"I'm just saying, you sort of steamrolled over what I actually wanted to talk about. All poetical and depressing."

Is poetical a word…?

"Well, I mean...first, I wanted to apologize. 'Cause I did kind of ditch you without saying anything, and that wasn't really cool."

Victoria has a hand up. There's a fork in her hand. I can't count the tines.

"And I thought I had more questions, but after thinking it over you pretty much answered anything I would have asked. So I guess I was mostly looking for, I dunno. Clarification, maybe? Something like that."

Haven't we had this conversation before?

"Because, it's kind of a big deal! I mean...there aren't that many Parahumans that can just hand out the sort of powers you've got, you know? Mover, Thinker, Master, plus whatever that Tinker's got that lets him make things to give you more powers...it's nuts."

"How are you talking without moving your mouth?"

Silence.

I blink. Victoria doesn't move, expression frozen in a smile. There's still some sauce, at the corner of her mouth. Alfredo. We're eating pasta.

No, she is. I'm sitting in a broken chair. And she's frozen.

I turn away from the bistro.

" ! "

He's so...angry. Rage. It twists his face. Bared teeth, wide eyes.

He seems tired, too.

I blink again. The moment stretches on for an eternity.

The Bonecarver is still screaming at me. I don't feel afraid. I feel like fifth grade, when I broke a microscope slide. It's a sick, heavy, pit of my stomach.

Why isn't he older? I thought he'd be older. Without the mask, he's not. Just angry. And tired.

I think he hates me?

He lunges, but everything is so slow. I don't feel the need to move. Long limbs plant themselves in tiles. I'm entranced by the cracks as they spread, split, move apart. Beneath, nothing. Light. The world skips, flickers, blue turned to cold white, shadows deepening, gathering, shifting. Just for a moment. It's unsettling.

I look up. The Bonecarver stands on his island, staring across the empty space that's opened between us. The whispering thing behind him ripples, and wraps, mouths shifting closer. He screams at me some more. But the words don't...reach. Would I feel more afraid, if they did?

I don't know.

I turn around. Stare at the emptiness in front of me.

The Void reveals itself again, for a brief moment. Through the cRacks that have begun to foRm in The ScaLes that cOVer my EyeS.

"Am I...dreaming?"

The thought clings, and I absently hold it...turn it over. Examine it. It's heavy in my hands. Crystalline. Fragile.

This is the Void? So I might be. Might Be. In the Void? Dreaming in the Void? Is there a difference? The Outsider talks either way.

The Bonecarver is here either way.

Is he in my dream?

The feeling in my stomach gets worse. I think this is fear, now. I don't want him here. I don't want to be here.

A claw, behind me. It drags a piece of wall into place. A door, there. Darkness, past it. I walk through.

The Bonecarver isn't here. But I think he was. He doesn't look as angry, when he's working. I think that makes it worse.

Tools. Bone. I pad closer, peer over his shoulder. He's working on something, but I can't see it properly. It doesn't have...presence?

The Void flickers. I remember.

In the empty place, a tiny music-box. That doesn't seem right. It's too small. Doesn't fit his tools.

Since when did dreams make sense?

I turn away, move past the snake-man, past the doors. Into a patchwork corridor.

Where am I?

I'm in a vault.

I look up at the door. Heavy. Solid. I try to turn, but I'm nudged away. Something broken shifts, as I slip through a widening crack.

"Where am I going?"

This doesn't feel right. Doesn't feel real. But it doesn't feel like a dream, either. I must be dreaming. Why is it so hazy?

Stone cracks. Grinds. I turn, a wall dragged into place. Bars, torn from...a prison? A cell? Placed between me and the Bonecarver.

His hand drips red. Blood trails from his nose. He glares, shakes. I stare, at the Charm hung around his neck.

He followed me. But he can't reach me?

"The difference between knowing and learning isn't something most would consider. You'd be forgiven for thinking there's no difference at all."

I feel myself...sinking. Withdrawing. Stepping back. The Bonecarver disappears, the Void stark and shadowed again.

The Outsider folds his hands behind his back, inscrutable as he slips back into a patch of darkness. I think I catch the hint of a smile as he's swallowed up by it.

Color returns. The Bonecarver reels back, toward the warped bars he'd forced through.

"! "

More hate. I guess I can understand it.

I hate him, too.

I don't want him here.

"Get out."

[BouNdaRY eStaBLIsheD.]

" ! "

[ rREefFuUSsaLll ]

Sharp things dart out from behind me. Spears of flesh and chitin. The sight of them makes my head hurt. The Bonecarver is worse off.

[AutHoRity. CoMPly.]

He clutches at his face, as the twisting whispers slip iN tHrougH his hEAd. His hand drops. Brushes the Charm.

He's gone. The pain in my head spikes, as something behind me buzzes. Hums.

I turn to look. I squint past the pain. I see threads, and black eyes, and too many limbs, and-

-I jolt awake.

My heart is racing. Mouth dry. I shiver, shift, loosen the death-grip I've got on my pillow. Cold, clammy...I sit up, and sweep my hair out of my face with shaking hands.

That wasn't just a dream.

So what the fuck was it?

xxxxxxxxxx

Three days since I screwed things up with Grue and somehow fumbled my way back into Victoria's good graces. Two days since she laid down a very firm 'no freakiness without letting me know' rule. All of a day since I decided that some (actual) time off was doing me good.

And now this. A too-real nightmare involving a too-detailed Tinker and…

I shake my head, press the heels of my hands into my eyes for a few seconds before settling back in my seat. My coffee is still steaming; too hot to drink. Probably too bitter, too. I haven't actually had much practice making the stuff for myself, but...it seemed more appropriate than tea, for some reason.

(Might have to reconsider that. The bitter smell isn't doing anything for the pressure at the back of my head.)

It's...just now six o'clock, according to my phone. Too early to talk to Victoria, right? Of course it is. If I'd had my way, I wouldn't have been up for another few hours. Which, granted, is mostly because I've seriously screwed up my sleep schedule with all the late nights out in the city.

Being a hero is disruptive for your personal life. Who would've thought?

I drink my coffee. The inside of my mouth stings with phantom pain. And as I glower at my mug in betrayal, I hear footsteps on the stairs.

Dad. Up early, today. Considering how late he was up last night...I almost manage to smile, as he stumbles into the kitchen and almost immediately gravitates toward the coffee maker.

"Morning, Dad."

He rubs his face, absently digging through the cupboard for a mug of his own. "I'm not going to be convinced of that until I see sunlight."

I smile. So does he, a moment later, glancing over his shoulder at me as he pours his coffee. "You're up awfully early today."

Right. That. I take another sip; it's still too hot. "I did go to bed early, too. Guess I wasn't as tired as I thought I was."

He nods, slowly. Stands at the counter and stares into his mug for what seems like a really long time.

"That's good." He nods, finally, picking it up and moving to the table. "I've been...well, I've been concerned, lately." I frown, at his strained smile. "I think if one of us deserves a break...it's probably you."

...uh, "What?"

He winces, but a moment later his smile seems...better. "Well, granted, I've had the great pleasure of wheedling every possible job out of the newest batch of 'opportunities'." He pauses to take a drink, and I absently mirror him a few moments later. "But wrangling labor contracts doesn't have much on a Cape fights and midnight patrols."

I choke.

It's uncomfortable, too-hot coffee surging through my sinuses, down my throat. Breathless, wet coughing ensues as the heat hits my lungs, and before I realize it, Dad is behind me, one hand on my back as the other steadies my mug.

"...alright Taylor, it's okay, just breathe…"

I do. I catch my breath, cough a few more times, clear my throat...try to focus more on how weird my chest feels right now, rather than-

"Dad…"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I had it all worked out. I was going to...but then you were drinking, and it was just...timing…"

I stare, incredulous, because...that…

"You...a spit-take?"

He laughs, nervously, combing a hand through his hair. "I...didn't really think it through."

He didn't...right. Okay. Yeah, that makes sense. Just a joke. A poorly executed one. I force a smile, and rub at my eyes. Tearing up from snorting coffee. Ugh. "I should never have let you watch the Three Stooges. You're just too impressionable."

"It's statements like that that make me wonder who the parent is here, sometimes." He shakes his head with mock seriousness.

And...now I'm the one laughing. Then he joins in, and...and it's good. It feels good. When I finally catch my breath, I have to dab more tears from my eyes. Probably still from the coffee. Which, now that I think about it, has probably cooled down a little bit by now.

I take a drink. It doesn't really soothe my throat at all, but it's better than nothing. And...well, the good humor is infectious. I smile, as I set the mug down. "I'm glad you appreciate how hard crime-busting can be, though." The sarcasm may be laid on a little thick, but that's fine. "I'll be sure to schedule plenty of breaks, in the future. So you don't have to worry."

Dad's answering smile is a little sad. "I think I'll still worry. Even working with New Wave...well, I've done a lot of reading lately, Taylor. And some of the statistics...independent heroes aren't safe."

I still. His smile fades. For a second, I don't know how to respond. Then, I realize I need to deny.

"What are you talking about?"

He sighs. It sounds as tired as I feel. "I know. I've known for a little while, now."

...what.

"Or…I haven't been able to figure it out." His brow furrows. "Do you...you don't like the name Crow?"

...he knows?

"I didn't pick it." I swallow, turn away...coffee. In my mug. Dark, solid black, but it reflects the overhead lights. Very distracting. "How…?"

"I'm not an idiot, Taylor." A faint ghost of the earlier laughter in his voice. "You come home with Victoria Dallon of all people, and suddenly you're best friends? You start sneaking out at night, not coming home…" A pause, and the hand on my back shifts up to my shoulder. "I haven't seen you wearing your glasses in two weeks, kiddo."

I haven't…? I reach up. No glasses. Right. I...I'm not actually sure when the last time I had them was. I haven't really thought about them, lately. Did I really just forget…?

"...why aren't you freaking out more?"

He sighs. A chair scrapes on the floor as he pulls it over, and I glance up as he settles beside me. "I did 'freak out'. The day after your friend showed me that video, when I got called into work, Kurt...you remember him? He was showing it around." A wry smirk colors his voice. "Apparently you've got a fan, there…" I flush, and he shakes his head. "I'd...I don't want to say 'suspected'. But I'd thought about it. Dismissed it, because it was...it should have been ridiculous. Only, hearing that story of yours blaring on the speakers in the next room? Hearing you?"

Of course it was the video. Of course it was the Fundraiser. That night just keeps coming back to bite me, doesn't it?

"I couldn't believe it." He sighs again. "I wanted to...just rush home, and tell you to stop, or to join the Wards...something. I did. But-"

But. Right. "I wasn't here." I finish for him.

And he nods. "No you weren't. You were off fighting Oni Lee." I grimace, look away. And I nearly flinch when he wraps an arm around me. "And I'm proud of you."

"I'm s-" Wait. I relax, slowly. "...really?"

"Yes, really." He's smiling again. Forced, but it's there. "Terrified out of my wits, yes. Angry that you were the one having to do that sort of thing, definitely. But...you've been doing good. And that's-" He cuts off, takes a deep breath, and shakes his head. "That's important."

I almost feel like I'm choking again. "...and you're not gonna stop me? Try to convince me to join the Wards?"

He chuckles, just a little bitterly. "Would I be able to?"

Probably not. I guess we both know that.

"I...wouldn't mind if you kept me in the loop, though?"

It takes me a few seconds to actually understand what he's saying. Because...I mean...he knows, apparently. Obviously.

"I can-" I can do that. It shouldn't be...too hard. "Yeah, I can do that." Keep my Dad...in the loop. Right. That's easy. Only...I'll probably have to tell him about the Bonecarver.

Which means explaining...basically everything else about that mess. All of it? I think of Victoria, her reaction, and decide that maybe full disclosure is for the best.

And you know what? Fuck it. If I'm going to tell him everything, it might as well be everything. I've already told these stories once; telling them both at the same time shouldn't be any harder.

"Do you...do you remember the last time I went to Summer camp?"

He nods.

"Right. Well, when I came back is...about the time things started to go wrong."

I was wrong.

It's actually much harder, this time.

xxxxxxxxxx

"So, how'd he take it?"

I shrug, absently tugging at one of the holes in the outer layer of my vest. "I made him promise not to do anything drastic. We agreed there wasn't anything we could do about the school besides pull me out." I pause, turn my attention to the sparse clouds overhead. "And then he said he needed to talk to some people."

Victoria drifts ahead to peer down into an alleyway. "About what?"

"Dunno." I consider the gap, then take a running leap to cover it. I haven't been running as much lately. Teleportation is convenient, but I don't need to be getting lazy. Or complacent. "I didn't think to ask."

She scoffs, drawing even with me again a moment later. "You 'didn't think to ask'. Of course you didn't. Why would you bother asking when you could just go out and beat up some bad guys."

"That's a lot of judgement from someone who literally jumped at the chance to come along."

"Well, I've got a grudge with one of our unlucky targets. And I guess a grudge-by-proxy for the other." She shrugs. "Totally a different thing. I know if my dad had just told me he knows I'm a Cape before delivering ominous statements and leaving for destinations unknown, I would probably just ask the obvious question."

"Your dad is a Cape."

"...didn't say it was a perfect comparison." She narrows her eyes, pulling ahead just enough to glare at me for a moment before she huffs and gestures dismissively. "My point stands. It's strange behavior, is what I'm saying."

"Right."

"I'm serious! Does vagueness and skewed perspective just run in your family? Maybe it's something in your water."

I roll my eyes, come to a stop as we reach the end of the building I'd been walking along. "It's not something in the water."

"You don't know that."

I could argue it. But I catch the hint of a smirk, a twitch at the corner of her mouth, and I decide I won't give her the satisfaction. Instead, I move up to the very edge of the roof, consider the side-street below. "We're almost there." Two lanes...the other rooftop is lower, but not by much. "What do you figure? Twenty feet? Twenty-five?"

She blinks, but follows my gaze. Moves to hover beside me, rubbing her chin as she considers. "Probably closer to thirty-something."

That's a long way. "Help me across?"

"...like, you want me to fly you, or…" I shake my head, and mime an underhand swing. She stares. "Are you serious?"

"Come on, we've done this sort of thing before."

"I seem to remember hauling your scrawny ass up a couple of builds. I didn't come out here to play trapeze."

Okay, the comparison...actually isn't that far off. And I guess it is kind of stupid, now that I actually think about it. "Sorry. It just popped into my head."

"...eh, I'm kind of curious how this'll turn out now." She shrugs, and kicks into the air, drifting out and up. "How far, do you think?"

Hell if I know. I step back from the edge, brush myself down as I open up some distance. "I don't know. Less than halfway?"

She shrugs, and moves to hove in place above the street. I consider her, consider the wide gap...and then I stop considering. Run, jump, reach...I grip her arms, she grips mine, and suddenly I'm moving faster. Arcing up, then down...I just barely hit the edge of the rooftop. I could swear I could feel the air under my heels, before I fall into a roll, coat flapping around my legs as I come up in a crouch.

Sarcastic applause from Victoria, as I stand. "Very stylish. Gotta appreciate the practice you must put into that sort of thing."

"Thanks?"

"Uh-huh." A moment of silence that stretches on just slightly longer than is comfortable. "...so are we going to check out the hideout now, or…?"

Oh. Right. That.

"Yeah. Sorry." Once again, I'm grateful for my mask. My face may be burning, but I don't sound embarrassed. So nobody will ever know. "It was just a little further." A couple blocks over, I think? The rooftops all look different, during the day.

It does only take a few minutes to reach the place, though. I'd almost worried that we'd miss it, or that I wouldn't recognize it. But...well, there's probably only one burnt out warehouse in the area.

Victoria is giving me a Look. I do my best to ignore it. Along with the fire damage to the buildings closest the warehouse.

"Come on. I doubt there'll be anything useful, but it can't hurt to look, right?"

She sighs, and follows me down to the street. "Every little bit helps."

I can only hope so. Because it really is about time we ended this. No more chases, and escapes. No more ambushes, or sneaking around in my dreams.

This guy's going down.