Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Running as fast as he could, Miguel knew he wasn't going to make it. The end of the skyway bridge was so close, but so was the giant construction robot stomping its way towards the building he was currently trying to flee from.

He couldn't see the robot's massive fist slamming into the building, but he knew that was exactly what was happening as the bridge shook violently under his feet. He stumbled, falling hard onto his knees.

Miguel didn't have a chance to stand up again. Another mighty punch from the robot unmoored the bridge completely from the building the robot was smashing. It fell against the building it was still attached to, and Miguel found himself sliding backwards, the ground dizzyingly far below him.

He scrambled for a handhold as he slid down, finally latching onto a support beam that was horizontal instead of vertical now. As he looked around for another beam so he could potentially climb out, he saw the robot turning towards the building the bridge was still connected to. It stomped closer, and Miguel knew he was fucked. There was no way he could climb to safety, and even if he did, the building he was trying to get to would be rubble shortly.

Just as it looked hopeless, a streak of black whizzed past Miguel's line of sight and slammed into the robot. The force of it blasted a giant hole in the robot's chest and knocked it back. Two seconds later, the robot's head was ripped open as whatever hit it erupted out that way.

"PowerStorm!" Miguel shouted, now able to see what hit the robot. The superhero was floating in midair, watching explosions rip through the robot's body as it slumped down to the ground in a pile of parts. His cloak lazily danced in the wind behind him, the hood fallen down to reveal the bronze of his hair.

Before Miguel could say anything else, his grip slipped and he was falling. Screaming in terror, he tried to grab anything else to stop himself. Everything passed just out of reach, and he was soon plummeting out into open air.

Quick as lightening, PowerStorm was there. He caught Miguel before he had fallen more than a few hundred feet. "Miguel? What are you doing here?"

Miguel clutched tightly to PowerStorm's neck, needing the reassuring solidness of the man to calm his racing heart. PowerStorm flew them to the top of a nearby building. It seemed to Miguel that the superhero delayed in setting him on his feet, his expression one of intense concern.

"Miguel? Are you okay?"

Miguel needed to catch his breath, so he only nodded. He took a moment to really look at PowerStorm. The superhero was in his usual black. It was utilitarian—work boots, form-fitting pants, wide belt, and snug jacket made from a material that should, theoretically, stand up to the forces PowerStorm endured during a fight.

The torn fabric of his sleeves belied that concept. It had clearly ripped away when he was smashing up the insides of the robot, revealing the metallic-sheen of his skin. Miguel let one of his hands rest on PowerStorm's forearm, always amazed how his skin felt so soft when it looked like metal.

Miguel's other hand remained on PowerStorm's broad chest. He had to tip his head back slightly to be able to look at the superhero's face. What Miguel could see of his face was like looking at a bronze statue come to life. PowerStorm wore his traditional tinted goggles—the one thing in his uniform that hadn't changed in forty years of superheroing. They were big, bulky things from an era-gone-by, meant to capture the intense glow from PowerStorm's eyes when he was using his powers at the max.

Right now, the glow was dimmed so that Miguel could see the worry in PowerStorm's eyes. A large hand gently cupped Miguel's face. Miguel had probably been quiet too long.

"Miguel?"

"Sorry, yeah, I'm alright." He took a deep breath to further calm his racing heart. "Close call."

"Too close," PowerStorm said sternly. "Why is it whenever there's trouble, I find you in the middle of it?"

"Confirmation bias?" Miguel offered with an apologetic grin. "It's not like I'm trying to attract crazy super-villains."

PowerStorm arched an eyebrow. "Just lucky that way?"

"Something like that." He took another breath, finally feeling on steady ground. "Thank you. I wouldn't have made it if you hadn't come along."

PowerStorm's expression was one of gentle concern, a look so tender that it took Miguel's breath away. Gently, PowerStorm swept his thumb over Miguel's cheek in an affectionate gesture.

"I will always catch you," PowerStorm said, somehow making what should be cheesy sound so sincere. "But I hate to see you in peril. It would be nice, for once, to see you when you aren't in the thick of a disaster."

It was meant to be a joke, but Miguel couldn't let an opening like that go—not when he was standing so near PowerStorm that he could see the warmth in his regard, and feel the gentle way PowerStorm was still cupping his cheek. Indifferent superheroes didn't look like that.

"We could make that happen," Miguel said, trying to sound casual.

PowerStorm frowned, finally letting his hand drop. "What?"

"I would also love to see you when you aren't in the middle of saving the Cities. Let's do that!"

"Miguel…"

Whatever PowerStorm was going to say was interrupted by the ear-splitting sound of metal against metal. Instantly, PowerStorm positioned himself between Miguel and whatever the danger might be. Miguel glanced around him, and found that more giant robots were getting up all over Old City, as far as he could see.

"Zombie robots," Miguel whispered in horror. He had never seen them like this. The construction robots had been left in the ruins of Old City when everyone evacuated after the Great Catastrophe. They were rusting and broken. Some had mangled arms or missing chest plates, or faces that were cracked and falling off. It shouldn't be possible to work them anymore. What was going on?

The nearest robot was a block away, and it swung at one of the new buildings—a vain attempt to reclaim Old City from its devastation. At least Old City was emptier than New City. For now, there were fewer people in danger, but that would change quickly. The robots needed to be stopped.

It wasn't surprising, then, that Miguel almost immediately found himself swung up into PowerStorm's strong arms. "You need to get to safety."

It was an order, the firm command sending a shiver down Miguel's spine as PowerStorm quickly flew Miguel away from the robot and toward the automated trams.

Miguel didn't have long to admire how effortlessly PowerStorm was able to take Miguel's weight or the feel of his powerful arms holding Miguel so close to PowerStorm's broad chest.

But Miguel did notice these things, and he couldn't shake his earlier offer.

When PowerStorm set him down, Miguel grabbed his wrist. "The roof of the Foundation Building, this Saturday at sunset."

"What?" PowerStorm frowned.

"Meet me there."

"This is hardly the time for this-"

"It's never a good time," Miguel said, trying not to feel bad for pressing. But it wasn't a good time. PowerStorm was always swooping in to save the day and then racing off to the next disaster; it left precious little time for a proper conversation. Miguel had been trying to find a good time to ask, but he now realized there wasn't going to be a good moment. "Meet me there?"

A booming crash reached them from a street away. PowerStorm looked torn, but then sighed. He cupped Miguel's cheek again. "Fine. But only if you go home right now."

Miguel smiled, tempted to turn and kiss PowerStorm's palm but not quite daring. He nodded and dashed toward the trams. They were lit red with emergency protocols. People were already swarming toward them, hoping to be whisked to the safety of the Containment Wall and New City beyond.

As he waited for the next car to be available, Miguel turned to watch PowerStorm. The superhero had wasted no time in attacking the nearest robot. He was too close to be able to build up the speed necessary to punch another hole in this robot's chest. When he hit it, they both were pushed backwards. Luckily, PowerStorm was able to right himself with a tight flip in the air while the robot lost its footing and fell backwards.

Lightning condensed around PowerStorm as he generated his signature attack. As the robot tried to get back up, PowerStorm unleashed a lighting storm so bright and powerful that it melted the robot in a single blast.

For an instant, the effort seemed to drain PowerStorm, and Miguel thought he saw a dimming of the perfect bronze of his skin. He could never be sure—the moment was always over so quickly—but he thought PowerStorm metal skin looked like normal skin for that instant.

The moment dissolved almost as quickly as it appeared, leaving Miguel in doubt. PowerStorm recovered quickly, able to generate another such blast on a new robot stomping its way toward him. Miguel knew PowerStorm would hold here until this area was evacuated, and then take on the other robots wrecking Old City.

Miguel had no more time to watch. A tram car appeared before him. He hopped on, and was soon racing towards safety.

The first thing he did was use the tram's phone system to reach out to his dad. When the line did not connect, he tried again. No answer. Miguel dialed again. Worry began to eat at him. The last time they'd spoken, his dad had mentioned a job in Old City.

Miguel looked behind him to see Old City overrun with construction robots now. His dad was sensible; he would take the first tram home that he could find. Assuming, however, that he was near a tram site.

As Miguel passed under the Containment Wall, the phone again failed to connect. Something was wrong; Miguel could feel it. Turning the handle, he directed the tram towards his dad's neighborhood.

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"Dad? Dad!"

Miguel pounded on the door. There was no answer. Feeling his gut tighten in worry, Miguel stood on his toes to reach the light above the door where his dad kept the spare key.

It was right where it should be, and Miguel let himself inside his childhood home. Everything was dark, testament that his dad wasn't there.

Still, Miguel continued to call out, beginning to search the house.

"May I be of-of assistance?" an electronic voice called out. "Please identify. Identify. Assistance required? Please ident-identify."

Miguel stopped in mid-stride, watching as a house robot rolled its way toward him on squeaky wheels.

"Damage! Do you know where my dad is? Is he here?"

The little robot stopped in front of him, a little light on the side of its head turning red as it scanned Miguel.

"Identified. Miguel Hunters. Offspring."

"Damage," Miguel said, putting his hand on what passed for a shoulder on the robot. "Where is my dad?"

"Owner Jon Hunters is not, zz, not present." The little robot's voice was full of static, not at all unusual in a machine that had been repaired and repurposed as often as Damage had been.

"But where is he? Why isn't he answering his phone? He must've told you where he was going."

"Owner Jon Hunters is-is not present," Damage repeated, unhelpfully.

Miguel ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Not for the first time, he wished his dad would upgrade the house robot's processor and memory to something approaching the turn of the century technology.

"Thanks anyway, Damage." Miguel turned back to his search.

"Do you need assis-assistance?" Damage called after him.

"No, I'm good. Go back to whatever you were doing."

Miguel didn't wait for Damage's reply, darting into the living room and then through the kitchen to the workshop attached to the house. Then he went up to the second story, searching the bedrooms. He wasn't surprised to find every room empty, but he was hoping that maybe Damage's faulty processor had missed the obvious.

The only thing he found was his dad's phone on the dresser in his dad's room. Initially, a wave of anger went through him that his dad could be so careless. Miguel had bought the phone for his dad in a vain attempt to make the man reachable.

But then Miguel picked up the phone and it sparked in his hands, causing him to drop it. More cautiously, he picked it up again. Turning it over, he saw that the case was melted through from the inside.

"Dad," he groaned, not sure if he should be frustrated or amazed at his father's ability to break all technology newer than Miguel himself.

That explained why his dad wasn't answering his phone, but it didn't explain where his dad was.

Putting the phone down, Miguel leaned against the dresser and contemplated what to do next. Out of habit, he pressed a button on his watch and a thin beam of light emerged. It hit the wall opposite him, spread out, and formed a picture.

Sound emitted from the watch. "Cleanup continues in Old City as our very own Miracle Metal Man mops up a freak robot attack."

The speaker on his watch was too small for good quality, and the beam too diffuse for detail. Normally, the watch would hook up to a nearby receiver or screen, broadcasting what he wanted in stunning clarity, but his dad didn't own that kind of thing. He had a radio in his workshop that could tune into the news, but that was as high-tech as his dad was comfortable with.

Miguel watched the fuzzy image of PowerStorm grabbing a giant robot by the ankle and pulling its leg out from under it. As the robot fell backwards, a second robot landed a cheap shot, pounding into PowerStorm from behind. Miguel watched—heart in his throat—as the superhero was smashed into the side of a building.

PowerStorm turned the tables, popping out the other side of the building and using a targeted lightning attack to sever the robot's hand off. He pushed this robot into the other robot trying to stand back up, tangling them up so that he could fry both together.

Then he was off to the next zombie robot, the camera unable to keep up with him. "The damage from the robot attack is still being calculated. No confirmed casualties, but hospitals have admitted several serious injuries. Reports of-"

Miguel shut off his watch, feeling sick. He didn't know if what he saw was happening right now or from earlier. He was sure PowerStorm was fine, but Miguel worried. He wasn't a child anymore, sure that his hero was infallible and indestructible. PowerStorm was powerful, but even he had limits.

"Assistance? May I be, zzz, may I be of assistance?"

Miguel closed his eyes in fond annoyance. Damage was peeking its head around the corner. The robot wasn't going to let up until Miguel gave it something to do. "I'm going to wait for dad to return home. Get me something to drink, will you?"

"Right away. Drink. Bevvv-beverage. Consumable." It continued to speak to itself as it wheeled slowly toward the dumb-elevator designed to bring it to different levels of the house. Miguel couldn't help a crooked smile. He hadn't said what kind of drink he wanted. He wondered when Damage would realize that.

Maybe it would short-circuit the robot?

Shaking his head, Miguel left his dad's room and wandered to the room across the hall—his own childhood bedroom.

It was eerily familiar. Two giant posters still drew immediate attention. Both were of PowerStorm. One was a contemporary picture of PowerStorm from Miguel's childhood. He was flying against a giant moon background, shirtless, tattered cape flapping in the wind. The other was a vintage image from PowerStorm's early days. He was standing with hands on his hips in a pose Miguel was sure the real PowerStorm had never made in real life. Underneath his feet were the words, "The Chrome Champion, Bronze Blade, Our Magnificent Metal Man."

His dad hadn't touched the posters or the school pictures Miguel had stuck in a collage on the wall. The furniture was exactly where he'd left it. It was cleaner than Miguel had managed as a teenager, and the bed was made with the military precision only his dad was capable of. But it was still very much his bedroom.

Half-heartedly, Miguel wandered to the dresser and opened a drawer to find his old PowerStorm t-shirts neatly folded there. It was a stark contrast to the suit he was wearing now.

"Drink. Here is a drink. Your drink." Damage rolled into the room, holding out a beer. Miguel looked at it with incredulity.

"Damage, you know I don't like dad's beer."

The robot did not respond, except to roll a little closer and hold the beer out to Miguel. Shaking his head, Miguel said, "Thank you for the beer, but would you please get me a glass of drinking water instead?"

"Water. Drinking water. Offspring command: drinking water." Damage rolled backwards through the door and back to the dumb-waiter.

Miguel followed his progress by the squeak of his wheels, and shook his head. He wondered, not for the first time, if Damage was really that dim or if the robot was getting back at him for being unclear earlier. The most reasonable explanation was that he chose beer because that was exactly what Miguel's dad meant when he asked for a drink for himself, but Miguel always suspected that Damage had a wicked streak hidden under his obliging demeanor.

Feeling antsy, Miguel wandered over to the closet. He knew he was trying to distract himself from how worried he was about his dad. There was no telling when his dad would get home—if he came home.

Miguel shook his head sharply at that thought. He'd called the hospitals and Cities Security. If his dad did show up hurt or dead, Miguel would be notified. There wasn't anything else he could be doing, which was never a state he handled well.

Chewing on his lip, Miguel saw that his closet was as orderly as his bed and dresser. His good clothes were bagged and hanging neatly on the left while a tidy stack of boxes took up the right. Miguel opened the first box, and felt a smile tug his lips.

It was a box of action figures from when he was young. Right on top was his favorite toy as a child: a one-of-a-kind PowerStorm. The superhero was dressed in grey, an outfit he'd favored for a few years when Miguel had been young. Unlike the mass-produced toys out there, this one had been handmade. His dad had surprised Miguel with it for his tenth birthday. As a kid, he'd bemoaned how all the PowerStorm toys he'd found in the store weren't accurate. The cape was too short or he wasn't wearing gloves or the mask was wrong.

In contrast, this action figure was exactly how PowerStorm looked fifteen years ago, right down to the walkie-talkie unit he used in lieu of more modern equipment. Anything newer would short-circuit when he used his lightning powers. Not that this saved the radio unit, but it at least had a fighting chance.

Picking up the action figure, Miguel could see how worn it was. He'd played with it so much that the paint had rubbed off on PowerStorm's belt. The spring in the arm was loose; he could no longer pose it.

"Drinking w-water, zz, drink. To drink."

Smiling, Miguel dropped the toy in the box and turned to take the glass that Damage offered to him. "Thanks, Damage."

"Is more assistance required, required?" Damaged asked, voice popping sharply on the first 'required'.

"No. Thank you, Damage. That is all."

Miguel took a sip of the water while he watched Damage wheel himself out of the room. He wasn't actually thirsty, and he set the glass down as soon as Damage was gone. He wouldn't be surprised if the robot returned, and he wondered if Damage was also trying to distract itself from worrying about Miguel's dad too.

Turning back to the closet, Miguel was going to seal the box back up when he heard the door open downstairs.

Miguel was out of his room like a shot, racing down the stairs. "Dad!"

His dad looked up in surprise as Miguel barreled towards him. "Miguel. What are you-?"

That was as far as he got before Miguel reached him, not stopping his momentum as he threw himself into a hug.

"Where have you been?" Miguel's words were half accusation and half worry. He held on tight, feeling the ball of anxiety unloosen in his gut now that he could feel that his dad was safe.

"I'm okay." His dad sounded bewildered, but he could obviously see that Miguel was upset. There was a thunk as he let his toolbox drop so he could hug Miguel back properly.

Miguel felt a little foolish for acting like this. He loosened his hold enough to be able to look his dad in the eye, but he didn't let go. He couldn't. Not yet.

His dad didn't let go either. "Why are you worried? I'm fine."

"Why am I worried? Are you crazy? You said you were going to work at Power General in Old City today, right where a giant zombie robot hoard was tearing up the neighborhood."

"Oh. I did say that was where I was going, didn't I?" He offered an apologetic smile. "I was, er, rerouted at the last minute. An emergency on the water pumps at the Old City docks. Not near the robots, but Cities Security blocked off the area to keep civilians from danger, and I couldn't get back until now. I'm sorry that I worried you."

Miguel could see the honest contrition on his dad's face, and he sighed. For a moment, Miguel let himself keep the hold on his father, but then he finally stepped back. "This is what the phone I bought you is for. The phone that I see you melted."

His dad offered an apologetic shrug, this one not quite so sincere. "I told you it was a waste. I'm just no good with the fancy technology."

"You're an engineer," Miguel pointed out.

"I'm a maintenance worker," his dad corrected. Miguel bit back a frustrated noise. It was an old argument between them. He always felt that his dad sold himself short. His dad could fix anything mechanical. He was one of only a handful of people in the Cities who still knew how to work the ancient machinery that the metropolis was built on. Considering how old the machines were, keeping them running entailed some creative tinkering. His dad may not have had the formal training, but he had the on-the-job qualifications of an engineer.

His dad didn't see it like that, and Miguel knew he wasn't going to change his dad's mind. He was too tired right now for a fight.

"Miguel?"

His dad was again looking at him with concern. Miguel's shoulders slumped. "I was so worried, Dad."

"Oh, Miguel." His dad pulled him in for another hug. Miguel buried his nose in his dad's chest. Being hugged by his dad was to be engulfed. His dad was such a big man, and he hugged with a satisfying firmness. No waffly hugs for his dad.

It was a long, proper hug. When his dad finally pulled back, he gently cupped Miguel's face. "I'm so sorry to worry you. I know exactly how that feels. I hate when you are in danger too."

A shadow fell over his dad's face, and Miguel knew what he was thinking of: Miguel's grandfather and Uncle Rick. They had both died in a horrible work accident when Miguel's dad had been seventeen. His dad had been injured too, but the sharp pain was always for the loss of his family. Even forty years later, the feelings were still as sharp as ever.

Miguel hated to bring up that pain. He hated to see his dad sad. Shaking off his own distress, Miguel offered a smile. "Well, at least PowerStorm is there to save me. You don't need to worry on that score."

It was meant to be amusing—a joke for all the trouble PowerStorm had had to fish Miguel out of. Miguel honestly did try to keep out of trouble; he had no idea why he needed rescuing so often. He was just glad that PowerStorm always seemed to be around to save the day.

Unexpectedly, his dad did not take the chance for levity. If anything, his expression became more concerned. "PowerStorm can't be everywhere. You need to be careful. What if he can't be there? What if…"

He trailed off, a stricken look in his eyes. Miguel grabbed his wrist and squeezed. "I'm fine. You're not going to lose me."

Gently, his dad stroked Miguel's cheek with a large thumb. "Of course." He said the words, but Miguel could see he wasn't reassured. Sometimes his dad was like this, and Miguel wasn't sure if old memories had been stirred by something at work or what. It was just as well his dad didn't know how close Miguel had come to dying today. He couldn't imagine how his dad would take that.

Miguel sighed. He leaned into his dad's large palm before breaking the connection between them to look at his watch. "It's late. Now that I know you're not dead, I should get home."

His dad made a face at that. "Nonsense! All the way to the other side of town with half the checkpoints still under lockdown because of the robot attack? You'll barely get home before you have to leave again for work. Stay here. You're closer to work here than your place. I don't know why you insist on that tiny little apartment when I'm more than happy to have you here."

"Dad…" Miguel rolled his eyes. This was an old argument too. His dad hadn't been pleased when Miguel had moved into his own place after university. Every chance he got, he invited Miguel back. "I don't have any clothes here. Not that would fit."

"You can borrow mine to sleep in." His dad picked up his toolbox and made his way to his workshop at they talked. "And Damage can clean what you're wearing so it's good as new for tomorrow. No problem."

"I'm not sure I trust Damage with my clothes." He made a show of looking at his dad's attire. He was wearing an ugly olive green cardigan over worn overalls that were too short at the ankles. The cardigan was too big, rolled up at the wrists but still hanging over his dad's knuckles. The fabric of the shirt underneath was so stretched at the neck that it hung at an angle.

The general appearance was a familiar one. As far as Miguel knew, none of his dad's clothes fit him. Everything was either far too big or much too small.

His dad looked down at what he was wearing, but then shrugged, clearly not seeing anything to be concerned about. "Damage can download how to wash fancy clothes."

Now it was his dad who looked at him, taking in the casual suit Miguel wore. He took his time looking. If Miguel didn't know better, he would've thought his dad was checking him out.

That probably wasn't the case. More likely, his dad was still bewildered that his son had gone to university a nerdy kid always wearing jeans and superhero t-shirts, and returned a sophisticated young man who knew what a waistcoat was.

"If you try to cram any more data into Damage, I'm fairly sure you'll blow his processors," Miguel said, teasingly.

His dad rolled his eyes, setting his toolbox on the workbench and opening it up.

"Damage can handle it. He's a tough old robot."

Watching his dad pull out a folder from the wall where all the work orders were kept, Miguel frowned. "You're not going to start working now, are you?"

His dad gave him a look like he was talking crazy. "Of course! I wasted a whole day figh- . . . cooped up at the docks. Can't waste any more time."

"Dad, it's so late." Miguel took his dad's wrist, and his dad let him pull it away from the folder but otherwise did not budge. "You work too hard. Give yourself a break."

"Miguel-"

"I'll stay the night, but only if you go to bed too. Right now."

His dad gave him a look like he couldn't decide if he was amused or exasperated. Amusement won out, as if often did. "Very well."

Miguel grinned, and his dad answered with a small smile of his own, closing his toolbox back up.

His dad grabbed clean clothes fresh from the drier for Miguel to sleep in before heading to take a quick shower. Miguel was left to wrestle the blankets on his bed free from his dad's military corners.

Settling in for the night, Miguel had a surreal feeling of how strange and familiar he found the moment. He had slept in this bed for years, but that was so long ago. Nothing had changed and everything had.

His eyes drifted to the poster on the wall, illuminated by light peaking through the blinds from the streetlamp outside. Now that he was reassured that his dad was okay, Miguel could finally let himself think about the fact he'd finally made his move with PowerStorm. He'd been thinking about it for quite a while now, and on Saturday he'd finally have PowerStorm's attention solely on him. He could finally see if they were on the same page.

He thought they were. He remembered the way PowerStorm looked at him, the tenderness of his touch. There was nothing impersonal about any of that, and Miguel knew that PowerStorm was not usually very demonstrative. He never gave interviews and he rarely ever stuck around after a fight unless he was needed in some way.

But he would do that for Miguel. Miguel wasn't sure what that meant, but he knew what he hoped it meant. On Saturday, he would finally have his chance to find out—assuming nothing catastrophic happened between now and then.

Miguel grinned, knowing the likelihood of that was higher than it should be. He would take what he could get, but just the prospect of it left butterflies in his stomach.

For a long while, he looked at the poster. Distantly he heard the water start and later stop as his dad showered. He could track his dad's footsteps through the thin walls of the old house and the creaky boards in the hall. His dad leaving the bathroom, dropping off his dirty clothes in the hamper for Damage, and then heading for his bedroom.

Unexpectedly, his dad stopped right outside Miguel's room. As quietly as his dad could manage, he opened the door. Miguel smiled to himself.

"Goodnight, Miguel," his dad said softly. "Love you."

"Love you too, Dad," Miguel said. "Goodnight." He caught a small smile from his dad before his dad shut the door again and went to his own room.

Miguel turned over, forcing himself to go to sleep.

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For the second time in a week, Miguel was visiting his dad's. That had to be a record. The door was unlocked, so he let himself in. Damage was nowhere to be seen, but Miguel had seen the lights in the workshop so he wandered that way.

The workshop was stiflingly hot as usual. There was a giant piece of machinery taking up almost all the available space. Miguel could not begin to guess what its purpose was, and he had no idea how his dad had even gotten it in there in the first place.

"Hello?"

"A minute!" his dad said, and Miguel followed the sound of his voice to the pair of steel-toed work boots peaking out from under the machine. There was some grunting and clanging as his dad finished whatever he was doing. Then he rolled himself out from under the machine and sat up.

His dad was dressed in work coveralls, but likely due to the heat, he'd tied the sleeves around his waist rather than wear them. That left him in only a white undershirt. Or, it had been a white t-shirt. It was now covered in fresh grease stains.

"Miguel?" His dad looked surprised. "Twice in one week? What do I owe the pleasure?"

"You said you found my watch? The one I left when I stayed over?"

"So, I did." Grunting, his dad stood up. "Give me a minute, and I'll get it for you."

He stretched his arms over his head to work out kinks. The action caused the already snug t-shirt to tighten further, showcasing every ridge and ripple to his dad's muscled torso.

Miguel swallowed, always reluctantly impressed by the sheer physicality of his dad. He was a big guy to begin with—tall and broad just by nature—but a lifetime of physical labor had made him into a wall of muscle. When he was wearing the baggy cardigans and loose coveralls, it wasn't quite so noticeable just how fit he was.

But the too small, too tight t-shirts on the other hand…

As his dad went to the sink to wash his hands, Miguel walked over to the piece of machinery to distract himself. "What's this?"

"It's a part of the old generator at Power General," his dad said.

"Are they really going to try to get the power plant up and running again?" Miguel asked dubiously.

Miguel could hear the water turning off and his dad wiping his hands. "I don't know what they're doing. I'm paid to tell them why it doesn't work and see what it will take to make it work again."

"And will it work again?" Miguel turned back, and froze. His dad had taken off his shirt and was using it to mop the sweat from his brow. Miguel's mind short-circuited for a moment seeing so much of his dad on display. His dad had a body of an ancient god—the kind of body that Miguel was immensely attracted to.

Catching Miguel looking, his dad raised an eyebrow.

"Dad, that shirt is gross." Miguel said, making a face to distract from the flush he could feel crawling up his neck.

His dad laughed. "Well, I am too. I need a shower." He looked Miguel over. "Not you, though. You look very fancy. Something up?"

Happy for the change in topic, Miguel said, "I have a date."

"A date?" his dad frowned. He glanced at his work calendar. "Isn't today Saturday?"

"It is. Why?"

His dad's frown deepened, but he did not reply. Miguel gave him a questioning look, and his dad shook his head. "Nothing. Anyone I know?"

Miguel did his best to smile mysteriously. "You might've heard of him, but we'll see how it goes before I do any introductions."

His dad's quizzical expression returned, and Miguel wondered what was going on. It hadn't been that long since he'd dated.

Had it?

Whatever was going on with his dad, his dad wasn't sharing it. He threw the t-shirt in the hamper near the door for that purpose, and walked back into the house. "So you want your watch to complete the ensemble?"

"Well, that, and it's been a hell of a week without it. Have you ever tried to get through the checkpoints without an automated pass?"

His dad threw a quizzical look over his shoulder. "I do it all the time."

Miguel rolled his eyes. Of course his dad did.

"Well, it has all my codes for work too so I shouldn't leave it any longer. Since I was in the neighborhood anyway, I figured two birds, right?" Miguel said.

They stopped in the hallway upstairs where a picture of Miguel's dad, his uncle, and grandfather was prominently hung. Miguel watched at his dad moved the picture to reveal a small safe behind it.

"In the neighborhood? Where is this date?" his dad asked, beginning to type in the security code.

"We're meeting at the old Foundation Building," Miguel said.

At his words, his dad froze and then turned around to look at him. His expression was disproportionately surprised, causing Miguel to frown. "What?"

"The Foundation Building? For a date?" His dad spoke slowly, as if trying to make sure he understood.

"Yeah?" Miguel was perplexed by his dad's strange reaction. "Something wrong with that?"

His dad was still frowning, a troubled expression growing on his face. But he shook his head, and said, "No. Nothing wrong."

His tone suggested the opposite, but Miguel wasn't sure how to get the truth out of him. His dad turned back to open the safe, and pulled out Miguel's watch.

"For once, I haven't broken it."

"Meaning Damage did?" Miguel said, taking the watch from his dad.

His dad rolled his eyes. "Ha-ha. No, it's fine."

Miguel could see that was the case. He quickly put it on, and reset the settings to start it up again.

"Awesome. Thanks, Dad," Miguel said. "I better get going or I'll be late for my date. I'd hug you but-"

He gestured at his dad, who looked down at himself. "Yeah, I should hop in the shower. I have an appointment myself."

"Then it's good I bothered you." Miguel headed for the stairs.

"You're never a bother, Miguel," his dad said immediately.

"Good to know." Miguel smiled at his dad over his shoulder. "I'll see you soon, Dad. We can watch a game at Pete's?"

"Sounds good." His dad still sounded distracted. "Let me know how the date goes."

"Only if it goes well," Miguel said. He waved goodbye to his dad and headed for the door.

He was a little confused by his dad's odd behavior, but quickly tossed it out of his mind. In a short while, he was going to meet up with PowerStorm. It might be a bit presumptuous to call it a date, but Miguel wasn't going to get in the weeds with details like that with his dad.

Miguel would like it to be a date. If things went well, then he might very well end up dating PowerStorm. Miguel was excited at the very thought. Excited and nervous.

He was early for his appointment. Foundation Building was the tallest point near the Containment Wall, rising up in the oldest part of New City where Miguel's dad lived. It wasn't nearly as tall as the skyscrapers in downtown New City, but it was tall enough that Miguel had a great view of the city and the sun setting in the distance.

Miguel walked around the roof slowly, trying to manage his nerves. He reminded himself that PowerStorm was a superhero. He had no doubt that PowerStorm would come if he could, but there were a million emergencies that could keep him away. Miguel would have to be patient and see what happened.

If PowerStorm didn't come, then Miguel would simply ask again. It was too important to him not to keep trying. He'd never felt about anyone the way he did about PowerStorm.

The automated lights had just flickered on when there was a gust of wind that made Miguel turn. He grinned when he saw PowerStorm floating just out of reach.

"You came!"

"Did you think I wouldn't?" PowerStorm asked with a small smile.

Miguel walked to the railing, wishing PowerStorm would come closer. "With your luck, there would've been a swarm of killer squirrels attacking the power grid or something."

PowerStorm made a face. "Don't give anyone any ideas."

Miguel laughed. He folded his arms over the railing and rested his chin on them. "So, zombie robots? That's weirder than usual?"

PowerStorm's expression turned grim. He looked towards the Containment Wall where Old City lay beyond. "I wish I could say it was, but I'm afraid I can't."

"Any word on what happened?" Miguel asked.

PowerStorm shook his head. "Cities Security is looking into the matter. When I last spoke to them, they said they had found a newly installed box in each robot. The instrumentation in the box activated the robots, but there's no indication who put the boxes there or how they work."

"But it was manual?" Miguel raised a skeptical eyebrow. "For all of them? There were, like, fifty robots!"

"Sixty-three." PowerStorm sounded weary, and Miguel's heart went out to them.

"Sheesh, those robots were all over Old City, buried under debris and fallout. Getting to them, getting in them, and installing the equipment—that must have taken forever. Who has that kind of time? Has some group claimed responsibility?"

"It does sound implausible to be the work of one person, but I've seen stranger things. Cities Security is working to see if all the old construction robots were affected and if not, was there any reason some weren't chosen for the attack. They are also looking into how the boxes were turned on. I'll know more in a few days, I'm sure."

"Well, it sounds like you don't have anything to occupy you until then. Want to float on over here?" Miguel said, straightening and backing up to give PowerStorm room to land on the roof in front of him.

PowerStorm seemed to hesitate for a moment before doing that. "So, did you invite me here to discuss your plan to ensure I no longer find you in the middle of danger?"

"I mean, we can discuss that, if you like. Since I never set out to imperil myself, I'm not sure what good it would do. It's not why I asked you here," Miguel said.

"Then why did you?" PowerStorm's expression was pensive.

Miguel had imagined this moment countless times. He'd considered dozens of conversation starters, mostly trying to ease into the topic. None of them felt right now that the time had come.

Stepping close enough that he had to look up into PowerStorm's goggled eyes, Miguel let his instincts guide him. Gently, he put his hand on PowerStorm's chest, right over his heart, and said softly, "You must know how I feel about you."

PowerStorm put his hand over Miguel's. "I . . . I've became aware of it recently. Miguel, this isn't a good idea."

Miguel bit back his immediate protest. Everything about PowerStorm declared a man who was protective of himself. He might be willing to rush in to save the day, but he was very careful not to reveal anything substantive about himself. He had operated in the Cities for four decades, and barely anything was known about him as a person.

Even his outfit screamed discretion and protection. He continued to wear a full-body uniform, despite the fact that it almost always ended up ruined during his battles and his skin was tougher than actual metal. Right now, he was as buttoned up as he ever looked. Even the collar of his jacket was high, leaving only his face to show the unnatural metallic bronze of his skin. He wore a cloak with a hood to further obscure his features. If Miguel wasn't so close, all he would see was PowerStorm's chin.

But he was close, and he could see the troubled look in PowerStorm's eyes. Miguel never wanted to hurt him, so he treaded with care. "A good idea or a bad one—that's not really the point."

"Isn't it?" PowerStorm squeezed his hand. "There are so many reasons why we shouldn't—why we can't—"

"Such as?" Miguel asked, patiently.

PowerStorm pulled away, beginning to pace back and forth in front of Miguel as he listed his points off. "I'm not exactly a normal human, for one. And I'm so much older than you. I've known you since you were a boy."

"I imagine if your age or your nature were issues for me, we wouldn't be having this discussion," Miguel said, as calmly as he could manage. "Do you still see me as a boy?"

PowerStorm glanced at him, and Miguel could practically feel his gaze as the superhero took in the sight of him. Miguel had chosen his best casual suit, knowing it accentuated his shoulders and highlighted his long legs. His hair was wind-blown up here, and he knew that was a good look for him.

From the searing look PowerStorm quickly tried to hide, the answer to Miguel's question was clearly no.

"It's not hero-worship," Miguel said, guessing what the next argument was going to be.

"It's dangerous," PowerStorm said, finally turning around to face Miguel. "You've already been a target of one super-villain because of your work. If anything were to happen between us, that would only get worse. I couldn't bear the thought of you being hurt."

"Because you care about me?" Miguel said, moving closer. He again reached out to gently put a hand on PowerStorm's arm, sensing that it was good for him to feel Miguel.

"Of course I care about you," PowerStorm said quietly.

Miguel looked into his eyes, and could see that same tender expression that he saw so often there. "You have a lot of reasons not to get involved, but I notice that none of them are that you don't love me. Is that one of your reasons too? You don't love me?"

PowerStorm did not reply, but Miguel could see the answer in his eyes. "No, it's the opposite. You do love me, don't you?"

"Miguel, it's not that simple."

"I don't care if it's simple. I don't care if there are dangers. You've already saved me dozens of times. Whether we're a couple or not—whether it's known or not—we are connected. That alone endangers me. I would be safer with you then without. I want to be with you, and I'm not going to give up on that easily, not unless you don't love me as I love you."

"Miguel, I do love you but it's not . . . It's not what you think."

"Then what is it?" Miguel's voice shook, stunned to actually hear PowerStorm say the words.

PowerStorm appeared not to know what to say.

He was saved by the little radio on his built squawking. PowerStorm gave Miguel a questioning look, clearly waiting for permission. Miguel was darkly amused at the interruption but not surprised. Wordlessly, he gestured for PowerStorm to take the call.

"PowerStorm."

"All the robot boxes have suddenly activated," an officer in the Cities Security Force said over the radio. "You better get here right away."

"I'll be right there." PowerStorm thumbed the radio off, and looked apologetically at Miguel.

"Miguel . . ."

Miguel shook his head. "It's okay. Go. You're needed. We can talk about this later."

PowerStorm hesitated. "I don't want to hurt you, Miguel."

"You won't."

"Won't I? I just realized this is how you feel, and I . . . To leave it like this is terrible."

"But you're not a little bit relieved to have a reprieve?" Miguel asked, offering a faint smile. PowerStorm looked away, clearly ashamed. Miguel shifted closer, making sure he had the superhero's attention. "Don't worry; you're not going to get rid of me so easily. I'm not going anywhere."

Something shifted in PowerStorm's expression, and he gently reached out to cup Miguel's cheek. "That's good. I wouldn't ever want you to leave. I don't know what I would do if I lost you."

The intent way he looked at Miguel could not leave Miguel in doubt of the strength of PowerStorm's emotions in this moment, or the importance of Miguel to him. Miguel swallowed, overwhelmed.

He closed his eyes and turned his head into PowerStorm's palm, surrendering to his touch. When Miguel again met PowerStorm's eyes, the superhero seemed to realize how his words had been taken. "I . . . that didn't come out right."

"I think it did." Miguel offered an amused smile.

He waited for PowerStorm to retract what he said, but PowerStorm said nothing. Miguel could've stayed all night like this, so close to the man he loved and an edge away from getting the declaration he so desperately wanted.

PowerStorm wasn't ready. Miguel could see that. Reluctantly, he backed away. "You better get going. Save the Cities, and all that."

PowerStorm nodded dumbly, but hesitated for a moment. "If I can, I will see you tomorrow night here?"

Miguel felt his heart leap into his throat, and all he could do was nod. PowerStorm nodded awkwardly back, and then jumped into the air to zoom off to Security Headquarters.

Taking a deep breath, Miguel watched the direction PowerStorm had dashed away to long after he could see any sign of the superhero.

It had gone better than expected, he decided, finally turning to head back down to the street. Of course, an immediate declaration of love was preferable, but Miguel had never thought that very likely.

PowerStorm hadn't shut him down, not really, and he had admitted he loved Miguel. That was still blowing Miguel away.

Miguel had expected resistance. PowerStorm had a protective streak a mile wide. Overprotective, if you asked Miguel, and a little bit of a masochist. He always seemed to put others before himself, even if it cost him dearly.

Not this time. Whatever the issue was, Miguel felt certain they could overcome it together. PowerStorm loved him.

Yes, tonight had gone so much better than he thought it would. Miguel felt like he could fly. He settled for whistling instead.

He couldn't keep the smile off his face as he finally reached the street and headed toward the trams to go home.

He'd only gone a few blocks before lightning danced in front of his eyes, his whole body seized up, and he was knocked out cold.

Chapter Text

Miguel came to with a raging headache, not sure what had happened. For a long while, he just lay where he was. Slowly, the jumbled confusion in his head righted itself. He remembered his talk with PowerStorm, walking home, and then pain.

Looking above him, Miguel could see immediately that he was not where he last remembered being. Naked support beams far above him declared he was somewhere industrialized. Turning his head, he saw he was in a giant room, big enough to be a factory floor.

It was mostly empty, save for piles of boxes and barrels scattered haphazardly throughout the giant space. Miguel could feel a fine dust at his fingertips.

Mindful of his headache, he cautiously sat up and took stock of himself. He noticed his missing watch immediately. A quick search indicated that he was missing his wallet too.

Groaning, he stood up. Just his luck that he finally summoned the courage to tell PowerStorm his feelings and things seemed to go well, and he ended up mugged.

If that was all this was, he was curious about where he was though. Why leave him in a warehouse? And in the middle of it? That would take more effort than a quick grab and dash would.

Miguel's head hurt too much for him to give it more thought. He just wanted to go home, and began looking for a way out.

It quickly became clear that this was not going to be a simple endeavor. There were almost no doors, and the one he did find was bolted shut. Miguel had the sinking feeling that he might've been left here for later, and he didn't want to think what that 'later' was for.

Along one wall, Miguel did fine an ancient dial-phone. He was shocked to find a dial-tone when he picked it up. The warehouse looked like it hadn't been used in decades; why would the phone still work?

He decided not to be ungrateful for a stroke of good luck. Without thinking that he should probably call Cities Security first, he dialed his dad's number at the workshop. He had no idea how long he'd been out, but he hoped whatever appointment his dad had had was over. If it was, then his dad was likely to be back at work.

"Hunters and Sons," his dad answered, and Miguel sagged against the wall in relief.

"Dad." Miguel swallowed around a dry throat. "Dad, something's happened."

The frown was audible in his dad's voice, "Something? What's going on? Are you alright?"

Knowing how this was going to go, Miguel sighed. "I was mugged."

"Mugged! Miguel-"

"I'm okay," Miguel quickly reassured. "The mugger is long gone." He fervently hoped that would remain the case.

"Miguel, you know you need to be more careful," his dad said sternly.

Miguel could feel his headache throbbing harder behind his eyes. Weakly, he said, "Dad . . . I need help."

There was a long pause. "Miguel, let me come get you. Where are you?"

"I don't know. A warehouse?"

"What kind of warehouse? Can you see outside?" There was a quiet urgency to his dad's voice, and Miguel could imagine how much this was killing him. His dad was always worrying about him. This was the exact thing his dad feared.

Miguel tried to focus. "It looks abandoned, but it's really big. The doors are bolted shut; I'm not sure how I got in here. There are windows, but they're really far up. I don't see-- wait. I think I see a billboard. It must be on a roof of an adjacent building."

"What does it show?"

"Hold on." Miguel set the phone down and took a step away so he could crane his neck for a better angle. Picking the phone up again, he said, "It's an old advertisement; one of the paper ones, not electronic, so I'm probably still near the Containment Wall. It's faded. A mermaid holding up a plate, but I can't read the writing to see what it's selling."

"Is the mermaid silver in color with green hair?"

"Yeah."

"I think I know the billboard you're talking about. If I'm right, then you're not far from here. I can be there in a few minutes. Don't go anywhere."

Miguel let out a humorless chuckle. "Don't worry, Dad. I'm not going anywhere. Bring your toolbox. You might need it to break down the door."

"It will be okay. I will find you." The way he said it, Miguel felt his legs turn into jelly.

"Just hurry."

"I'm on my way. Love you."

"Love you too, Dad."

The phone went dead, and Miguel felt an irrational panic not to have the reassuring steadfastness of his dad's presence, even just over the phone.

He pushed the feeling aside. His dad would be here shortly. If his dad was wrong about the location, Miguel had no doubt his dad would wake up the entire Cities Security Force to find him. He just had to hang tight.

Too antsy to sit still, Miguel slowly walked around the building looking for any other exit. He found two other doors. One was similar to the one he'd already found, also bolted, and the other was a garage-style door that looked like it had been welded shut. Miguel frowned at that, wondering what had necessitated that.

His headache was getting better, but he was still sore and cold from laying for who-knew-how-long on cement. Wandering around, he looked at the giant crates and barrels. He found one that was open enough that he could see a pale powder inside. He thought, perhaps, it might be something illegal. A hesitant taste revealed that it was sweet, like diary creamer.

He wondered if this had been a factory for that. There was a decent amount of pale dust everywhere. Or, almost everywhere.

Miguel noted several areas on the floor where there were perfect square voids in the dust. The concrete floor appeared to be recently patched in these areas. Miguel also noted some more recent work on the walls throughout the facility. He couldn't figure out what it was for. It just seemed like someone had strung cable randomly along the walls and floor, but it didn't connect to anything that Miguel could see.

As he looked around, Miguel noted the footprints he was leaving in the dust. He noted that he could follow everywhere he'd been because his were the only set of footprints. How had he ended up in the middle of the warehouse without someone dragging him or carrying him? Was he dropped?

He looked up to the ceiling, seeing one skylight, but it was still intact, and it wasn't near where Miguel had woken up. If he had been dropped through, the fall would've killed him.

It was all so strange.

A loud bang made him jump. It was from the far end of the warehouse. Miguel cautiously began to make his way there. He'd only made it halfway when the door swung open and his dad barreled in.

"Miguel?"

"Wow, that was fast," he muttered, unable to hide how relieved he felt to see his dad.

Spotting him, his dad rushed to his side. "Are you okay?"

Gently, he cupped Miguel's cheek, tilting his head back and forth to get a good look at him.

"I'm okay, Dad."

"You don't look okay," his dad said, continuing to study him.

Miguel sighed. "Alright. I have a terrible headache from being knocked out, but I'm not going to keel over dead in the next five minutes, so I think we can leave."

"You were knocked out?" his dad asked, alarmed.

"Dad…" Miguel said, making it clear in his tone that he was in no mood to be lectured right now.

His dad didn't look near done with his interrogation, but Miguel clearly conveyed his feelings because his father reluctantly released him. "Alright. Let's go."

Miguel sighed in relief. He didn't want to fight. He was tired and sore. He just wanted to curl up in bed.

His dad's concern was almost tangible as he slid an arm behind Miguel like Miguel might fall over without his help. Miguel didn't need it, but he didn't bat his dad away either. Having his dad here made it easier to breathe.

They walked back to the door his dad had opened, but they didn't reach it before a thick slab of metal burst up from the ground to block the exit. More metal slammed down on all the windows, leaving only the skylight unobstructed.

"Dad?" Miguel looked around, feeling that tight ball of worry growing in his stomach.

"Stay behind me," his dad barked, and Miguel obeyed, although he had no idea what his dad thought he could do here.

His dad swept his gaze around them before he moved another inch, clearly taking in everything. His body was tense, and Miguel gingerly put a hand on his dad's back to feel connected.

"Dad, what's-" Miguel began, but then everything happened at once. The cables strung around the walls and ceiling burst into flame. His dad reacted immediately, crowding Miguel quickly towards the dubious safety of a metal crate.

"Stay down," his dad commanded in a tone Miguel wouldn't dream of disobeying. He crouched low beside the crate, looking around at the fire growing all around them.

"What's happening? What are we going to do?"

"Don't worry. I'll get you out of here," his dad said distractedly as he continued to look around, looking for escape or further dangers. It made Miguel nervous; he tried to tug his dad down to the relative safety near the ground but his dad was unmovable.

Suddenly, his dad froze as he spotted something. An instant later, Miguel found himself manhandled into a tiny ball in the safe circle of his dad's arms. It happened so fast that he didn't feel it happening; he was just suddenly surrounded by his dad's solid body.

There was no time to think on it as several explosions went off at once. Miguel couldn't see but he could feel a wave of heat bowl into him and his dad. He buried his head into his dad's chest, sick at the notion that his dad was unprotected to the apparent fireball blowing through the factory.

The blast dissipated quickly, leaving more things on fire, but Miguel was still unhurt. He looked up at his dad, afraid of what he would fine.

"Are you okay?" his dad asked, not looking remotely fazed to be completely unprotected in the center of a fireball.

What was even more astonishing was the fact that his dad's eyes were glowing. Fire licked up from behind him, and Miguel pointed in horror. "You're on fire!"

His dad glanced back in annoyance, but no alarm. Another explosion went off, but further away from their position. Something settled in his dad's expression. Shrugging off his shirt, he muttered, "This isn't how I wanted to do this."

Before Miguel could ask what he meant, his dad's chest was bare. Before his eyes, the familiar tan skin became mirror-smooth, deepening into a bronze shade Miguel was all too familiar with. The glow in his father's eyes grew brighter. Miguel could feel the static in the air.

His dad wasted no time. A quick burst of lightning from his hand blew out the skylight. He gathered Miguel into his arms, and then they were flying. Miguel scrambled to hold on, his mind reeling as everything happened so fast.

His dad flew them over to the building with the mermaid billboard on it. Gently, he set Miguel on his feet, the light dimming slightly so Miguel could almost manage to look him in the eyes. His skin remained unnaturally metallic, leaving Miguel in no doubt who he was dealing with here.

"Are you okay? Are you burned?" his dad asked, gently cupping Miguel's cheek in a gesture he now understood in a way he hadn't ten minutes ago.

"Holy shit, Dad," he finally sputtered. "You're PowerStorm!"

His dad grimaced at Miguel swearing, but he did not let Miguel sidetrack him. He used both hands now to hold Miguel's head, making sure he had his son's attention. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm not hurt." Miguel flinched back, breaking the hold. "But I'm not okay. When were you going to tell me that you were PowerStorm? All this time and you never said anything?"

"Miguel, I . . ." His dad seemed at a loss for words. "I didn't mean for—"

Whatever else he was going to say was cut off as a massive explosion rocked the warehouse. His dad reacted so fast that Miguel couldn't see what happened. One moment his dad was looking at him, the next he was a wall for Miguel to hide behind as he took the full impact of the blast.

The ground shook and windows shattered in all the buildings around them. More fire erupted.

"The creamer," Miguel muttered, horrified.

"You need to go home," his dad said, iron in his voice. "It isn't safe here."

"We aren't done talking about this!" Miguel protested, still reeling from the revelation and the near-death experience.

"We are for right now," his dad said sternly. Bodily, he picked Miguel up and flew them quickly a safe distance away before Miguel could so much as protest. His dad gently set him on his feet again. "I have to make sure all the other buildings are empty too. We can discuss this when I'm done."

Miguel wanted to keep arguing, but he knew PowerStorm was needed here. Fire-crews would be on their way but too late for anyone immediately in danger. "Fine."

His dad studied him for a long moment, then nodded, and flew back in the direction of the fire.

From where he stood, Miguel could see the flames leaping high in the air. Another explosion, nowhere near as big as the warehouse blast, popped off in the distance. It wasn't safe. It wasn't safe, but his dad was flying right into that. His dad, the superhero who could shrug off fire like it was no big deal.

Miguel's head was pounding for an entirely different reason, and he decided the last place he wanted to go was home.

🗲🗲🗲

Pete's Bar was a hole-in-the-wall joint open all day, everyday. It was a few blocks from his dad's place, and somewhere his dad frequented after a long day working. Pete was too old to run the place anymore, leaving it to the robot bartenders and waiters.

Since his dad was a regular, his card information was on file. His dad had given Miguel access to that card long ago. Miguel had no compunction using that access now to order a drink. He settled into a booth in a far corner, and pushed the dampener button on the wall. Immediately, what few sounds there were in the bar faded to almost nothing as an invisible shield surrounded his booth in a bubble of silence.

There was a small screen on the wall where Miguel could have used his watch, if he still had it, to dial in his favorite show or access the net or anything else. Right now, it was set to radio mode. Miguel fiddled with it, finding a station with relaxing music.

The robot waiter arrived with a bourbon and a beer. Miguel realized he hadn't specified, again, and he'd received both his usual and his dad's. He didn't correct the robot, not feeling in the mood for conversation.

Miguel's object in coming here was to get very drunk. His mind was buzzing, and his nerves were on edge. But as he took the first sip of his bourbon, he decided getting drunk would be counterproductive.

He had a lot to think about, but he couldn't hold onto any one thought for more than a few seconds. It was his emotions that ruled him, rolling up one after the other as he thought about all the lies his father had had to tell him to keep his cover, the fact that the man he was hopelessly in love with was also his own dad, all the times his father had been in danger, the fact that he was at this minute in peril, the obviousness of it all now that he knew—there was a lot to unpack.

Miguel didn't fight it, letting each emotion bubble up and then dissipate and then bubble up again, until the shock began to wear off and thinking became a little easier. He still didn't know what to think, but he began to calm down.

He finished his first drink and ordered a second, feeling the tight feeling in his chest loosen. But it didn't go away, not until his dad wandered into the bar an hour later.

Miguel spotted him before he was spotted. His dad had obviously stopped at home to grab a change of clothes. He was wearing a maroon cardigan that hung too loose on his shoulders and jeans that were too tight.

His gaze swung around the establishment, zeroing in on Miguel in the far corner. Miguel knew the moment he'd been spotted by the way the tense set of his father's shoulders relaxed, and Miguel felt a pang of guilt for causing his father anxiety.

He knew how his father felt about his safety—both in his civilian and superhero identities—and Miguel had just had a close call. Miguel could imagine how his father had felt not to find him at home. Had his dad gone all the way to his apartment to check there too? As he watched his dad walk his way, he realized his dad could've done that easily.

His dad hesitated before sitting in the booth opposite Miguel. Miguel waited, just taking in his dad. There wasn't a sign of the fire he'd been in. No sign of the unnatural bronze skin or glowing eyes. His shoulders were hunched, and he slouched down in his seat, both making him look smaller than he really was. He looked so normal.

"I'm sorry," his dad said, and Miguel could tell he meant it.

Miguel sighed. "I know." He pushed the untouched beer towards his dad. His dad took it, taking a swallow, and then grimaced since it was warm.

"I know I should've said something sooner. I meant to, but . . ."

"But?" Miguel prompted.

Now it was his dad who sighed. He set the beer down, giving Miguel his full attention. "You have a right to know, and I always knew that someday I'd have to tell you. But I couldn't tell you when you were still a kid. That point that tips over from when you were too young to when you were ready to know—that's a hard point to see."

Miguel snorted, unamused. "Whatever that point is, it's years in the past now."

His dad ran an agitated hand through his hair.

"Yeah. I should've manned up a long time ago, but I didn't know how to say the words, and then the longer I didn't, the more awkward it was going to be since I should've done it so long ago and . . ." He took a deep breath, looking vulnerable. "Honestly, I was scared to tell you."

Miguel sat up a little straighter in surprise. "Why?"

"I didn't want things to change between us, and I didn't want to let you down. You've been a fan of PowerStorm since you were a kid. I didn't want you to be disappointed to find out your hero was just me."

"Dad…" Miguel reached out to cover his dad's hand with his own. "I've been a fan of you way longer than I've been a fan of PowerStorm. Nothing could change that."

His dad quickly looked down to hide his reaction, a habit Miguel knew meant he'd hit his dad hard with his words.

Looking at his dad, Miguel felt the last of his anger melt away. Gently, he squeezed his dad's hand, and said, "It's okay. I understand."

"I should've said something," his dad said. Miguel could see the self-flagellation coming, and he had no desire for that.

"Yeah, well, I know now." He let go of his dad's hand, and took a sip from his own drink, eager to change the subject. "So, the fire? Anybody hurt?"

His dad shook his head. "Most of the warehouses and factories are still shuttered in that part of town. The few still active were closed for the night. Only a security guard, and I got her to safety before the fire could get any bigger. It's contained. Cities Security is looking into it."

"But it wasn't an accident."

"No." His dad met his eyes, not bothering to conceal the troubled look therein. "Someone set a trap."

"And I was the bait. Question is, was it for you, Jon Hunters, or you, PowerStorm?"

"This is exactly the kind of thing I was warning you about," his dad said, pitching his voice low. "Being connected to me is dangerous."

"I'm your son. I couldn't stop being connected to you if I tried," Miguel said, a touch exasperated. But he looked at his dad shrewdly, given an opening that his father had most certainly not intended. "I would actually like to be more connected."

His dad reeled back as if struck, the shock evident in his face. "You can't be serious. You . . . I'm your father, Miguel! I thought after learning the truth you would…"

"What? Be disgusted and dismayed to realize I'd fallen in love with my own dad?" Miguel let his gaze flow over his dad, taking in the baggy cardigan, the broad shoulders, the much-beloved face. "Nothing's changed."

"Miguel…"

Shaking his head, Miguel said, "I know what you would say, but it doesn't matter what I should feel or what we should do. I only know that I want you just as much now as I did when I confessed my feelings. Maybe even more. You being my father doesn't disgust me or turn me off. It only makes everything clearer, including my feelings. I feel safe with you. I feel loved. Why wouldn't I want to pursue that?"

"It's wrong," his dad said gently. "You should find a nice boy to settle down with, not an old man like me."

"But you want me to move back in with you, don't you? And the way you look at me…Do you really want to see me with someone else?"

His dad looked away, but not before Miguel saw the pained expression on his face. Miguel waited, feeling his insides twist up with worry.

Quietly, his dad said, "I can't lose you, Miguel. If you are safe at home, I can breathe easier. There's a weight on my chest when I don't know where you are or if you are okay. But my needing that doesn't mean it's right. You should be on your own now, and I need to learn to live with that."

Miguel made a frustrated sound. "You don't have to! I want to be with you." He grabbed his dad's hand in both of his to make sure he had his attention. "You're still avoiding the obvious. Not once do you say that you don't love me back. Not once do you say you're not interested. I've seen the way you look at me. I haven't imagined that. If you really don't want to be with me, then stop with any talk of it being wrong or dangerous or what I should be doing instead. Tell me right now that you don't feel the same. Tell me that you don't want the same."

Miguel held tightly to his father's hand, anxious for the answer to his ultimatum. His father looked torn. "Miguel, I. . . "

There was nothing more. 

Miguel gentled his grip, caressing the strong hand in his hold. His dad simply watched what he was doing, making no move to pull away. Quietly, Miguel said, "Can you say the words?"

His dad took in an unsteady breath, their eyes meeting. Miguel had never seen such a look on his father's face before. His dad had to swallow twice before he said, "You know I love you."

"And do you desire me as well?" Miguel asked.

His dad looked down to where Miguel was caressing his hand. When he looked up again, there was such heat in his gaze that Miguel felt scorched by it. Caught, his dad immediately looked away. He pulled his hand away.

"It's wrong," he repeated, but it sounded hollow, less sure.

"What is wrong?" Miguel pushed, beginning to think there was something else going on with his dad. He had seen something like this before. He craned his head until he could catch his dad's eyes again. "Being with your son? Or being happy?"

His dad's eyes widened, and he again broke eye contact. Miguel's heart swelled with compassion. "Oh, Dad." He took his dad's hand again, now simply offering support. "This is about grandpa and Uncle Rick, isn't it?"

"It's not-"

"No, it is. I understand now. The accident that gave you powers? That's the same accident they died in, isn't it? All this time, you've been trying to live up to that loss. You lived and they didn't, and nothing you do makes up for that. But you don't have to make up for anything! It was a terrible accident, but that's all it is. You deserve to be happy, Dad."

Miguel could see the war in his dad's eyes growing, but also a crushing sadness that broke his heart.

"I've never deserved you," his dad said softly.

Miguel knew he couldn't touch that statement, even though he wanted to yell how untrue it was. Instead, he said, "And what do I deserve?"

"You deserve the world." So definitive, so quick—no doubt of any other answer from his dad.

"And if you are my world?" Miguel gently pushed.

His dad met his eyes, searching Miguel's in turn. Miguel couldn't guess what was going on in his head, but he could see something shaken there. Miguel thought he was wavering.

"I…"

Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a piercing alarm. "News alert: all devices. PowerStorm called to action," a voice broke into the radio at their booth. The screen turned bright red and then the words being spoken were mirrored in text. "Cities Security calling PowerStorm for active situation in Old City business district. Alert. Alert."

The alert repeated itself, not offering any concrete information more than that.

His dad looked annoyed. "Miguel, I…I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. If they're sending an alert, then it's serious. You need to go."

"This is important," his dad argued, looking torn. "I can't leave it like this."

"You aren't. We'll come back to this." Miguel offered a lop-sided smile. "We always do."

His dad still didn't look convinced. He still looked sad, and Miguel didn't want to leave it like this either. But his dad had taken up the responsibility of the Cities' defender, and responsibility was something he'd taught Miguel long ago.

Besides, it was clear they could both use a breather before diving back into this particular conversation. Miguel only hoped that on reflection his dad would see things his way.

Miguel squeezed his dad's hand. "I'll still be here when you're done. I'll always be here. You won't lose me. No matter what happens."

Miguel could see how deeply those words impacted his dad—how much he needed to hear them. His dad surprised him by taking the hand holding his and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of Miguel's hand. "It's not safe right now. Someone attacked you. I will go, but promise me you will go right home?"

"Yes. I just need to finish my drink, and then I will go home. I promise."

His dad hesitated but then nodded. He squeezed Miguel's hand, and then he sprinted for the door.

Miguel took in a long, shaky breath. For a long time, he sat where he was. Several things hit him at once. Again, the fact that his dad was PowerStorm. The man he'd loved for years was his dad. He had just urged him into a relationship. Miguel had gone on instinct, but now that he thought about it, he confronted the fact that everything he said was true. He wanted to be with his dad. He desired his dad.

More heartbreaking, his dad was still dealing with the trauma of losing his own dad and brother forty years ago. Miguel would do anything to ease that pain.

But tonight was not the night for that. Miguel's headache was gone, but he was still sore. He should go home and sleep, prepare for the next round with his dad.

Slipping out into the cool night air, Miguel decided to walk the blocks to his dad's house rather than catch a tram. He was still trying to clear his head, but he wasn't so completely distracted that he didn't hear the footsteps coming up behind him.

Miguel turned around abruptly, ready to catch whoever was following him. He hesitated in surprise when he saw the person was cloaked, a familiar bronze cast to the chin he could see peeking out from under the hood.

A cracked chin.

"Co-" Miguel began, but that was all as red lightning jumped from the figure's hand towards him. For the second time in one night, he was knocked out.

Chapter Text

Miguel woke up with a groan. Every part of him hurt, right down to the roots of his hair.

"Ah, finally with us," a familiar voice said, cold and mocking.

Miguel's couldn't chase that down right now. He was too busy trying to get his vision to focus, to keep his stomach from rebelling, to stop the floor from spinning. When all of that finally settled down, he found himself on a grated metal floor.

He shifted to sit up, and there was resistance on his left leg accompanied by a rattling sound. Miguel found his ankle shackled with a long chain attached to a metal loop in the grate.

The sight of it sharpened Miguel up. He remembered the attack. Eyes darting all around him to take in his surroundings, Miguel looked for his kidnapper.

"Who's there? Where am I?" he said, although he knew who it was. He just wanted to buy more time so he could figure out how to get out of here.

He couldn't quite make sense of his surroundings. It was a large, open space. The grate he had been left on was just big enough for him. The entire floor was marked with similar grates to the one he was on. All around them was a spider-web of sheathed wires that had clearly been added after the fact. The wires on the ground bunched into rope of cables climbing up the wall at four separate places. One slid into the wall below a glassed-in room. The wall below this—and indeed everywhere not covered in sensors or glass—was swathed in a golden mesh.

Behind him was solid rock. The place he was in had clearly been affixed to the stone itself. It was smooth at the very bottom—cut that way—but rocky and natural above. Miguel thought he could see a small room or cave high above him. A small, rough walkway led from this cave to a platform bolted into the wall. Miguel thought he could make out a control station of some sort on the platform. There was no ladder or obvious means to get to that area.

Below the platform was a raised area, about half Miguel's height, with a large crane. Its arm swung out over the floor Miguel was standing on. Lockers lined the wall behind it.

The wall opposite the platform was segmented in three parts. The center was occupied by a giant piece of equipment. To the right of the machinery was a wall divided right down the center from ceiling to floor. To the left was another wall of glass, but this was easily three times the size of the glassed-in room Miguel was standing under.

Beyond the glass was black. Miguel squinted hard, trying to see the stars or anything that might indicate where he was. The sudden dart of a large fish near the glass made him flinch, and he realized this building must be underwater.

"You are in the abandoned Cities Underwater Research and Development Complex," the voice said again.

Miguel's head swung around to the glassed-in room.  A light turned on, revealing a figure standing on the other side of the glass. The sight of him made Miguel's stomach tighten in dread. Same boots, same broad belt, same jacket, same cape, same familiar face. But the bronze skin was chipped and stained, a crack splitting his face in two.

"Copy," Miguel hissed. He recognized the figure as one of PowerStorm's most persistent villains—a failed military experiment trying to replicate PowerStorm's powers.

The villain's face twisted. "I'm not a copy!" he snapped. Red lightning flared around him, and all the wires on the floor around Miguel suddenly burst to life. The sheath insulating the wire folded back in an instant, leaving them exposed. Red lightning popped up, and Miguel was only saved from electrocution because he was standing just out of reach.

A crash behind him had him turning to see a large rock falling to the floor, the lightning crackling against the rock but not able to travel up it.

Miguel held his hands up in a placating gesture. "Okay, my mistake. PowerStorm."

Copy's glare turned cool, doubtless weighing Miguel's sincerity. But the lightning died down, and the sheaths once again wrapped around the wires. The feel of static in the air also dissipated.

"You best not anger me. Your use to me is limited."

"And what use is that?" Miguel asked, not trying to provoke. He continued to look around him. A research complex? The divided wall was likely a door. The room must be an entry to the ocean somehow, not just for people, but likely for a large submersible. There was no sign of any such thing at the moment, but the more Miguel looked around, the more supported this theory.

Copy pressed his hands on the glass and leaned closer. "You are a stroke of luck, Miguel." Miguel stopped looking around at the sound of his name, alarmed that Copy knew it. "I have been watching the imposter for years, looking for a weakness. And lo, there you were! Every robot I sent, grid-overload I engineered, disaster I planned, the imposter was whisking you to safety before he ever focused on the dangers I provided."

"He does that for a lot of people," Miguel argued.

"Wrong place at the wrong time?" Copy smiled, but it was eerily empty. It was so disturbing to look at Copy. Miguel had never had cause to meet him before, but he really did look exactly like PowerStorm—a twisted mirror version of him, at least.

"I entertained the idea—the imposter certainly wastes his time rescuing every pathetic weakling that crosses his path. You certainly crossed his path more often than most. And then I caught your exchange when my robots were attacking Old City. A meet up. I was sure he couldn't possibly show up—what could he see worth his time in you—but he did! What a ripe opportunity you presented me. I just had to test it."

"You left me in the warehouse," Miguel said, seeing that everything that had happened of late was Copy's doing.

"Yes, and the experiment performed wonderfully. The imposter came. He saved you. I can put you in harm's way over and over again, and watch him dance to my tune." Copy laughed, but it reminded Miguel of Damage. There was a hint of static in his voice, a buzz to his syllables that was too electronic to be human.

"He's going to dance now. I've sent him an invitation. I expect him any moment now."

Miguel's stomach dropped. "Why can't you leave him alone? What does it matter if there are two PowerStorms?"

"Because he's a fake!" Copy yelled, punching a fist against the glass hard enough to crack it. "No one takes me seriously when he's around. But I'll show them all. I'll show them that I'm superior! Then they'll have to listen to me. They'll respect me."

His large eyes—a semblance of PowerStorm's goggles but welded on his face—glowed bright red as he spoke. Miguel had never encountered madness before. He knew that something had gone wrong with Copy right from the start. There had been a training exercise, and Copy had used lethal force even though it shouldn't have been possible. A bug in the system. A bug that could not be corrected.

In all the dangerous situations Miguel had found himself, he didn't think he had ever felt as unsafe as he did in this moment.

Before he could respond, the entire complex shook. More rocks fell down from the wall behind him.

Copy's demeanor changed like a lightswitch had been flipped. "Ah, just in time."

An instant later, PowerStorm burst into the room where Copy was waiting. "Where is he?" he demanded.

"So glad you could join us," Copy said, unperturbed to have an angry superhero so suddenly in front of him.

"I'm warning you-" PowerStorm began. White lightning danced from his fingers.

"Careful," Copy said. This time, Miguel could see the progression of the lightning from the cables going up the walls down to the wires surrounding him. All the lights in the complex noticeably dimmed as white lightning flared up all around him. He felt a little zap from the tiniest arc of electricity just by standing too close, and he gasped in pain. "You don't want to cook him."

PowerStorm finally saw Miguel. Immediately, he banked his lightning and the wires again were sheathed. The lights came back up to full power. "Miguel!" he called. He moved so fast that Miguel could not see him approach the glass. He couldn't see Copy move either. Suddenly, both were just in different places. PowerStorm had tried to get to Miguel; Copy had intercepted him.

"Uh-uh-uh," Copy said, wagging his finger. Red lightning danced from his other hand, which ended up dancing all around Miguel. Miguel kept as still as possible, trying to keep away from the dangerous lightning.

PowerStorm backed up a step, attention turning to Copy. "What do you want?"

"The great imposter brought low. I knew you couldn't be the original, and now here is the proof. Your weakness!" Copy flung his hand behind him towards Miguel. There was such glee in his voice, and it took all of Miguel's self-control to keep silent.

"Fine, you've made your point. Let him go," PowerStorm said.

"Now why would I do that? Not when I have you where I want you." Copy pointed to the cables of wires. "These are everywhere in this complex. Use any bit of electricity and it all goes down there. If you try to fry me, your pet human will feel it."

To punctuate his point, he again flared his own red lightning. It was a small display, likely to conserve energy. Miguel knew that Copy had two batteries; his core battery was buried deep inside his body, but the one solely for lightning was hidden under his cape where it was attached to his back. It was a pale imitation of the kind of power PowerStorm could unleash. That fact alone had meant any straight contest between them always favored PowerStorm.

But in terms of speed and strength alone… Miguel wasn't sure who would win. That was clearly what Copy was trying to achieve here—hobbling PowerStorm by forcing him not to use his lightning.

"Lightning or not, I can still beat you," PowerStorm said. Miguel could hear the quiet menace in his words, and it made him shiver. He knew that tone. That was not a tone to be messed with.

Copy apparently did not catch the danger. "We'll certainly see. But why don't we make things even more interesting, shall we?"

He pushed a button on his arm. Suddenly losing his balance, Miguel looked down to see what had changed. Water bubbled up from beneath the grate, quickly flooding the area around him. He looked in alarm at the wires, but the sheaths around them seemed to be water proof.

His eyes snapped up to his dad, and he could see that PowerStorm came to the same realization that he did.

"One little zap," Copy said, gleefully. "And it's all over for him. But wait too long, and he'll be a goner anyhow."

The flow increased, forcing Miguel closer to the wires just to keep upright against the force of the water. He would've tried stepping over them but the chain kept him near the grate.

Water poured out of the other grates too, and the room was quickly ankle deep and filling fast.

"Exciting, isn't it?" Copy said with a cackle.

PowerStorm reacted instantly, hitting Copy hard on the side of his head with one hand while grabbing for the battery on his back with the other. Miguel could see the logic with that. No matter how the battle went, if Copy could still generate electricity on his own, then Miguel was in danger. Of course, PowerStorm would go for that first.

It left him open to a counterstrike. Copy growled, punching PowerStorm so hard that he flew backwards. Miguel heard something hit hard but he couldn't see what happened. Copy quickly followed, and they were both lost from view.

The sound of fighting continued, but Miguel couldn't worry about that. He had to find a way out of this. One blast from his dad could end this, but he was being forced to fight at a disadvantage because Miguel was in danger. He was going to be off-balanced, worried about Miguel. This was the thing he'd always feared. Not only was Miguel very worried about his own life, but he was just as worried about his dad.

He shook his head, trying to focus. He couldn't do any good worrying. Crouching down, he tested the chain holding him in place. It was thick; there wasn't any hope that he could free himself with brute force from any of the links or the shackle on his ankle.

The metal loop looked hopeful for a little while. It was clearly used to pull the grate up. It looked like he could maybe bend it or twist it or something. Maybe he could free the grate itself?

Everything was locked down. The grate was tightly secured from below. The loop was well attached. Ordinary strength wasn't going to free him, and the water was getting higher and higher. It was already waist-high and only getting deeper.

The chain apparently a dead-end, Miguel again looked around him. His eyes zeroed in on the equipment near the outer door. It took him a minute to realize that it must be a giant pump. Of course this area had to have a way to pump out the water!

Miguel studied as best he could, his gaze finally settling on a pipe that looked out of place by a large wheel on the side of the machine. It was wedged in there, and Miguel wondered if that might not be an emergency override wheel. If he could turn the machine on, then he could pump the water out.

Then again, if he could get to the machine, he should be able to get away from the wires.

Or maybe not? Miguel looked around but he could not spot an exit. Perhaps there was something behind all that gold mesh?

Miguel began to feel panic clawing at his throat. The water was so high now that he was forced to tread water. The chain made that extremely difficult but he was managing. Not much longer and the water would be higher than the length of the chain. Try as he might, he couldn't keep the idea at bay.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a tremendous crash as something smashed into the glass above him where Copy and PowerStorm were fighting. Whatever it was fell into the water with such force that the water did not stop it. It bounced on the floor a few times and then collided with the wall of glass, where it was stopped.

One of those bounces was perilously close to Miguel. It caught his chain for a moment, pulling him under the water. He came up with a sputter, coughing out water. He saw that what had bounced was a giant metal support beam, twisted into a semblance of a ball. A sharp corner of it struck the glass, leaving a crack, and then it fell to the ground with a thud. Miguel watched it worriedly, but the glass was clearly stronger than it looked. It continued to hold the ocean out.

Miguel looked to where the ball had come from. He thought he could see shadows moving, the sounds of battle a little louder now that the glass there had been blown out. PowerStorm did not follow the balled up metal, if indeed he had been responsible for it. Miguel was still on his own.

Kicking out to keep treading water, Miguel thought he felt more give in the chain. He looked down, and he saw the grate was now bent in half. Taking a deep breath, he ducked under the water to find one of the bolts holding the loop in place had come loose in the impact. The loop was now loose.

Miguel came up for air. The length of the chain made this barely possible, and he knew it was now or never if he was going to survive.

He took as deep a breath as he could before the water closed over his head, and swam down to the floor. He grabbed hold of the chain with both hands, bracing his feet on the floor and pulled with all his might. The loop gave a little but still held on stubbornly.

Miguel's lungs burned, and his vision began to double, but he kept the pressure up. When the loop finally came loose, Miguel was sent backwards in a tumble.

Desperately, he swam to the surface, and gasped for breath. His immediate danger was past, but the room was still filling with water. Eventually, the doors would open to the open ocean. Miguel needed to stop this.

Struggling against the currents caused by the water, Miguel caught the end of the chain in one hand, and began to swim towards the pump. It was almost entirely submerged now, including the wheel.

In a repeat of his actions to free himself from the loop, Miguel swam down to the equipment and struggled with the wedged bar to free the override and then with the wheel itself. It took him a few tries but he finally managed to power through. The pump lurched to life, and Miguel was only barely able to keep his chain—as well as himself—from being sucked into the intake.

The water stopped rising, but the duel pumping in and out meant that the area was not draining very fast. Miguel needed to find a way to stop the flooding, and he needed somewhere to rest. He was already exhausted from the diving and swimming, the chain heavy on him.

Spotting the platform, Miguel was relieved to see that the water was still just about level with it, although the waterline was now falling. He swam across the room and crawled onto it just before the water lowered too much for him to be able to reach the platform floor.

Just as he thought he'd finally caught a break, there was another mighty crack. He turned to see the fracture in the glass split wide and the entire glass panel burst open as the ocean rushed in.

Miguel watched it in horror, fearful that the whole glass wall would give way. The water poured in at an alarming rate but the rest of the glass wall held. Miguel realized that whoever built this place wouldn't have put a glass wall in unless there were redundancies in place to make sure it could hold the ocean back, even if it was damaged. That also meant there were likely fail-safes Miguel could use to fix this.

Time was running even shorter now. Miguel looked around, finding he was right about the control station on the platform. It was waterproofed, designed to work no matter what. Miguel quickly scanned the controls, hoping for something simple.

There wasn't a giant red button with "stop" written on it or anything like that, but Miguel had been around machines his whole life. He didn't have his father's knack for fixing things, but he had been taught the basics. Pushing buttons and flipping switches, he figured out there was a force field that could be activated to push the water away while a massive metal barrier could be slotted into place before the glass wall.

When Miguel finally figured out how to activate the field, his joy was short-lived. The field was clearly a massive energy drain. All the lights dimmed while the field struggled to activate and the barrier rose with agonizing slowness. The force field sputtered, not quite able to stop the ocean all at once.

That was not the worrying part. The worrying part was the massive use of energy was picked up by the wires on the bottom of the floor. Suddenly, the water was electrified, and it was once again rising higher and higher.

Miguel grabbed his chain where it lay on the platform floor, and quickly wrapped it around his leg so that it would not fall into the water. With nowhere else to go, he ran for the rock and the precarious walkway leading up to the cave. It felt like the water rose with him, overtaking the platform floor and continuing to submerge the walkway behind Miguel.

He had just passed into the cave-room when there was suddenly a blast so bright and powerful that he was thrown forward. Miguel hit hard, jarring his arms all the way to his shoulders when he fell.

Rocks rained down on him, and he instinctively curled into a little ball to protect himself.

"Miguel? Miguel!"

The world finally stopped moving. Miguel's ears were ringing, and it took him a moment to shake away the disorientation.

"Miguel!"

The frantic call of his name echoed in his ears. Groaning, he muttered a complaint in the form of, "Dad…" as he slowly unfurled and shifted to sit.

There was a blast of air from the cave-room opening, and then a figure was standing before him. Miguel squinted, curling back up protectively. For a moment, he couldn't make out who it was. The light fell from behind, leaving the figure in shadow. Was it PowerStorm or Copy?

Then the figure stepped forward, and there was no mistake. Miguel was still taken aback by what he saw. Never in his life had he seen his father look as terrible as he did now. His bronze skin was ashen in color, his expression one of anguish. His dad looked shaken to his very core.

"Miguel?" He said it as a whisper.

"Dad."

As if the sound of his voice broke a spell, his dad threw himself forward with a choked sound. Miguel was gathered up in a strangling hug. He could feel his dad was shaking.

"It's okay. It's okay," he said, understanding immediately that his dad had thought he'd died. The dimming lights. The length of time.

A quick check over his dad's shoulder showed the water receding, so Miguel focused on his dad without worry. He held back as tightly as he could, letting his hands run over his dad's strong frame in a bid to soothe him. His dad had buried his head in Miguel's neck, and he didn't look like he was going to let go any time soon.

"I'm safe. It's over now." Miguel did not know if these things were true, but it certainly felt like they could be. He was with his dad now. He had always felt safe with his dad, even before he learned his dad was an invincible superhero.

"I thought I lost you," his dad whispered into his neck.

Miguel's heart broke for him. "I know. But you didn't. I'm right here. I'm okay."

He said the words over and over again. For the longest time, his father's embrace did not waver in the least. There was such desperation in his hold, and it finally hit Miguel just how devastating it would be for his father to lose him.

"Dad?" Miguel said when the shaking finally stopped and he thought he could reach out to him.

With obvious reluctance, his dad finally sat back. He did not let Miguel go—he seemed incapable of that—but Miguel could finally look his dad in the eye. Miguel was surprised to see his dad was without his customary goggles. The light in his eyes was dimmed, his expression still so shaken.

But he pulled himself together. Gently, he cupped Miguel's cheek. Miguel could feel his fingers were trembling. "I almost lost you. It was so close."

"Yeah," Miguel reluctantly agreed. He had pushed his ordeal to the side at the unexpected return of his dad, but now it seeped back in. He'd come so close to drowning, so close to electrocution. A shiver of that terror raced up his spine.

Whatever his dad saw in his expression seemed to shake him loose of his own fear. He grabbed Miguel in another bear hug, this one meant to comfort Miguel. Miguel sank into the embrace. For a minute, he was assailed with all the emotions and memories of what happened. His dad was an anchor, and Miguel gratefully held on.

"Is he gone?" Miguel finally asked.

"Yes." There was something vicious to his dad's tone, something Miguel had never before heard. "Copy won't be hurting anyone again."

"I guess you were right." Miguel's tone was dull. "It is too dangerous."

"No." His dad sat back, gently cupping Miguel's cheek. "No, I was wrong. I see that now."

"How can you say that? The warehouse was Copy's doing. He kidnapped me for the sole reason of being bait for you. He used me to hobble you in a fight. I am a liability." Miguel was heartsore just thinking about it. What if a more capable villain did what Copy did? His dad's life was at real risk, all because of Miguel.

"No!" The firmness of his tone took Miguel aback. His father's fierce expression softened, and he looked at Miguel with that achingly tender expression of his. "You are my everything, Miguel. There is no fight in me if you are gone. You are my reason to keep going. You see me better than anyone else."

Miguel let out a humorless laugh. "I didn't see you were a superhero, and you're not that subtle."

"Why should you think I was a superhero? But that's not what I meant. What I mean is that you looked at PowerStorm, and you saw the man beneath. You were right about me. I am still haunted by losing my father and brother, and maybe I do take that out on myself. I've never felt worthy of you. But I do want you. I shouldn't, but I don't care about that now. If it makes you happy, that's all that matters."

"Not all the matters." Miguel pressed his hand over his dad's on his cheek. "You matter too. I want to be with you—more than anything I've ever wanted—but not if it's out of a sense of obligation. I don't want you to put my needs before your own. I want you to be happy."

"No one makes me as happy as you do," his dad said quietly. His eyes were soft with affection. "And I'm not sacrificing anything. I thought I was protecting you by refusing what you offered, but I was only hurting us both. No more. Miguel, if you want a relationship with me, you can have it."

Miguel hesitated. There was a part of him that was screaming that this wasn't the right time. His dad was clearly frightened by the close call. It felt like taking advantage of that.

But Miguel looked into his dad's eyes, and there was no faking the love there. When Miguel was with PowerStorm, it had always felt so right. Miguel had trusted his instincts so far; he decided to trust them a little further.

"I want you," he said simply.

Gently, his father tugged him forward, and Miguel went. He closed his eyes when he felt his father's lips against his own.

It should be weird, but it wasn't. Miguel made a noise of interest, pressing closer. He clung to his father, who pulled him onto his lap as he deepened the kiss. Miguel was dizzy when they finally pulled apart to breathe.

"Come home with me," his dad finally said. "Damage misses you."

That startled a laugh out of Miguel. He pressed a gentler kiss to his dad's lips, and it seemed to delight his dad. "I'll move back in, but only if it's to share a bed with you."

His dad smiled. It was a genuine smile, unburdened by secrets or losses. Miguel looked at it in wonder. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

There were more kisses, but Miguel was exhausted. He just wanted to get away from this place.

His dad seemed to understand. With his bare hands, he broke the shackle and threw away the chain. Then he gently lifted Miguel up into his arms, and took him home.

The End