I've Always Wanted To Do That
A/N: Enjoy.
He wasn't actually sleeping, more like lounging. Lounging on the living room couch on a lazy Saturday with a magazine resting on his face and virtually nothing to do. His homework was finished, the chores were done, and the house was vacant. Since turning eighteen, Violet had taken to enjoying the slight slack in the leash that pertained to dating that kid Tony, who she was miraculously on her third year with; Jack-Jack was at Aunt Edna's, being treated like the surrogate son he so obviously was to her and no doubt being forced into a bevy of different costumes suited for his powers; and Mr. Incredible, free to be himself to a certain degree, was out with Frozone.
Being a teenager was really no different than being a kid. So he was fourteen now. Big whoop. Literally nothing had changed besides the length of his flyaway hair, his school, and the suffocating amount of homework he was given every day. He and the rest of his family were still under witness protection while the government dragged feet in weighing the exact worth of Supers against a cost analysis following the destruction they were sure to cause 'saving the day'. The fall of Supers in no way meant the fall of villains—an occurrence that should have been painfully obvious from the onset—and so certain ones were being allowed back into the line of duty to combat the increasing wave of unrest.
Slowly but surely, Supers were being accepted again.
Winston Deavor was still a prominent figure in the integration of Supers, from back when his sister went rogue to this very day, and the betrayal at the hands of his own flesh and blood had only spurred him on further. The process was plodding as hell to be sure but not without its benefits. His mom, Elastigirl, was still the face of the program, and she was making extraordinary strides toward proving that 'saving the day' could be done with as little collateral damage as possible thanks to her elegance and natural battle tact, and it didn't hurt that she had a massive fanbase backing her.
Back in the day, Elastigirl was already considered a household name, but now? Four years later? She was virtually infamous. Everyone knew her, people all over the world loved her, countries wanted her to make guest appearances, there were parades and parties, endorsement deals and sponsorships, she had apparel everywhere knickknacks were sold—there was even an Elastigirl videogame called Elastigirl: Stretch In Time. To this day, Dash still found that to be the most stupidest name attached to the most stupidest gaming premise ever. Why they chose to make his mom this time-hopping superhero, he would never know.
Still, beyond all of that, beyond the numerous press releases and public events and award ceremonies, not a single soul outside of her family, Mr. Dicker, and Winston knew Elastigirl's true identity, which was a testament to the statute of secrecy concerning not only her but some of the other high profile Supers in the field. Mostly because trying to figure out Elastigirl's true identity had reached astronomical levels of interest, to the point where people adamantly theorized on who it might be based on hair length, eye color and other characteristics. Not that his mom cared—she found the whole fascination over her ridiculous—she only cared about creating a better, villain-free world for her family. She didn't care to relieve the 'glory' days that she consistently tried to talk his dad into letting go. Her only priorities pertained to being a devoted wife and raising her children; Super'ing around the world was just an unwanted side-effect to accomplish that.
On the other glove, Mr. Incredible was over the moon with the steady integration of Supers and gladly took on whatever jobs his wife didn't want to, even the ones that led him to other continents. Occasionally, after some extreme begging and pleading, Helen would relent to letting either Dash or his sister join in, depending on the severity of what needed to be done; sometimes they even went as a family. Those journeys turned out to be the perfect bonding adhesive, the stories told between them, the laughs shared, the dangers crossed….
It was fun, being able to just be themselves every once in awhile. Being bottled up as an ordinary citizen was no longer such an arduous task thanks to frequent outings that let everyone stretch their wings.
And that meant the most annoying aspect of Dash—always whining about not being able to be free, to be himself—melted away, leaving behind a far more levelheaded speedster.
"Ohhhh, Daaaaash…."
The sweet songbird-like tones of his mother calling tickled Dash's ears and he felt his cheeks begin to burn.
Damn it….
It was no secret that Dash loved his mom. Leaving the shoes of a kid behind and stepping into those of a globetrotting teenage Super had given him a new appreciation for this auburn-haired woman who had taken care of and loved him even during his most unbearable moments. Whenever his dad stepped out to handle Super business tailored to him (that Winston figured wouldn't yield too much cost damage-wise), Dash would self-proclaim himself as man of the house, and he took that role to heart.
His mom, Violet, Jack-Jack—even if they were all accomplished Supers in their own right, save for his little prodigy of a brother who everyone already expected to herald the end of villainy when he grew up, Dash placed their well-being over whatever trouble the world at large happened to be suffering through. Not that any of them took him seriously: Violet nearly pissed herself from laughing, his dad gave him the most patronizing pep talk about responsibility and knowing ones role, and his mom… well… she'd called it the cutest thing he had ever done, bar none.
"Awww, look at you, momma's little hero," she had said back then, eskimo kissing him into a void of embarrassment. "Well then, I'll be counting on you to keep me safe, okay?"
That much went without saying. It was a pledge Dash carried with him as he grew, year by year, remaining ever vigilant. So there was no denying that puberty was a bitch—all the growing, the danglings, the new bells and whistles—especially when surrounded by others going through the same awkward motions and having to deal with the unending comments his schoolmates made concerning his mom whenever she came to pick him up and actually got out of the car. Not only did his mom have the entire male populous unknowingly under her finger, there were quite a few girls who were quite keen to get to know her as well, even going so far as to try and invite themselves to his house under the pretense of dating or needing a study-buddy.
Contrary to popular belief, Dash was well aware of just how unrelentingly sexy his mother was; he had to deal with it every blessed day he saw her walk around in pajamas, in shorts, even in a bathrobe. He knew that for a woman in her very early forties, her coke-bottle figure was nothing short of perfection. He knew that if he looked up the term 'slim thick' he would see a picture of his mom due to the way her pinched waist opened into a pair of succulent hips that she loved to playfully bump him with. He knew all of that and more, and eventually, he grew sick of others using his mom in their weird fetishes.
It only took about three major fights for the message to get across that Helen Parr was off limits for anyone to so much as speak about in his presence. Since his super speed basically guaranteed that he could doge every hit, in order to keep his identity a secret, Dash allowed himself to be struck a couple times just for the sake of appearance.
"Dash, are you in the living room?"
When she called out a second time, Dash lazily replied, "I sure am, mom," but didn't bother removing the magazine from over his face. He still wasn't ready to 'do things' yet; it was too nice, the warm, natural lighting streaming in through the glass roof. He was more than content to spend the rest of his weekend right here glued to this spot. If the other family members didn't mistake him for just an oblong shaped couch cushion he would be highly surprised.
Though not nearly as surprised as he was when something incredibly soft and plush nudged the arm he had hanging over the side.
Did she just…?
"Wakie, wakie, my little super hero, I need your opinion on something," she chorused, and if her previous hip bump wasn't enough to bring about a barrage of suspicion, her suspiciously energetic tone certainly was. When he made no immediate effort to give her attention, she hip-bumped him again. "Come on, Dash, I need your help here."
Wondering when and how he had fallen under his mother's thumb as well, Dash very hesitantly began to lower his Super's Monthly magazine just far enough for his pupils to peek over the edge.
Oh dear Lord….
Another thing about his lavish mother that Dash was having some trouble dealing with was the fact Mrs. Parr didn't put much stock in her figure—none—she mostly considered herself to be quite average despite the numerous compliments and fansites devoted to her, despite the vocal minority that downright worshipped the very ground she walked on. It was the most innocent display of immodesty that Dash had ever seen; she cared so little that she frequently, obliviously, showed it off in the most provocative ways.
Like now, as she nervously shifted weight from one foot to the other in this lavish white blouse with a plunging neckline and the tightest pair of yoga pants Dash had ever the pleasure to see wrapped around her body. That apprehensive stance clearly showed the effort she was putting forth to be eye-catching was new to her, but her naturally lustful figure seemed right at home being on display; it was this perfectly tantalizing mixture of timid and precocious. His eyes were tracing her curves before he could even begin to stop himself, rolling over those criminally wide hips, those thick, creamy thighs, and that ass….It was only thanks to her that Dash even paid attention to that part of a female nowadays.
Not even trying to being subtle, Dash sank deeper into the couch, making sure to keep the magazine firmly just below his eyes. There was no way he could let her see his face; he was blushing far too hard, it practically invited teasing.
She cleared her throat. "Well, since you're the man of the house while your father's away, I wanted to get a man's opinion on these," and she gave the most beguiling smile, that kind that effortlessly coerced Dash into doing whatever she wanted.
"I—me?" he blustered. "Really? D-don't you think Violet would be a better choice—"
The ease at which she cut him off was as simple as lifting a single finger, her smile growing coy. "That's why I said I needed a man's opinion, buster. C'mon, your honest take—does your momma look good in these?"
A hearty "yes!" was the obvious answer but Dash was summarily left with his jaw hanging when Helen twirled on her heel to give him a full, uninterrupted view of the back. Never had he seen her rear so perfectly rounded, so magnificently framed—it jiggled ever so softly as she continued to shift from foot to foot, almost as if she could physically feel his eyes probing here, prodding there, taking it all in. Every wobble of those perfectly rounded twin cheeks caused Dash's breath to hitch, his grip over the magazine subconsciously increasing to the ripping point. The outlines of whatever dark pink panties she had chosen to wear underneath were excruciatingly visible, hugging her ass tight and admirably keeping both cheeks contained.
"Well?" she questioned, twirling back around. "Thoughts? I'm really feeling the blouse—my chest can breathe, but personally, I'm not a huge fan of lycra. Good fabric and all it's just kind of tight around the, uh… around the back region, don't you think?"
Thinking wasn't really a function that Dash was capable of at the moment so he remained silent, and his lack of an answer caused Helen to glance down at herself, curious to see what had so thoroughly captured his attention.
Then her eyes widened, followed by a very short chuckle. "Annnnnd, dang… did not realize they were see-through…."
Of course she hadn't, and Dash could wholeheartedly believe it, given how her cheeks lit up like a Christmas tree and she brought her hands to her face, probably wishing she had Violet's power to vanish at a snap. Honestly, it was the cutest thing, watching her shrink in on herself, the way she tried squeezing her thighs together like that was in any way going to hide the fact that her very visible panties had a bear face print on the front.
"Mom…pft, what in the—"
"Shut up, just… shut up," she ground out, peeking at him from between her fingers and, wow, was the blush riding high. "Dash, I swear, if you even so much as breathe a word about this…."
It came out as threatening, albeit the embarrassed quivering marred the effect somewhat, and Dash was quite keen to hear her finish that sentence, to hear what she would do to him, but when she fell silent, he couldn't help but grin, fully lowering his magazine and running a hand through his hair.
God above, if the world loved Elastigirl then knowing the woman behind the mask would likely cause heart-attacks all around. Whatever arousal her figure had shamefully brought out of Dash, much like it always did, was bowled over with an all-consuming urge to protect. He needed to protect this 40-something-year-old woman who apparently still wore printed panties.
"I really hope you don't wear those when you're out as Elastigirl," he chuckled, patting the spot next to him invitingly. "Imagine bending over and splitting a seam—bam, secret's out."
The glare Helen leveled him with as she approached didn't sting as much as it could have thanks to her smirk. "Excuse me, Mr. Man, but you aren't insinuating I have a big butt, are you?"
Dash's reply was as quick as his running speed. "I was insinuating that accidents like ripped clothing and Supers go together like white on rice. How many times has Auntie E had to repair dad's suit? A dozen? Couple dozen? Pictures of his underwear are still circulating the internet, God knows why."
She sat down next to him with a scoff, crossing her legs. "I'm impressed, Dash, you said that so smoothly I'd almost believe you thought it up on the spot."
"Well, when you're a pro at sticking your foot in your mouth like I am you learn to have certain replies loaded up," Dash admitted with a shrug, and the sound of her giggling was still just the sweetest thing.
"And he's funny, folks," Helen quipped, idly kicking her aloft foot and brushing back her bangs. She regarded her son like a newly found specimen, staring him up and down appraisingly, moving his hair about, then finally gave his cheek a teasing pinch. "Ah, you make me sick."
The insult was said so lovingly that all Dash could do was chuckle.
"Sorry?"
"You should be. I still can't believe you don't have a girlfriend yet, I figured I'd be beating off girls left and right by now, honestly. It's one of the few things I was actually looking forward to as you grew up."
"Er, well… you know how it is," he said, clearing his throat.
There was a very good reason why Dash didn't have a girlfriend, but it wasn't a reason he was mentally prepared to share with his mother just yet. Diligence required sacrifice, and the rise of villains as of late was beginning to eclipse the speed at which Supers were being allowed to do their job. Elastigirl might be a verifiable symbol of peace for now, but she was still only one Super and the world was rife with nefarious individuals who were beginning to see that she couldn't be everywhere at once.
"You get your looks from your father, you know—the both of you are just riddled with handsomeness. That's how you trick us girls, get us to lower our defenses; you just flash a smile and we go all weak in the knees. It's not fair," she joked, winking. "I swear, to this day I'm almost certain that's the only way your father got me to marry him. The big idiot… the big handsome idiot…."
Chewing on his thumbnail, Dash barely heard a word his mother said; he was beyond lost in thought, his brow furrowed intently. The growing villain contingency had long since filled him with unease and it seemed to worsen every time he turned on the set, which was primarily why he had chosen to read his magazine today. Just once he wanted to go a day without the same question running laps around his mind: how long until her identity was blown? He had seen more than his fair share of movies and shows, mostly as research material, to know how that particular scenario played out and he would be damned if he let some random girl, who was almost guaranteed to be more interested in his mom anyway, distract him from protecting his family.
"It's… I guess it's just not my time yet," he said after a few seconds' silence, rubbing behind his head. "Truthfully, I'm not in any hurry to see you hospitalize whichever girl I bring home."
"Oh come on, sweetheart, look at me—would I do that?" she asked with a faux look of hurt.
Dash stared at her and she stared back.
And then they both started laughing.
"You'd slingshot her across the city!" he said, clutching his sides.
"Without a moment's hesitation," Helen agreed, patting her lap with an inviting glance at her son. When he merely stared at her, confused, she rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth, grabbing his head and bringing it down onto her legs. "There we go."
Even before the cushiony soft sensation of her thighs could fully hit home, Dash was bombarded with the sweet, almost ambrosial scent wafting from his mother's skin. He didn't know if it was some sort of perfume or if that's just how she smelled naturally but it was having an immediate effect where he didn't want it to.
"Um, m-mom? What're you—" he started, trying to push himself back up, but she shushed him, running a hand through his hair.
"Sweetie, I know you don't feel like talking about what you're going through, but… I wouldn't be much of a mother if I didn't say something," she started softly and Dash froze, eyes widening, growing numb to the soothing dance of her fingers.
There was no way she could be hinting at… could she? No, of course not, how could she know? Outside of the usual mood swings, Dash had made sure to be as discreet as possible with his mission in life. He left no stone unturned, erased any tracks he made—there was nothing for anyone to catch, much less his mom.
"If you're talking about that pair of panties, I can explain," he started hastily.
"I really don't think any son can explain how a pair of their mother's underwear wound up under their mattress," Helen began inertly, and it was the evenness of her tone that caused Dash's jaw to tighten. She didn't sound at all like how he'd figured—hoped—she would have, she didn't sound upset or confused or disgusted; she sounded like someone who had seen through his plan, and easily at that. "I've been in the game a long time, Dash, so I know a decoy when I see it. If your plan was to throw me off, you should have grabbed a dirty pair—that's what the true perverts do. After all, what good are panties with no scent?"
Okay, wow.
So many questions slammed into Dash's mind following that statement that it almost hurt trying to decipher them all and so he remained silent, barely breathing, taking in only the faintest whiffs of her natural aroma.
"I know you've probably got a dozen other distractions lined up to keep suspicion low but I'm your mother, Dash," she said matter-of-factly and he could feel those maternal, all-seeing eyes boring into him. "The least I can do is tell when one of my kids is pushing themselves too far, and you, kiddo… you've been pushing yourself too hard for too long."
It flew out of Dash's mouth before he could stop it: "We're safe, though, aren't we? You, dad, Violet, Jack-Jack… we're all safe."
"Yes, honey, we're safe, but it's not like we've got danger lurking around every corner either," Helen argued gently. "You're only fourteen, you should be out there enjoying yourself, living life, making mistakes and crying back to me for help—look at your sister," she said with a snort. "The moment she was old enough to drive you'd think the car was her natural home."
"Vi's not all there in the head, we all know that," Dash said, making a swirling motion with his finger. "I'm different from her—I have goals, I have people I need to protect—"
Helen nodded understandingly. "And don't think we don't appreciate it, honey. All I'm asking you to do is to just… let us adults shoulder most of the burden, okay? It's why I took up this whole Super deal in the first place, to give you and Violet and Jack-Jack a better life than what your dad and I had, a more carefree life."
When she took him by the chin, Dash allowed her to steer his gaze upwards so that he was staring directly at her, so that he could fully see the concern in her eyes.
"Let me be the parent, okay? I don't care about the love of all those people out there, or the Superhero initiative, I don't care if this whole operation goes or blows, I really don't," she said genially and Dash found it astonishing how true her words came across to him. "Like I told Winston, like I told your dad… and like I'm about to tell you now: I only care about keeping my kids safe. So let me do that, okay? Let your mother do her job. Your only job is to be a kid for as long as possible."
The firm pout Dash had fixed across his face broke away into a groan when she kissed him over the nose.
"Don't pout, I find it adorable," she said.
"Awww, mom—c'mon," he fussed, rubbing at his face. "I'm fourteen, what teenager still gets kissed on the nose?"
"You do," she said easily, and gave him another, smiling at the way he turned deeper into her thighs to hide his face. "And so does your sister. She gets at least two a day. And Jack-Jack? Until he shifts into another dimension. Resistance is futile, you know, you all might as well just give in to the momma kisses—they always win."
"Maybe I've been protecting us from the wrong side since you're clearly the most villainous thing around here," was what Dash tried to say but it came out a muffled mess against his mother's thighs, and he caught the way she shuddered against him, no doubt feeling the rumbling vibrations his stifled words caused.
When his mother's hand came down over his head, he tensed, half-expecting her to give him a good thumping. What he didn't expect was for her fingers to wind their way back through his blonde locks again. "Any time you want to get your face outta there would be fine with me, buster," and her tone was full of a teasing mirth even as she playfully squeezed her legs together, "before I start thinking you stole my underwear for another purpose."
Dash sat up so quickly he nearly went tumbling off the couch and Helen laughed, watching him scramble to catch himself. "Calm down, calm down, Dash, sheesh—I was just kidding," she chuckled, waving a dismissive hand his way, "but now that your secret's out, feel free to put them back, those are one of my favorite pairs."
Pushing that little tidbit to the farthest reaches of his mind, Dash's perked up like a dog sensing danger when the doorbell rang. When he made to move, the palm that met him squarely on the forehead kept him seated. "Relax, it's just the door," said Helen, standing in his place. "I got it. Here, you take care of this." She picked up the remote, picked up his hand, and joined the two. "Find something fun for us to watch on TV when I get back. I'm gonna start making sure you enjoy yourself, buster."
The idea of enjoying himself did sound like something pleasant, if wholly foreign, Dash figured as she strolled from the room, unknowingly taking his gaze with her, but he also knew it was something he would never allow. Despite what his mother said and the way her calming words offered a much-needed sense of tranquility to his frayed nerves, this was the path he had long since chosen. There was no alternative so long as the villain contingency continued to thrive on the lack of Supers.
Still… watching something together….
"That… that'd be okay, right? Yeah, course—but just for a little while," Dash told himself firmly, and he nearly leapt out of his clothes when the phone rang. "Not cool, Dash, c'mon…." Grumbling, he dove to the other end of the couch and snatched up the cordless. "Parr residence, Dash spea—"
"DASH—Dash, listen, it's Dicker—" Instantly, Dash's breathing faltered, his stomach clenching with dread. Mr. Dicker hadn't contacted them for quite some time, and whenever he did it was never anything good. "Listen to me, son, you have to leave your house—right now!"
"What? Why?" There was a panic in Mr. Dicker's voice and it transferred to Dash, setting his heartbeat into overdrive. "What's going on—did something happen?"
"There's no time!" the older man yelled and for the first time in a long time, Dash was afraid. "Evelyn Deavor escaped prison during a riot and we think she's making a beeline straight to your position—we don't know exactly when she escaped but it's highly possible she's not alone—she could be bringing accomplices, Dash—you have to get out of there!"
The phone clattered to the ground, everything was suddenly very dreamlike.
No….
It was the slowest Dash could remember ever going even as he pushed his legs past the normal limits of his ability. He didn't know how… he didn't know what could have possibly pierced him with this overwhelming feeling of loss, but he could feel his eyes beginning to blur with tears, he felt his mouth opening in a scream that didn't reach his ears he was running so fast.
No, no, no, no—
The force of his halting skid left blazing scorch marks in the carpet and he rounded the corner just as Helen pulled the door open.
"Mom—WAIT!"
Two hooded figures stood in the frame, silent and still—and Dash was in motion before his brain could give a command. It seemed the larger of the two figures was waiting for precisely that and flung out a hand comprised oddly of stone. The floor underneath Dash liquefied itself and he gave a surprised yelp when he began to sink, first his feet, past his ankles, up to his knees; it wasn't until the one with the hand of stone snapped their fingers that the floor solidified again, causing Dash to pitch forward and bash his forehead against the tiles, cracking several.
No, no, no, no, not now—
Everything was happening so wretchedly slow it was like a switch had been flipped. Breathing was problematic, Dash's head was throbbing unmercifully, each pulse sending a trickle of warm blood splurging down his face, but the pain was lost on him as he struggled, desperately reaching out for his mother.
"MOOOOM!"
The second figure pulled off their hood and it was over before the yell could fully leave Dash's throat.
Looking every bit as unhinged as she had four years ago, Evelyn Deavor struck out a hand, gripped Helen by the back of her head and snatched her forward, roughly mashing their lips together. It was a terrible kiss and the shock that contorted Helen's face only intensified when Evelyn rammed something sharp into her stomach.
It was a new type of terror, one that Dash never thought he would experience, one that robbed him of everything as he watched Evelyn drive that blade deeper and deeper still into his mom, holding their kiss until it was buried to the hilt. And when Evelyn broke their embrace, her mouth was smeared with blood; it was dribbling without end over Helen's lip, the sounds of her strangled gurgling causing the bile to churn hot in Dash's stomach.
"I've always wanted to do that," Evelyn cooed with a sickening tenderness, continuing to grip the wobbling Super tight by the hair. She inched closer, placing those filthy bloodstained lips next to Helen's ear. "Tell me, Elastigirl… what do you do when you want to destroy the very fabric of the people's nerve?" she whispered gently.
His legs were broken, Dash knew that much, he could feel that much, but that didn't stop him from struggling; he clawed at the ground like a trapped animal, gaining purchase over nothing, fingers slipping, tearing his throat to shreds with the strength of his yells.
Yet Evelyn's deadening voice conquered all. "The answer's simple: you take away their symbol of hope."
And Dash was rendered mute when she forcibly snatched the knife from his mother's stomach, spilling a copious amount of blood down her front, over the floor, splattering droplets in an arch that flew from Evelyn's blade.
It was relatively easy to pinpoint the exact moment Dash felt his heart die. He had stopped breathing, stopped thinking, stopped feeling—eyes unblinking, he could only see, could only watch as the woman he had sworn to protect fell… and fell… the shock never quite leaving her face….
When she collided with the ground, it was the most painful scene of Dash's life, watching as his mom brought hands to her wound, hands that shook, hands that were instantly saturated in blood, hands that were, even now, determined to shield Dash from what he knew was there. She didn't want him to see it, she didn't want him to see the wound causing the unbridled agony distorting her face.
"Don't worry, Dash," said Evelyn softly, bending down to wipe her knife over the front of Helene's blouse, further staining what was once such a beautiful and pristine white, turning it into a scarlet mess, "when your mom dies, and when they find her… she'll be regarded as a true hero. You should be proud."
His mom was gasping horribly, struggling to hold on even as blood continued to spill through her fingers; she paid no mind to Evelyn, that wasn't important… her eyes found his, they found her son's, and she didn't look away. "D-Dash…."
Like a baseball through a window, Dash felt all of his willpower, all of the strength and resilience he had built up over the years, shatter into nothing. Hearing his name gurgled out with so much pain from the one person he thought would never fall had instilled something terrible in his heart—and he started crying, he started crying like he had regressed back to his toddler years, the days when his mom would drop whatever she was doing and come running to him.
Except now she couldn't, and the hollow realization of that caused her face to scrunch up, caused tears to well in her eyes….
Sighing, Evelyn made the climb back to her feet, the look lining the sunken groves of her face displaying just a flicker of regret. "I… don't think I thought this through well enough," she admitted with a tired shrug. "This sort of thing might just galvanize the people instead of break them apart." The revelation of her actions didn't seem to be cause for worry, on the contrary, it was like watching withered parchment paper crinkle when her lips curled into a sinister smirk. "If anything, I probably just accomplished in three minutes what every Super has been trying to do for the past four years. I should be thanked, right?" She snapped her fingers at her larger companion. "Let's go. We've sparked the flame… now it's time to watch it all burn down."
Wiping his eyes on the back on the back of his hand, Dash watched them go, he watched them stroll uncaringly through the puddle of blood pooling out from his mom….
"Dash…." His eyes shot to her the moment she inhaled, the very act of talking causing her mouth to form a painful rictus. "Sw-sweetheart, I… I'm s-sorry…."
No matter how hard he swiped at his eyes, the tears wouldn't leave him be, they constantly blurred his vision, blurred his mother. "Mom, don't talk—please, just… h-hang on, I just gotta get my legs free and then—then I can get help, I swear, if I can just…."
His voice shook so bad he could hardly understand the words tumbling out of his mouth as he tried to move his legs, but he already knew he was hopelessly stuck; the floor had reformed around his knees, it'd take a construction crew to get him out and he'd be lucky if his legs survived.
Not that cold reality prevented him from struggling his absolute hardest.
"C'MON! Stupid—please, please, why won't… I can't get… m-mom," he fumbled, turning to her for guidance, and it scared him at how quickly the light was fading from her eyes. "Mom! No, no, no—damn it, c'mon! Don't leave me! I'm coming, if I can just—it's my legs—I can't get them… I can't get them free, I'm trying!"
Her smile was so soft, and so weak. She understood, she knew he was trying his very best, and that was enough. "I'm s-sorry, Dash, I…" She winced, inhaling sharply. Every word lanced her body with pain; every syllable only caused more blood to pulse over her bottom lip. "I…I tried… I wanted you t-to… to be happy…."
"Don't talk, please!" Dash begged, and he reached out for her, stretching his arm as far it could go.
The last time Helen had cried, in front of him at least, was a couple years ago after Jack-Jack had bumped his head on the coffee table and cut himself. That one moment had been the deciding factor to Dash committing himself to the protection of his family. The look on his mother's face, those heart-wrenching sobs as she cradled Jack-Jack and apologized over and over… he swore to never see her like that again.
"I… I couldn't do my job as… as your mother," she whispered to him, and the tears glittering down her cheeks, the regret that poisoned her smile… "I'm sorry, sweetie…."
The ground around Dash's legs gave an ominous crack, almost as loud as the one that he felt reverberate somewhere in his shins. He was pulling with all the might he possessed, grasping out for all he was worth, but it still wasn't enough to reach her. "HELP!" he screamed shrilly, blistering his throat. "SOMEBODY—ANYBODY HELP! PLEASE!"
When something soft grazed his cheek, he jerked, momentarily stunned into silence; his mother had stretched out one of her hands, past his own, and was busy brushing away a tear. He instantly nuzzled into her, ignoring the crimson fluids that caked her fingers, unable to keep his sobs at bay long enough to shout again. "D-don't leave me, momma… p-please…."
"It's okay… it's okay, sweetheart," she told him, her voice growing weaker, fainter, "I'm f-fine… I'm not… I'm not going anywhere, I'm st-staying right…."
He heard her exhale, then nothing.
"…Momma?"
The sudden silence pried Dash's eyes open and he saw his mother staring back at him. Except… she wasn't blinking; her fingers had fallen still, she wasn't moving, she wasn't… she wasn't breathing. She stared back at him with eyes that had lost their light, with a smile that was barren.
"N-no…"
The world seemed to drop away into nothingness leaving only Dash and the woman who had shielded him since birth. He didn't want to believe, he didn't want to accept the fact that his mother was gone, but it was her expression… that loving smile… she was telling him that it was okay, that everything was going to be okay, even if she wasn't around for it.
And that made him cry. He buried his face in the warmth of her palm and cried, grabbing her fingers with both hands. The grief hurt, it burned from the bottom of his soul, it gave fire to his sobs until he had no more tears to give, until his throat was too hoarse to make a sound, until all he could do was collapse, worn with pain and broken with sorrow.
He didn't know how much time had passed when he heard it… voices… a multitude of voices on the peripheral of his hearing. They were coupled with the sounds of rushing footsteps—Dash didn't know what was happening and he didn't put forth the slightest bit of effort in figuring it out; so long as he kept hold over his mother's hand then nothing else mattered. Perhaps Evelyn has seen the folly in letting him live and had returned with more flunkies to finish him off?
Please. I'd be grateful for it….
The voices were coming in clearer as Dash's hearing gradually returned.
"KEEP THOSE PEOPLE BACK! I need a perimeter shut down—RIGHT NOW!"
"Dash! Dash, wake up! Is he okay? DASH!"
"Please, stay back—he's alive, he's breathing—"
"HELEN—is she… she can't be…."
"WE NEED A FUCKING AMBULANCE!"
"Clear a path, clear a path, what's happened? What's the… oh my God…."
Who was talking? Better question, why were they talking? Nothing said could undo what had happened, nothing could—
Every nerve in Dash's body sparked to life when someone tried to pry his hand away from his mother's and a piercing yell burst from his throat. He swung without thought and felt his knuckles collide solidly with someone's jaw, knocking whoever it was to the side. Tears blurred his vision, he couldn't make out a single person from the swarm surrounding him; they were moving too fast, nothing but hazy, faceless mannequins; all he could do was growl, increasing the hold he had on her, daring a soul brave enough to step forward. They would have his life before they took—
"Dash…."
He froze. That last voice sent a familiar shudder down his back and he turned in its direction, frantically reaching out with his other hand. A wave of sobs erupted around him but Dash paid it no mind, continuing to reach, gasping when a larger, rougher hand took his own and held on tight. "Dash, it's okay. We're here… you can let go, son, we're… we're here…."
Dash sniffled, fervently shaking his head. "I… but if I do, she'll… th-then she'll really be gone," he choked out and there was a massive shift as several people moved to hug him at once. He felt it, he felt their warmth, their pain, he felt it all and hung his head, shoulders trembling with the urge to cry again. "I can't… I c-can't lose her again, I—"
Another cheek, slick with tears, mashed itself against his and the hug tightened. "You won't, Dash," he heard Violet gasp and she sounded stricken. Her entire body shook but she clutched him like a life raft. "Sh-she's still here—I s-swear she is." She nodded as strongly against him as she could, her jaw firming. "It's okay, it's g-gonna be okay…."
Many voices, many recognizable voices, were echoing in agreement, several that Dash could immediately place a face to and several more that existed only on the fringe of his tired mind. They were all telling him that he was safe, that it was okay, that he could let go….
And when he finally did, when he reluctantly relaxed his grip and felt her fingers slide away, there was no force on earth that could have kept Dash from passing out. Her touch had been the last pillar keeping him conscious and he quickly went limp without it, succumbing to the darkness that had been steadily, incessantly, tugging at him; and as he mercifully began to sink into that nothingness, he heard a hurricane of furious yells from his dad, from Mr. Dicker and even Winston, all three of them shouting to get his legs freed immediately.
My legs…? If Dash weren't so dangerously depleted, he would have laughed. He didn't care about his stupid legs. Whether they managed to pry him free or not, whether he woke up whole or to a pair of bloody, bandaged stumps—it was the farthest thing from his mind. Everything was growing startlingly dark, the ache that gripped his body was slipping… and then he felt it.
A hand so soft yet so warm rustled his hair, soothing him in a way he knew he was never going to experience again. Her touch hurt… it hurt so bad, the most excruciating pain of his short life, but he couldn't help the way her loving motions caused the corners of his mouth to quirk up in a silent smile. It was for her, only for her… and it was probably the last genuine one he would ever give.
I hope… wherever you are, I hope you're safe, mom. He couldn't speak it, he lacked the energy, the motor skills; this was nothing more than the last few synapses of his mind firing off into the gloom. You were the light of my world and I… I…
He struggled against himself; it was all fading so fast but he desperately fought to hold on. The warmth of Helen's hand moved from the top of his head to cradle his cheek, giving him the strength to finish.
I'll always love you, mom….
XXXX
Sixteen months later, the world was a very different place. The news of Elastigirl's death spread like wildfire throughout very major news network across the globe, and the reaction was deafening. Elastigirl monuments were erected, marches were held, it was nearly a collapse of order as the public found blame against those who had previously dragged their feet on allowing Supers to do their job. Due to their rampant negligence, the world had lost its brightest symbol of hope to evil—and it was a day that would forever be a blight against justice.
Not long after, there was a major seat-shuffling in the government—several people resigned, many quit, and some vanished without a trace. It paved the way for a new era, one spearheaded by Winston Deavor, who, after severing all ties to anything related to his sibling and her existence, was quick to give Supers back the power that they should have had years ago.
The name of the operation was 'revenge', pure and simple. There was no point in hiding it, no one even tried to suggest otherwise—contrary to being crushed spiritually, the populous was ablaze with rallies against villains that numbered in the thousands and persisted faithfully to this day. The entire world knew what had to be done, any other plan of action was unthinkable. One of the most loved souls to ever protect had been taken from them… and a heavy price had to be paid.
The nations came together to organize a strike team comprised of some of their most prominent Supers to hunt down Evelyn Deavor and bring her to justice. It was unanimously decided that Mr. Incredible take the helm and he accepted the role with a blazing resolve, leading them from one lead to the next in a flurry. The public was on their side, the government was giving them aide, the resources were near limitless—it was only a matter of time before Evelyn Deavor was found, before the world could rest.
Before he could rest.
Hands in his pockets, Dash trudged up a hill he had traversed more times than he cared to remember. He could have made the journey blindfolded, letting his legs lead the way. They were what brought him here after all, that familiar throbbing in his knees. When he was excavated from the ground all those months ago, they told him a normal person's legs would have been reduced to mush, but due to his power and his unnaturally granite-like leg muscles, he would make a full recovery pending a few months of physical rehabilitation.
And that… was certainly good news, good enough at least to bring Violet to tears since she had been worried sick over him, but even as his dad cheered and snatched him up in a rib-cracking hug, what was there to really be happy about? So his legs weren't a lost cause, did that bring her back? Did that somehow retroactively make him able to save her life? Or did it just remind him that he was alive while the one he failed to protect wasn't?
The frustrated tears he shed that day, smothered under his dad, went by unnoticed.
The further he walked, the more he allowed himself to enjoy the day. Clouds dotted an otherwise marble blue sky while the sun laid down an enjoyable haze of warmth. Gentle drafts of wind rustled his hair and he almost smiled as he carefully stepped between the graves of fallen Supers. Some of them he knew, others he didn't, but all he respected.
So many of them had died within the past half a year—so many had gladly thrown themselves in the line of fire if it meant getting them one step closer to finding Evelyn Deavor, and Dash would forever keep their names with him until it was inevitably his turn to join them on this hallowed hill.
Before his mother was taken from him, Dash always figured he would follow the typical motions of life: get a wife, have some kids, adopt a dog, live a full life spoiling his grandkids, the whole nine yards. With her gone, he got the feeling that path had been lost to him—not that he cared much, it was just obvious that her death had thrown him onto an entirely new track. He didn't expect to live very long, not with how he planned to eradicate villainy, so if he somehow saw the age of twenty then he would take that as a nudge from his mother to keep living. And if he didn't… well, that would be less time wasted wondering this world aimlessly, wouldn't it?
By medical standards, so long as his heart continued to beat, then Dash was deemed alive, but he had never felt so taciturn, so disconnected from the everything; and oddly enough, it was a feeling that comforted him as much as it tortured him. He welcomed the trauma that woke him up so violently he had to clutch his mouth with both hands to keep from screaming, and he reveled in hearing Evelyn Deavor's snake-like voice erupt from whatever shadow he passed, whispering the very line that was forever seared into his brain: I've always wanted to do that.
Even now, it brought his blood to a boil without fail and his walk turned into a forceful march.
Metroville Super Graveyard was where Dash spent a majority of his time whenever he wasn't at school or being forced to endure therapy for his night terrors. It was a specially crafted graveyard that existed in secret, away from the public, where only Supers both alive and deceased were allowed. It helped conceal the identity of the heroes who perished in the line of duty—to protect their friends and family, mostly—while also ensuring they received a burial befitting their service.
It was the weirdest thing... the first time he was called to publicly speak about his mom, only he couldn't be seen as Dash Parr, no, that would have been the equivalent of painting a big red target over himself, his family, and anyone who knew them. He—all of them—had to appear in their Super suits, the anonymity of which made the entire thing feel disgustingly impersonal, so much so that halfway into his prepared speech, Dash just walked off stage, leaving his father to quickly blame his abrupt leave on the grief. It was a necessary precaution to keep their family safe, Dash knew that, but from where he stood, it was also a stupid one, at least where his family was concerned. Evelyn Deavor already knew them pretty well beyond the costumes—hell, he was genuinely surprised she hadn't ousted them to the public yet or sent some of her flunkies to knock down their door.
Maybe she was enjoying the chaos that followed killing his mom… or maybe she knew that breaching the statue of secrecy surrounding Supers would immediately get her the death penalty. Oh, how he wished she would be so brave… but so far, aside from a few personally written letters threatening more deaths and a couple glimpses through pictures, Evelyn herself might as well have become a shadow in the world of villainy, a shadow that stretched far and consumed whatever it touched.
The grass crunched under Dash's shoes as he came to a stop in front of a massive statue depicting Elastigirl in one of her trademark hero poses. Commissioned by Winston and crafted by some of the most talented sculptures money could buy, it was a marvelous feat, filled with all the love everyone held for the fallen hero. Even now, as Dash noted the little distinguishing features he had noted a million times before—like the separate strands of hair or how lithe her fingers were—his chest tightened to the point where breathing was a chore, but he forced a toothy smile.
It was a quivering one to be sure, lined with the tears that trickled down his cheeks, but still, he smiled.
"Hey, mom."
A watery chuckled left him and he sniffled. Already, he could hear her scolding tone, wondering why he wasn't in school since it was technically a weekday. Not that it mattered. Despite a surprising uptick in his grades, Dash regularly skipped classes, or, like right now, the entire school day. It got to be such a problem that Mr. Dicker, while wholly sympathetic, couldn't take anymore and decided to get one of his subordinates hired at Dash's school so they could deliver a mind-altering flash whenever it happened. The only stipulation was that Dash's grade had to maintain themselves, and they did. Originally, Dash had planned on going to school, if only to get his sister to quit nagging him, but when he woke up with his old leg wounds throbbing, any plans on receiving a higher education went out the window—he knew where he was truly needed.
When he took a knee next to the headstone, his eyes traced the gold lettering that spelled her name and he had to swallow hard to keep himself composed. He bowed his head for a moment of silence, then looked up with a smile. "Um, hey, look what I got…took a lotta effort but I still did it," and he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his jacket pocket. After some smoothing, he lifted it up high. "See? Remember that English test I had? Well, bam! Took Vi' forever to drill the basics into my thick head but I passed!"
It was always painful, the silence that followed, the lack of reaction, but he was well used to it and, after stowing the test sheet back in his pocket, plowed on ahead with what his morning consisted of. He told her how Violet had burned his eggs (again) and how when Jack-Jack stubbed his toe he let loose a screech that wound up summoning a plethora of eagles.
"—so we're not sure but that's probably 'beast tamer' added to the list now," Dash continued, shaking his head with a simple shrug. "I dunno how many powers that kids gonna have but whatever, as long as he doesn't get super speed then we'll still be best bros'. Can't have my little brother edging me out on my own territory, ya know?"
When he laughed, he imagined her laughing with him. It helped keep the encroaching loneliness at bay.
"Oh—OH—and I almost forgot! Today marks a full month since my leg—"
His lips continued to move but a series of sharp beeps had drowned him out and Dash immediately froze. All at once his stomach dropped into a void and he started to tremble where he stood. His throat was suddenly very dry, too dry to swallow, and he slowly glanced down the front of his shirt. Around his neck was a necklace made of some of the toughest alloy the world had to offer, and on it dangled a silver pendant in the shape of a heart.
Frantically, Dash pulled it free, hardly daring to believe. The beeping had subsided into a flashing red light like that of a fire truck, a beacon easily spotted regardless of distance.
Really…?
Paralysis wiped the feeling out of Dash's legs and he hit the ground on his knees, pursing his lips together to keep silent. He clutched the pendant in both hands until his knuckles turned white and lurched forward, slamming his forehead to the dirt. He knew he was crying, the painful sound of his uneven sobs carried far in the surrounding silence.
Two weeks after burying Elastigirl, Winston Deavor had approached the Parr family with a set of specially crafted pendants, each one tailor made for them and only them. He felt that before anyone else, they should be the ones to receive closure concerning their loss and told them that on the day their pendants were activated, it would be the day that Evelyn Deavor had been captured.
Relief and elation flooded Dash so quickly that he grew lightheaded. Somewhere, he knew the pendants of the rest of his family were going off as well. What were they doing? How did they feel? Were they like him, numb with joy? He fought to breathe properly; every breath came in with a rattle and left as a wheeze. All over again, he felt as drained as he did on the day his mom died, except this time he punched the earth with a fist, refusing to stay grounded.
"C'mon, Dash, get up….It's not over yet," he muttered shakily to himself, making the arduous climb back to his feet and wiping under his runny nose. Standing as straight as his trembling form would allow, Dash narrowed his eyes in the direction of his home. Right now, he knew everyone was racing there, from his family to Winston to Mr. Dicker—it was the rendezvous point for this exact moment, the moment they had all been waiting for….
Tensing his leg muscles to a dangerous degree, he glanced back up at the statue of his mom, still standing over him, still protecting him, and smiled as wide as he could.
"I love you, mom, but I gotta go, alright? There's some, uh… unfinished business we have to take care of, but don't worry. I'll be back soon," Dash promised, and he blurred out of sight.
A/N: This was going to be a series but as I worked on it, I realized that one chapter summed it up well enough.