Disclaimer: Borrowing the Wildbow's world and taking it for a whirl, I still own nothing.
A/N: Before I forget, the canon timeline is NOT in effect for this story. Taylor was stuck for days not hours in my series of events. Some of the same things still happen, just probably not in the same timeframe. Also I've been advised not to reply to reviews, so won't be doing that any more. ONWARD
Beta'd by Inconspicuous Llama
-Work
With a tremendous breath and eyes snapping open, I shot up on the couch, breathing heavily. After a minute or so, my racing heart slowed back to normal and I all but flop backward, sinking into the cradle of the worn couch cushions. The possible brain trauma doesn't return to the forefront of my thoughts until I notice the reddish brown flakes scattered on over my face and clothes. Shedding my, luckily, burgundy colored hoodie, I almost robotically walk to the small laundry room next to kitchen. Absently wondering if the bloodstains would force me to throw away the fairly new article of clothing, I scrub detergent into the affected area while my mind zooms into focus.
My power almost killed me trying to move a spoon…
Stuck between incredulity and near hysterical despair, I tossed the hoodie into the washer and began the cycle. Stiffly returning to the couch, I stared down at the spoon resting benignly on the table. A brief flicker crossed the golden light shining through the window. Blinking in surprise I shaded my eyes to peer outside; judging by the sun's position the spoon incident had cost me an entire day. Great. I can move metal, but something the size of a spoon knocks me out.
Releasing a deep breath, I plop myself back down and pick up one of dad's sandwiches. Nibbling at the edges, I push my hair behind my shoulders and cross my legs. Something obviously wasn't right here. My power shouldn't be able to hurt me. Nothing I'd read or heard had even hinted that a parahuman's power caused pain like that. It might be possible, I guess, but someone would have leaked it. I sat thinking, finishing off the sandwich without reaching a clear answer.
A slight pang causes my eyes to flicker back to the spoon before my shifting sends another through my right leg. The painkillers faded during my impromptu nap, and my sitting position aggravated one of the still healing abscesses. Putting my malfunctioning power out of mind, I shuffled into the kitchen and picked up a prescription bottle. A quick press and turn, and a pale yellow pill sat in my hand, small numbers reading '10-325' on both sides. I filled a glass of water from the sink, swallowed the pill with a gulp, and wandered back to the couch with the bottle.
Trying to avoid any undue pain, I positioned myself carefully this time and eased back down slowly. The spoon lay still, as if taunting me, but I couldn't muster the courage for another attempt. Chills ran up my spine. Brain damage. What if I didn't wake up and my dad came home to find me covered in blood? I picked up the orange plastic pill bottle to distract myself when laundry machine announced the end of its cycle. After quick trip to start the dryer, I sat gingerly holding the bottle. The label displayed my information on one side and some pill details on the other:
Percocet
(oxycodone/acetaminophen tablets, USP)
10 mg/325 mg
25 tablets
Part oxycodone and part acetaminophen… The latter is Tylenol?
Before I could dwell any longer my pain pills, the sound of the front door unlocking drew my attention. My dad walked in with a furrowed brow and somewhat of a slump. When he saw me his expression lightened, but even his smile couldn't hide the tiredness around his eyes.
"Hey Taylor, how was your day?"
In a brief moment of drug induced madness I considered telling the truth.
Well, after you left this morning, I decided to see if I had turned into a parahuman. Turns out I am one, but moving that spoon on the table caused me to pass out in pain. Oh! And I think it might have damaged my brain.
"It was okay, I didn't move much from the couch. Fell asleep a bit after you left. Oh, I spilled some juice on my hoodie so I threw it in the wash. It's in the dryer now."
He walked to the work desk and began unpacking his briefcase. "You should've waited for me to get home. Juice isn't a serious stain."
I'd kept some secrets from my dad in the past, losing Emma as a friend, the full extent of the bullying. One way or another, they had all come out in the end.
"I'm not that sick, it was just the hoodie."
But this was something I couldn't tell him. Not when I didn't know what had happened myself. Was my brain damaged? Was it terminal? Having powers would be cool, sure, but I didn't need them to be happy. A comfortable life with my dad… I'd call it settling if it wasn't genuinely all I wanted right now.
"Alright, but I don't want you doing anything to exhaust yourself. Remember, the doctor said you might have some minor brain issues, so if you notice anything out of place – let me know and we'll go back to the hospital"
I'm sorry dad; I know we can't afford that. Definitely couldn't tell him; couldn't make him worried until I knew for certain. Until there was proof.
With an exaggerated eye roll I replied, "Daaaaaadddd… I'm fine! Better than ever."
"We'll see kiddo, I'll cook dinner and then you're off to bed. No, don't move, you sit right there."
I'll figure this out, slowly and carefully.
Today's Friday…
My dad had let me sleep in, leaving another plate of covered sandwiches on the coffee table with a note.
Do Nothing. Sit On This Couch All Day.
Love, Dad
With a small exasperated smile, I moved the endearing note and picked up a sandwich. Deciding to forgo the painkillers this morning felt bearable so far; and all but the most persistent cramps and aches were gone. Dr. Daniels told me they were classified as narcotic painkillers, and the idea of addiction used to keep me up at night. The pills had poured a cloudy haze into my head, everything felt slow: thoughts, movements. With them mostly out of my system the world returned to normal speed. Colors shone brighter, sounds rang truer. Most importantly, I felt more like myself.
But with clarity came truth, and the truth was ugly.
Today's Friday… and a week ago my former-best-friend-turned-bully and her compatriots stuffed me in a locker full of the worst filth they could find and left me. No one helped me. No one even tried. When I'd woken up in the hospital, I harbored no expectation to be alive. And after all of it, after almost dying, the bullies had won. They were pretty much getting away with it, no punishments for two of them, and token gesture, which I had to bargain for, for one. But I was Alive. Thinking clearly, I didn't need revenge, didn't need to get back at them.
I did need them the stop.
Yesterday I'd been drugged up and preoccupied with my new ability. I couldn't think about some flawed power right now…
Even though having my glasses come right to my hand this morning, however unconsciously I'd done it, was pretty cool. Freaking out in the bathroom for half an hour, waiting for any sign of a nosebleed… much less so.
Today, drug free and thinking clearly, the truth showed that they wouldn't stop. Sure they might lie low for the week of finals. Maybe. When school started again after the break? Things would get ugly again. I couldn't expect them to somehow learn human decency after the last stunt. Especially when there were no real consequences. The stakes had moved beyond bullying, they'd almost killed me. It would make them bolder. If I could be certain only bullying awaited in the future… no, even bullying was unacceptable. I'd lived through a cocktail of humiliation, cold, infection, and hopelessness; all to brush shoulders with death.
I would find a way to make them stop.
I didn't deserve this. My dad definitely didn't deserve coming home every day to see me barely held together; to wonder about the ways he might be failing me. Proof. With proof came an inescapable accountability no one could dodge. Not the teachers, and obviously not the bullies. If I caught them in the act... but no, they only targeted me. None of the other students helped because they didn't want to draw those tender mercies onto themselves. They didn't want ruined homework, constant harassment, and a friendless life. No matter that if someone tried things could be completely different.
People are selfish.
Turning my mind away from a not-so-exaggerated tangent on the blatant moral decay of my peers, I returned to proof. Maybe someone had taken a picture, a video even, then there wouldn't be any doubts! The previous tangent reappeared with full force, squashing that glimmer of hope. People are selfish. No, none of the brief acquaintances at school had given me any reason to trust them for help; to not sell out my plan to my tormentors. If it could even be call it a plan. Perhaps people had taken videos and pictures, but they wouldn't reach the teachers. They never did. If they didn't help before, didn't help when I was stuffed into a locker and left to die, then I couldn't count on them coming forward. Almost half the school passed near my locker to leave after classes, I could assume everyone knew what had happen.
Following this train of thought led me to more truths. With mixed feelings, I realized I honestly didn't care about my classmates. The idea electrified me. They'd stood by and let the indignities pile up, even joining in to laugh at times. In those moments, the token hope that I'd kept deep down inside reassured me: someone will help me. They'll go too far, and someone will step up and stop all of it. And yet as the truth blossomed, and I reached inward for that tiny kernel of hope, I didn't find anything. If someone in school had shown me some real support... then maybe I wouldn't be realizing that if I saw someone being bullied at Winslow, I wouldn't step in.
Why should I? They weren't real friends or family. A year and a half of bullying... in that time how many people joined the laughing? How many had just kept walking? They hadn't shown they deserved my help. Why risk myself for them at all? Maybe at one point I would have even said I was better than them. That belief got me here. The people at Winslow are enemies or strangers, and to me, strangers don't matter any more.
With that, I stood from the couch, retrieved a notebook, and began plotting the future.
Five hours later and I have nothing. To be fair, I spent the middle two catching up on homework and dozing off, but still… nothing. Everything hinged on the impossibility of taking on the bullies without backup. My lack of friends never bothered me more.
Regardless, the burning feelings still pointed more at frustration rather than a desire for revenge. The infringements on my quality of life, from dreading school every day, to worrying my dad, to my mental state… the same thoughts rotating through my mind in a cruel carousel. I could walk into school and attack them, explode in fury, pretend I snapped.
Where would that get me? Expelled? Crush my dad who held hopes for me for college? Where would I go then? Immaculata when a pile of bills sat on the counter? Clarendon on the other side of the city? Arcadia…? The Wards went to Arcadia, so did kids in New Wave when they actually went to class. The power school… where bullies couldn't exist since no one knew who might be a cape. You didn't pick on someone who might be able to throw you through a wall or freeze you in time. Arcadia… Arcadia would be ideal. No more bullies, a chance at a real high school life… maybe some friends…
Except the waiting list already had around two hundred people.
During my daydreams of a real social life with real friends, my thoughts suddenly froze. Arcadia wouldn't accept me if I went berserk on my classmates, no matter how much they might deserve it, so revenge was definitely out.
But I did have powers.
Could I join the Wards? The Wards went to Arcadia, and whoever directed them could fast track me into the school. It could work… and none of the other plans let me stay with my dad, including the one where I ran away to join a gang for support. My power hurt though; at least it did when I knocked myself out moving spoon yesterday. Somehow I didn't see the ability to move a piece of cutlery as a power that the Wards would find useful. Criminals Flee Before Moving Spoon would never make headlines. But this plan offered my best chance of success, a chance to get away and start over. Twitching tableware aside, I had to test my powers more.
Determinedly, I walked into the kitchen and withdrew a spoon from the drawer. Grabbing a couple extra precautions, tissues for a nosebleed and painkillers for pain I returned to the couch. Setting things down, I plugged my nose with tissues and tilted another yellow pill into my hand and looked at it '10-325'. Thoughts returning to yesterday, I wondered. Could it really be that simple?
Standing up again, I made my way to my dad's desk and grabbed some change and some paperclips. After setting them down, I mentally prepared myself and then stared. I imagined projecting magnetic force from my mind, the paperclips moved back and forth a couple times and I stopped. No sign of pain. Another deep breath, I concentrated, adjusting the balance of push and pull, and the paper clip moved right to left. My mouth twitched upward and my heart sped up. Reaching forward, I linked several clips together and tried again. I couldn't hold back the smile as they moved without a problem. Back and forth, side to side, and then circles. Still no sign of pain.
Moving the clips to toward me, I moved to pick them up before I stopped. Pulling my hand back, I looked at the clips and directed the magnetic force below and above them. They slowly rose into the air. I stared transfixed for a few seconds, before I dropped them into my hands. I definitely had powers, and they could work without pain.
Taking out a quarter, I placed it in front of me. A brief moment of nostalgia overcame me with the memory of two little girls in an elementary science class giggling together over a tray of magnets and some metal odds and ends. Rubbing my eyes, I shook off the feeling and concentrated carefully.
The quarter didn't move.
Placing the spoon and the chain of paper clips next to the quarter, I lined them up in a row and then lightly pushed. The clips moved the furthest, the spoon a couple inches, and the quarter not at all. I smiled at my proving my hunch with the pill. 10-325, part oxycodone and part Tylenol. The spoon was stainless steel compared to the cheaper metal of the paper clips; and moving stuff naturally magnetic was clearly easier. Quarters were made from copper and nickel I think, and when they were put together they didn't seem magnetic. I meticulously recorded my findings in my notebook.
There was no pain, and I'd been moving things around for longer than yesterday. I had to know more about my power. Placing the stainless steel spoon on the table, I checked my tissue nose plugs and readied myself. Projecting a similar mix of magnetic waves, I moved the spoon right and then stopped. I examined myself again, looking any signs of pain or blood, and when I found nothing, wrote down a question:
Easier/Stronger with Practice?
Moving the spoon back, I mentally directed it along the same paths as the paperclip chain. As I completed the first circle, a twinge of minor pain stopped me abruptly. I noticed tiredness creeping into places I could only feel. Checking the tissues after a minute, they came out white. Another notion in the notebook:
Pain/Lethargy with Overuse
Leaving the spoon alone and staring at the quarter, I struggle to recall what I knew about quarters and magnetic metals. Freshman science covered metals first semester last year. Quarters had copper, which wasn't magnetic, and nickel, which was. Apparently though, the small amount of nickel wasn't enough to make quarters magnetic. I waited for the slight pain to fade, unwilling to try another test until I felt better, and distracted myself with more homework. About half an hour later, I decided to give it a shot. If I could move stainless steel, a poorly magnetic mix of metals at best, then I might be able to move a quarter.
Clearing everything to the side, I placed the quarter squarely in front of me. Hands at my sides, I focused on projecting another magnetic wave at the quarter, it didn't move, repeating the earlier results. I hesitated as another small twinge in my head announced itself.
Was this worth it? I thought about what I was doing. Risking possible brain damage for a power that had a history of knocking me out. Painfully. Risking my safety and what this would do to my dad…
Then I thought what having a power meant I was. About how it made me part of a group of special people. Parahumans. Heroes and Super Villains. Childhood memories of comics and an Alexandria lunchbox.
I shifted to how my bullies plagued me for a year and a half; what I had to look forward to for two and a half more. I thought about the selfishness of other people, about having no friends. Finally, I considered how I had recovered once already. Was this worth it?
I made my decision.
"Taylor! Taylor! Are you alright?"
I blinked myself awake, and wave off my dad's frantic shaking.
"Huh? Oh hey dad, yeah I'm fine. Just fell asleep. I spent the whole day doing homework."
"Jesus, you scared me for a moment. You didn't answer when I first called you from the doorway."
"Yeah, sorry daddy. I'm just really tired."
"That's okay sweetheart. Do you want to eat dinner or go straight to bed?
"I'll eat something. How'd your meeting go?"
I looked up when he didn't reply immediately. He shuffled through the stack of mail from this morning, adjusting pile of bills. He threw away two, but added three.
"Dad… your meeting?"
"Hmm?"
"Dad, is something wrong?"
"… No Taylor, nothing's wrong. Just had a long day at work. That's all. The meeting didn't go so well, but I guess I'm the only one who expected otherwise."
"That's okay dad, you'll get it next time." I walked over and gave him a hug.
He smiled at me, "Thanks sweetie. Now you go relax, I'll go make dinner."
As I got ready for bed that night, the pile of bills refused to leave me alone. I snuck downstairs, waiting an hour after I heard the shower turn off. My dad's snoring drifted lightly into the hallway. Making my way downstairs, I stepped on all the quiet boards with the practice of fifteen years in the same house. Reaching the kitchen, I pulled the cupboard door under the sink, sliding out the trashcan. Piecing together the ripped bills from the trash, I laid them down on the table under a beam of moonlight. Arranging them together, I perused the details, my stomach plummeting. Overdue mortgage, overdue property taxes... I walked over to his desk and brought back the others. Insurance bills, a mix of utilities…
Something had happened with work. Dad wouldn't tell me unless he absolutely had to, but the piling bills and how tired he looked… I'd have to pay more attention. I put the bills back on his desk, and poured myself a glass of water.
Scooping up the torn pieces of paper, I dropped them into the trash. Looking down, I adjusted them to cover the bloody tissue paper peaking out underneath.
A/N I think I have some people's attention now, but I can never be too sure. Read & Review
~Sleep
