Part 3/3

Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. - Shakespeare

There wasn't an ocean near Maxville. That fact served to disappoint Arman Sabiri every day he woke up. He'd jump out of bed, rush to his window, and look out. Instead of seeing those waves, smelling the salt, hearing the crash, there'd only be his dog, bouncing around the back yard. He felt bad for the dog. It was a perfectly good dog. It wasn't the dog's fault that Arman hated dogs. Dogs had a tendency to bite things like fish. At least the dog wasn't a cat. Arman shuddered at the thought.

Arman walked to the pool from his house every day. His mother hadn't thought building a pool in the backyard was financially sound, and a little part of Arman resented her for that. So, he walked, every day, to the pool. The pool was huge, Olympic-sized, and there were hardly any people in it this late at night. He'd smear salt all over his body and jump in. The chlorine stung a little, but that price was easily paid. After all, he couldn't very well swim in his bathtub at home. Mom just wasn't accommodating at all.

He pulled at the collar to his shirt. It was a normal thing for him, since lungs never really seemed to be that efficient. Things were always going around his neck, choking him, and he always was tempted to break out the gills. At least those made sense.

Almost, he could almost feel the water sluicing around him, inviting him in. The water was like a mother, caressing, welcoming, inviting.

Arman was moving around, twirling in a circle, like he was part of the water already, already floating along, breathing through gills.

Too bad that the blow came down and rendered him into dreamless unconsciousness.

His room was a disaster. Warren was a neat person. He wasn't obsessive, everything didn't have a specific place, but mostly, everything was neat. That he had hardly any personal belongings probably contributed to this. But, right then, his floor had become the largest shelf in his room.

There. He found it. The contact list they'd gotten at the beginning of the school year. Surely someone at Sky High would be privy to where the villain prison was. Looking around his room, Warren was pretty sure that the phone was lost as well. Damn.

"This is not an attractive side to you, Tolstoy. The whole bad-boy, destructive, crazy thing went out with Ted Bundy, you know, after they put him to death."

He glanced up, seeing Darcy back in her regular form, her glamour, as she called it, hip cocked and looking at him with an eyebrow raised. "What are you doing here?"

"Would you buy that I was just passing through the neighborhood?" He just looked at her. "Fine. I came by to tell Mr. Chiang that I can't work next Saturday."

"You have something to do? Like what?"

"Hey, that's a girl's prerogative. What are you doing anyway? Destroying everything?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, alright, this looks a lot like nothing." She noticed the paper in his hands, brows up again. "Something important?"

"What are you doing Saturday?" Eyes narrowed, but she sighed and entered, flopping on his bed. Her hair, finger-combed and frizzy, splayed out on the papers he'd tossed there.

"I called my mother. She answered this time, and I am going to meet her Saturday. We're going to talk about what happened, about if I can go back."

"Where are you staying anyway?"

"Nuh-uh. My turn. What are you doing in here, besides recreating a hurricane?" He sat down next to her, showing her the paper.

"I'm pretty sure one of the people on this paper can tell me where my father is."

She sat up, stared hard at him when he laid down. "Serious? That's big."

"Yeah, but how do I ask? 'This is Warren Peace. My father is a convicted killer. How can I infiltrate the villain prison to meet up with him?' I'm sure they'd go for that."

Darcy leaned forward, elbows on her knees. Then, hands buried in her hair, she muttered something. Used to this, Warren said nothing. She did it again.

"Give me the list."

"Why?"

"Give it to me." He did, more out of curiosity than complying with her demands. "Who's the most important person on this list?"

"Principal Powers, I guess." She checked it over, nodded.

"Alright. Diana Powers, got it. Do you have the phone?" He did, actually, having been unfortunate enough to lay on it. He handed it over, but kept a grip and they fought a moment for control.

"What are you going to do?" Her eyes were blank, so serious that he'd never seen it before.

"This is important to you, right? Well, I'm going to get that information. I'm going into the bathroom. Don't listen in; don't let anyone go in there or get close enough to hear me. Understand?"

"You're being ridiculous." Her jaw clenched, released.

"Just, please, do this, okay?"

He nodded, and she left. When he followed her, she gave him an odd look before disappearing into the bathroom. Tempted, almost, to listen in, Warren respected her wishes and kept guard. Not that it mattered, really, but at least he could pretend he was doing something while she did whatever she was doing.

Not five minutes later, Darcy came out of the bathroom. Her glamour was dropped, leaving her in her natural state, star-bursted hair, glowing green eyes, a cast like gold on ivory for her skin. Seeing her like that made him extremely uncomfortable.

"Here. Here's the coordinates. But you'll have to fly there." She was breathless, one hand almost touching the wall for support. "She said you wouldn't have any trouble once you got there. She said-"

Suddenly, her body was falling and Warren caught it automatically. He'd never held someone who was complete dead weight. Her arms, one caught between them and the other dangling loosely off the side, flailed about with his every movement. Her eyes weren't all the way shut, a thin white sliver showing starkly between her black eyelashes. The scene at the restaurant came back into his mind, but he couldn't tell if she was conscious or not. She certainly didn't hang that way, draped as though dead. A shiver worked down his spine.

Then, her eyelids flickered, and she came to, staring at him.

"Well. This is familiar." She smiled, a little, lips stretching into a pale imitation of the somewhat misshapen grin he normally associated with her. "You don't mind if I stay like this, do you?" Then, her mistake. "No, no, I mean without the glamour. It's not draining, but after doing so much… I'm not used to it. Here. I can stand."

And she did, fighting against his hands that tried to help her. She handed him a piece of paper, coordinates written on the back of it.

"You used your powers on Principal Powers." She nodded, still unstable. "But she's a woman."

Darcy chuckled, more an exhalation of breath than a laugh. "Don't you know? When it comes down to it, we all want the same thing."

"Really."

"Yeah. We all just want to be wanted."

A long pause, then, harsher than he intended. "How profound."

"Innit? Now, you do realize that you can't fly. This is pretty… worthless."

"Who says I can't fly?"

Two days later, Warren was exhausted. He'd been practicing flying ever since Darcy had gotten the coordinates. His mother's letters had been vague, describing a 'feeling' more than how to actually do it. Physics books now littered his room, all about heat and thermodynamics and a bunch of other things he practically fell asleep reading. Every day, he'd go out to Carroway Woods and find a clearing, just trying to get a few inches off the ground. Problem was, he had always started with his hands, even inadvertently, and to fly required using at least your legs. Unless he was going to fly using a handstand, he was going to have to figure out how to start up his legs. It proved more difficult than guessed.

He'd invited Darcy for today, since all his practicing had amounted to something the day before. It wasn't so much a sport to learn, but a switch to be flicked. Once he knew how to do it, he just knew. Probably the worst explanation he could ever come up with, but that's what it was.

Someone was tromping through the forest, and it was Darcy, who lost her glamour as soon as she stepped into the clearing. Actually, he was getting used to that appearance. Her smile was shaky, and she didn't move quickly.

"Still a bit tired from the other day," she said to his look. "So, space cadet, you gone up yet?"

"Several times."

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

"Don't you want to tag along?" He said it automatically, but the question banged around his head. Why had he asked her to come? Companionship? Stronghold's clique hadn't ever sat well with him, and Darcy seemed as much a screw-up as he was. Besides, if something were to go wrong and he to go down for it, someone else was going to take that fall too.

"Sure. But, uh, just how good are you with this thing? I don't want to go crashing to the earth or something. 'Cause that, would suck."

He flicked it on in his legs, feeling the power, the indescribable rush that his mother had felt, allow him to lift a few inches above the ground. Darcy's finely shaped eyebrows went up into her hair. Setting back on the ground, Warren glanced her way.

"Alright, alright. It looks okay. But, uh, have we got the holding situation down? I mean, are you gonna burn me up? Because, as great as that sounds, I'd rather not be a crispy."

"I've been reading my mother's letters. She says that she can expand the shield around people in physical contact with her."

"Have you ever tried this?"

"No."

"Well that's fantastic." Her voice shook, betraying her nervousness. She stepped forward, arms half-raised, smiling uncertain. "Don't try anything crazy, Tolstoy – I'm still a bit wary from our previous encounter."

"Are you finished?"

"And don't grab my ass. It's a good ass, a nice one, but it doesn't like to be grabbed." Darcy pursed her lips, tapping a finger against them. "Yep. That's it."

When she stepped closer, Warren did as well, trying to get his arms around her so they could rise up. Problem being, Darcy was much too tall, putting their faces almost equal, enough difference so that her eyes mashed into his nose, and her nose mashed into his mouth. Her elbows collided with his, and in order to get close enough, she had to put her arms low around his waist.

They didn't fit well together at all, jangling and jostling, and Warren was fairly certain a bruise was going to form across his ribs now.

"This might be the worst idea ever."

"Turn around." She did, without complaint, and it was easier. His arms wrapped nicely around her torso and she reached back to hold onto his shoulders. They still fidgeted into place, but at least it was reasonably more comfortable.

He concentrated, imagining the shield around him. His power was always red in his mind, but he imagined the shield blue, a cooling, soothing contradiction to the fire. It was so close to his skin and clothes, molecules away, and he imagined it extending over Darcy, her drab clothes and slickly pulled-back hair. Finished, or at least what he guessed was finished, Warren turned on his power. Only in his hands first, where it always started, but he'd found out that he needed to be fully 'on' for the distance flight to work. Then, when Darcy didn't cry out in pain, he let it spread.

"I can't believe I'm on fire," she whispered, looking down at her body. "What's it feel like?"

He whispered too, someone finding reverence in the moment. "A release. Like I've been holding my breath, only I didn't realize it until I let it go."

"Yeah… that's exactly what it feels like." She closed her eyes, her lashes too dark against pale skin. Then, opening them again, she nudged his ribs a little. "Let's get going – we don't have all day, do we?"

"Are you bossing me around?"

"I'm a girl. It's what we stereotypically do. So hop to it." A smile tossed over her shoulder. "Please?"

He lifted them, and while Darcy was heavy, it wasn't too difficult. They were flying.

Not long after zooming quite efficiently through the lower part of the sky (after all, the clouds would not help the fire situation), they reached the coordinates listed on the piece of paper. Darcy looked around, then shrugged her shoulders.

"I see nothing."

"It's higher up," he said, and couldn't stop the grimace coating his words.

"Probably. Or, you know, a super secret cloaking shield thing. Or it's actually in the shape of a cloud! Or it's that flying saucer that everyone sees. Or-" He rocketed up through the clouds, the dampness alerting every system in his body, causing it to burn hotter. When he cleared the clouds, a large circular building floated in front of them. "Or it could be higher up. Okay. Wow."

Huge. The building was so enormous, it made Sky High look like a one-room shack. A faint sheen cast over it, a sort of shimmer, that you couldn't look at it directly and see it. The walls were tall, mother-of-pearl colored, nearly pulsing with… power, he guessed. There was a small entrance; black, pulsing with the same power vibe, but a somewhat dirty look, as though someone had poured malice on water.

"I don't want to know how that stays up. Are we going for a closer look Tolstoy?" When he nodded, she sighed loudly. "Damnit. Thought so."

The ledge leading up to the one entrance was small, barely enough for them to fit on together. Eventually, Warren had to link one arm with hers so that he could be closest to the door and so that she didn't fall off. But what to do? Knock? It was a prison, wasn't it? Knocking seemed out of place.

"Who comes?" The voice boomed, in a different matter from Coach Boomer, of course, surrounded them and pressed down with power. Immediately, he knew he couldn't lie to that voice. Or at least, trying would be futile.

"Warren Peace and D-Helena Troy." When Darcy nudged him, he added: "P-Diana Powers sent us."

A few moments passed. Through Warren wondered if they'd get kicked off or zapped or zinged or blown up, the door opened into a brightly lit hallway. There were many doors, but no windows. The light didn't even come from fixtures – it just glowed from the ceiling. Darcy huddled too close to him, and he had to shrug her off several times.

"This is creepy."

Warren had his hand along the wall, running it across the smooth surface, never feeling the bumps of the doorways or any imperfection in the paint. It didn't feel like a building. It almost felt like the prison was something alive. A crazy idea. But so were powers. So were powers. His boots clicked on the floor, while Darcy's Chucks only whispered, like shadows were following him. Then, abruptly, he stopped.

"What? Why'd you stop?" Darcy huddled again, clenching his jacket in her fists. "Not that I'm scared or anything, it's just, uh, cold in here, and you're, uh, warm. Yep."

There was a handprint in the door, the same shiny white as the walls outside, pulsing. There were no other markings on the door, nothing to suggest any kind of monitoring system. A second's hesitation, then, shrugging off Darcy, he put his hand in the print. The door faded away.

"This is the creepiest prison ever. This is the prison you don't invite to the prison office parties because it would do creepy stuff like fade away." Ignoring her, Warren stepped through. He was in another white room. Darcy followed right behind him. "Oh great. This is just-"

"Why are you talking so much?" When he glanced back, she was bright red.

"I guess, when I get nervous or scared, I talk a lot."

Silence. "Do you want to hold my hand?"

She paused even longer. "Are you going to make fun of me if I say yes?"

"…not at the moment."

"Then, yes." So he grabbed her hand, which was cold and sweaty and trembling, and tightened his grip.

Another handprint, and he put his up again. Only this time, there was a faint shudder through him, making Darcy suck in a breath, then the whole wall faded. The room wasn't white this time. Instead, it was a pale blue, soothing almost, if you could handle the lack of windows (though one had been crudely painted on one wall, depicting an ocean with whales surfacing). The only furniture was a metal cerulean-painted meticulously-made bed fused to the wall with equally pale sheets, and a muted-white rudimentary chair. In one far corner, there was a toilet and sink, gleaming with the same painted blue as the bed. Much too much blue in the room.

Against the far left wall, there was a man. He was dressed in a white jumpsuit, starkly contrasting with the kindergarten softness of the room. Hair, thick, curly, and black, was pulled back into a frenetic ponytail, skinny wrists too pale for his natural color, head hung low. He had his back to them, arms up and legs spread, and Warren had the feeling that this weird sentient prison wasn't letting him move from that spot.

Warren took a deep breath. "Barron Battle?"

"Names today, then? Not Prisoner 4601?" The voice was harsh with sarcasm, but also ragged with disuse, a slight accent, deep. Warren tried not to let the realization that that was his voice seep into his mind. The man's wrists fell, and he slumped against the wall, before picking himself up, spine ramrod straight. Then, he turned, and Warren was glad Darcy gasped, so he didn't have to.

They were exact copies of each other. The hair was curlier, no red streaks, his body a little worn, face lined, and glasses slipping down his nose, but the resemblance was unmistakable. There was a dullness in the man's eyes that sharpened when he could see who stood there.

"Impossible," the older man whispered, leaning away, but taking a step forward.

"Are you Barron Battle?" He needed the question answered. He knew, he wasn't blind, but he had to hear it. Darcy let out a whimper as he crushed her hand.

"You're Warren." The man took a step closer, hand out to brush the red streak in his hair. "You have Louisa's streak. And her eyes."

That had to be right, since Barron's eyes were a bright blue. Warren tried to step away, but his legs wouldn't move. He tightened his grip again, and some distant part of his mind tried vainly to have concern for Darcy's hand.

"Are you Barron Battle?"

"Yes." The eyes shone with tears. Warren felt a bit light-headed. Barron was closer, hands still hovering as though they longed to touch but couldn't quite make themselves. His eyes were greedy, drinking up the sight of him, tears slipping past the glasses every so often.

Fire gathered in his palm, Darcy snatched away her hand, and he clenched his fist towards Barron.

"You killed my mother." And he let it go.

Or, tried to.

Turns out, the prison was much like the detention room at Sky High. It nullified all powers, so he felt the power gather, but nothing happened. Furious, he leapt out to… to do something. Something physical and painful and to smash the tears and awed look off Barron Battle's face. But Darcy grabbed him, lunging and wrapping arms around his waist.

"Just hold on Tolstoy-" He struggled, elbowing the soft part of her stomach.

"I didn't kill Louisa."

Quiet, so quiet, that Warren calmed to hear it, that Darcy pulled back to cradle her stomach, that Barron's face was full of determination.

"Everyone's said-"

"I didn't kill her."

"You're in prison for four life sentences-"

"For something I didn't do. I didn't kill her."

"Then what happened?"

Barron sat in the rickety chair, motioned for them to sit on the bed. It wasn't very big, but Darcy stayed clear away from him. Warren laced his fingers to prevent the itching in them from turning into violence.

"There were always battles in the old days. Villains would come up with insane plots, attempt to carry them out, and be defeated by heroes. Most villains know that they'll be defeated; it's just a job to us. Sure, there are some idealists, but EVA usually apprehends those before any massacres breakout. I wasn't… I wasn't regarded very highly in the villain community. I just had battles; then let them go." He seemed almost sheepish, pushing his glasses up. "The HC got it into their heads that there shouldn't be any villains, a stupid thing if you ask me, putting themselves out of work, and began capturing villains. I… had a confrontation with the Commander, Kaiser, and Louisa – Firefly. It starts to get blurry after that, I'm sorry, but things went wrong. It was a simple battle, I didn't Alter too much. The Commander was threatening me with some HC sanctions that I wouldn't have a part of. Louisa – Firefly tried to convince me for the best. That upset me, them making her believe things she didn't. There was an argument, they wanted me to calm down, they threatened Louisa, and I grappled with Kaiser.

"I was angry, I remember that, and so I kept Altering while I didn't mean it." He pinched his nose, teeth clenching. "I startled them. And… then I was unconscious. I woke up here. And here I've been for eleven years."

The explanation was severely lacking. "So you blacked out, and I'm supposed to believe nothing happened."

"I would never hurt-"

"I know. That's what everyone's been saying. But they've all been villains. No hero has made the claim that you were a throwaway villain, that you weren't a threat." Warren stood.

"You think you can trust the heroes more than the villains?" Something slithered across Barron's face, and it was smirking knowledge, experience. "Just because they've convinced the most people they're right, doesn't mean they are."

"I don't know what to believe." Had he been anyone else, it would've sounded like desperation. "I don't know what the truth is."

"Out of the only people who do, one is dead, one is missing, and the last is a superhero. If you could somehow get in contact with the Commander…" Barron's face held too much melancholy.

"I'll do my best," Warren said. He'd reserve judgment, then, until that time. Until he knew everything.

"We better leave."

He looked back to see Darcy right behind him, one eyebrow raised. "Why?"

"Well, you know, this is the part in the movie where the hero and his beautiful sidekick get trapped in some super-complicated trap involving fire bursts at regular intervals and a shootout."

"…what?"

"She's right," Barron said, standing to join them. "There aren't many guards at this prison, but I'm an inmate they keep close eye on. You two had better go."

"See? I'm right some of the time."

Barron gave Warren a glance that could only mean terrible, terrible things. "Is this your girlfriend?"

Before Warren could vehemently protest, Darcy grabbed his hand, twined their fingers. "Yes. We've been dating for a few months now. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Battle."

"Call me Barron," he said softly, tracing fingers over Darcy's cheekbone before pressing a kiss against her cheek. Then, Darcy was pulling him quickly away, and Warren had hardly processed what happened. They were out of the building, teetering on the little ledge, when he confronted her.

"What was that about?"

"Hmm?"

Heights terrified her; he could see it in the way she pressed against the door. "You told my father that you were my girlfriend."

"Wow, is the worst place ever to have this conversation." She stared straight at him, eyes the eerie silvery-green. "Didn't you see it? In his face?"

"Obviously, you aren't thinking of the same thing I am."

"He cares about you. A lot. He wants to be part of your life, wants to know what's going on, how you're doing. What were you going to say? That I was some random girl who'd concealed everything about herself and the only reason she was in the prison was because everyone else you were close to, you were fighting with?"

Warren said nothing.

"He wanted you to be okay. He wanted to know that he didn't screw you up completely. Some lies are harmless. Letting an old man believe his son turned out unscarred… it doesn't seem too bad to me."

"You've been getting your philosophies from the fortune cookies again," he said, the joke not quite covering up the acknowledgement of the truth in her words. Luckily, she could tell the difference.

"They just happen to fall into my hands all the time – what was I to do? Not eat them?" She turned around, stretched out her arms. "Grab hold, Tolstoy. Let's get out of here."

They got back into position, more awkwardly this time with such a small space, and he didn't quite like the way she fell against him. She was more scared than she'd allow herself to let on.

"You know," she whispered, but keeping her face away. "I believe him. That he didn't hurt your mom."

He didn't say anything for a while. Then, "So do I."

"This is the beginning. This is where the world starts to reclaim its purity and let the mongrels drown. When puppies come out wrong, children, the best thing to do is snap their necks." She paused in front of one of the four chained up figures, petting a hand along his blue-striped hair. "I doubt you realize the severity of the situation. You go to that ridiculous school, play with your toys, relax with your friends. And for what? So you can perpetuate the disease? There used to be strict entrance exams. There used to be control. Now, they let anyone in.

"You." She pointed to a girl with purple in her hair, purple and black clothes ragged and torn. "A guinea pig? Do you have any idea what the Shifters used to be able to do? They used to have several animals! They used to shift from leopard to bear to elephant. They had power. Now… now you've tainted the line. It's ridiculous. But the Lehnsherr Academy will fix this. Villains have become a joke. Heroes hunt them easily; they don't even bother to imprison us anymore. But in the Lehnsherr Academy, villains will be trained for death. To inflict it, to withstand it, to rise again. The mixing of blood is a terrible thing. But we will solve it. There will be justice."

"Is it just me, or is a villain talking about justice a tad hypocritical?" They'd spent three minutes coming up with a line for Will, but the improv proved better, if the look on Katastrophe's face was anything to go by.

"You have no business here. I have no problem with you."

"No problem? That's my girlfriend! I have a problem with that!"

"You see," Layla started, taking a step forward. "Heroes don't care about blood. We want to help everyone."

There was a gap of silence, and the other three turned to glance at Warren pointedly.

"With our powers combined…"

"Only four of you? And you expect to defeat me? Children really have lost their wits."

"Count again," said Ethan, releasing the last of the chained four. "I believe it's nine."

The stakes weren't as high as in the battle with Royal Pain. For one thing, no one was a baby. For another, once Warren had told the others what Chiauci thought of Katastrophe, she lost her scary factor. A fight sang in Warren's blood, but he was denying that part of him. He watched. Katatrophe immediately tried to Alter the scene; being frightened, she did little more than change the colors of the wall. Will was doing some fancy tying up with a metal pole while Layla called the parched bushes from outside to hold their owner captive as well. He was pretty sure Magenta had bitten the woman several times. Once the bushes had come inside, the black kid (Nathan, wasn't it?) touched their branches and succeeded in furthering the container around Katastrophe. The only other girl, Dana, did several movements that made it seem as though she was breaking out in Riverdance, but ended up producing what looked like salve and bandages. Besides, the last kid, someone he didn't recognize, was crashing waves of water everywhere. He did not want to start spouting flame in that.

Katastrophe was defeated. Only the bottom half of her face showed, and she was spitting mad. It made Warren smile. While Will and Layla guarded Katastrophe, the rest of the group left to make an anonymous phone call to report Katastrophe captured. The freed kids, Dana, Nathan and Arman, agreed to not tell who was behind her release. When the familiar uniforms of the Commander and Jetstream zoomed over their heads, the original group went back to the Stronghold manor.

"So, Ethan," Layla said, pulling liters out of the Stronghold 'fridge. "I'm really glad you showed up today. I was getting worried about you, since you hardly ever come over anymore."

Pause. "Oh well, um, there's a reason for that."

"Really? What's going on?"

"Well, uh." He pushed up his glasses, mortification spawning rapidly across his face. "Well, I'm dating someone." Everyone burst out in congratulatory nonsense. "His name is Alexander."

Everyone seemed to look at each other. "Well, I don't have a problem with that. Anyone else?"

Will's endorsement seemed to break the ice, and all of Ethan's weird absences, his distance, his excuses, all of them made sense. The air of the semi-party lightened, and their victory ran bubbly through their veins. The experience was a heady rush, and this was probably why most people with powers used them to fight. Luckily, Stronghold had lots of soda in his fridge, accompanied by chips and other various foods consumed by teens.

Warren sat by himself, to the side, watching as people he had only started to call friends milled about, made jokes. They were all so comfortable with each other, so much at ease. All of it unnerved him. Out of place, and making sure something occupied Layla, Warren managed to sidle out of the house He sat on the steps, took deep breaths, let the gentle light of the stars fall on his face.

Moments before she said anything, he knew she was there.

"Not quite being the social butterfly we know and love."

"I decided to take a break."

"Oh, of course." Darcy came out of the shadows, back to normal, closer but not sitting or even within arms-length. "And how did the big battle fair today?"

"Shouldn't you know? You were watching the whole time." Even in the dark, he saw the flush spring up to her hairline.

"Well. I guess I should. How fairs the party, then?"

"Tepid. This officially qualifies as stalking."

"Hey – ouch."

The door behind Warren opened, and Layla stepped out, all smiles and laughter. Her hand was on his shoulder, words falling out of her mouth.

"Hey Warren-" Then she noticed Darcy. Her mouth snapped shut pretty quick, and while there was undoubtedly a pleasant blank look on her face, Warren knew she was questioning. If he'd been there, he'd think the same thing. After all, the last place Layla had seen Darcy, she was a lowly worker at the restaurant. "Hello."

"Hey. I'm Darcy." She walked forward, fists clenched at her side. Probably the least welcoming stance a person could take. Tension ran through Layla's hand.

"She works at the restaurant."

"Yeah, I remember."

"She has powers."

"Oh." Then, Layla, warmly and without malice or mockery, smiled at Darcy. "I'm Layla. Nice to meet you. Do you want to come inside?"

While Darcy shot Warren a 'Hey-look-at-me!' glance, she followed Layla inside. Inside, whether it was easier with Layla or not, Darcy had to make her rounds to meet the rest of the gang. Then, as soon as Warren told them her power was 'to look pretty,' the newness wore off, and the party returned mostly to normal. Warren watched, as Ethan and Will made small talk with Darcy, as Layla laughed with Magenta, as Zach stared dazed at Magenta for too-long moments.

It all felt a little too much like a happy ending.

Apparently, Darcy and Stronghold had found something in common: soccer. They prattled incessantly, barely taking time to breathe when Layla said she had to go home, when the rest of the crew slowly trickled away. Warren had made up his mind it was best to not leave Darcy with Stronghold, but damnit, he was getting tired. Then, when Warren was fairly certain he was either going to just leave them at the mercy of each other or idly set something on fire, Will said something to the effect to 'Going to sleep now.' He blearily made his way up the steps; Darcy had a smile stretching her mouth.

"Don't tell me you've been waiting." She let out a laugh at his face. "Yeah, yeah. Mr. Chiang would kill you if you just left me here by myself. I got it. You were raised right."

They were out of the house, barely off the porch, when Mr. Stronghold came home. He'd been out on realtor business, if the casual plaid shirt and khakis were any indication. Warren froze, and Darcy stopped chattering, even if she didn't know why.

"Hey kids," Mr. Stronghold said companionably. Then, almost a double-take, he didn't put the key in the lock, instead turning back to stare at Warren. "You… look familiar."

Anger wound tightly in his stomach. "I've been told I look a lot like my father: Barron Battle."

Mr. Stronghold blanched, friendly face turning more forced. He spared a look at Darcy, but she didn't look like any former foes' children. "Warren Peace. Will told me he's made friends with you. I'm glad you two are getting along."

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you Mr. Stronghold. I've been told you knew my mother."

"Oh, Louisa." The way he said it, the way his eyes softened, Warren felt sick, and he couldn't breathe. He'd thought he had been furious when he first saw Will, when he knew that kid's father had imprisoned his. He thought he knew anger. But this… this wrapped around his brain, made him dizzy, made surges of pain wrack his chest. And he couldn't breathe.

"I wanted to know," he paused, taking deep breaths, "if you knew how she died."

Mr. Stronghold's jaw worked, his eyes shifting between the two of them, hands first on his waist, then his belt, then crossed. "I'm sorry, son, but this is going to be hard for you to hear. Your father, well, things got out of hand, and he… he killed her."

"No!"

"I'm sorry-"

"That's not the truth!"

"I don't know what you've been told-"

And suddenly, Darcy spoke up.

"This arguing will never solve anything." Both men looked at her. Warren knew he was angry, but he couldn't help staring at her. In fact, the whole problem with Mr. Stronghold didn't really seem that big. He reached out his hand to touch her, to hold her hand, but Darcy pulled back, smiled a little. A beautiful smile. Why were they still here? They could be back at his place…

"Warren, would you do something for me?"

"Anything." And he would. He could feel it. If she asked him for his heart, he'd rip open his chest. She needed him, and it made him feel smug, made him glance at Mr. Stronghold, sneer at the older man. Clearly, she knew who she wanted.

"I want you to flare you powers." He frowned. He couldn't touch her if he was on fire. "Just a little Warren, just your hands, or up to your forearms if you want. Just keep it on until I tell you to stop, okay? Don't stop until I tell you, alright?"

"Alright." He wished she had asked him to do something harder. Like maybe set Mr. Stronghold on fire, or fly her up to the moon or –

As soon as he flared his arms, Warren's brain came snapping back into place. He could feel the need to please Darcy stoppered up inside, as though he'd put a cork on a tube, but he could control it, withstand it. He stared at her, not out of the awestruck wonder of before, but a different kind of wonder, and the tiniest bit of fear.

"Don't ask questions Warren." A direct order, and the bottled up part was eager to agree. It was worse like this, because he knew he didn't want to obey that, but a part of him had to. A slave. He was a slave to her commands.

Darcy put both her hands around Mr. Stronghold's wrists, never breaking eye contact.

"Tell me what happened, Mr. Stronghold-"

"Steve," he breathed, mouth going slack again.

"Alright. Tell me what happened Steve. Tell me about the day when Louisa Peace died."

"I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I usually sleep on the left, but that day I didn't."

"Not that far back Steve. Tell me just leading up to when Louisa Peace died. Tell me about the battle with Barron Battle. Did he kill her?"

"No. Of course not. Barron Battle is a joke. He never hurt any of the heroes. But we had to capture him. He's the most powerful Re-Alter in history. If he ever decided to use that power for harm, terrible things would happen. We had to capture him."

"It's okay Steve," Darcy said, soothing. Part of Warren got angry, wanted to knock her hands off him and put a fireball right in Mr. Stronghold's gut. He couldn't believe Darcy's power was this… powerful. "Just tell me what happened. Tell me how Louisa Peace died."

"It's never easy to capture a Re-Alter. We would never be able to capture Barron without Louisa's help. We asked her to come with us, and she did. We met up with Barron, and there was a fight. He wasn't going to come in, and he started Altering too much, started confusing us. We couldn't take control of the battle. So, I grabbed Louisa, I put my arms around her, and I threatened Barron. I told him that we would be forced to hurt Louisa. He panicked.

"He began Altering even worse. He was upset, out of control. He was always such an emotional guy. Then, during an Alter, Kaiser fell. I tried to grab him, tried to keep my grip on Louisa as well. I… I lost Kaiser. I killed Louisa. I crushed her spine." Tears fell out of the too-bright blue eyes. "I was only doing my job. You can't blame me. There was no way the HC could let out that a hero messed up so badly. So, they blamed it on Barron. He had passed out, having used his powers so much and too fast, and he didn't remember a thing. What was I supposed to do?"

"It's okay, Steve. Thank you for being so honest. Now, listen to me Steve, I want you to go inside and go to bed. I want you to forget this conversation. You came home to find Warren Peace with a friend of his. You two talked about how great it is that Warren and Will are friends. Then, we left and you went to bed. That's all. You'll forget this ever happened." He opened his mouth to protest. "Don't worry; I'll come back for you, okay? You just have to forget any of this ever happened, okay?"

He nodded, squeezed her hands one last time, then went inside, wiping his tears. Darcy slumped against the closed door, taking huge gulping breaths. Warren was tempted to turn off his powers, check if she was alright, but her orders still prevailed, and while her power was on, he couldn't contradict them. Shakily, she put up her hands, palms facing him.

"Grab my hands, Warren." He raised an eyebrow, looking at her. "No, don't turn off your powers yet, just grab my hands."

Helpless, he did. Gripped them so their fingers entwined. It was an odd sensation, to grab someone with his powers on. He could feel the shield around his fingers, and the heat of the flame, and he could feel her fingers. He could feel the fire burning her. She made a noise, a high-pitched whimper, before clenching his hands harder. Then, she released.

"Turn'em off. Go ahead." He did, and her powers were off, her body slumped against the door still, but her eyes weren't heavy. Her eyes were wide open.

With the need gone, anger slammed into him full-force. He walked, stiffly, down the stairs, down the path, into the middle of the street. Darcy followed. They were two houses away from the Stronghold residence. He looked back. Darcy's face was normal, but there tears streaming from her face, like water had been dunked over her head.

"What?" She started, then hung her head a little.

"I've ruined him. They never forget, you know. They never forget me. And it drives them mad. There's a little part of them that never recover. I can never seem them again, and they'll always know me on sight. That's what happened with my father. I couldn't control the powers – they're either off or full-on. He just became obsessed. My mom didn't know what to do. And he… he… I had to leave. I had to-" She glanced up, eyes shining, and the pain was so blatant on her face. "I'm a terrible person. Did you… did you understand what Mr. Stronghold said?"

He grew a fireball in his hand and launched it at the nearest row of hedges. Then, as though that released something, he began spouting fire. Fire everywhere, all over his body, and he threw it as fast as he could. The street started brightening. His throat started hurting, and he realized he'd been screaming. The last of the fireballs fell from his hands, hitting the base of a willow and spreading the flames slowly up it. He looked around. Everything was on fire. Houses, lawns, trees, bushes. Everything.

Darcy pulled on his arm. "Come on. We have to leave. If they find you, they'll charge you with arson. We have to go now."

He resisted. All the damage he'd caused… it was building in his eyes, everything on fire, everything he'd started. The first hedge was already a blackened pile of ashes.

"Warren, we have to go."

He looked down at her hands, tugging insistently. "Your hands. They're fine."

Darcy smiled, a little desperate, but a little mischievous. "I took some of your strength. It didn't drain you, because I was taking the energy of the fire. Only people with very active powers can transfer energy. People like you, like Layla, like Will." Her eyes darted around nervously. "We gotta get out of here. We can run for a while, if you can carry us after that."

"'Us?' 'We?'" Blush spread heavily over her face.

"You didn't expect the story to end without the heroine falling for the hero, did you?"

"I'm no hero."

She grabbed his hand. "And I'm no heroine."

They broke into a run, just as the sirens sounded.

Sitting down at the table, Will smiled at breakfast. Mom was so good about these things. Bacon, eggs, toast, cereal, pancakes – oh the busy days of school would end this all. So, he indulged and enjoyed while he could. Dad came downstairs, stretching in his work clothes.

"Morning Will."

"Morning Dad. Did you get home late?" He plowed into the bacon. Oh Mom, never stop cooking.

"Yeah. I met some of your friends. Warren Peace?" Dad smiled, grabbed toast.

"Oh yeah? Did you meet Darcy too?"

"Then I leave and go to bed."

Will ate another bite of toast before the words sunk into his head. He glanced up at his father. Mom was giving him a strange look as well, her hands stalled over the skillet.

"What?"

Dad shook it off. He smiled, stole a piece of bacon from Will. "Don't study too hard kiddo. Gotta keep the brain in tact for school!"

Will groaned, his parents kissed him good-bye, and he jumped up on the counter to watch some TV while he finished breakfast. Hmm. Nothing good on. Why didn't summer broadcasting have as much stuff as during school? He flipped through the channels, bored. The superhero channel came on, and he sat back to watch the news report. Geez, even that was boring.

Breaking News appeared across the bottom of the screen, and Will reached over to grab some more toast.

As the broadcast progressed, Will forgot about his toast. Actually, his toast fell from his hand and crumbled on the floor. He lunged across the counter for the phone.

"It is unknown whether Firewing and Ishtar come from the growing villain school, the Lehnsherr Academy. However, it is undeniable that the two are extremely dangerous; a threat to all superheroes and sidekicks. While Ishtar remains anonymous, it has been confirmed that Firewing is indeed son of the late superhero Firefly and the notorious villain Barron Battle – Warren Peace. We will bring you live updates as more information is gathered."

"Layla? Turn on your TV. We've got a problem."

finis