"The moment she stepped out of her room something clicked, then whistled and she ducked just in time for something to whiz by where her head had just been. Whatever the flying object was splattered against the door frame, some sort of liquid spraying the back of her neck. She swiped at the moisture rapidly, already wondering what form of toxic poison it might have been."

She couldn't possibly have been asleep for very long when Drew shook her awake, laughing, "I can't believe you fell asleep before the judges could decide who won."

She brushed his hands off her shoulders, more than a little flustered by the realization that she was only a small movement away from genuinely cuddling up to him. "Yeah, well," she muttered awkwardly, going to rub at her eyes before remembering her bandaged hands and dropping them back into her lap. "Who'd they pick?"

The name he said only made her raise an eyebrow at him until he sighed out, "The one that made the steak with the garlic herb butter?"

Shea nodded at that. "Good. That looked good."

"I know. You probably bruised my ribs from how many times you told me to make that." He rubbed at his side, glaring at her through glasses she was tempted to steal for no other reason than to annoy him… and to make herself stop feeling awkward about having fallen asleep on his shoulder. "You should eat some more food," he said before she could follow through with the idea. "There are at least two more servings left."

"Not hungry."

He practically wagged his finger in her face. "I told you earlier, you have to eat more to make up for skipping lunch."

"I'm not hungry. I've already eaten more today than I do most days," she mumbled, hating that telling him this still felt so… so much like telling him some big secret. Something she should be ashamed of. Maybe because of the way his brow furrowed or the way he shook his head slowly like he didn't know what to say.

"Fine," he relented sullenly. "But we're going to have to work on building your appetite. Eating so little can't possibly be healthy."

Shrugging, she yawned, "Whatever," and waved her hand to dismiss the uncomfortable subject.

He blinked at her, a frown still plastered on his face before his expression shifted and he rubbed at his shoulder awkwardly. "You should– um… You look– Well, no you just… you seem tired… You should– and I will too– but you should go to bed."

Embarrassed, she was quick to agree and retreat into the safety of her own room, barely remembering not to lock the door behind her. She heard his door close just after she collapsed onto her bed.

Of course, once there, she couldn't fall back to sleep. She tossed and turned, squeezing her eyes shut so tight colors danced behind her eyelids. She couldn't decide if that was better or worse than staring around the room at the panic-inducing blank white walls. A moment later, when the mortifying wishful image of curling up against Drew flashed through her mind, she decided that staring at the walls was better, even if it did make her stomach turn.

She pulled restlessly at the blankets, all her earlier fears coming to mind at once. She knew he had already, but the temptation to go make sure the front door was locked was strong enough that she had to twist herself into the sheets to stop herself from checking. Not that it would matter if anyone on Team Go discovered where she was.

Despite her resolve not to go checking the door she stumbled out of the bed a moment later to check the small window in her room, wondering if the seal was tight enough that Mego wouldn't be able to shrink small enough to snake his way inside if Hego hurled him up. Hell, she dismissed, even if it was tight enough to keep him out, it wouldn't be unlike her parents to simply tear the wall down. Or the twins would clone their way inside. She had no idea if there even was an effective way to keep the little doppelgangers out.

Drew's casual reaction to the potential of being labeled a kidnapper had her all the more worried. He really didn't seem to understand how bad things might be for him. She blamed herself for that too. She should have just told him the whole truth the moment he told her she could stay. It was as she finally fell back to sleep, on the brink of unconsciousness, that she mentally declared she would tell him in the morning.

She woke up in a cold sweat, Wendell and Westley's names dying on her tongue. She choked back a sob, commanding herself not to cry. She couldn't change anything now. They survived. Before her minimal words of self-comfort could calm her, a new wave of panic flashed through her as some sort of clanking sounds drew her attention to her bedroom door.

She'd been sure Drew had gone to sleep, so she could see no reason for him to be out there. A glance toward her window showed the star-lit predawn sky, further evidence that if he wasn't asleep he certainly should have been.

Pulling in a heaving breath, she listened intently for voices but heard nothing but a continuation of the quiet sounds. As she stood, combing her fingers through her hair and glaring at the door, she debated who she'd prefer for it to be.

If it was cops, she and Drew were both screwed. Heath would be a pain in the ass for her, and unless she could convince him, somehow, not to bother checking the other rooms, Drew would be beaten to a pulp before he could even get his glasses back on his dumb not-cute face. Heath was picky with when he played the overprotective big brother card, but she knew instinctively this would be one of those times. Merrick would be fine. As much as he drove her crazy he might be the only one who would understand why she would want to run away, and if she said to leave the other rooms alone he'd respect it - even if he did it with more than a fair share of mocking questions. The twins were unpredictable - but if they were the ones snooping around outside her room she hoped they'd be more excited to see her than they were about finding out who 'kidnapped' her.

She doubted her parents would bother to be the ones to show up. They never showed up to anything anymore, except for news interviews where they doted on and bragged about their children as if they didn't treat them like magic puppets the rest of the time. She didn't even give the question of what would happen if it was them the time of day… or night, as it were.

She looked herself over, deciding that the clothes she was wearing were sufficient enough to face whatever was happening outside and quietly opened the door. All she wanted to do was throw it open and start screaming, but if she was going to be forced to leave she figured it was better to do so without waking Drew. If she was going to leave it would probably be better for him if she simply vanished from his life altogether. That, and she couldn't stand the idea of him… being there when she got dragged away, knowing she'd probably never get the chance to repay his kindness. She couldn't even force herself to take the bandages off her hands, fearing momentarily that they would be the only reminder of him she'd be able to take with her.

The moment she stepped out of her room something clicked, then whistled and she ducked just in time for something to whiz by where her head had just been. Whatever the flying object was splattered against the door frame, some sort of liquid spraying the back of her neck. She swiped at the moisture rapidly, already wondering what form of toxic poison it might have been. It was cold, but it didn't hurt, and as she whirled around to check the door frame she realized that it was… a grape?

She whipped her head back around, and realized with an almost painful relief that Drew was sitting at the small dining table, looking unharmed, if a bit panicked. He'd begun apologizing profusely before she even noticed the strange, colorful device in his hands. She relaxed as she took in the bits and pieces of… stuff spread out across the table. It was him. She'd heard him… tinkering away at whatever the device was outside her door.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, trying to hold back a hysterical laugh.

"Um… I… Uhh… I built a grape cannon," he stammered, grinning sheepishly at her and holding the thing, that did look a bit like a gun, out for her to see.

She snorted, to hide how much her hands were shaking. "Why?"

"Well, because, you were– and I was and… You threw grapes at me and I– I had the idea and wanted to see—"

It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about. "What," she asked incredulously, "I threw some grapes at you at the store so you decided to kill me?"

"No," he shouted, sounding more worried than upset. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to shoot at you! It just gave me the idea and I wanted to see if I could… build a projectile weapon to shoot… grapes."

Peeling the bits of smushed grape off the door frame, she chuckled, "You're a weird dude, Drew," and flicked the mush over at him.

He stuck his tongue out at her, relaxing back into his chair. "Nyeh. Maybe I should've shot you."

"Watch it," she warned, mostly teasing.

"Do you wanna fire it?" he asked, holding it out toward her.

As she reached for it she teased, "At you? Sure," and he pulled it back against his chest, with enough speed to surprise her, cradling it like a baby.

"Nngh! Nevermind, you're not allowed."

"Aw c'mon, let me see!"

"No!"

"Drew!" Shea reached forward, trying to get him to pass the dumb device over, but he pulled it away from her again. "I'm not above fighting you for that," she warned him, already ready to throw herself across the table to get if she had to.

He gulped. "Just don't– Just shoot it that way!"

She snatched the miniature cannon from his hands the moment he held it out to her. As per his instructions, she turned it away from him, aiming it at the door - or at least she hoped so. Superheros don't need weaponry. Well, if she weren't a superhero the surprising force of the kickback might have knocked her back a step or two - even if pulling the trigger in the first place was a little awkward with her hands still bandaged. The grape that shot out smacked against the door with a solid 'thwunk!' sound. She burst into laughter and fired again, her aim off, but just enough that she hit the hinge of the door instead. Grape bits flew through the air.

"Hey," Drew protested, rushing around the table to snatch it from her. "It's my turn!"

She laughed, relenting easily and letting him take his toy back. When he nudged her out of his way she caught a whiff of a vaguely familiar scent, and before she could realize she knew what it was, she was asking, "Have you been drinking?"

He fired the cannon, grape splattering just above the door, and shot her an impish grin. "Just a bit," he confessed, holding a finger to his lips. "It's a secret recipe. And I'm legal, so whatever."

"Can I have some?" She was mostly kidding, but his quick, snappish reply in the negative had her crossing her arms and demanding to know why not.

He answered her with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Ask me again in five years and I'll give you some."

Her brow furrowed in confusion for a moment. Then she reached out and shoved his shoulder. "Come on, don't be lame. I only want a taste."

He shook his head, stepping away from her. "No chance. I am not abetting in underage drinking."

"You've been in college since you were how old? You're really going to try and tell me nobody slipped you a drink from time to time?"

Drew stammered at her, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled to find an argument. When she snorted he threw his hands up in frustration, dropped the grape cannon on the table, and stormed into the kitchen. He came back a moment later with a small cup of… of something, that barely filled even half the glass.

Now that she had it in her hand, she was a little nervous to actually drink it. She might be able to believe that Merrick had snuck some alcohol before, but she knew for a fact Heath had never touched the stuff. She hadn't either - she'd tried to buy some cheap beer once, in a small act of rebellion, but had been unsuccessful and led outside the corner store by the owner who warned her she was lucky he wasn't going to call her parents. Too bad he hadn't realized that was exactly what she'd hoped he would do. If she hadn't wanted to be caught she would have just pocketed the stupid drink.

"What is it?" she asked curiously, swirling it around the glass.

"Secret recipe," Drew answered, scooping the cannon up and shooting at the door. He missed, and the grape splattered several inches to the side. A laugh burst out of her and he turned to glare in her direction. "It's like caramel apple," he elaborated, grumbling almost defensively. "I don't usually make it until closer to Halloween but I wanted it so I made it now."

Shea took a cautious sip, and couldn't help smiling at the unexpectedly sweet taste. She took another sip, the alcohol burning a little as it ran down her throat, but not enough to discourage her from gulping down a bit more.

"Easy," Drew practically whined, peering at her from over his own much larger drink. He pulled the glass away from her lips. "I know it's not strong but still."

"It's good," she told him, reluctantly putting the drink on the table, and holding out her hand. "I wanna shoot it again."

He smirked, though she wasn't sure if his smugness was from her praise of the drink or her interest in his little invention. Either way, he passed the device over to her.

"Aim for the… Aim for the door handle," he laughed.

She leveled the device against her shoulder, and asked, "Why are you calling it a cannon when it's more of a gun?" before shooting it. The click came, but nothing happened. She turned to look at him, and he just laughed again.

"Oh, yeah. Give it here." As he dumped a handful of grapes into some strange looking compartment, she downed the last few sips of her drink. He snapped at her again to, "Slow down!" and ripped it from her hands. "I'm not going to give you anymore if you're just going to chug it like that."

"Sorry," she offered, unapologetically. "It's not my fault it's delicious."

He blushed, glancing away from her. "It's better when I make it with homemade apple cider but I guess it's good enough."

She took the cannon from his outstretched hands, aiming it toward the door again. "Can I have some more?"

"Just a little," he agreed with an overdramatic sigh, before taking her glass and retreating to the kitchen.

'Just a little' apparently meant double the amount he'd given her before. Glancing at his nearly drained cup she wondered how much of the stuff he'd really had before she caught him. Her suspicions were amplified ten-fold when he stumbled, smacking his hip on the table. He barely winced though she still had to snag the drink from his hand before any of it spilled.

"How much have you had?" she demanded, almost instinctively.

She'd had to walk a significant number of drunks home as part of her hero duty in the early years. Heath took over for her not long after she turned twelve. He'd run into her walking some man home, just in time to hear him offer her a beer or two in exchange for 'an hour to do whatever the fuck I like to that perfect little body.' She'd been near tears by the time she got home although she hadn't even fully understood what the man was suggesting until a few months later when a similar scene played out in one of the horror films her parents forced her to watch. The situation had ended far worse for the young woman and Shea had melted one of her metal practice cubes, screaming and burning in horrified sympathy. It was the last movie she'd watched that she actually found frightening.

"Not too much," he replied, picking up his own glass and draining the last of it.

"Uh-huh…" She trailed a step after him as he refilled his glass to the brim, sipping at it carefully as he moved back to the table. She took a sip of her own, following him back.

She barely saw him roll his eyes as he put the cup down. "Door handle?" he said hopefully, pushing his grape cannon toward her again.

She grabbed it without putting her cup down and fired. The click was followed by the newly distinctive whistle of a grape flying across the apartment. Her aim was off, but not enough. The grape hit the door handle but she'd been hoping to hit it dead center. Drew still cheered, and she couldn't resist shooting a smile his way.

"Again!" he exclaimed, and she gulped down a sip of her drink before laughing and firing again. He was tugging the cannon away from her for his turn even before the grape splattered.

His first shot actually hit the door and she found herself cheering even before he did. His second missed and nearly knocked down a picture frame beside the door. He yelped as it wobbled, then sighed in obvious relief.

"Would you rather," he mused suddenly, near half an hour and too many drinks later, "go live in the woods or… get to live in a mansion but never get to go outside again?"

"Woods."

"Why?"

"Did enough of never getting to go outside already."

"Oh yeah," he said, almost laughing before awkwardly taking a sip of his drink.

She knocked the rest of her own drink back. "What about you, Doc? Woods or a mansion?"

"Is not getting to go out really that bad?"

"Judging from how pale you are, I'd guess you don't spend a whole lot of time outside anyway," she teased, firing the cannon.

Drew whined in protest but didn't actually defend himself much further. "It might be nice to live in a place that actually has heating in the winter. So, if it's a nice mansion… I'll take the mansion."

"What if it's some shabby run-down mansion? Or haunted?"

He fidgeted and snapped the cannon away from her. "Then I guess I'll join you in the woods. Your turn." Shea held out her hands to take it back, but he just shook his head. "No, I meant to ask a question."

"Oh. Um… Would you rather," she paused to think, watching as a grape exploded against the ceiling above them. "Would you rather get the chance to go back in time and change one major event but know that it will just happen later or…. Change one major event but erase yourself from existence in the process."

"I would erase myself," he answered the moment the words were out of her mouth.

"What would you change?" she asked curiously.

"Nothing you need to know about." She must have looked hurt, because as soon as he said it he looked away from her, passing the gun sheepishly back over and adding, "Nothing I want to talk about."

"I'd do the same one," she told him. She wouldn't mind disappearing if it saved her brothers from living the life they did. She would stop the comet and let herself fade away without anyone's knowledge that there were ever going to be super-powered kids saving a city.

She didn't say that, but he nodded as if he understood anyway.

"Would you rather be able to breathe underwater or breathe fire?"

"I thought we were flipping coins for this before."

"We're both answering, so who cares?"
Shea sighed and shook her head, pouring some of his drink into her glass, earning herself a glare and a refilled cup, still not quite as full as his had been. "I'll take underwater. I've done the fire breathing thing. It just hurts your throat."

"I thought you said you couldn't breathe fire!"

"No," she said pointedly, "I said I'm not a dragon. And no. I'm not showing you. It's stupid and it hurts."

"Come on, please?"

"No."

"Pest." Drew's next fire of the grape cannon finally knocked the picture frame to the ground with a strangely loud shatter. His mood shifted almost instantaneously before the picture even hit the floor. If she'd been a little more focused she would have lunged for it, but as it was they both simply stood there and watched it fall.

He groaned as it broke, putting out a hand to stop her when she stepped toward it. "Glass," he pointed out, though his voice sounded off. It took Shea a moment too long to realize his speech was more slurred than she'd realized.

He stepped carefully over the pieces of broken glass after pushing the cannon into her arms. Despite his repeated warning, she dropped the device on the table and moved toward him. She barely caught him slip something from the back of the frame into his pocket.

"What is that?" she asked, grabbing onto his arm.

His instantaneous, "Nothing," caught her off guard, and she was quick to let go of him when he jerked his arm away. "She's going to be so upset," he murmured, tugging the picture free of the frame and stumbling his way over to the couch.

"Who is?" Shea asked, scooping up the glass. She could almost appreciate the bandages, for helping her to not cut up her palms.

"My mother," he replied, holding up the photo for her to see.

Squinting at him from the kitchen she could see a picture of a woman with a young boy. "Is that you?" she asked tossing the wrapped up glass shards into the trash can.

"Sure, when I graduated high school. I was twelve here."

"Why'd it take so long for you to go to college?"

She watched Drew's shoulders move in a strange little shrug. "She didn't want me to go off to college too early, so I homeschooled for a few years. It was probably a good thing, what with my not being able to read."

"Did you always look like a dork?" she asked.

He dropped the photo on the coffee table. "Decide for yourself."

This, Shea declared to herself, must be what if feels like to be drunk. Granted, she didn't think she'd had all that much - and she was fairly certain he had been watering down every drink he'd given her. But the room was spinning a little, making her dizzy as she took slow, deliberate steps in his direction watching him take another swig of his drink.

A note of terror rang through her as her fuzzy mind cleared for the briefest of moments. He could have done anything to her drinks, anything at all, and she'd never even thought to be wary of it. She just… drank them as he handed them to her. As suddenly as it came, the terror was gone. He wouldn't do that. She knew he wouldn't do that. She'd known him for -what?- three days, four? She had no reason to trust him, not the way she did, but she did.

"Yeah," she said with a nod of her head towards the photo that made the spinning change directions. "You were definitely always a dork." Twelve-year-old Drew didn't look much different from the Drew she knew, save for the cap and gown that were both clearly too big and the innocent look of a pre-pubescent child.

"Yes, thank you for that assessment," he grumbled.

A laugh slipped out of her as she stumbled over air and collapsed onto the couch next to Drew. No, not next to him. On top of him. She fell into his lap, and in her daze she forgot to make herself move off him. Even if she could have, his arms snaked around her, holding her against his chest though not in any real way, it felt like. Like he only did it because of instinct.

"Come on, come on, tell me the truth." She realized he was laughing as she tried to process his arms around her. "Do you really think that rib-eye looked better than the salmon?"

She meant to say she did, but what came out instead was a gasp as she leaned back into him and poked his cheek slurring, "You should… you should make steak. I missed food. Didn't even know I missed food 'til I met you."

He chuckled and fell back across the couch. She hadn't even noticed him push her off his lap. "Can't afford to make that," he said, gesturing to the TV. "But sure. Can make some sort of steak. Next week." His fingers latched around her arm. "If," he said pointedly.

"If what?" She asked, knowing she'd agree to just about anything in the moment.

"If you show me how you can breathe fire."

She should have said no. She knew she should've said no. With a quick snap of her wrist, she'd snagged Drews drink out of his hand and said instead, "You know you're lucky I like you, right?"

His grin faltered so slightly that she almost didn't notice it. She took a small sip of the drink, surprised to find it tasted no more like alcohol than any of hers had, and swirled it around in her mouth.

Working the flames to her hands was easy. She'd focused on that, trained to do that for years. Working it up her chest and throat burned, making her eyes water. She almost gagged the plasma back down, but she took a deep breath in through her nose and tilted her face towards the ceiling.

Her powers didn't come out like a dragon spitting flames in some cheesy kids movie. It bubbled between her jaws for a moment, like the world's hottest mouthwash. She let out her breath, and with it, the plasma, burning through the air in a strange arc above her, before abruptly steaming out of existence.

She coughed and swallowed the residual flames. "It's not effective and it hurts." She coughed again, wiping her lips with the back of her sleeve.

With a grunt, Drew sat back up and shocked her by poking at her lips. "That," he admitted as she swatted his hand away in surprise, "was pretty cool."

She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. "Yeah, well. Y'better not be too drunk to remember it, cause I'm not doin' it again."

"You said you like me," he teased suddenly, breaking out into a wide grin. "You don't really think I'm a dork."

"Do so think you're a dork," she argued. "But… yeah. Still like ya. You're… I dunno, fun?"

Drew hummed and lay back against the couch, facing her. "I like you too."

"It's weird," she confessed, wishing the room would start spinning again to justify why she was still talking. "I feel like… cause we only met a few days ago. But–"

"–I feel like I've known you forever," he said, in unison with her.

"Jinx," he exclaimed, pointing a finger in her face. "You owe me a soda."

"Do you have soda?"

"I think there's some in the fridge."

"I'll get you one."

"You're just gonna shake it up, aren't you?" Drew whined suspiciously.

She smirked, fighting back a full-on grin and nodded. "Yeah."

"Then I don't want one." He yawned and pointed vaguely in the direction of the kitchen table. "I just wanna take my cannon and go to bed."

"You're gonna bring that thing to bed with you?"

"Nngh– no, I just don't want you to shoot me with it!"

"You shot me!"

"I shot at you," he corrected. "Accidentally!"

"So I should get to shoot at you."

"No!"

"Dork."

"Pest."

"Crybaby!"

"You can keep insulting me," he sang, "but I know you like me!"

Shea rolled her eyes, and before she could say anything else a strange gurgling sound filled her ears and then everything went silent. Ice cold terror burned in her veins as Drew's mouth continued to move. No sound came out. No sound that she could hear.