Chapter Text
I could feel all those plans I’d built up over the last year falling apart. Again.
The empty downtown street didn’t vocally agree with me, but I was accepting its heavy late-night silence as support of my brooding. It made me feel a bit less lame about kicking rocks down the sidewalk in the dark, at least. No better companion out there for a girl’s foray into internal monologues and hanging around dark corners while feeling sad.
I felt the pressure in the back of my head spike again, enough to make me stumble, but I shook it off and soldiered on.
I knew that I should’ve felt happy for my sister, that it was what everyone expected. Most people outside my family probably thought I was—I thought I’d done a decent job putting on an act. The people inside my family? I wouldn’t be surprised if they thought I was jealous, or upset it was her rather than me.
Aren’t you? a small part of me whispered, still desperate for my mother’s approval. I tamped it down and took a left.
I wasn’t though. Not really. All I felt was disappointed in myself, again, knowing that I’d given my sister the last thing she wanted.
I shouldn’t have gone to that party. Shouldn’t have gotten drunk, especially with the medication I’ve been on for the migraines. Shouldn’t have gotten so in my head about the last year, about New Wave, about school. About Dean.
And now Amy, my sister, the girl who didn’t want anything to do with capes after seeing me rip myself apart over our family’s mess, had Triggered.
Because of my fuckup.
This time I took a right; I wasn’t reading the street signs any more, and I hadn’t been for a while. I just wanted to be lost. Reading would aggravate the headache, anyways. It was already bad enough.
One more year was what I’d been telling myself, one more year and then I’d be done with school and have myself put together enough to move out. We’d be able to get away from things, get away from all the staring and the questions and Carol and New Wave. Things would’ve been okay, maybe. Difficult but doable.
Except now Amy was more stuck here than ever, and I had no idea what to do to fix that.
Maybe if I’d paid more attention during those handful of therapy sessions Carol had made me attend I wouldn’t have messed up so bad. I might’ve handled the fallout of that stupid basketball game better, not been so broken up about medical complications and needing to quit the team, or my grades suffering from the constant pounding in my skull. Might not have-
I choked back a whine as a particularly vicious spike of agony lanced through my skull and settled behind my eye. Speak of the devil.
I couldn’t keep walking at that point; I dragged myself over to the closest wall I could find, sat my ass down, and shut my eyes as hard as I could, waiting for it to pass.
…God, I feel so pathetic, though.
Here I was, Victoria Dallon, moping extraordinaire. I couldn’t handle seeing that look in Amy’s eyes, the worry and the pity and everything, so I sneak out for a walk near midnight and run around the same sad thoughts in my head for over an hour. If I didn’t have the proof of my inability to Trigger properly beating away at my skull, I’d have thought I suddenly developed superpowered self-pity.
The idea was almost funny enough to get me back on my feet and trudging home, but the migraine kept me down; I had to sit and ride the worst of it out. Calm myself down and wait for everything to settle. It would get better; both the headache and… everything else.
I focused on my breathing, tried to pull my mind away from everything that had gone wrong the last few weeks. Focused on being Victoria, the girl who’s got everything under control and the best sister ever instead of Victoria, the girl who failed everywhere that mattered. It helped. Somewhat.
“…like a tumor. More than a…consulted…part of it definitely degraded.”
“So it’s…because…broken.”
“…the pain, yes…”
“…flair up…failing.”
“…treatment?”
“…avoiding stress. Surgery…“
“…means there’s nothing you can do. First you tell me my daughter can’t…“
I let go of the breath I was holding in just as the pain settled back down to a manageable level. My butt felt sore from the cold concrete, and my brain felt raw from the stress.
Okay, pity party’s over for my head’s sake, if nothing else, I thought to myself. Stop thinking about the party, stop thinking about “Panacea,” stop stumbling around side streets. Don’t think about cape stuff, most importantly. I’d gone out, felt sorry for myself, and now I’d go home and sleep.
I opened my eyes again, blinked away the spots that the dull orange glow of a nearby streetlight caused, and dragged myself back up onto my feet. I couldn’t keep brooding forever.
It seemed even darker out, now; the encroaching gray darkness of a light-polluted city filling up the sky and leaking out of alleyways. I checked my phone: 12:39, it said. Much later than I’d wanted to stay out, especially on a school night.
The buildings around me weren’t immediately familiar, but I was definitely somewhere around the edge of Downtown judging by where the Towers were—I was west of them still, so I couldn’t be that far from home. Maybe a bit too north to get home quick, though.
And if I get caught it’ll just be another failure on the pile.
The headache surged again, just a little, and I winced. Okay, okay. No bad thoughts.
I started towards the south, pulling up a map on my phone when I realized I didn’t know which streets to take. The sidewalk here was cracked, the buildings more weathered and compact; I sucked in a breath and ignored the acrid tang and hint of sea salt that permeated Brockton Bay’s air.
Waiting for the map to load, my eyes were drawn to some of the graffiti I’d been ignoring. Red, black, and white letters.
E88. Empire. The biggest gang in the city. Nazis.
The ones who killed Aunt Jess.
I hurried up a bit, remembering just how late it was and what city I lived in. The one with superpowered Nazis. I didn’t have much to fear normally—I was a blue-eyed blonde—but I didn’t like the risk. Not tonight, when everything was already scary and unclear.
Fuck, everything was so damn scary and unclear.
I shut up the pessimistic thoughts as I made my way back towards my neighborhood, passing by closed up shops and skipping through patches of shadow broken up by flickering sodium-vapor lamps. I’d spent enough time feeling sorry for myself tonight—if I was going to fix things, and I was, I couldn’t let myself wallow until it was three A.M. Much less in gang territory.
Instead, I tried to focus on how I’d make tomorrow different. It wouldn’t be like the mess today had been, I was going to make sure of that. I wouldn’t be able to just… solve all the problems at once, but I could look at colleges again. Be there for Amy. Try and be more present at school, if my head was in good enough shape.
The next couple of blocks were spent distracting myself with my phone, the map unnecessary now that I’d oriented myself. It was much, much easier to scroll PHO than think about-
I jerked to a halt as a hand grabbed my shoulder, someone swinging me around to face a set of leering grins and wandering eyes.
“And what’s a pretty little thing like you doin’?” the one gripping my shoulder asked.
I felt a throbbing pain behind my eyes. Fuck.
I hadn’t seen them come up behind me—too distracted, maybe, or maybe they were just out of sight. I spotted tattoos, close cropped hair on two of them and a shaved head on one, and dark clothes. A splash of red here or there; one of their shirts, another one’s laces on his boots.
A swastika tattoo poking over a collar.
“I’m just… making my way home,” I said, ignoring the rapidly returning migraine as best I could. The alleyway we were next to yawned like a gaping abyss in my peripheral vision, a nest of shadows that felt like the open mouth of a viper. Ready to swallow me whole.
Fuck, panic button panic button panic button-
Shaved-Head, the one farthest away from me, whistled in a way that made me shiver in disgust. “Real late for that… need any help getting there? Me and my friends here got plenty of time to spare for a girl looking like you do,” he said.
“Fuckin’ smooth Mike, that’ll work,” Red-Laces muttered in the middle of the pack.
“Numbskulls, shut the fuck—“ Swastika, the one holding onto me, started saying. He turned his head back around to face the other two, and I used the opportunity to lunge backwards.
I didn’t get far, and I felt the hand I dislodged close around my wrist anyways, but all I needed to do was close the window on my phone and hit the icon for-
I hit the ground and my phone went skittering across the concrete. I heard a cry of “Hey!” and “Fuck!” from the two skinheads who hadn’t been the one to tackle me into the concrete. The pressure in my skull only grew. No no no no no…
“Get the fuck off of me!” I snarled, trying to kick and lash out at Swastika on my back. Something ached in my ribs from the fall and my right arm was pinned, but I could twist my head around enough to see the annoyed look on his face as he struggled to keep me down. I tried to yell, but the sleeve of a leather jacket forced its way into my mouth.
“Goddamn—bitch! Kick way too fuckin’ much, Mike! C’mon man, legs!” Swastika said.
“Jesus, dude, could’ve been a little less—“
“Mike!”
“Fine! Fuck,” Shaved-Head—Mike—replied.
I felt the weight on my back lessen just long enough for me to violently kick out and hear an “oof” and a dull thud, but then my face was shoved back down into the concrete and I felt something in my jaw go loose.
The next few seconds escaped me; I heard words but didn’t picked them up, felt stiff leather get forced further into my mouth, felt a dull impact in my stomach that made me gasp. Gray-black shadows consumed me as I was dragged back through an alley and towards a neighboring street.
By the time lucidity started returning, Red-Laces was opening the rear doors of a pickup truck and I was being carried by the other two. My arms were pinned, and my legs were held to someone else’s chest, and my mouth was still full of this fucker’s jacket, except he’d taken it off and tied it around my head. Biting down and trying to twist out of their arms wasn’t getting me anywhere.
My mind was full of lead between the head blow and the returning migraine, every thought heavy and struggling to surface through the pain and the disorientation. Some of my teeth felt loose.
“—weren’t gonna be going after an Aryan chick, you know?”
“You want me stick my dick in a Jew or somet—“
I stilled, and my heart stopped.
It was one thing to realize what they were doing, and another to hear them say it and then know what’s going to happen if I didn’t get out of here right now.
I flailed. I tried to fight with every ounce of training I had, but it was a fight just to move my limbs. I think I got a leg free, and I felt my lower half hit the ground. Something in my mouth tasted like iron, and my ears were ringing, and I couldn’t stop cursing my need to get out of the house tonight. I was barely aware of my body, only aware of a light turning on in a window above me and my body impacting asphalt and rubber, my arms still pinned by someone trying to hold me down.
I struggled. I struggled as hard as I could through the splitting migraine making everything an indistinct blur, through the crack I felt in my ribs. I couldn’t get, of all things, the idea of Amy hovering over me with pity in her eyes like last time out of my head, and it was enough for me to wrench one arm away and-
It was Victoria’s first birthday since the migraines started, and nothing felt like it should.
Everyone important was there for her—Dean, Amy, Crystal, even her parents—but it was smaller than every other year. No one from the basketball team showed up besides Alicia, and she had to leave early. Everyone else was too distant now, with Victoria leaving the team.
Dean and Amy were at least trying to be supportive, but Amy could only do so much and Dean was… Dean was Gallant. It wasn’t a problem before, but it felt like it was becoming one. She felt so stupid for making it an issue, but sometimes she saw him and couldn’t help but remember everything wrong with her family.
Parahumans. Capes. The thing she might not be able to be, now, despite her whole life building up to it. Not ever. The Alexandria gift bag one of her presents came in stung a little bit to see.
Her mom wasn’t paying any attention, as per normal. Always focused on something else, disappearing into her office once she was sure the house wasn’t going to get burnt down.
And then there was her Dad. It wasn’t the best day for him, and he’d barely gotten up, said happy birthday, and then stopped being present. Again.
It could be worse, she’d told herself. And it was true; Victoria knew her life was far from horrible, especially in a city like the Bay. It just didn’t remove the ache in her chest when she thought about her future now.
Later on, when the guests had left and she was about to start cleaning up, Victoria noticed one last person still hovering around the shifting edges of the room: her sister.
Amy was always a little less comfortable when there were a lot of people around, Victoria knew that. She also knew that despite that, Amy had made an effort to be there for her that their parents really hadn’t, today. Made an effort that she didn’t make at her own birthday parties, even.
The parties that even less people came to, and Carol was even less interested in attending.
Victoria felt a pang in her heart at the thought. She’d always wanted the best for Amy, always tried to cheer her up and run interference if she got in trouble. But looking at her now through the tricholor light flooding through the windows, Victoria knew something had to change. For both of them.
Instead of putting the cake in the fridge, Victoria cut two more pieces and served them up on iridescent plates; cleaning up could wait a while. Her mom might be upset if there’s still a mess when she checks back in, but right now Victoria had something better to do.
She brought the offering-food-cake to the dimly lit and twisting corners of the room. A new light bloomed, prismatic fractals washing over the room, and words were exchanged. Something was whispered, and Host-Guardian-Victoria Dallon promised herself something in the bright-dark-collapsing room.
She’d get her and Amy away from their family, and they’d leave New Wave’s shadow. Find an apartment in some other city, maybe New York, and do something with their lives. Maybe she’d still be with Dean, maybe she’d be with someone else by then. Maybe she could find a good guy for Amy to date. Maybe some friends who had no idea what New Wave was, and didn’t want to know.
Victoria Dallon could still be a hero for one person, and she was going to do everything she could.
Returning from the deep left no phantom feelings, nor did it shock me.
One moment I wasn’t, and the next I simply was. My lips parted, I drew breath gently, and I felt gentle sunlight and biting wind against my skin. A warm Light sat comfortably next to my heart. Everything felt complete for a single instant, and I wanted it to stretch forever. Alone and at peace.
“—ost! Host! Host-Victoria! Guardian—!”
Never mind.
I opened my eyes to a mottled sky, purple and blue mixing like bruises beyond the sparse cloud cover. A fading gold was falling below the horizon, and my face was turned towards it.
My face was also turned towards the… robot?
“Host! Oh, it worked! And I can talk like hosts do and—“
It was small, maybe the size of a baseball, and made of metal. Four white flanges around a silvery metal ball, looking almost like one of those origami fortune tellers I… might have seen as a child. I couldn’t fully remember.
“—had the answer all along inside the [WASTE DATA] and—“
A screen set into the orb displayed an eye-like symbol that peered at me with affection and warmth while the thing rambled on. Whatever it was, I think it cared for me?
I wasn’t sure how I could tell that, actually, and it set some alarm bells off in my head.
“—which needed death! I’m so—“
It was only when I registered the word “death” that my brain kicked into gear, and I realised there was more around me than the drone-thing. My eyes darted around as I pulled myself up onto my elbows.
The first thing I saw was garbage.
Long-rotted food, empty wrappers, a scrapped microwave and a wrecked bicycle. Garbage bags—and there were many laying around me, torn open and smelling like iron—full of who knows what strewn around me. I was in some sort of informal dump, in-between cracked buildings and what looked like abandoned train cars.
And then I realized the only clothes I was wearing was a set of torn bedsheets. And I didn’t know why.
“—means now we can finally engage in—“
“…H-how the hell did I get here?” I interrupted, cutting the drone-thing’s rambling short. My mind felt strangely empty, and I tried to recall what I could.
I was walking. Walking somewhere—no, walking nowhere? Wandering. Thinking about… my sister? I have a sister. Amy. There was violence, then darkness. I saw a birthday, my birthday. My name is… V-something. Veronica—Victoria. Victoria… Dawson? Dalton? Dean? Del-
“Oh! Host!” the drone exclaimed, flying back up in front of my face. “You’re here because you died! I brought you back, but I’m not really sure how, and now I’m your Ghost!”
I stared at the drone-thing. I couldn’t remember things I should and the alarm bells were getting louder.
It slightly crinkled its eye-projection at me. Full of joy.
I screamed.