried, brown stain there now joined by fresh red blood mixed with the warm rain.
“Sorry,” he grumbles. “Thought it stopped.”
“What happened?”
Billy sighs heavily. He really isn’t in the mood for this conversation with a stranger. He finally glances over at her. Most of her face is hidden by a heavy hood and a non-seasonal scarf. There’s an accent in her voice that Billy can’t place and her green eyes are narrowed, studying him with an almost expectant look. Billy shifts uncomfortably, trying to get as far away from her as he can on the small bench.
“I got punched in the face repeatedly,” Billy replies, voice flat as he brings his gaze back to his sneakers.
“Why?” the woman presses.
Billy furrows his brow and shoots her a look, but she just watches him with wide eyes, as if he was telling some sort of compelling story and not just a teenager complaining about bullies.
“Because I’m different,” Billy spits, crossing his arms tight across his chest.
“Different is just another word for extraordinary,” the woman says.
“You sound like my mother,” Billy scoffs, turning to look down the street for the bus that he knows is going to be late.
“Billy, listen to me,” the woman insists, a sudden desperation in her voice.
Billy whips his head around to peer at the woman suspiciously. “How do you know my name?” he asks slowly, back stiffening.
She just stares at him in silence, her green eyes watching him like she plans to memorize his face. Billy wants to get up and run, this woman is giving him the creeps, but something is keeping him in his seat.
“You’re stronger than you know,” the woman says earnestly.
“Who are you?” Billy asks, furrowing his brow. There’s something eerily familiar about those green eyes.
The woman reaches out and catches Billy’s hand in her own. Billy nearly tears it away, but as soon as her fingers touch his, he’s filled with an emotion that he can’t name. It’s both soothing and emboldening. A warmth starts at his fingertips and moves up his arm and across his body. Suddenly, his bullies don’t matter, his trivial teenage problems don’t matter, his grades don’t matter. He can conquer them all, he can face any obstacle.
“You’re stronger than you know,” the woman repeats. “Stand your ground, show them that you aren’t afraid.”
Billy nods slowly because, yes, he can stand his ground, he can show Kessler that he isn’t fucking afraid of him anymore. Everything is so crystal clear.
“Stand your ground,” the woman says again, squeezing Billy’s hand tight. “Visualize what you want, and it will happen.”
Billy nods slowly as his eyes slide closed. He can visualize it, it’s perfectly clear in his mind. Kessler on his knees, whimpering as all the outcasts and misfits cheer Billy’s name. He’s a rock star, he’s idolized, he’s a hero. Billy smiles dopily at his juvenile fantasy, the kind of thing he dreamed of as a kid, before the world beat him down the way it beat everyone down.
“When she comes for you, say yes,” the woman whispers.
Billy furrows his brow. The hand around his disappears and when he opens his eyes again, the woman is gone. Billy looks around as the warm, centered feeling that had been spreading through his core dissipates, replaced by the humid, wet rain drops rolling down his skin. There’s no sign of the woman anywhere, no evidence that she had ever been there at all. Not even a dry spot on the bench next to Billy.
“Great,” Billy grumbles to himself, “now I’m losing my damn mind.”
By the next morning, Billy has all but forgotten about the strange woman in red. At breakfast, his mother frets over his black eye, which is now bright purple and swollen, threatening to call the school and make a fuss.
“Ma, come on, don’t do that, you’ll only make it worse,” Billy grumbles as she presses the bag of frozen peas to his face.
“Just give me a name, William. Tell me who did this to my baby. I’ll see them expelled, believe you me!”
“Then some other guy will just take his place,” Billy says, mostly to himself.
Unfortunately, his mother hears that, and she grabs the nearest chair, pulling it close and sitting down in front of Billy. Billy rolls his eyes, wincing at the pain it causes as his mother gingerly grabs his chin and makes him look at her.
“Why are they doing this, baby?” she says sadly, running a gentle finger along his swollen cheek.
Billy just huffs, trying to look anywhere but at his mother’s wide, worried eyes.
“Because I’m…different, Ma,” he answers quietly.
“Why doesn’t anybody stop this? Why don’t the teachers stop this?”
Billy pulls his face free from his mother’s lose grip.
“I’m just…gonna avoid him from now on, alright?” Billy replies, staring hard at the kitchen wall. “I gotta get to school, Ma. I’m gonna be late.”
His mother sighs a watery sigh before getting to her feet. She kisses Billy’s forehead gently and brushes his hair behind his ear with her fingers. Billy chews on his lip for a moment before getting to his feet. He scoops up his backpack from where it’s slumped in the corner and grabs a few pieces of toast from the table.
Avoiding Mikey Kessler works for most of the day, of course until fifth period. Ms. Langer calls on Billy to present his history project almost as soon as the bell rings. Nervously, Billy walks to the front of the class, keeping his eyes low as he gets onto his tablet and pulls up his project. In the back corner of the class, Kessler lounges in his plastic chair like a Mafia Don, his letterman jacket somehow both ironic and iconic. He’s chatting loudly with Lewis Greene. Billy tries hard not to feel the heat of their glares on him. His embarrassment and shame from the day before making him feel uncomfortably warm as he clears his throat and tries to get the attention of a bored, disinterested class.
For the most part, Billy mumbles through his presentation on vigilantism at the beginning of the century. Deep down, he’s pretty proud of his presentation. He had been doing research for nearly a month on it, far more effort than anyone else in the class had put into the assignment. He mostly talks at his teacher, moving through the presentation slides without the need for notes. He knows the whole story by heart.
In 2008, Tony Stark came out as Iron Man and became the first vigilante hero. Three years later, Steve Rogers was discovered in suspended animation in the Artic. Everyone knows the story, Billy doesn’t spend too long on the early years. The Battle of New York, Washington DC, Sokovia, the Great Invasion of 2018. Back when Super Heroes were heroes, not fugitives. Most of his report centers on the Sokovia Accords, the stepping stone to the 2020 Registration Act. President North introduced registration in the first 100 days of his presidency, the first of his Hard Line Policies. He demanded extradition of James Barnes from Wakanda to answer for his crimes, and the Avengers refused, making them all fugitives overnight. Pretty soon, a list was compiled from the Hydra algorithm. Anyone who showed signs of “significant threat” to the Hard Line Policies were forced to register as well. US troops were sent into Wakanda to arrest the Avengers and war broke out when King T’Challa refused to hand them over. The Avengers were branded terrorists, the Wakandans religious extremists. The Scarlet Witch was taken into custody on June 4th, 2024. Two days later, there was an explosion at the Avengers Manor in New York and 2% of the world’s population, 136,000,000 people died abruptly all around the globe. It was attributed to Wanda Maximoff. The meta-human threat was suddenly real. Every country contributed forces and resources to bringing meta-humans to heel. Half the Avengers were killed, more were imprisoned. Everyone on the Hard Line Registration list was rounded up and sent to camps in order to “evaluate their threat.” Most of them never returned. Americans looked the other way because North told them that it was to protect their safety, and he was elected for a third term.
“You sound like an apologist!” Kessler shouts from his corner.
Billy snaps his head up, he hadn’t thought anyone was paying attention to anything that he was saying.
“It’s just the facts,” Billy defends quietly.
“No, the fact is that President North is protecting us from further alien invasions and meta-human threats. You some kind of Socialist along with being a queer, Kaplan?”
Billy’s face grows hot, with both embarrassment and indignation.
“By taking away the rights of American citizens?” Billy almost shouts. “By forcing through legislation that directly contradicts the Constitution?”
“The only ones against Hard Line Policies are faggots and terrorists,” Kessler sneers. “Which one are you?”
“Mr. Kessler, that’s enough,” Ms. Langer finally interjects.
“Ms. Langer, I’m simply exercising the rights given to me by the Religious Freedom Restoration Act, which is the topic of my report, if you’d like me to go next,” Kessler retorts. “It’s against my religion to sit here and have this faggot lecture me on socialists and terrorists.”
The rest of the class is paying attention now. Some of them are laughing, others are just glaring at Billy. Billy balks, he almost goes back to his seat. But suddenly he remembers the woman in red.
“There is no empirical evidence that the Hard Line Policies have had any effect on the safety of Americans,” Billy almost shouts.
“The Americans for Freedom Census Center—“ Kessler begins.
“Is biased at best,” Billy interrupts. “Flat out liars at worst.”
“Everyone knows you have a hard on for Steve Rogers, Kaplan. Another faggot who breaks the law to protect his Communist boyfriend, who’s been in hiding for the last ten years like a fucking coward.”
“That’s enough!” Ms. Langer shouts, getting to her feet. “Both of you, to the principal’s office, now!”
Billy breathes hard through his nostrils, biting his tongue as he grabs his tablet and turns to storm out of the classroom. There’s laughter and whispered conversation from his classmates as he shoves the door open. He hears Ms. Langer shout something at Kessler, but Billy just puts his head down and hurries away from the classroom with his tablet held tight against his chest. He’s halfway down the hall when he hears Kessler shout after him. Billy almost breaks into a run. He knows that Kessler is about to try to give him another black eye. But once again, the woman in red’s voice echoes in his head.
You’re stronger than you know. Stand your ground, show them that you aren’t afraid.
Billy turns on his heel to face Kessler, who is barreling down the hall towards him. Kessler stops short when he sees Billy’s face, an unreadable expression flitting across his features. It looks almost like doubt. Billy doesn’t budge, he just glares at Kessler.
“You wanna go another round, Kaplan?” Kessler sneers, his usual demeanor of bored self-confidence returning.
“Is this your way of asking me out, Kessler, because you’re really not my type,” Billy spits. “Get the fuck away from me.”
“What did you say to me?!”
“I said, get away!”
Kessler lunges, fist raised. Billy hears his tablet clatter to the ground as he throws his arms up to protect his face. He closes his eyes, bracing for the impact of Kessler’s fist. But it doesn’t come. Instead, there is a blinding light. Billy feels something white hot in his chest, wound around his heart and bursting forward. There’s a crash and when Billy dares to open his eyes, Kessler is sprawled on the ground, slumped against the lockers, wide, terrified eyes looking up at Billy.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Kessler practically sobs. “What the fuck is wrong with your eyes! You’re-you’re-you’re one of them!”
Billy looks down at his hands. Silver streaks of electrical energy dart between his fingers. He’s panting, his heart rate spiking as his gaze moves down to his feet. They aren’t touching the ground. Billy swallows hard and takes a step forward, his sneakers never touching the linoleum, more bolts of energy shooting out from Billy’s feet, casting an eerie silver glow on everything around him.
“Getthefuckawayfromme,” Billy growls.
All at once, Kessler is on his feet. Something invisible grabs him around the middle and begins to drag him down the hall. Kessler is screaming and thrashing, trying to get away from whatever has hold of him. As he disappears around the corner, he begins to sob and scream for help.
Billy shudders as he falls to the ground on his hands and knees. He’s panting, frantic, staring down at his hands as the silver energy surrounding his body fades, sucking back into him, coiling around his heart once again. He glances around nervously, there is nobody else in the hall, but classroom doors are flinging open and heads are starting to peer out. Terrified, Billy gets to his feet unsteadily and begins to run in the other direction. He doesn’t know where he’s going, he’s just running. He can’t be seen, nobody can know, he’d be arrested and sent to the Cube in an instant. So he runs until he finds a door.
The door locks magnetically until the bell rings at the end of the day. Billy tries throwing it open even though he knows he can’t. He stares at the handle.
“Open,” he demands.
The door flies off of its hinges and flips over itself out into the parking lot. Billy watches it, mouth agape, as it collides with the flag pole and crashes noisily onto the pavement. He darts nervously through the agape doorway, an alarm going off behind him. There are cameras everywhere, and now there is video proof of Billy doing whatever the hell that it is that he’s doing. Barely able to breathe, Billy moves between cars at a dead sprint until he’s in the woodline behind the school.
“Pretty sweet moves,” someone says to his left.
Billy turns wildly, trying to see who has spoken. There’s a girl about his age leaned against a tree. She has a wild mess of tight black curls on her head and dark skin. She stares down at her fingernails with mild interest, wearing a pair of dark shorts, a plain white tank top and a bright blue, Captain America jacket. Billy furrows his brow.
“Who the hell are you?” Billy demands breathlessly.
“My name’s America,” she says, looking up at him with dark, mischievous eyes. “And I’ve been looking for you, Billy Kaplan.”
***
“Christmas has come early!” Greg announces in a sing-song voice, dropping his tablet on the table in front of Teddy.
Teddy looks up at Greg’s giddy grin for a long moment before pulling the tablet towards him. It’s an old article, nearly fifteen years. Teddy furrows his brow and glances up at Greg, confused.
“Just read it,” Greg presses.
Teddy looks back down at the tablet. AVENGERS DISASSEMBLED. It’s an article about the old Avengers Manor being made a public landmark after the Avengers were forced to officially disband.
“This is old,” Teddy says as he reads the short article. “There’s nothing left in that place worth while. Just a bunch of old statues and crap.”
“I did the research,” Greg replies. “The security on those old statues and crap is top of the line. I know lots of people who have tried to get in. But it requires biometric approval.” Greg snatches the tablet up again, tapping through to another page and turning it to show Teddy a picture of Steve Rogers.
“That place has belonged to the government for a decade. They’re about to tear it down, man. There’s no way the security system still in place would allow an actual Avenger in there,” Teddy replies.
“So we try fucking President North for all I care,” Greg snaps, patience running thin.
Teddy grinds his teeth for a moment, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. Three months he’s been doing this. Three months he’s been following Greg Norris like a lost puppy, hoping that any day now will be the day, the day when his faith and his persistence will be vindicated. Three months he’s been robbing banks and museums, turning everything over to Greg. It’s dangerous. Any day now he could get the impression wrong and be caught, made to disappear. And, worst of all, Teddy has the growing suspicion that any day now, Greg himself will turn Teddy over. The pain of that reality is almost unbearable.
“I don’t know, man. I don’t think we should do another one,” Teddy says carefully. “We could get caught. It’s government property.”
Immediately, Greg’s playful demeanor changes.
“You mean you could get caught,” Greg warns, voice suddenly venomous.
Teddy balks.
“Fine,” he says quietly.
Greg’s dangerous mood disappears just as suddenly as it had appeared, and a grin splits his face. Teddy cherishes it, stares openly and tries not to look doe-eyed.
“There’s my man,” Greg praises, rounding the table so he can throw an arm around Teddy. Teddy swallows hard at the contact, trying to remain perfectly still as Greg drops the tablet in front of him and begins to chatter about the Manor.
Teddy knows he’s being used. But that doesn’t change the way he feels. He nods pleasantly along, wishing that Greg would do more than just throw an arm around him.
The weather has turned suddenly this year, from sweltering hot to blistering cold in the span of a week. They bundle against the frigid wind and head towards the edge of the city in Greg’s sports car. Curfew for minors is strictly enforced in the city, so to get through the checkpoints, Teddy shifts to make himself look older. He tells the cops that he’s Greg’s uncle and that they’re heading out of the city for the holiday break. They make it to the Manor just past midnight.
The Manor is in total darkness, rising out inky black of the night, not even a star or a streetlight to illuminate it. Crumbled remains looking like a tombstone that Teddy feels some obligation to mourn over. Greg shines his flashlight at the rusted gate as Teddy quietly tries to imagine what it must have been like back then. A life without fear, a life where he could be a hero instead of a fugitive.
Just as Teddy had guessed, Steve Rogers doesn’t work. Teddy tries to get Greg to turn back, certainly they’ve tripped some sort of alarm. Steve Rogers is a wanted felon after all. Certainly any indication that he is back in the country will be met with force. But Greg persists and Teddy has no choice but to play along.
President North does work, and they squeeze through the gate and dart across the overgrown yard. Teddy tries to imagine this place in its former glory, a monument to heroes before they were branded terrorists. Before the Scarlet Witch killed 136 million people. A statue of the original Avengers sits in the middle of the weeds, half crumbling like the house behind it. Teddy stares up into the rain stained faces of Steve Rogers and Tony Stark for a long moment before Greg calls to him from the edge of the mansion.
“How the hell are we supposed to get in?” Greg hisses.
Massive marble columns lay across the entrance, a mountain of rubble on top of them, long settled. Teddy bends at the knees and gets his hands under one of the columns and lifts.
“You’ve got super strength?!” Greg gasps as the debris shifts and falls away, creating a small opening.
“I told you that,” Teddy replies, holding the massive weight easily against his chest.
“No you didn’t!” Greg snaps. “What else haven’t you told me?!”
“What are you talking about?” Teddy defends nervously.
“Forget it,” Greg hisses. “Let’s do this before the cops show up.”
Greg darts inside, leaving Teddy to chew President North’s lip nervously. He slips inside after Greg, ears piqued for the sound of the police. Once the column settles back against the ground, and they are bathed in darkness, Teddy shifts out of his disguise. Something about wearing the President’s skin makes him feel dirty.
Greg is already deep inside the manor, the weak beam from his flashlight sweeping around the darkened rooms. Teddy walks through the crumbling house slowly, shifting his eyes to that of a feline so that he can make out more than shapes in the dark, trying to reconstruct the once regal mansion in his head. As the Avengers grew in size, when more and more meta-humans, aliens and vigilantes were signing up to fight, the manor had been built as a sort of home for the team. The Tower was their headquarters, the Compound was their training area, but the Manor was their home. Here, they housed not only themselves, but their family and their friends, protected by top of the line security systems and a constant guard of the greatest heroes on Earth. This is the place that they felt at home, where they could take of their masks and not just be gladiators and champions, but actual people. They could be a friend, a mother, a father, a husband, a wife. They could be themselves, away from the prying eyes of the public and the gnashing teeth of their enemies.
“Wow,” Teddy breaths when he catches glimpse of a portrait on the wall. It’s one of a row, but many of the portraits are missing. “Captain Marvel.”
The portrait is as big as he is. Captain Marvel is dressed in her uniform, grinning knowingly down at the viewer.
“What’s that?” Greg calls, as his flashlight suddenly illuminates the portrait, forcing Teddy to close his eyes against the sudden light.
“It’s Captain Marvel,” Teddy repeats a little louder.
“Who?” Greg replies, coming closer.
“Captain Marvel. She was an Air Force pilot and a SHIELD Agent who merged with the Marvel Force and became protector of the universe. You know, back when Earth had extra-terrestrial diplomacy.”
“Neat,” Greg says in a bored voice. “How much do you think we can get for these?”
Teddy turns around to find Greg with an armful of small blue boxes. He holds an open one out to Teddy. Inside is a gold coin, with the Avengers A on the front.
“Oh my God,” Teddy breaths. “Those are Avengers coins. Every new member got one of those.”
“Sweet, so they’re worth something. I figure at least smelted down,” Greg says casually, snapping the box shut.
“They’re not just gold, they’re computer chips that granted members access to Avengers Tower, the Manor and the Compound. You can’t take those.”
Greg just scoffs.
“Oh come on, Altman. You already steal people’s faces. Imagine what we could get into with these puppies.”
“It’s not the same thing,” Teddy snaps, reaching for the cases. Greg dances out of his grip, settling him with a furious look. “Put that stuff down,” Teddy demands.
“Or what,” Greg scoffs, tone deriding. “You’ll tell the cops? Who they gonna believe? The class president? Or the Alien Skrull?”
“I’m not Skrull,” Teddy retorts immediately.
“Yeah, sure. Don’t tell me, you can tell the cops all about your shape shifting and super strength. What do you think they’ll do with you then, huh? Let you come back to high school and keeping playing basketball. Don’t forget, Altman, you owe everything to me.”
“Put that stuff down,” Teddy repeats, stance shifting into something more threatening as his hand begins to grow, morphing into a massive and clawed paw. “Put it down and I’ll let you leave.”
There are sirens in the distance. Greg’s face still wears a smug look, even as he eyes Teddy’s hand nervously.
“Whatever you say, freak,” Greg smirks, dropping the cases in his arms. They clatter to the ground. “Let’s see what the police say when I tell them you kidnapped me.”
Teddy’s hand shrinks back to its normal size. Greg is right. Teddy is a freak. And he’s spent his whole life trying to hide it, to blend in, to seem normal. Greg was the first person to know what Teddy was capable of, besides his mother. And Teddy had thought that that had meant something. But it hadn’t, and it didn’t. Greg was ready to see Teddy sent to the Cube for the rest of his life, he had never given a damn about Teddy.
“Good luck getting out of here without me,” Teddy says softly.
“What?” is all Greg can get out before the wings spring forth from Teddy’s back and propel him upward.
He leaves Greg behind, staring dumbstruck up at Teddy, shouting obscenities. Teddy shimmies through the hole in the ceiling and up into the frigid night sky. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the clouds. It’s been so long since he’s taken to the sky, so many years he’s spent afraid of being found. He had forgotten how literally getting above it all can really clear his head. All of his problems are left down below on the miserable crust. The thin air up here is bitter with ozone, but Teddy can shift his lungs, can change every organ in his body, turning into something barely human as he streamlines himself and soars through the clouds. He flies, dodging airplanes and flocks of geese until he feels empty enough inside to come back down to Earth, landing quietly on top of the skyscraper.
Except, he’s not alone. There’s a bright blinding light and suddenly Teddy has an audience for his twisted form. Terrified, Teddy shifts back into his normal skin, darting quickly behind something, afraid that he’s been caught. Greg must have told the police, they must be after him.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” someone calls out to him.
Teddy dares a glance around the air conditioning unit he is ducked behind.
“Shows what you know,” Teddy shouts. “I always have to be afraid.”
A girl with a dark mass of curly hair stands on the roof in the freezing air, dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts and a light jacket. Teddy furrows his brow.
“Who are you?” Teddy calls nervously.
“We’re here to help you,” the girl says, putting up both of her hands.
Teddy leans out further and catches glimpse of the second person. It’s a boy, more properly dressed for the weather in blue jeans and a winter coat. He stands silently behind the girl, watching Teddy with knowing eyes. And Teddy can’t help but stare. His dark hair is short and messy, wind whipped at odd angles. His jawline is sharp and his features are slightly cat-like—narrow eyes, high cheekbones, thin lips. His dark eyes are full of something Teddy can’t comprehend and there’s a faint, silver glow coming from the tips of his fingers. Slowly, Teddy steps out from behind the air conditioner.
“My name is America,” the girl says, putting her hands on her hips. “This is my friend Billy. We’ve been watching you.”
“Okay,” Teddy says slowly. “Kinda creepy.”
The boy named Billy smiles to himself, a crooked, pleasant smile that makes Teddy feel warm inside.
“You wanna use your powers for something other than stealing for the benefit of assholes?” Billy asks.
“Like what?” Teddy asks, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Like helping people,” America says. “Like being a hero.”