Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Your name is Victoria Dallon, and you have a choice to make.

It all started a few weeks ago, when you were waiting for your sister to finish healing people in the hospital. You were walking through the halls to pick her up, when you overheard something from one of the patient rooms.

"But Dad never--he never yelled at me. I mean, how can he abusive if--"

"It's... a known pattern among some abusers. There's the golden child that can do no wrong, and the scapegoat that never does anything right. It doesn't matter what they actually do, in their eyes, it's just how they label their kids. Makes it easier to manipulate them."

You moved on quickly, picking up Amy with a smile, but the words stuck with you. They echoed when you got back home, and Mom berated Amy for staying out late--even though it was you who decided that Amy deserved a stop by the pizza place for all her hard work. They echoed even louder when you point it out, and Mom somehow twisted it into Amy taking advantage of you.

You didn't get much sleep that night. Well, you weren't able to sleep at all, actually, but your sister noticed and used her power to detox you before school.

God, how many times has she done that? You're grateful, of course, but looking back on it...

The whole thing was bothering you enough for your boyfriend to notice (which, admittedly, isn't saying a lot considering who he is). You tried to brush it off as home troubles, he tried to get you to open up, you thought he was being pushy, he thought you were being stubborn, you had an argument and broke up again and god damn it you're just now realizing that's another way you're a horrible person.

It's understandable though, right? Nobody wants to outright say their parents are.... Like, yeah, you know now, but back then you didn't want to believe...

You take a deep, shuddering breath, holding yourself as you float in your room.

Of course you did your research. You're impulsive, not stupid. Well, okay, maybe you're a little stupid. How else could you have missed all the signs for so fucking long? You've heard about frogs in boiling pots... The point is, you looked into all the books on psychological abuse, and found a disturbingly familiar pattern forming. You did some careful tests of your own, pushing Mom and checking her reactions. You checked the boxes, crossed the t's, dotted the i', and...

Well. There it was. Black and white.

It was horrifying, seeing it spelled out like that.

You take another deep breath. "Mom... my mom..."

You still don't want to say it. You know it's true, but you still don't want to say it.

Even here, in the privacy of your room, with nobody else but yourself, you're struggling to say it.

God, you're pathetic--

No.

You take another breath. You're not pathetic. Ignorant, arrogant, maybe the worst big sister to ever walk the planet, but you are not fucking pathetic. You are Glory Girl. You're an Alexandria package--flight, super strength, durability. You've smashed through walls, deflected bullets with a wave, punched nazis in the face, and lived through multiple cape fights. Hell, you've even been there for a few Endbringer fights... well, okay, you've helped clean up after a few Endbringer fights, but that's still something. You are awesome. You are a hero. You...

...you can admit this.

You can say it.

You have to say it.

You take a breath, holding yourself tight.

"My... mother... is..."

You wrench your eyes shut.

"My mother... is an abuser."

The words hang there, barely whispered in your moonlit room. You feel guilty for even saying them. You feel ashamed you never said them before.

You drift onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. Amy doesn't deserve what your mom--...what Carol does to her. It's not physical. It's worse than physical. And you just sat by and let it happen for years...

Your name is Victoria Dallon, and you have a choice to make.

You love your sister. You love her fiercely, and you want so desperately to make her happy, but... now that you've finally admitted the truth, you have to acknowledge that's not possible in this house. Not with Mom--with Carol still here. God, why didn't you see it before...?

Maybe it has something to do with how Mo--how she is a lawyer. She knows how to say things, how to make anything sound reasonable. She's trained for it. You're just her teenage daughter... you could make a lot of excuses. Of course her being a lawyer makes this all more complicated than it already is. She probably already knows all the legal options, so she'll be ready for them.

And then there's the whole Pancea thing. Amy's a healer. She's the healer, really--famous for all the work she's done during Endbringer attacks, for her sessions at the hospital, for... for being able to cure cancer with a touch. Which means the situation is even more complicated, because there's no way people aren't going to notice you doing... whatever you're planning to do.

That's another thing, you don't really have a plan for this. You're seventeen! You should be worrying about boys, thinking about fashion, maybe considering what you want to do with your future seriously--well, you know, if you weren't obviously going to be a hero. You always thought you'd be in New Wave for life, but... well, you thought New Wave was family. Now you can't think that.

You can't let yourself think that.

It all boils down to one key point, though. You have to save your sister. You have to. There's no way you could live with yourself if you didn't... stop this. If you didn't make sure she could just live her life. There's no way you could call yourself a hero if you stood aside while this sort of shit was happening in your own home.

The question isn't whether you'll save Amy.

The question is how.

The moonlight falls across your expression as it shifts to hard resolve. Your name is Victoria Dallon, and you have a choice to make.

What do you choose?

Chapter Text

You wake up with determination. Today is the day you're going to figure out how to fix everything.

On your way out of the house, you stop to deliberately hug Amy. She stiffens in your grasp for some reason--oh god, Mom never hugs her does she?!--but you hold her close and promise you'll make everything alright. You can tell she doesn't believe you from the look she shoots you, which... is fair, really, given how much of a mess your lives have been up till now. Still, you meant it. You're going to get your sister out of this hellhole of a home. Soon.

You ruminate on the issue all through school, going through your classes on automatic. You need help. You need advice. You can't just punch your mom in the face--well, you can, but that wouldn't solve anything. So you have to talk to somebody about this. You consider talking to your aunt Sarah for a moment, before you remember that she's mom's sister and you know from personal experience just how biased sisters can be. You're pretty sure she'd just tell your m... that she'd tell Carol, and then things would just get worse.

But... your cousin Crystal knows how to keep a secret. She caught you with your boyfriend once--and she just rolled her eyes, tossed you a condom, and walked away. She's chill like that, which is kind of exactly what you need. And she's nineteen--old enough to be a legal adult but not so old that she'll think you're just being a melodramatic teenager. The more you think about it, the more obvious the choice becomes. After school, you shoot Crystal a text saying you want to meet up somewhere relatively private. Which of course means you have to wear...

THE DISGUISE JACKET.

It's black. It's broody. It's got pockets and a hood. It's edgy as fuck, i.e. the exact sort of thing you don't normally wear. Nobody would connect the cheerful paragon that is Glory Girl with this jacket, so clearly the teenager with slumped shoulders stomping down the street is not Victoria Dallon. It's absolutely foolproof.

"Oh," says Crystal when she sees you. "Didn't know we were going clandestine. Lucky I came in civvies."

You frown at her smirk. "This is serious."

"Of course." Crystal leans back, taking a sip of her coffee.

"...Mom's an abuser."

Crystal chokes on her coffee for a moment. She manages to recover quickly, looking around before lowering her voice. "What, she--is she hitting you?"

"No, it's not like that. And it's not me, it's Amy--" You take a breath. "Look, I heard something about how some abusive parents... they'll have the golden child, and the scapegoat. I'm the golden child, she's the scapegoat. And I did check, you know, I did the research and made sure I wasn't just... seeing things. I made a list. I checked boxes. And mom... Carol is fitting all the prereqs. She's always putting Amy down, never acknowledging the good she does as enough, it's... I'd call it bullying, but it's worse than that."

"...shit, you're not joking."

"Crystal I wouldn't joke about something like this--!"

"No, you're right, you're right, sorry. It's just..." Crystal waves her hand vaguely. "I never expected something like this. Mom--my mom, she's not like that at all. We have our squabbles in the house, sure, but they're mostly over finances, not... this. It's a big bomb to just drop on me, Vicky!"

"Well how do you think I feel?" you growl. "I mean I only... I'm her sister, I should have seen this before. No, I did see it, I just... didn't want to. And now--"

You take a breath.

"Crystal, I need to help Amy. I need to get her out of there, away from Carol. I just... I don't know how I should do that."

Your cousin takes another sip of her coffee.

"...Foster care is right out," she starts. "People like to adopt kids, not teens, and that's assuming the best of intent. Plus this is Brockton Bay, if friggin' Pancea gets on the market she'll probably be snatched up by Kaiser or something. And that's all assuming you can make your case, aunt Carol's a lawyer after all."

You solemnly nod.

"...She could move in with us," Crystal offers. "It'd be a stretch on the finances, but--"

"No." You shake your head. "I love aunt Sarah, don't get me wrong, but she's still Carol's sister. I... I can't trust her to be level-headed about this."

"Well that rules out uncle Mike too," Crystal mutters. "I... guess you could maybe get your dad to divorce aunt Carol and hope Amy winds up in his care, but..."

You wince, but nod. "Yeah, Dad's... not in a good place. Maybe things wouldn't have gotten so bad if..." You trail off.

"...There is the option of getting yourself emancipated," Crystal muses. "Then you could move out with Amy yourself. Of course, you'd have to get a place and your own income, and... I don't know how long it would take."

You slump in your chair. "So there's no real choice, huh?"

"Well... there's not many legal options, but..."

Crystal trails off as you look up, horrified. "What? Crystal, what are you saying?"

She sighs, taking a deep swig of her coffee and looking you straight in the eye. "Vicky, the law's not some sort of paragon code. It's riddled with the touch of greedy corps, bigoted politicians, and outdated traditions. It's not necessarily evil, but it's not necessarily good, either."

"The law is there to keep society from falling apart!" you insist. "I mean... even besides just the obvious 'don't be a dick' laws, there are speed limits! Taxation to fund road construction! Laws to prevent tinkertech exploitation!"

"Vicky, do you honestly think society will fall apart if Amy runs away from home?"

You... take a breath. "No. Maybe the hospital would be a little pressured, but... are you saying we should run away?"

"That's one option," Crystal allows. "Another is... making Carol not a problem."

"...Please tell me you're not saying what I think you're saying," you whisper, queasily.

"Locking her up somewhere on trumped up charges?"

"Oh thank god. I thought you were advocating murder for a second there."

Crystal shrugs. "Nah. You'd have to hide the body, and that's way too hard."

"Crystal!"

Crystal smirks dryly. "Anyway, if you do run away, you should have a plan of some sort. Somewhere to run to. And... as much as I hate to say it, you might want to think about splitting up with Amy."

"What?!" You almost stand. "But--"

"Look, if you both run away you'll be easier to track. If you... get her somewhere, on her own... Carol can't get to her through you."

You bite your lip. "I... I knew there wouldn't be a simple solution, but just... abandoning her--"

"I'm not saying you should. I'm just... looking over all the options." Crystal rolled her hand. "At least all the options I can think of. I'm guessing just running interference and making sure Carol can't talk to Amy isn't an option."

"Even if it was, it doesn't undo everything she's already done." You sigh. "Hell, getting Amy out of there doesn't undo it all. It's just... a first step. Barely even that, a vague goal."

"It's still a start. And... hey." Crystal takes your hand. "You'll have my support, yeah? For whatever you plan to do."

You smile gratefully. "Thanks. Really, Crystal."

"It's not a problem. This kind of shit--it's serious." She takes a breath. "Right... let's make a plan."

You smile at your sister as she enters the hospital lobby. "Hey Ames! How was work?"

"Ups and downs. There was this one girl from Winslow, somebody stuffed her in a locker for a few hours..." Amy looks at you oddly. "Don't you usually pick me up outside?"

"I got here early," you say, hiding your worry behind a mask of casual chill.

You spent a long time with Crystal perfecting your plan. Covering all the details you could, thinking it over. Now that you know what you're going to do, you're even more nervous than ever.

But one look at your sister's tired face and slumped shoulders steels your resolve. You are going to do this.

Chapter Text

Your plan...

...is to actually talk with your sister.

Which, fuck, you should have done that before talking with Crystal, because this whole thing revolves around Amy and you can't exactly leave her out of the plans you're making for her life. That would make you as bad as Carol herself. Amy is not a hurt little puppy that can't take care of herself without your help, she is a thinking human being... that can't take care of herself without your help but that's not her fault.

"Say, you want to get some pizza?" you ask casually.

"Not really."

"Burgers?"

"Eh."

"...literally anything that'll give us a chance to have a serious talk before we head straight home?" you try, more directly.

Amy rolls her eyes. "Fine. Ice cream or something."

You fly to an ice cream parlor, smiling at the crowd (and the phones pointed out). There's a table in the corner, so after you order something light for yourself and extra indulgent for Amy--she blushes a bit for some reason--you head over and check around to make sure nobody's listening in. Just the usual social media posters, it looks like.

"So what is it you wanted to talk about?" Amy asks.

You take a moment to consider what to say.

"...There's... a lot. But first of all, I want to say... I'm sorry."

Amy narrows her eyes.

"I'm sorry we're having this talk now, instead of years ago. I'm sorry I ignored the signs for so long. I'm sorry I let you suffer, Amy, and--and I don't think I can ever make it up to you, all those years of--"

"Stop," Amy says. If it were any louder, it would be a whimper.

You can't help but wince.

She takes a breath. And a few bites of her ice cream. Then she sighs, long and low.

"...What is this about?" she asks, voice trembling.

You lower your gaze. "It's... about how Mom--how Carol treats you."

"Oh." You can hear the frustration in her voice. "That."

"I know I've been--I've been a terrible sister, I should have stepped in years ago--"

"Vicky, just..." Amy sighs again, rubbing her forehead like she has a headache. "God, you're an idiot."

"I know--"

"No, you don't. You really don't."

You cringe. "I'm sorry. Really."

Amy's next sigh is long and exasperated, and she glowers at you for a moment. "Well, whatever, you may be an idiot but you're my idiot."

You manage to huff a small smile. "...fair enough."

"Look, I know Carol's a little harsh," Amy continues, "but with everything going on it's only fair."

"Amy--"

"I mean, her work, her husband, you constantly smashing through walls--do you know how much it costs to fix that?"

"Amy, none of that justifies how she treats you," you insist.

"No, it's fine, Vicky. I deserve it."

You gape at her in horror. "Amy... no."

Amy looks at you for a moment. Then she groans. "Look, I'm dangerous. I need somebody watching me like Carol does. You--" She looks carefully around the restaurant, before lowering her voice. "You know what I could do if I wanted."

You shake your head. "You could change people's brains, yeah. And I could smash apart an orphanage. And M--Carol, she could break into somebody's home and try to kill them."

"Vicky--"

"And Squealer could be a pizza delivery girl, Hookwolf could be some sort of metal dance artist, Lung could be out there fighting S-Class threats! It's not what we can do that makes us good or evil, Ames. It's what we choose to do."

"It's different for me."

"No, it isn't."

"I'm not a good person--"

"Why, cause you're tempted?"

Amy winces.

"Yeah, I figured." You wave your arm around. "Brockton Bay. We've got nazis, druggies, and one bad dragon, and that's before you throw in all the normal shit that has to happen to make parahumans. I get it, Amy--it would be easy to make the world better if we just tweaked Kaiser's mind, no matter how horrible it would be. Hell, you could fix probably fix Dad's depression."

"Vicky..."

"Do you know how much I want to punch Carol in the face?" You curl your fist. "After everything she's done to you? A pretty red smear down the driveway--"

"Vicky no!"

"I'm tempted, Amy. Does that make me a bad person?"

You can see the way your sister makes the connections, especially after she frowns. "It's different," she insists, but she's looking down.

"...Amy." You take her hands in yours. "Repeat after me. 'I am a good person.'"

"Vicky--"

"Say it."

Amy rolls her eyes. "'I am a good person.'"

"'I have a dangerous power...'"

"Ugh. 'I have a dangerous power.'"

"'...that I use to help people...'"

"'...that I use to help people...'"

"'...and not to harm them.'"

"'....and not to harm them.'"

"'I know I am a good person, because even though I am tempted...'"

"Vicky--"

"Say iiiit...."

Amy groans. "'I know I am a good person, because even though I am tempted,'" she drones.

"'I choose not to do what is wrong, and choose to do what is right.'"

Your sister is quiet for a moment.

"Amy..."

"Fine, whatever. 'I choose not to do what is wrong, and choose to do what is right.'"

You nod firmly. "We'll work on it. Every night, until you believe that."

"Fuck you," Amy says wearily, pulling her hands out of yours. "I don't need to."

You frown, but... well, admittedly, you are not a therapist. Maaaaaybe you're pressing too hard. Or maybe not hard enough. You don't know.

So you decide to change the topic. "Bringing this back around, what Carol is doing to you is wrong." You hold up a hand to cut her off. "Seriously, Ames. Would you let her do it to anybody else?"

"...Yes," Amy quips, but the roll of her eyes and small smile lets you know you're winning at least a little. "I think you need a little humility," she needles.

"Eh, only a little." You smile back at her, for a moment, before going back to your serious face. "The point is we need to get you out of that situation. It's not good for you."

"Vicky--"

"No, Amy. No matter how much you may think you deserve it, that is poison that Carol's put into your head and I can not stand by and let it set."

"Really. What changed?"

You flinch at the venom in her voice, but don't break your gaze. "I... admitted to it. I admitted it to myself. To Mo--to Carol being... you know..."

Your voice falls. "...abusive. To you."

"Just now."

"Not--Amy..." You sigh. "Amy. It's... hard, admitting the world isn't what it's supposed to be. I always thought... I don't know... that was normal. And even when I realized it wasn't, I thought maybe it was normal for capes, and..." You sigh. "God, Amy, I'm seventeen. I'm supposed to be thinking about boys and grades, not admitting my mother is a villain!"

You take her hand again. "I'm sorry it took me so long. I'm sorry I was complicit in all that. But even just saying that isn't enough. Not for me, and definitely not for you. This needs to change... but it's you that's going to be most affected. So I need to hear what you want. We need to talk about this, before we do anything."

Amy is quiet for a moment.

"...I'm tired."

"...like, right now, or--?"

"No, more..." Amy waves her hand vaguely. "I'm tired of healing countless people who aren't on death's door. I'm tired of staying on the sidelines and not making my own decisions." She narrows her eyes. "I'm tired of healing up the people you hurt so you don't go to jail for manslaughter." You wince, but she goes on. "I'm tired of... being Panacea, I guess. I still want to save people, do good, but... it's exhausting, Vicky. I don't... I don't know how long I can go on."

"...Okay, first of all, I promise I will go easier on the bad guys from now on--"

"You sure you can hold yourself back?"

"I'll... try to go easier on the bad guys from now on," you correct yourself. "Because holy shit, Amy, you should have said something earlier--"

"Would you have listened?"

You wince. "....mmmmmmaybe?"

Amy rolls her eyes.

"...I, uh... had an idea I wanted to toss at you," you offer. "About getting you away from Carol--"

"Right."

"--which I admit doesn't solve everything but it's kind of the priority right now."

Your sister eats another bite of her sundae, gesturing for you to go on.

"I thought we could confront her about... the abuse. Record what happens--maybe secretly, but you know. Evidence, for... a trial, or something...?"

Amy stares at you flatly. "Do you really think that a lawyer would say anything that could get her in trouble in a court case?"

You sigh. "Maybe not. But... like if we spread it online, or something--"

"No." Amy shakes her head. "Carol does too much for the cape scene to try to throw her under the bus. Getting her arrested means the E88 has more leverage in the legal scene. A lawyer that can stand up to super-powered nazis in court is more important than justice for a few mean words."

"Amy, they're not just mean words--"

"That's not the point, Vicky!"

You bite your lip. "Okay. Okay. But we need to get you away from Carol."

"You're not going to let this go, are you."

"Nope," you say, crossing your arms.

Amy sighs. She's been doing that a lot. "...my fucking hero. Alright, so I guess we should make a plan or something."

"Yeah, that's a good call."

"So, aside from that dumbass 'record the crime' idea you have, what other options are there?"

You smirk grimly. "Well... Crystal and I talked about it--"

"Holy shit, you talked to Crystal about this?!"

"Well, yeah. I mean, she's--she's not going to rat us out to Mom or aunt Sarah, and she's definitely smarter than me and--"

Amy groans, putting her head in her hands.

"I should have talked to you first," you admit. "I mean, yeah, I was panicking, but--"

"No, whatever, what's done is done. Anyway, what are our options here?" Amy asks.

"Well...."

Chapter Text

"Well, that depends on what our end goal is," you say. "Beyond Carol not being an abusive bitch, what would make you happier in life?"

Amy looks at you with something like exasperation. "Did I not just tell you about the whole being tired of being Panacea thing?"

"Okay, so taking a break, maybe retiring. That's one thing. Anything else?"

"...I don't know. Infinite ice cream."

"A stable income," you interpret generously. "That's reasonable."

"...A harem of hot women."

You boggle. "Wait, you're gay?! Not that there's anything wrong with that," you quickly add as she balks, "I just, uh, you know, all the double dates and oh holy crap I'm a terrible sister wow, geez, uh--"

You decide to stuff some ice cream in your mouth to stop yourself from being an idiot. From Amy's look, it doesn't quite work.

You swallow, blushing a bit. "Well. Alright, uh... helping you woo the ladies. Okay, I think I can... maybe help with that--"

"Please don't," Amy deadpans.

You carefully bite your lip. "...Okay. So... a vacation, stable income, and... self-confidence...?" You look around the restaurant--yep, nobody's close enough to listen in. "Amy, you know you're a beautiful young woman--"

"I appreciate what you are trying to do and I will fucking stab you with this spoon if you continue."

You accept that with a nod. "Yeah, I'm not... good at this. Apparently. Do you mind if I toss 'therapy' onto the list of things we should be working toward?"

Amy rubs her temples again. "...I hate, I fucking hate, that you have a point. Fine. But I won't like it."

"...So... like long-term. What... do you want to do with your life?" you ask.

"Hell if I know. I've been Panacea for years now, and I don't think the world's going to let me stop being Panacea."

"Right, yeah..." You nod slowly. "Maybe we can figure that out after we've... secured a sort of future."

"We could always wait till we're eighteen," Amy says. "What's a few months more?"

You narrow your eyes. "A few months more, in that house? Carol might be willing to give me slack, but I'll be damned if I let you suffer any longer than I have to."

"Vicky, aura."

You blink a bit, belatedly realizing you're spreading your aura a bit far, and pull it back awkwardly. Amy breathes a sigh of relief, and you feel like a piece of shit.

"I'll, uh... work on some meditation," you promise. "Or therapy. Or something--"

"Okay, stop," Amy says flatly. "Before we go any further, we need to talk about you."

"What? No! Amy, this is all about how you're being treated--"

"You have got to stop beating yourself up," Amy declares. "Seriously, how many times have you told yourself you're an awful sister after... figuring things out? Hell, how many times have you thought it in this conversation alone?"

"It's not like I've been keeping count," you mumble.

Amy looks at you for a long moment, before she sighs. "Look, Vicky.... Dad tries, he really does, but he's not... enough. And Carol's... well, she's Carol, we wouldn't be having this talk if she wasn't. For the longest time, I've felt like the only family I have is you."

You can't help the pang in your chest as you look at her. "Ames..."

"Sure, you screw up a lot, and yeah, I have to clean up your messes basically all the time, but the thing is... you try. You actually try to be a damned hero, for the city, for the kids, for the school, and... god damn it, I'm actually going to have to say it, aren't I."

You sob a small chuckle. "You don't have to, Amy, I think I--"

"No, I'm fucking saying it." Your sister takes a breath. "You're my hero, Vicky. No matter what else you are, you are my hero."

"...That... thanks, Ames. That means a lot."

"I know. It's why I said it." Amy raises her spoon threateningly. "And I will gut you if you ever tell anybody I said that, mkay?"

"Got it."

The two of you bask in the feeling of sisterly camaraderie as communicated through threats of violence.

"So... yeah, I guess we should just... work toward having our own life, or whatever," Amy says finally. "If the future's really that damn important."

"I mean, it is? It's what we're going to live through," you point out.

"Hypothetically, sure."

You sigh, rubbing your temples. "Maybe I should put 'seriously maiming Carol' on that list."

"I don't need that."

"I might."

Amy sighs. "Vicky... seriously, don't. I've worked too hard to keep you out of jail for murder and manslaughter." She hums thoughtfully. "Also I'm pretty sure Carol could whup your ass without breaking a sweat."

You raise a finger, pause to consider, and slowly lower it. "Yeah, I guess you maybe might have a point there."

"Maybe might have," Amy agrees with an amused smile. "So, since you've got such big and lofty goals like 'getting me out of a bad situation' and 'making sure we have our own life,' do you have any ideas about how to accomplish such superhuman feats?"

"I could get emancipated and get a job or something." You lean back in your chair. "I mean, think about it. Who wouldn't pay extra to have Glory Girl deliver pizza?"

"Wouldn't work, you'd need to drive. But you could be a traffic reporter for local news," Amy mused. "Actually no, you'd still need a degree or something."

"I mean, yeah, that's why I suggested pizza delivery. Cause, you know... entry level job..."

"Modelling? I think Parian would pay for the advertising."

You consider that thoughtfully. "Modelling, yeah. That could work. Still think the pizza delivery thing could also work," you add with a shrug.

"Realistically you'd need to juggle a few different jobs," Amy points out. "Maybe you could be a model, a pizza delivery girl, and some sort of janitor on the side."

"Janitor? Really?"

"I mean you practically are, already, with all the chores you do around the house."

"You've got a point," you admit. You do most of the housework anyway, Mom's too busy with work and Dad's... Dad. "If we move out to an apartment or something, can you at least keep your own room clean?"

"Yeah, yeah. Give me gloves and I'll scrub the dishes too." Amy's quiet for a moment. "There is... one other option."

"Yeah?"

"You could do mercenary work."

You balk a bit. "What? Amy--"

"I'm not talking 'taking on hits,' Vicky. I mean things like... bodyguard, maybe hunting bounties for the PRT, just ordinary protection with a paycheck."

"Amy, I already do that, and I don't get paid for it."

Amy hums. "I'm pretty sure you do, actually. Or you know, New Wave does."

"Well--! Huh." You consider that for a moment. "Yeah, you might actually have a point. But you know, if I'm getting paid for that, you should get paid for your work at the hospital."

Your sister shakes her head. "No, I volunteer--"

"Pretty sure volunteers wouldn't have access to patients with life-threatening injuries and conditions."

"Vicky--" Amy begins, and then sighs at the look on your face. "Ugh. Whatever, this is parahuman law stuff anyway."

"Yeah... I should look into that too," you admit. "And how to get emancipated, and what kind of jobs I can get... Adulting is hard."

"You sure you don't want to just drop this?" Amy asks, her tone surprisingly sympathetic. "Cause you know, it's only a few months more--"

"No." You shake your head. "I'll deal with it. Nobody deserves what you're going through."

"Except maybe Jack Slash."

"Except maybe Jack Slash," you agree. "Not sure how long that would last, though."

Amy waggles her hand. "Depends on if the rest of the Nine come with. Can you imagine Carol trying to wrangle Bonesaw and the Crawler?"

"Oh, yeah, that'd be crazy. And the Siberian?" You pitch your voice lower. "'I don't care how pretty your stripes are, young lady, you will wear decent clothes in this house!'"

Amy gigglesnorts despite herself, and you decide to count that as a win. The rest of the ice cream is eaten over increasingly ridiculous speculation of Carol's hypothetical parenting skills being applied to S-Class threats, and on the flight back you postulate a situation where she lectures the Simurgh on proper aerial etiquette. By the time you land in your yard, Amy is smiling again.

It lessens a bit when she looks at the door, but you clap a hand on her shoulder. "As soon as possible," you promise.

"That could be a while," she points out.

You shake your head. "You should get what you need packed up."

She takes a breath. "...god damn it. Why do you always have to give me hope, Vicky?"

"It's just what I do."

The next morning is a Friday. The perfect day to look into one of many different things you need to look into, after school of course. As you finish your morning ablutions, you consider your plans for the afternoon...

Chapter Text

You decide the best option is to know your options. It's not that you're afraid to actually take action--you definitely want to save your sister--it's that your old enough to know actions have consequences and you don't want to, like, suddenly get your credit card closed because you bumped a car too hard or something. And hey, maybe people will pay you for punching nazis in the face. Or something. So you head to the library after school and get ready to defy the expectations of every last person who has EVER called you Collateral Damage Barbie.

You're a grade-A student taking college classes, for crying out loud. Sure, you're not a certified genius but that doesn't mean you're an idiot. Combat is just messy. Things happen, no matter how much you try to avoid them. And really, Barbie's had like fifty different jobs, why are people using her name as an insult...

Shoving aside your irritation, you run through the legal books and do some internet research on the public computers. And... holy shit. Just, holy fucking shit. Who the hell even wrote these laws, and what kind of crack did they have to sell to congress to get them passed?!

It's damned near impossible to hold a job as a parahuman that isn't 'being a cape.' Or more specifically, 'being a Protectorate cape.' Which you wouldn't exactly be against, mind, but you and Amy are kind of a package deal in this scenario, and for as much as mom--as Carol beats her down with words, the Protecorate would probably be even worse, parading Panacea around for the PR. Your cape options outside of that are vanishingly low; forming your own team is just barely possible, if you're careful, and you have money and a base and a few friends who can join up and maybe a lawyer. Going solo is basically going on a roof and screaming 'HEY! FREE CAPE HERE! ANYBODY WANNA KIDNAP AND INDOCTRINATE ME? GANGS, CORPS, I'M TAKING ALL COMERS!' If you're jumping ship--and you basically are--you need a ship to jump to, at least if you want to keep caping officially.

Other jobs... well, that's a legal quagmire. From what you can tell, the law technically says Parahumans can't hold jobs in managerial sectors, and Tinkers have to get their tech looked over by the PRT before they can sell it. That second one doesn't count for you, but that first one... well, blue collar work isn't bad, exactly. You can still technically deliver pizzas. You just can't open a pizza delivery service. Legally speaking, a parahuman is always an employee, not an employer. Because apparently if they were allowed to lead a company, they would use their superpowers to utterly upend the economy in some way, so ordinary humans had to keep an eye out just in case mister 'I can juggle cars' accidentally used his powers to found the next Google. Which--again--what sort of drugs were the senators smoking when they passed NEPEA-5? Cigars made of rolled up hundred dollar bills and filled with the ashes of homeless case 53's?

You are, needless to say, kind of a little entirely fucking pissed at the blatant bigotry and corruption on display.

On a whim, you decide to look up the laws regarding Amy's work at the hospital. It takes a bit to collect everything that you think might apply, mostly because it's a combination of medical law and employment law with a dash of parahuman law on the side, but you do eventually figure out that Amy's work qualifies her as a specialist. Hell, legally speaking none of what she does at the hospital qualifies as 'volunteer' work, unless she's been stacking chairs behind everyone's back--medical malpractice is serious fucking business, so only people with degrees are allowed to work on the sick and injured. Which, strictly speaking, Amy does have--even if it was a bit of a rush job, she did take all the tests and pass the course. Maybe it could be argued she was working pro bono, but that just meant that the patients didn't pay her, the hospital still owed her for her time. Well... unless that money was being sent to New Wave's accounts instead of Panacea's. That was a frustrating possibility...

The point was Amy would have an easier time getting a job than you, hypothetically speaking. And that was just with what she allowed herself to do right now--if she decided to offer cosmetic changes or, hell, direct alteration of certain biological functions, people would be lining up by the buttload. Maybe she could even be useful in the development of helpful drugs. Except she was... scared to do anything, beyond healing.

You lean back in your chair and stare at the ceiling with a sigh. You already figured out that the world sucked. All this tells you is that the job market also sucks. Which, really, was that any surprise at all? At least you could sell out like a merc. Or a pizza girl. Or you could look into joining another hero group.

Would the Wards... really be that bad? There was the stipend, and the salary when you became Protectorate, and Amy didn't have to join if you did. Plus Dean was there.

Wait, you've broken up with Dean again. Fuck.

Okay, but it's still an option. Like going merc. Or getting a basic job. Hell, maybe you could look at the help wanted ads in the paper. And it wasn't like you had to decide right now, getting yourself emancipated kind of took priority. And getting somewhere to live, which would cost money... come to think of it, bills and stuff would cost a lot of money, wouldn't it. And groceries. Okay, getting a job had to come first, unless you lucked into some rich friends or something.

God. Being an adult is going to be hard. Especially since you'll be basically spitting in New Wave's face.

You crick your neck as you stand, rolling your shoulders. Well, you've spent enough time futzing about with asking questions. Nothing ever got done without... getting... done--the point is, it's time for action. REAL action, not this self-doubting holding pattern you've been keeping yourself in. You are Victoria Dallon, Glory Girl, puncher of nazis and rescuer of little sisters! And you need to get back on the job.

Probably by getting a job.

Well, that's easy enough. All you've got to do is look around. Yeah, you're going to get a job...

Chapter Text

You look into pizza delivery, which pays a little above minimum wage, but an ad on the website catches your eye; a bakery that offers a clown service alongside catering. That's an interesting business model, and you click it to look at the details. Not that you'd actually be a clown, you don't really know anything about clowning around--no matter what some people say--but the idea of partnering for a show is intriguing, and you're good with kids. Apparently the clowns are hired by the bakery on a commission basis. Hmm, and it's not just clowns, there's a local rogue... who does fashion stuff on the side. Well, you know how to look good, maybe she'd like a model, or assistant, or something.

You go back to the pizza delivery job, looking at the thirty minutes or less guarantee. Well, alright, that keeps the pizza hot, which is nice... actually, now that you think of it, aren't there other things that need rush delivery? Amy's mentioned how the hospital ran out of this or that medicine, and you can actually fly. And, hey, you can lift heavy objects while flying, so that could help out construction people... maybe. Dropping off a cement mixer or something, you don't know how construction works... but hey, you're at the library, you can find out! One quick internet search points you in the direction of a group that actually could help a lot with your job search, and you resolve to head their way first thing tomorrow.

That would have been it, except... as you're packing up, you realize using your powers for a job opens up a few more opportunities for you. Opportunities that you aren't exactly... well, not the kind you'd want people knowing about. Mercenary work. You want to be a hero, you like being a hero, but honestly you're going to need a lot of money going forward, and people would pay a lot for a good Alexandria package. Probably. You look over your shoulder, carefully checking to make sure nobody's watching, before searching for local mercenary teams. It takes some doing, looking through dubious sites and chasing forum rumors, but you think they hang around a nightclub...? That's... hrm. Well, you probably can't go as Glory Girl anyway...

Oh shit, is that the time? You shut down the browser and run out of the library. Thank god tomorrow's a saturday, because you're going to be busy.

You check your reflection in a window as you land. Professional, but not too professional. You're not applying for office work, but you do want to leave an impression. Subtly adjusting your hair, you walk into the building that houses the Dock Worker's Association and smile at the secretary. "Hey there. I've got a meeting with, uh... mister Herbert?"

"It's Hebert. Only one R." The secretary gestures down the hall, her eyes watching you warily. "Third door on your right."

"Thanks!"

You take the directions, knocking on the door. It takes a moment for anybody to respond

"Come in."

You take a moment to examine the room as you enter, just to get a feel for things. There's the inbox, outbox, papers being worked on, phone, computer, filing cabinets. This is the office of a man who organizes everything. The walls have a few framed copies of... labor laws, apparently. And some company stuff. Oh, and hey, there's pictures of a family, guy with his wife and newborn, another with the girl being older, a third with her and some other redhead--young teens?

The man behind the desk is an older version of the man in the pictures. He's little scraggly, honestly. Not unprofessionally so, but you can see the bags under his eyes, and his expression... it takes you a moment to place it, but you've seen it sometimes after particularly nasty cape fights. The distant expression of somebody realizing their life has been ruined, that they're going to have to build things up again. Holy shit, what happened to this guy? Why is he still coming to work--?

"Ah, hello miss...?"

You blink as the mask of professionalism takes over. Whatever happened, it's... probably personal, and you can figure it out later if this goes right.

"Victoria Dallon," you say, holding out your hand with a confident smile. "Great to meet you!"

He shakes your hand, raising an eyebrow at your strong grip, and gestures toward a seat. "Danial Hebert. So what can I do for you today, miss Dallon?"

"I'm looking for a job."

"Aren't we all," mister Hebert says. "If you don't mind me saying so, you look a little... young to be seeking employment."

"Child labor laws state the minimum age of employment is fourteen, don't worry. I'm seventeen, so I should be safe--legally speaking."

"Hm." Mister Hebert frowns. "You know those laws were put in place after--"

"After a number of child workers were hurt in industrial factories, I know, yes. My mo--" You cut yourself off. "I live with a lawyer," you say instead.

Mister Hebert raises his brow, apparently catching the slip.

"...I'm looking to move out of the house," you admit. "But to do that, I need money, and..." You gesture vaguely at the entire office.

"I hope you realize this isn't a magic job-granting facility."

"I do, really! I'm not asking you to get me a job, just to help me get my foot in the door." You take a breath. "I'm willing to help out the DWA in any way I can, of course. And I will be looking into jobs myself, I just... don't exactly think I can link up with the right sort of jobs on my own."

"You've planned a career path?"

You wince at the misunderstanding. "Not exactly what I meant. I figured my skillset makes me good at getting priority deliveries to where they need to go, but, well..." You gesture at yourself. "Seventeen. Just because I can do it doesn't mean people will trust me to."

"And what skills would those be?" mister Hebert asks.

You can't help but stare at him for a moment or two. "...I'm Glory Girl," you explain, and at his nonplussed look you sigh. "Flight, super strength, punch nazis in the face? Like I know that last one doesn't translate into delivery well, but--seriously, you've never heard of me?"

"I don't follow the cape scene," the man replies. "Don't you all usually wear masks?"

"I'm with New Wave."

He stares, not comprehending.

"The Brockton Bay Brigade?" you try. "That's what we used to be called. My parents publicly unmasked themselves years ago, and it's--we haven't worn masks since. Responsibility, you know. You've seriously never heard about us?"

"...I recall hearing about that." Mister Hebert sighs, rubbing his head. "I'm sorry, I'm not... I'm a little out of it right now."

"Yeah, I kind of noticed." You can't help a sympathetic look. "What happened? What's going on?"

"It's... nothing you need to worry about--"

"Mister Hebert, as somebody who has seen the fallout of multiple cape fights--been the cause of it, sometimes--I can tell you that the look you had on your face is one I have seen before. It's the kind of look that weighs on me. I can't help but worry when I see that face. If you really don't want to talk to the teenage super hero, I get it. I mean, I just walked in here for a job, not--you know... I'm not a therapist or anything. But from my experienced position as a puncher of nazis and... occasional smasher of walls, you've seen some shit and you need to work through it somehow."

The man stares at you silently. You belatedly wonder if you've just ruined any chances of getting help from him. He sighs, glancing at the pictures of his family, and you realize you might have just really overstepped your boundaries. Shit, you're definitely not getting a job from him now--

"The strength of a union is in unity," he says eventually. "We all help each other. If a company is mistreating one of us, we all walk until a better deal is negotiated. If we need to show up en masse to prove a point, we do it. You join the DWA, and you've got to do more than just punch nazis. Not that I'm telling you to stop," he adds with a small smile. "Just... do more than just that."

"I--yeah. I can... probably do that?"

"Can you stop smashing walls? It makes it harder for people to hold down a job."

You cringe. "I can... trrrry. If Hookwolf throws me through a wall, I can't stop him, but... if I try to beat him into the street...?"

"Less damaging, but... hm." Mister Hebert rubs his chin. "You know, you might be better in an advisory role. Parahumans aren't going away, and knowing what stresses you guys work under could help in our negotiations."

"You think so?"

"It's not like you're going away any time soon, we'll have to put up some sort of worker's comp dealing with... all this."

"Mister Hebert, let me tell you about a little something called NEPEA-5..."

Despite your early stumbles, you managed to make a decent impression on the head of hiring, especially after you outline the laws regarding parahuman employment. He's a union man, so he near-immediately realizes what a shitty deal parahumans have been dealt once you lay it out. Still, he does warn you that even with the DWA on the lookout, the kinds of jobs you're looking for aren't exactly easily found, and you should keep looking for yourself. Although he does point you toward a few options, so there's that.

You're still pretty shocked he didn't know about you, though. It's like... Glory Girl. You have a reputation. There's some good, there's some bad, but it's there. You can't remember the last time you ran into somebody who didn't know who you are!

Then again, you usually only talk to friends, family, PRT members, and the recent victims of villain attacks. So... maybe you aren't really that big of a name, actually.

That kind of hurts to think about...

You shake away the bad thoughts as you approach the street where Parian can usually be found and--yep, there she is, doing one of her puppet shows. You decide to land in a nearby alley and walk the rest of the way, not wanting to distract anybody. The mask-wearing cape does notice you, of course, and you wave but stay at the back of the crowd. You're not one for puppet shows yourself, but you've got to admit Parian's pretty good at what she does.

A few minutes later, the puppet show ends, and you carefully approach the woman--

"I do have a license for street performances."

"Wha--no, no no." You hold up your hands defensively. "I'm not here to arrest you or anything like that! I'm actually here to see if I can get a job."

Parian stares at you for a moment.

"A job."

"Yep! See, I was thinking that you do fashion shows, from time to time, and I kind of thought I could be a model, slash assistant, slash... well, whatever you need me to be!"

You can't tell what expression Parian has beneath her mask, but from her body language she's certainly some flavor of surprised. "That's... an interesting offer, I must admit. Are you aware of NEPEA-5?"

"Yeah, I studied up on that."

"...and you're still coming to me for a job. Even though I'm a parahuman. And there are certain things parahumans are legally not allowed to do."

Oh.

Shit.

Right.

"I may be stupid," you admit.

"May be," Parian deadpans. "Hmm. Give me a pose."

You blink a bit, then strike a pose with a grin--

"No, no no no. That won't do at all. If you're going to be a fashion model, you need to show off fashion, not yourself." Parian steps forward and shifts your arm. "The silhouette must be visible. Sleeves, collar, zipper. We'd have to do something about your hair as well, draping over your shoulders would hide some designs--"

"So, uh, are you hiring me or...?"

"I may be willing to work with you on some commissions. Let us leave it at that for now." Parian pulls out a phone. "Shall we exchange contacts?"

"Oh, yeah yeah. Fair warning, if I'm in a cape fight I'm not going to respond immediately--"

"I understand, of course." Parian tilts her head. "And for the record, I wish you the best of luck in finding paying employment."

As evening approaches, you have... mixed feelings. You've gotten a couple of hard maybes, not outright rejections, but not anything really confirmed just yet. Good leads, though! Yep. And this... could be the same.

God you still don't know if this is a good idea.

No, actually, this is a terrible idea. You should turn around and go. You should just fly away. Right now...

Just pick up your feet and go.

Yeah.

With a sigh, you step out of the alleyway. You're not completely stupid, despite what you told Parian, so you know your usual garb wouldn't work here. You've opted for black. A black hoodie, with black tights, and black boots and gloves. Also a lot of punk rings with spikes around your arms and legs. And a mask you made by picking up a piece of scrap from the Boat Graveyard, washing it thoroughly, and bending it into shape.

A quick glance at a window shows you look tough. Definitely. Your nervousness is hidden behind your mask. Huh, that's a benefit you never considered...

You approach the nightclub, called the Palanquin, and enter the neon wonderworld of cocktails and colorful clothes. In one corner, you can see some big guy with translucent skin. Greg the snail, you think. You walk over to him and cross your arms, lowering your voice to gravelly growl. "I'm here to talk to Faultline."

...or, well, your closest approximation of a gravelly growl. From the guy's expression, it's not impressive. Still, after eyeing you up and down, he shrugs and knocks on the door behind him. After a few minutes it opens, and he gestures you in.

As you enter, you do a quick assessment of the room. No personal effects. The woman behind the desk is masked and armed, but relaxed. You can't see her face--of course--but you get the impression it's calm and collected and oh god you're actually going to try to join a mercenary group.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, miss...?"

"Edgelord," you growl. Or try to growl. Look, it's really hard to growl with your voice, okay? You're more of a yeller!

"...Really?" Faultline's voice is very flat.

"I mean... I'm... edgy."

"You and every other teenage punk with powers."

"Hey, don't call me--hmm. You know what?" You nod. "I like it, actually. Power Punk. Way better than Edgelord."

"If you're just going to waste my time--"

"I want a job!" you interject swiftly. "With you," you continue, quickly regaining your not-so-gravelly intimidating tone. "Doing stuff for money."

Faultline puts her head in her hands and groans.

"I'm super tough," you promise. "I can punch through walls. And fly."

The woman looks up. "...really."

"Yep."

"You are an Alexandria package."

"Yep."

Faultline considers you for a moment.

"Look kid, this isn't like the movies. No big battles with heroes or villains, no dramatic entries--we don't get involved in Cape politics beyond what we're hired to do. No banter, no taunting heroes."

"I getcha."

"And we don't actually get hired regularly. Heck, most of our jobs happen outside of Brockton Bay."

You blink. "Wait, really?"

"Old piece of wisdom: Don't shit where you eat. I'm not completely opposed, for business reasons, but anybody who hires us locally has to pay ten times as much."

"I can live with that," you assure her.

"And we don't do assassin jobs. Kidnapping, sure, and people die on our jobs a lot, but assassination is right out." Faultline shakes her head. "Too easy to get the PRT on us."

"Gotcha."

"You'd have to do everything I say. Follow my orders to the letter, immediately."

"I understand. Am I hired?"

Faultline sighs. "Kid, this isn't a game! You can't just--"

"How about a trial run?" you offer. "Something like... a robbery, or something?"

The woman sighs. "You're not going to let this go, are you."

"How many times have people come to you looking to be hired?"

"Too many." Faultline sighs. "Look, if something comes up, I'll... see if you might be a fit. How can I reach you?"

You exchange contact information (for a burner phone, because that's smart) and head out. That went... about as well as could be expected. Heh, maybe Power Punk would be making an appearance soon.

With your job quest complete, you turn to the next important task....

Chapter Text

"This is stupid in so many ways," Amy mutters.

"Oh come on, you don't mean that."

"We're trying to keep whatever we're doing on the down low so Carol doesn't figure it out," Amy says. "Going out and publicly looking at houses is not subtle!"

"It's not like anybody we talk to is going to tell M--tell Carol," you reply casually.

"And the PHO threads? 'Glory Girl and Panacea looking for homes', you really think she won't notice that?"

Well, alright, she had a point there, but... "We can just say we're preparing for the next stage in our life."

"Uh huh, sure. And what about the gangs?" Amy asks pointedly. "Setting up in ABB territory gets us likely to be kidnapped, setting up in E88 territory has us pressured by the whole gang, and Merchant territory is pretty terrible! Houses outside those three areas probably go at high prices."

"Apartments are cheaper," you remind her. "And... weeeeeeeell... we could move out of the city, if it comes to that..."

Amy stops outright, staring at you in abject shock.

"I mean, it--it makes sense, right?" you point out. "We just... find a new life. Plenty of places would take us in. And hey, there'd be no ABB, or Merchants, or E88--"

"Vicky, you love punching nazis," Amy points out faintly.

"Yeah, well..." You rub the back of your head. "...some things are more important."

Your sister stares at you for a few more minutes. "...God... damn it, Vicky. You've got to stop being this--this paragon beacon thing!" she complains. "I--it's--gaaaaaah!"

You smile, but it's a little forced. Amy seems kind of upset, for... some reason. "Hey, are you okay? No, what am I saying, of course you're not--"

"DON'T. Push this. This is... something that stays between me and my therapist."

"You don't have a therapist--"

"Not yet, no, but with everything going on I'm going to get a fucking therapist because fuck you," Amy grouses. She clutches her head. "God damn it now I have a headache..."

You open your mouth, but she holds up a finger before you can say anything. You can't do anything but watch her take a few deep calming breaths. You just... feel so useless, watching your sister suffer like this, not knowing how to help...

"...let's just look for places to live," she finally says. "It'll be a good... distraction."

"...yeah. Okay, yeah." You glance away. "So, the open house should be... there, yeah." You wave at the man standing on the porch as you approach. "Hey! You're the open house, yeah?"

"Yeah, that's us." The man looks at you both. "Hey, have we met? You look a little familiar..."

"We've been on TV once or twice," you reply with a shrug, pretending to not notice Amy's shocked look.

"Actors, huh?"

"Background, really. Just there to fill out the shots."

"Vicky, are you feeling okay?" Amy asks seriously.

You laugh a little. "I'm fine. Fine! Really."

"You--can you give us a moment?" she asks the open house guy.

"...Sure?"

Amy drags you a short distance away, then grabs your hand. "...I'm not feeling any fever," she mutters. "Or brain inflammation, really--"

"Ames."

"You're acting like... like... not like yourself!" Amy insists.

"What, cause I'm not trying to be the center of attention?"

"YES!"

"...Ouch, sis," you manage, and there is genuine hurt in your voice. "I'm not that vain, am I?"

"...Vicky, what's going on?"

You sigh. "Alright, alright. Yesterday, when I went to the union? The man in charge of hiring didn't recognize me. Hadn't even heard of Glory Girl. And it... it got me to thinking, you know."

"Thinking about what?"

"...Amy, am I... like... actually popular? I mean, not just in our circles, but am I really famous or just... you know... kinda good looking?"

Amy stares at you for a long moment.

"...I don't know how to answer that," she finally admits. "I... really don't know how to answer that."

"I mean, I... ignored what was happening at home for so long, so maybe I'm not as much of a deal as I think I am."

"Vicky. I appreciate that you are having an existential crisis. Really, I do." Amy gestures at the house. "But now is not the time."

You manage to center yourself. "Right. House. Gotta look that over." A smile forms on your face. "Okay! Let's see what we've got!"

The first house you tour is, in fact, a house. This house, right here. It's got three bedrooms, all upstairs, and a decently large living area with an open kitchen. There are a lot of weeds in the backyard, and yeah, there are some cracks in the walls, but it's actually pretty fancy.

"Now what we have here is, I'll admit, a bit of a fixer-upper," the man says. "But I'll let you in on a little secret: This house has a famous history."

"Really?"

"Indeed. This was the former home of the infamous supervillain Marquis!"

"That's... interesting," you manage, sharing a look with your sister.

"Yeeeeeah." Amy nods, warily. "He didn't leave behind any... traps, or anything, right?"

"Nope. It's perfectly safe!"

"It's a nice house," you allow. "Needs some work, but... we could think about it, right?"

Your sister huffs. "Right, like moving into a villain's home is a good idea."

"We'll consider it," you say to the man. "Not the only option on our list though. You understand, right?"

You weren't aware that duplexes were a thing until this moment, but there it is--a house, with two front doors leading to two different living spaces. There are a few of them on the street, and the inside seems... cozy. A couple bedrooms, a tiny single bathroom, a kitchen off to the side....

"Hey, walk-in closets!"

Amy rolls her eyes. "And who knows who our neighbors are?"

"We could just ask," you point out, walking out of the building.

"Vicky wait--" Amy facepalms as you knock on the other door.

"What? They deserve to know what's going on."

Amy throws up her hands as the door opens to reveal a woman of middle-eastern descent. "Ah... hello?"

"Hey! I'm Vicky, this is Amy. We're looking into maybe moving into the other side of the house." You shrug. "Still shopping around, might pick some other place, but you know. Thought we'd introduce ourselves."

"Oh! It's nice to meet you." The woman shakes your hand. "My name's Sabah. You two make a cute couple."

Amy audibly chokes behind you.

"We're--uh... we're sisters," you explain awkwardly.

"Oh--OH! Oh, I'm so sorry, I just thought, you looking for your own place," Sabah blushes furiously, "it just seemed--"

"No, I get it, really. I don't swing that way."

"...ah."

You pick up on the hint of disappointment and, with a mischievous smile, step aside. "Amy's single, though."

"VICKY!" Amy hisses.

You notice Sabah glancing at Amy, before looking back at you. "Well that's... nice to know."

"Yeah, part of the reason we're moving out is so she can feel free to explore her identity, you know? And I figure--"

Amy shoves you aside with a huff. "I am so sorry," she says to Sabah. "I just came out to her a few days ago and now she's trying to be... supportive."

"Aaaaah." Sabah sighs. "Well, at least your family understands. Or your sister anyway." She sighs. "I don't... really speak to my parents anymore."

"Oh--Oh, you're--?"

"Yes, I like girls." Sabah smiles at Amy sympathetically, before glaring at you. "For the record, you should NOT have told me about Amy's sexuality."

"Uh--"

"It's a personal thing, and it should be her choice who knows about it. Especially in this town." She glances around nervously. "Girls like us need to watch out for Empire people--me twice over."

"Oh. Yeah." You rub the back of your head. "Right, I just... sorry, Amy."

Your sister sighs. "Just don't do it again, alright? I'm sorry about her," she says to Sabah, "she's impulsive at the best of times."

"Hey!"

The apartment you visit next packs the same amount of utility into a slightly smaller space. It's pretty clear the bedrooms aren't for hanging around in, although the view from the large central living space is almost as good as the view from a mile high.

"And the rent," you say to Amy, "is pretty good."

"Yeah, but it's rent. You'd have to pay per month, instead of a lump sum."

"Which won't be a problem once I get a job!"

Your sister looks at you with a treacherous expression of doubt. "How long can you avoid mall-hopping?"

"I am not that shallow!" you insist. "...am I?"

Whatever Amy's reply would have been is interrupted by an angry and distressed cry of "FUCK!" from outside. You, being the noble hero you are, rush out (barely remembering in time to not literally fly, since you're incognito) and discover your prospective neighbor slumped against the wall and looking at her phone.

"Uh... is everything okay, miss?"

She looks up at you, blinks for a moment, and sighs. "Yeah, sorry. It's just... my boss is evil, you know? Called me on my day off and gave me a job to do."

"Wow." You've never actually had a real job beyond punching nazis and being part of New Wave, but you nod in commiseration anyway, glancing to Amy for support. "That's... that sucks."

"Pretty sure half the reason he hired me is because I'm a hot blonde, he's that kind of sleazeball." The girl rolls her eyes as she stands up. "Hey, if I give you proof he's a supervillain, will you go beat him up for me?"

"Depends," you reply casually. "Are you a supervillain too?"

"Nah, I'm a mediocre villain at best." There's a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she holds out her hand. "Lisa Wilbourne, research and resale expert."

"Victoria Dallon." You shake her hand. "I'm guessing you figured out who I am already."

"Well yeah, I recognized your sister," she explains with a smug grin on her freckled face. "Wasn't too hard to put the pieces together afterward."

Amy actually snorts at your expression of mock disappointment. "You know, talking about cape identities isn't really encouraged," she warns.

"Don't worry, I know about the unwritten rules, won't tell nobody you were here."

"That's a double negative," your sister points out.

"I'm serious, though. Every teenager needs a chance to move out and find their own selves." Lisa huffs. "I know I did. The less said about my asshole parents, the better. You moving in?"

"Maybe," you say. "We're shopping around right now, so..."

"Ah, gotcha. It's a big lifestyle change, best not to charge ahead." Lisa sighs, turning around and locking her door. "Well, I'm off to go suffer for my boss's pleasure."

"Why don't you just quit?" you ask.

"Would if I could, girl." Lisa shakes her head as she walks into the elevator. "Would if I could."

You share a look with your sister. "She seems... nice."

"So does a cat, right up till they scratch the furniture."

"Eh, fair."

The final option you visit--

"Vicky. No."

"Okay, but hear me out--"

Amy flicks open a panel on the trailer. "You know what this is, Vicky? This is a septic tank."

You sigh. "Yes, I am aware."

"A septic tank. For shit. And piss. And vomit, on the bad days. You know what we'd have to do if we bought this thing? We'd have to pull it out and empty it every month."

"I mean, sure, but--"

Amy slams the panel shut. "Every month, Vicky! And that's not to mention that this thing is tiny, or that we'd need to pump water into the tank on the regular, or the whole fact that this trailer park is on the edge of Merchant territory!"

"It's cheap!" you defend.

"That's it? That's your argument, it's cheap?"

You take a deep breath and put a hand on her shoulder. "I want to get you out of that house as soon as I possibly can," you say, gently. "And yeah, this... the trailer home sucks. A lot. But it's cheap, which means I can get the money to buy it quickly, and spend more time and money on other things we need. Like food. And therapy. Stuff like that."

Amy looks at the trailer, mulling your words over. Eventually, she sighs. "Not this one. I don't think there's an AC unit."

"What? I'm pretty sure..." You walk around the trailer, before shaking your head. "Shit, you're right. No AC. Definitely not this one." After a moment, you point at another trailer. "That one has one, I think."

"Yeah, looks like." Amy shakes her head. "Still not sure, but... let's give it a look."

After a long day of looking at prospective new homes, you and Amy head over to Fugly Bob's for a late lunch. Which, pointedly, you pay for. Because you are the responsible older sister. Amy rolls her eyes but lets you pretend that's true.

"...Honestly, most of the options aren't... as bad as I thought they'd be," she admits. "I mean none of them are great, but any of them would do the job well enough."

You hum agreement as you bite into your burger. Oh greasy goodness, what wonderment this taste is...

"Look, I don't know. I'm still coming to terms with... you actually seeing... things." Amy chews a fry nervously. "And it's like... yeah, my life would be better, sure. But it's still kind of unreal you know?"

With a sigh, you release your burger to your plate (parting is such a sweet sorrow) and swallow, focusing on her. "I'm sorry I was so blind, Ames. Really. I promise, I'll do right by you from now on."

"You really have no idea how that sounds, do you."

You have no idea what Amy means by that, so you shrug. "Well, I mean it."

"Alright, whatever. Anyway..." She hums for a bit. "Okay. So... target and plan. You want somewhere to live and something to pay the money. What's the plan there, actually?"

Chapter Text

"Well, I was thinking we'd aim for the duplex with Sabah, it seems like a good starter home for us." You pick your burger up again. "Of course that means I'd need to get a job, so I'll call up Parian, I'm sure I can stand a few hours of posing for the camera."

Amy rolls her eyes. "Somehow, I'm not surprised."

"Maybe it's not as dramatic as, I dunno, saving sixty lives an hour, but I have to go with what works, you know?" You give her a knowing smirk.

"The drama isn't the point," Amy points out. "It's money. And sure, if--IF!--you got an actual modeling contract, you might make a lot, but... look, Parian's independent. She'd have to pay you out of pocket."

"So? Clout is as important as money. The more reliable I prove myself, the better jobs I can get."

Amy gives you a flat look. "You just want free clothes."

"Amy Dallon! Do you really think I would be so selfish?" You grin rakishly. "I don't just want free clothes! That's a minor perk, at best!"

"Ahuh. You know that models don't necessarily get to keep the clothes they show off, right?"

"Shush, let me dream."

"And some clothes aren't meant to be worn more than once," Amy continues casually. "So you won't get to show them off to Dean."

You pout at your sister. "You take all the fun out of responsibility, you know that?"

"It's my curse."

One hamburger, phone call, and good night's sleep later, and you're flying to where Parian said to meet up. It's a pretty distant place, you notice, but hey--secret identities and all that. You don't like that a lot of capes have to hide instead of being proud of who they are. Maybe one day, that will change.

"Yo!" You land and salute. "I'm here to help!"

"So you say." Parian seems unimpressed for some reason. "Please don't tell me you expect me to pay you in outfits."

"No, that would be ridiculous. But, uh..." You grin hopefully. "I wouldn't mind a five percent employee discount?"

"...If you become a permanent employee, I might consider it." Parian shrugs. "As it is... this is new for me too, so don't expect too much." She looks around carefully, before beckoning you to follow her.

"Soooo... is there any reason for the cloak and dagger stuff?"

"If anybody sees me associating with you, they'll think I've joined New Wave. And if they think I've joined New Wave, I become a target for the gangs." Parian sighs. "I'm already being hounded by them constantly, I don't want the situation to get worse."

"Oh." You hadn't thought about that. "Uh... sorry?"

"You are planning on leaving, right?"

"Uh--well..."

You're not sure how much you want to tell her. She's nice and all, but she's kind of a total stranger. Airing the whole 'I realized my mom's an abuser' thing doesn't seem like the smartest choice to make here.

"I'm planning on moving out," you hedge carefully. "Which... may necessitate me leaving the team? It's... complicated."

"Family always is," Parian acknowledges sympathetically. "So, first of all, for legal reasons I'm going to need you to sign an employment form." She holds out a document. "Make it clear that this is a temporary employment--you're not joining me, I'm not joining New Wave, that sort of thing."

"Yeah I can do that," you agree easily, reading over the contract and then signing it. "There, our asses are covered and Mom can't sue you. Well, she can, but she'd fail."

"Right, daughter of a lawyer. Please tell me you're not going to try to buy my immortal soul."

"Nah, that's more Amy's thing."

Actually, now that you're thinking about it...

"Hey, awkward question: Are you single? And/or gay? Preferably both."

Parian sighs. "Unfortunately, the answer to both your questions is yes. Although I want to make it clear that you should NOT go spreading that around, understand? Dropping that sort of thing in a city full of nazis is basically murder."

"Yeah yeah, I getcha. It's just, well... A few days ago, Amy told me she was gay, and dating's hard enough for capes as it is--you know, because we're all... we've all been affected by our trigger event."

"Right."

"So the only non-villainous capes in town that might be in her age range and aren't related to her are you and Shadow Stalker, and... I've heard things about Shadow Stalker," you admit carefully. "So--purely hypothetically, of course--if you ever wanted to find a girlfriend, I'm just saying, my sister is also single--"

"I hired you to do a job, not pimp out your sister."

"I'm--I'm not pimping her out! I'm trying to help her--"

"Yes," Parian says, very dryly. "Trying. Very poorly, at that." She shakes her head, waving off your huff. "I appreciate you being supportive, don't get me wrong, but she'll come to herself in her own time and no amount of pressure can make that happen faster. Patience is a virtue for a reason."

 You've never really liked that saying. If there's something that needs doing, you prefer to do it! Even if you don't always know how to do it right, at least somebody's doing something. But then, you guess, making clothes isn't something that just happens, even with powers like Parian's, so...

Maturity sucks. Can't you be an adult without having to be responsible? Uuuuuuuugh.

You carefully contain your teenage groaning and put an eager smile on your face. "Right! Moving on from that, what do you need me to do?"

"Well, there are a number of things I could use a gofer for," Parian says musingly. "Especially one with super strength."

"Oh, you need things moved around?"

"There are a few bolts of cloth you can carry for me, yes." Parian shrugs. "Or you could help me go through the paperwork."

"Paperwork?"

"I'm an independent businesswoman, and a cape at that. Do you know how much work it takes to keep on top of NEPEA-5?"

You cringe. "Yeeeeah. I actually brought it up with the head of hiring at the union, and he... yeah, he doesn't like it. At all."

"Mmm."

"So, hypothetically, if I wanted to model some clothes for you--"

"You'd get paid a lot less," Parian deadpanned. "I'm not wanting for models."

"Huh. Okay. So the paperwork and the bolt delivery, those... pay about the same amount, right?"

"...Mm, yes, assuming you don't damage the bolts when you bring them to my shop." Parian glances at the clock. "I have you till four, right?"

"Yep!"

"Well, that should be enough to knock out one of those jobs." She clears her throat awkwardly. "SO! Temporary employee Victoria. For your first paying job..."

Chapter Text

"Temporary employee Victoria. For your first paying job, you're going to help me go through my backlog of paperwork."

Parian probably thought she was testing the patience of an immature teenager when she ordered you to do that. Well, the joke's on her! You're the daughter of a lawyer! Sure, maybe you're a little impulsive, and... okay, okay, you're not as perceptive as you thought you were. But. BUT! Contracts and signatures are in your blood. Kiiiiiinda literally, five-year-old Victoria Dallon thought she could gain her mother's superpowers by eating a few of her files...

...Mom had not been happy about that.

You read every file carefully, measuring the wording and checking off the boxes with only brief questions toward your employer and the occasional request for a signature. For the most part it's just supply orders and payments, as well as a few loans. It looks like Parian's just in the startup phase of her business.

Speaking of which...

"Hey Parian?"

"Yes?"

"So... I should prrrrobably warn you that your current shop location seems to be close to Empire territory," you say, carefully. "Like... dangerously close. The Empire would probably take notice of you sitting... right there." You clear your throat. "Especially if they decided to expand. Or that they needed a new cape on their roster."

Parian cringes. "That... would not go over well."

"Yeah. I don't want to tell you how to do your business, but... you maaaay want to consider moving it somewhere else," you suggest. "And you might want to consider the impact your business will have on local property values."

"My impact?"

"You're THE cape fashionista. Getting something from you is kind of a status symbol. The customers you get will encourage other businesses to grow around you. So, like, if you set up in a slum or something, somebody is going to want to put up a coffee shop for anybody who's passing by, then somebody else is going to say 'hey there's a coffee shop here, why not a bookstore,' and in a few months the hobos will be hipsters. Or, uh, they'll have moved out." You chuckle awkwardly. "I mean I'm not an expert on business, but leveraging cape identity... I know about that."

"You've... got a point, I guess," Parian admits. "Still, this isn't a decision I just want to jump into without thinking about it."

"Oh no no no, obviously. Maybe I can help you with that? I am technically part of the DWA, there might be a place in their area you could move into."

"You're part of the whatnow?"

"The Dockworker's Association. Basically a union for carpenters, shipwrights, a few restaurant owners... it used to be a lot more powerful, before the Boat Graveyard happened, but it's still technically kicking."

"I didn't know you were a dockworker."

"It's... fairly recent. I'm in an advisory position, explaining cape culture... and stuff." You rub your shoulder awkwardly. "And also looking for a job with them. Not that I'm going to quit this job!" you hastily assure her. "I can hold multiple jobs!"

"...Aren't you a little young and well-off to be strapped for cash?"

"Like I said, I'm planning on moving out. And... that might mean leaving New Wave, and...."

You trail off, unsure if you want to continue. Parian, thankfully, picks up on your discomfort and leaves it be, instead gathering up the paperwork and humming thoughtfully. "You've done very well. Let me just write you a check..."

It should have been a quick trip to the bank to cash your check, but you decide to open your own account separate from your family's. Which, of course, means more paperwork. Not too much of a problem, but it takes more time. Still, that's a collection of cash that isn't under your parents' control! Another step on the road to...

Well...

Justice? Independence? Something like that. Mom--ugh, Carol, Carol--kind of got uppity whenever you had money from somewhere other than her. You'd eventually managed to convince her to stop glaring suspiciously at Dean whenever he... bought you... gifts.

You really don't want to think about that whole, uh, situation. At least not until you've gotten yourself situated in this other situation. Which you also don't want to think about, because it's not exactly a nice situation to be in, but it's at least something you can do about. Okay, you can probably also do something about the Dean situation, just talking to him and... apologizing. It wouldn't even be that hard. It'd just be... embarrassing. And you're already kind of emotionally drained focusing on getting Amy out of your home situation...

Or maybe you're coming up with excuses because you're a horrible excuse for a person.

Yeah, realizing you stood aside while your mother basically ground your sister into the dirt with her words does not do wonders for your self-confidence. You sigh as you fly home, mentally calculating just how long it would take to get enough cash for the duplex and realizing it would still be a few weeks at the least. Maybe you could take out a loan and just move out now?

Actually, that's not a bad idea. Well, not right now, but once you get a stable income... It's not like you wouldn't look over the loan paperwork intensely. You actually know what all the legal doubletalk means.

Because your mom--er, Carol, is a lawyer.

...Is it weird that you're leveraging her lessons in order to defy her? Like, is there some sort of cosmic irony in the whole... situation? Shouldn't you be developing your own skillset, instead of using the one granted to you by a woman you have admitted is abusive? Wait, no, that's black and white thinking. That's her teaching, and she's the one who caused all these problems in the first place.... No, it's perfectly normal. It happens in all the movies, right? The antagonistic parent teaches the protagonist something, and then at the climax they use those skills to bring the antagonist down, with an addition like the power of friendship or something.

Not that... your life is a movie, or anything. It could be, mind you, maybe a few years down the line you can make a screenplay. 'The Meteoric Rise of Glory Girl!' or something. But right now, you're just landing in the front lawn aaaaaand there's Carol, arms crossed.

"Victoria."

Oh, that's not a good voice. That's the 'investigative lawyer' voice.

"Hi mom!" you say cheerfully, hiding your nervousness. "What's up?"

"That is exactly what I want to ask you," Carol replies flatly. "You've barely been home all weekend. Just what are you doing, young lady?"

Well, shit. This could be bad...

Chapter Text

You roll your eyes and put a hand on your hip as you perform Sassy Teenage Huff 3. "Oh I was getting railed by five black hunks, and afterward we all snorted cocaine off each other." You allow the sarcasm to drip off your words like the grease of a hamburger.

Carol doesn't sneer at you, but you can tell the expression is beginning to form. "...Do you honestly expect me to believe you were at a Merchant party?"

"I dunno, how gullible are you?"

She gives you a very flat look. "You're grounded."

"Oh come on!" you protest. "I was OBVIOUSLY being sarcastic!"

"Really?" Carol quirked an eyebrow. "Will you tell me what you were actually doing then?"

Fuck. You can't just tell her about Parian because you're trying to get extra money--and because telling her would lead Carol down the path of screwing the other cape over in the name of 'Making Sure New Wave's Reputation Stays Intact'.

Carol hums disapprovingly at your silence. "I see. You won't be going out for the week, then. I expect you to come straight home from school every day, understand?"

...Well, shit. "Yes, ma'am," you grumble. You'll probably get in more trouble if you disobey. Mom really needs to learn to chillax--no, Carol. Carol needs to learn to chillax. Actually, that might be the whole problem: she doesn't know how to chill, relax, or any combination thereof.

Or maybe she's just a kid-hating scumbag who likes breaking little sister's souls, what do you know?

God this would be so much easier if you didn't have memories of Christmas and other fluffy things. Why couldn't she be just a traditional cackling evil stepmother? Then you wouldn't feel at all guilty about punching her in the face.

You float sullenly up to--

"No flying in the house!"

--you stomp sullenly up to your room, slamming the door shut.

After a moment, Amy opens the door. "Hey."

"Hi."

Amy walks over to the bed and sits next to you. "...why didn't you just... tell her you were at a job?"

You sigh. "Because then she'd start asking about the job, and telling me I had to work for New Wave, and she'd get all Legal."

"So instead you let her ground you."

"Mmmyep."

"That seems totally logical," Amy snarks. She fiddles with her hands for a moment. "So, uh... are you going to listen to her?"

You blink, staring at her in confusion.

"I mean, you're already going behind her back with the... job thing. Why would you obey her when she grounds you? Call it... teenage rebellion or something, I don't know."

...come to think of it, she's got a point. Carol's words are just words. What is she going to do, sue you? It's not like you ever--Okay, you signed the New Wave contract, but that probably has a few clauses in it and it doesn't apply to being grounded anyway!

"Not that I think you should," Amy adds quickly, apparently misinterpreting your silence. "It's just--it feels like the sort of question that needs to be asked at this point."

"No no, I mean... I could go behind her back for work. That would make all this," you swirl your hand vaguely, "go by quicker. But it'd also mean she'd be on my back all the time. Although that means she'd be focused on me instead of you, which... is a plus, since--"

"She could take away your phone," Amy deadpans.

You wince. "Yeah..."

"Or go into your bedroom behind your back."

"...yeah." You sigh. "So I'm just going to take this, I guess."

Amy puts her hand on yours, quietly communicating her sympathy.

The next day, you land in front of Arcadia and--

"Aura," Amy murmurs.

--very grumpily dampen your aura as you drag yourself through the front door. Stupid mom--Carol, stupid Carol, punishing you for no good reason. It's not like you actually did anything criminal or anything... but nooooooo, she just has to control the entire family for whatever fucking reason. Every day, you discover another way she fucked up.

Well, at least you can still talk to Dean. Except you broke up with him. Okay, you can talk to your other friends! They're... no, they probably don't get the stressors of a teenage parahuman's life. Not really. And talking to them about your home situation is kind of not something you want to do, for multiple reasons. You could chat with the 'totally not the Wards' about it, but... that's kind of like talking to Dean, and they'd probably get political because they're absolutely the Wards and that's like this whole drama between the PRT and your family and god damn it do you have anybody you can really talk with?

...you guess there's the teachers. They're supposed to be there to help students, and you're technically a student.

Or you could try to make up with Dean. Like you always do. But that... wouldn't be real, would it? You wouldn't actually be making up, you'd just be putting the issue aside so you could talk with him, and that seems kinda unfair to the both of you.

You halfway grumble your way through your first few classes and mulishly pay attention to the rest. Your education is important, after all--fuck, you're going to have to pay high school tuition once you move out, aren't you? For you and Amy at the same time. At least it won't be that much, since you're almost out of high school anyway, but it'll be another bill that you've taken for granted up till now. You really need that stable income as soon as possible. Which means no more groundings, which... god damn it. You're going to have to give Carol something, some excuse she'll accept. Or you could just run away, but that would leave Amy alone...

Lunch period rolls around, and you've managed to go from 'bubbling cauldron of fury' to 'simmering pot of annoyance.' Yay, self-control! Now you just need to find somewhere to eat your lunch... which means socializing. Not normally a problem for you, but today of all days you really, really don't want to. Still... maybe it'll help. You look across the cafeteria trying to select the best of a lot of poor options.

Chapter Text

You stare at Amy for a long, long moment.

Then you swallow your pride... and turn away.

Punching nazis? Easy. Arresting criminals? Simple. Being a cape? You've literally been preparing your whole life for it. It's all second-hand nature to you by now. But... this whole thing with you realizing Carol is a horrible woman? Trying to find a way to wriggle free and take Amy with you? You are so far out of your depth it's not even funny. You have to admit it--you need help.

Fortunately for everyone, this is one of the best-funded and most student-conscious schools around. Carol insisted you attend for the clout, which makes it very ironic that you're going to use the very resources she made sure you had against her. Or maybe you're just being a melodramatic teenager, what do you know.

And so it is you find yourself awkwardly knocking on the door of the student counselor, a combination psychiatrist and career advisor--at least that's what you think the job amounts to. What you really hope the job amounts to, because otherwise you have no idea what the heck you're doing here. Actually you have no idea anyway. You should really just turn around and--

"Come in!"

Welp.

You brace yourself as you open the door, putting on your 'talking to the media' face and making absolutely certain you've clamped down on your aura. "Yeah, hi!" you say, not at all nervously. "Hey, miss, uh..."

"Verdant. Jessica Verdant." The counselor puts aside her lunch and quirks a brow. "And you would be...?"

"Victoria Dallon." You step in and make sure the door is shut. "So. Like. You do... the professional advice thing, right?"

"Strictly professional," she confirms. "I can direct you toward various opportunities and support groups, depending on what it is you need."

"Great! So." You sit down. "I need to get a stable income and enough money for me and my sister to move out of my house without my mom noticing."

The counselor stares at you for a moment.

"...I'm going to need some context," she eventually says.

You fidget a bit in your seat. “It’s… are you sure? You can’t just… trust me on this?”

"Unfortunately, I am legally required to ask for clarification."

"...And, uh... who are you legally required to tell?" you ask. "Because I really don't want to make waves here."

“That really depends on what the situation is, Miss Dallon.” The counselor looks you straight in the eye. "I might need to call the police, and the CPS."

"...and the PRT?"

"Why would I call the PRT? Is your mother a cape?"

You pull your hand down your face. "Yes. My mother is Brandish. I'm Glory Girl. And no," you quickly hold up your hand, "you don't need to call the PRT, the situation technically doesn't involve cape laws--"

"You're Glory Girl." Miss Verdant crosses her arms. "Really."

You look her straight in the eye and levitate a foot out of your chair.

"...Right. I knew you were at this school, I just... never expected you to drop by my office." She has the decency to look embarrassed.

"Is it just me?" you ask. "I mean, first the guy at the DWA, now you, am I--you know what, how famous I am doesn't matter." You take a deep breath. "So as you know, my sister is adopted--"

"I didn't know that, actually."

"--and apparently what I think of as common knowledge is not that common," you continue, unphased. "This has recently led to a realization on my part, that being that my mother is... not exactly a good mother. Especially for my sister."

"I see." Miss Verdant folds her hands together. "So you... probably don't want to put her in the foster care system."

"Putting Panacea in the foster care system would lead to disaster, yes." You take in her shocked expression. "...you didn't know she was Panacea, did you."

"I don't really follow Cape stuff," she admits awkwardly. "It seems... overblown. I just focus on helping kids where I can."

You drag a hand down your face. "Look, can you help me get her out of there or what?"

"....I can give you the cards for various legal support firms," Miss Verdant says. "And I can report this to CPS--"

"That's not going to work. It's emotional neglect and abuse, and... look, my mom's a lawyer. She knows her stuff. As soon as she gets a sniff of the law coming after her, she's going to batten done the hatches and clean up the board. Plus," you give a dry smile, "she can easily say 'some paparazzi is trying to create a scandal for their rags, it's all fake.'"

"I never expected Glory Girl to be so cynical."

"I'm an optimist. Doesn't mean I'm not realistic."

The counsoler sighs. "In that case, I suggest you get emancipated as soon as possible." She pulls out a folder. "The paperwork is here, although you'll have to head to town hall to file it."

You sigh, taking the paperwork and looking it over. "Thanks. Now all I need to worry about is income."

"You don't have a job?"

"I've been looking for one, made a few connections, but... yeah, it'll be tight for a while."

"Do you have any friends you can stay with?" she prompts. "Both you and your sister, until you get your feet under you."

"...I mean, my boyfriend's kinda rich, but I sort of just broke up with him again."

"Again," she deadpans.

"You know how it is, you have a big argument and then you break up and then you make up and you're dating again--"

"That's not a healthy relationship," Jessica Verdant informs you. "Couples fight sometimes, but it doesn't mean they break up on the regular. They work things out without breaking up."

You groan, putting your head in your hands. "Am I just a terrible person? Not noticing my sister being abused, breaking up with a great guy regularly, am I a high school mean girl?"

"No, you're a teenager who's watched too many chick flicks and is being confronted with reality." Miss Verdant takes a breath. "This guy--you say he's a good guy?"

"Yeah. A bit--a bit dense sometimes, but--"

"He's a teenager, he's still learning." She pauses. "He is a teenager, right?"

"Well yeah, I'm not the kind of girl that gets suckered in by older men."

"Oh good. In that case, I can suggest one of two things. First, you try to communicate more clearly. Don't say 'you did this wrong,' say 'I feel this way when you do this, or when you say this.' And attempt to understand where he's coming from, listen to his explanations."

"...And what's the other thing?" you ask suspiciously.

Miss Verdant sighs. "Sometimes, two people can be good people, wonderful people, but not be good for each other. I don't know enough about your relationship to judge, but what you told me does have a few red flags."

Oh what the fuck. This bitch really thinks--

You take a breath. She's just trying to help. Even if she's not being all that helpful.

"Now then," Miss Verdant says, "if you don't have a place to stay while you're getting your feet under you... there are a few teachers who might be willing to take you in on the downlow."

"Really?"

"I'd have to ask around, of course."

"Ah." More publicity.

You glance at the clock. Lunch is still going, but you'll probably have to leave soon if you want to actually eat something. Putting the emancipation paperwork into your backpack, you stand up. "Thank you for your help, Miss Verdant. I think..."

Chapter Text

"Thank you for your help, Miss Verdant. I think..."

You sigh.

"I think this isn't a decision I can make without talking to my sister."

The counselor nods. "I'd say that's very important."

"I'll talk with her after school," you promise, standing up. "It'll go fine, I'm sure."

"So you went ahead and told a complete stranger about this?!"

Amy doesn't quite shriek at you, because she's trying to be quiet, but it's incredible how shriek-like she can make a murmur sound.

"I mean--"

"Vicky this is--this isn't something you can just spill to anybody! I mean, it's--" Amy glanced around. "This is going to have a huge impact on New Wave, no matter how it goes down, but it's an internal matter. Bringing other people into it is not something I want to do, you understand?"

You sigh. "I didn't want to either, but... Amy? We're teenagers. This is... this isn't something we can do alone."

Amy groans, clutching at her hair. "This is just some family drama, Vicky--"

"It is so much more than that--"

"--it's not like we need to make a big deal--"

"--we need the help to--"

"--I don't want help!"

You pull back, startled. "You... what?"

"I don't--I don't..." Amy sighs. "Look. This is my shit, alright? I'm already waist-deep in it, and I can't... I can't drag anybody else down into the sewer. And you know it'd happen," she points out before you can say anything, "this is Brockton fucking Bay."

You stare at her for a long moment.

"...those are dangerous and fucking scary words, Amy," you say slowly. "They make me even more worried than I already am."

Amy groans. "See, this? This is exactly what I'm trying to avoid." She rubs her eyes tiredly. "Except now all the teachers are going to start fucking bugging me about, you know, getting sleep or whatever and--"

"I don't know how to explain this to you but caring about other people is normal, Amy."

That doesn't seem to encourage her nearly as much as you thought it would. She sags grumpily, not looking you in the eye. “…whatever. You went and fucking did it, I can’t change that.”

"Amy--"

"Just--just do whatever, I fucking guess--"

"Amy." You grab her shoulder before she can turn away. "I'm asking what you want. Because there are options, okay? The only reason I went to the school counselor was to find out what options we had."

Amy groans in annoyed aggravation. "Can we not talk about this right now?"

You bite your lip. "...we're going to need to talk about it eventually--"

Your sister crosses her arms and glares at you.

"Fine." You throw up your hands. "Whatever. We can talk about this later, I guess." It's not like it's an extremely important part of saving her, noooooo, it's totally something you can just casually dismiss! Never mind that mom's getting suspicious now and you need to get out of the house sooner rather than later, it's fine to put this on the backburner! God damn it, Amy can be so stubborn sometimes...

"Besides, aren't you grounded anyway? It's not like you can do anything."

"I knoooooooow," you groan. "Honestly, it's so stupid!"

"Takes one to know one."

"Could say the same back to you."

Amy snorted. "I don't make nearly as many mistakes as you do, Vicky."

You sigh. "Yeah, I know, but... shut up."

Arcadia has a faraday cage for... reasons. You're not entirely sure why the school board wanted to block off cell phone service, it seems like a relic of the days where older people waved their canes at newfangled technomahozits, whereas now they are a pretty much a fundamental part of mass communication. Still, the cage exists, which means the message servers can't send messages to student's phones until after they step out of the school. And as an obvious knock-off effect, that leads to every last student pulling out their phone while they head for their cars/the bus/wait to get picked up. Which has led to an informal ritual that Dennis once named 'THE BEEPENING,' where nobody speaks until all the beeps of incoming messages are silent.

This usually only lasts a few seconds, but you recall a time where a student's phone went on beeping for a full two minutes. It turned out their younger sibling had gotten ahold of their mother's phone and spent the day texting at them, oblivious to how that would come across. And how much money they'd rack up on the phone bill. It was adorable and hilarious, all at once.

Amidst the crowd of teenagers checking their phones, you hold yours up and blink at the pair of texts you've gotten. You hadn't really expected Parian or mister Hebert to get back to you so quickly. Reading their texts, you can't help but cringe.

"What is it?" Amy asks quietly.

You look around quickly, guiding her to somewhere discrete where nobody else can hear you talk. "Got a couple of job offers," you explain.

"Okay, that's a good thing, right?"

"For this week," you clarify.

Amy winces. "Right. Carol."

You nod, grateful she's on the same page. You can't exactly duck out of these obligations, especially since you're trying to build up a reputation, but you don't want Carol to get on your case.

"Parian wants me to help out with more paperwork," you explain, "but she's willing to wait a couple of days if need be. The dockworkers have a possible consulting contract lined up, though, which... could pay a lot more, but I'd need to get over there now if I want to accept it. Well, not NOW now, but basically before midnight." You sigh. "Either way, though, I'd have to not go home, and Carol would get mad, and--"

"You know I could tell her you're with me at the hospital," Amy offered. "Some sort of super hero support thing."

You bite your lip. That could work, assuming Carol doesn't look into it, but... if she does, Amy would be putting herself into the woman's line of wrath. Or however you say that.

Chapter Text

You shake your head. "I appreciate the thought, Amy, but... I can handle Carol."

“Are you sure?” Amy looks a little nervous. "I mean, what should I tell her if she asks?"

"I flew off and you couldn't stop me. I'll mute my phone," you decide. "That way she can't pester me constantly."

"And you think she's just going to buy that?"

You give Amy a deadpan look. "In all honesty, Amy, do you really think you could stop an Alexandria package from leaving if you tried?"

"Yes."

"...well just tell her I flipped you off and flew away. Hell, I'll actually do it if that makes things more believable."

Amy snorts. "Wow, charming."

You cheerfully give her the middle finger, earning an amused eye-roll, before launching into the air. It's time for you to prove to your mother that you're an independent woman! GO TEENAGE REBELLION!

And hey, at least you're getting a job instead of doing something stupid like smoking. God, who would even do that?

It isn’t long before you arrive at the DWA offices. Right, time to earn your keep. You're sure Danny has something lined up worthy of your talents. Or, you know, just a job. Yeah. Well, he wouldn't have texted you if there wasn't an opportunity of some sort right?

Right....

You quickly adjust your outfit before you enter, trying to change it from 'standard teenage wear' to 'professional teenage wear', which is just standard teenage wear but well-ironed. Then, taking a moment to brace yourself, you head into the building, nodding to the secretary. "Hey, is mister Hebert in?"

"Yes. Do you have a meeting?"

"I think so, yes. Victoria Dallon...?"

"Ah, yes. The teenager." She gives you a wry look and a nod. "Go on in, he's expecting you."

Oh yes, right, you're 'the teenager.' Because of course you can't possibly be a competent young woman just spreading her wings, noooo....

You decide to keep all your grousing internal and save it up for the inevitable blowup when you get home. Which you are not looking forward to in the slightest. Nope, not thinking about that now--now is job time. Time to be gainfully employed. Or at least employed. Yeah, go hard labor! Wooooooooo....

As you enter the office, you notice that Danny is... still not all together. You're not going to snoop--yet--but you start making some generalized snooping plans. Just in case. How many Amys are out there in the world, after all?

"Miss Dallon." Danny gestures for you to have a seat. "How have you been?"

"Oh, just dealing with some teenage drama," you reply dismissively. "Nothing too important. How about you?"

"Handling the various contracts sent our way," Danny replies. "Speaking of which, I've got a few here that might be worth your time." He pulls out a couple of files. "The first is honestly one of the most basic, bland starting jobs I've seen. An architectural contractor wants some 'experienced advice' on cape-proofing the building they're planning, especially against local gangs. It's a pretty standard complex, all things told, but the company isn't used to working in Brockton Bay."

"Why are they moving in?" you ask.

Danny shrugs. "They probably bought the property as part of a larger bundle deal and they just want to do something with it."

You pick up the contract, reading it through carefully. There's some typical weasel-wording but, apparently, Danny's good at catching most of the usual tricks and things seem... relatively above board. "I'm not saying no, but I do know the importance of shopping around for the best option. What else is there?"

He gestures at another sheaf of papers. "This one is a local group--honestly, the company has never done us wrong before. That said, they don't have a lot of call for capes in any capacity, so they're not looking for a cape--more a brand new young employee they can show the ropes. You'd basically be the coffee girl."

"Huh. What's the pay like?"

"Not as much as the first contract. However, you'd be able to make a good impression on everyone there, which could boost your job offers. They are very well-connected."

“It’s important to build a good rep,” you concede. “Anything else?”

Danny sighs, handing you the third contract. "Tell me what you think of this one."

You take the contract warily, looking it over. There’s a lot of formal language, nothing too damning at first glance, and there don’t seem to be any legal traps. The pay is surprisingly good. And the location…

Ah.

“This is in Empire territory,” you say flatly. “Not ‘official’ Empire territory, but they keep their shit out of these neighborhoods and the wealthy white kids there always talk about how ‘the wrong sort’ are screwing things up.”

Danny sighs. "I thought as much. I work my hardest to keep the gangs out of the DWA, and I'm fairly certain nobody working here actually has any affiliations. But... well, Kaiser want power, in any way he can get it, and subtle tricks like this wouldn't be out of his wheelhouse."

"Subtle tricks like 'getting a teenage cape to indirectly support the gang'," you deadpan.

"The problem is there's no official way to prove this is gang-related. Hell, it may not even be, it's really just a refurbishment of an older building to bring it more in line with modern, ah, parahuman regulations."

"Right." You sigh. "And if it is gang-related, I could--hypothetically--use the contract to scout out the building, figure out where all the locked doors would be."

Danny frowns. "I know you're used to fighting capes, but I don't think the DWA is equipped to handle that level of involvement."

"Right, sorry." You let out a breath. "So... do you have any other contracts I could take, or...?"

"You're new. Brand new. And while you do have a... generally positive reputation, this is a new line of work for you." Danny folds his hands. "I'll be honest, Vicky: This is a test. Not just of which one you pick, but of how well you'll do on the job. You've got to be more than just 'Glory Girl' here. You understand?"

You nod. "I do, mister Hebert." With a deep breath, you look over the contracts, before finally making your decision.

Chapter Text

"I'll take the second contract," you say eventually. "A good reputation can bring in a lot of money."

"Great. Now, since this is your first contract, I'll walk you through the usual procedure..."

Half an hour later, you find yourself in a formal suit, shuttling paperwork back and forth around an office building. Ah, the glamour of the intern--overlooked by everybody around them because they are just the help. You try to make as good an impression as you can, pointing out small things the others don't know. Or, well, pretending to ask curious questions that guide your employers to the right answers.

See, you can be subtle!

Nothing particularly exciting happens. Well, not in cape or teenage terms. In terms of business and paperwork, there's a lot of nailbiting decisions going on. But you doubt your friends would care about the details. Your mom might, if you ever told her. Which you don't intend to do, since the whole reason you're taking this job is to get away from her. And nobody seems to recognize you as Glory Girl, for some reason.

Maybe it's just that you're not using your powers? People can be dumb like that sometimes. Sure, not every random blonde teenage girl is a parahuman, but at least one of them is, that's public knowledge, and you don't actually wear a mask. Hmm. Maybe it's the fact your hair is tied up in a bun. Or that you're wearing a suit? Is this what ordinary capes feel like when they wear a costume, pretending to be something other than what they actually are? Or is it what they feel when they wear normal clothes, and their costume is their 'real' self? You've never really thought about it that much before, but now, this experience is opening your mind a little.

Still, reality has no need to let you stop and contemplate the paradox of your existence. Eventually the business closes and your boss gives you a firm handshake, a small check, and a promise of a good review. Success! Kind of. You nod gratefully, walking out and taking the bus back to the DWA so you can pick up your ordinary clothes (freshly laundered! There are more perks to being in a union then just those in the paperwork), and you make sure to check in with mister Hebert to make sure you're both on the same page. Then you fly to the bank to cash in your check, smiling as the number in your account goes up by a decent amount.

You don't plan to move out until you have at least five digits, but you're pretty close to hitting four! Well... decently close. Maybe in a few weeks. Or a couple months...

Well, while you're working on that, you still have to live at the Dallon household. Which means going back to the Dallon household. And facing the woman who told you that you were grounded. That's surely not going to cause any sort of stress or drama...

Okay, you can't hide behind teenage snark. That is absolutely going to cause stress and drama. Which you are ready to handle, you're a HERO after all, but... it's not something you're looking forward to. Especially if Amy gets caught in the crossfire. Or Dad... you really haven't thought about how this will affect Dad at all. Things are about to get messy, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

Taking a bracing breath, you head out of the bank and start flying toward home, trying to ignore the rising tension in your chest.

"It'll be fine," you reassure yourself. "Okay, it won't be fine, but what's she going to do? Ground me harder? Pfff. She can't do anything. I can handle anything that she throws at me."

It's not like she can evict you. Not really. That's illegal.

...as is child abuse and neglect.

Which is what she does on the regular.

W-well, she still can't evict you because you're not, legally, an adult yet. And, and it would look bad for New Wave. Yeah. She's trapped by her reputation! And the team's reputation...

Which is, uh, apparently a lot less prominent than you thought, given how few people have recognized you without the costume. So that's not nearly as good a defense.

But she still can't legally kick you out on the street--erm. Well. Child abuse again. She could do it without thinking about laws.

...well, you were planning on leaving already, so it doesn't matter! What does it matter if you get kicked out, you're--you're old enough to handle all this! That's why you're trying to strike out on your own, after all! With Amy. You're trying to strike out with Amy to live a life... away from your mother.

Away from Carol...

Maaaaaaybe it might be best not to go home right now. You could, uh, go to Dean's. Say you were hanging out there all afternoon. Trying to make up from your latest break up. Or you could go to Crystal's dorm, and claim you were just getting a taste of college life! Yeah... or, OR! Maybe you can go hide out with that Sabah chick you met while looking around for a house. It's not like Carol would know to look for you there. Heck, you could just go to Parian's place and ask for a back room, if you were trying to hide. Or the Palanquin! Sure, you'd have to disguise yourself as Power Punk again...

...despite leaving your Power Punk costume at home...

Okay, no, that's not an option. But the point is there are dozens of places you can go that aren't home! You can just leave it be for tonight! And leave Amy and Dad... to deal with her... alone...

You hover in the air indecisively for a moment, before letting out a long groan as you drag your hands down your face.

"Why the hell does my life have to be so complicated...?"

Eventually, though, you come to a decision on where to go.

Chapter Text

You want to run.

You really, really, want to run.

But, unfortunately for you, you are not a coward.

With a pained sigh, you hang your head and fly back home, preparing yourself for a lecture and browbeating of a lifetime. When you arrive on the lawn, you notice that Amy's watching out of one window. You try to give her an encouraging smile. She just cringes and shakes her head slowly, before retreating.

Well, that's not ominous at all...

The moment you open the front door, you are face to face with a very thoroughly unamused Carol Dallon.

"Victoria," she says, very firmly, "do I have to explain what 'grounded' means?"

"Well, I'm not an electrician," you reply. "So I don't see how it's relevant--"

"Grounded. As in restricted from socializing as a disciplinary method. I told you, specifically, to come home immediately after school. Instead you went gallivanting off to who knows where!" She shakes her head, pulling you inside and closing the door. "I know I raised you better than this. I know you understand how important it is to follow the rules--"

"This isn't about following rules and you know it!" you snap. "This is about your need to control everything!"

Carol crosses her arms. "I do not have a need to control everything."

"Oh that is such a fucking lie--"

"Regardless, you violated the rules by not coming home immediately after school--"

"--because I was grounded, because YOU didn't like that I have a fucking LIFE outside of you!"

"I am well aware of your life--"

You burst out laughing. "Really? Really, are you aware of my life?"

Carol sighs. "As a member of New Wave--"

"No, stop right there," you cut her off. "That's Glory Girl. What about Victoria Dallon? Do you know anything about her?"

"Of course I do!"

"Really? Okay then. Who are my friends?"

"...There's... Dean, of course," Carol begins. "And--No, you cannot turn this into some sort of pop quiz--"

"What's the matter, Mom?" you growl sarcastically.

"You are acting out, and--"

"Am I not a picture-perfect reflection of you all of the sudden?"

"Victoria Dallon, you can't--"

"Is there something wrong with me being my own PERSON?!?!"

Carol stares at you as you huff angrily at her.

"...Aura," she commands. "Shut. It. Off."

You take a breath, clamping down on the feeling that has been radiating from you for a while now.

"Go. To. Your. Room."

"...Really," you deadpan.

"NOW, young lady." Carol folds her arms. "We will be having words about your... misbehavior."

You spread your arms in a sarcastic bow, before walking up the stairs--very pointedly slamming your feet down on every single one--and deliberately shut your door with just enough force to not quite be called slamming.

God, how did you not notice that woman was such a bitch before?

Oh. Right. Because you were a shitty sister who was more concerned with her own self-image then actually noticing what was in front of you.

Fuck.

Soft footsteps alert you to the presence outside your door. Amy. She doesn't come in--going against Carol's decree in this house is not really possible--but she does stand outside the door.

"…you knew that this would happen," she says.

"Yeah," you sigh, "yeah I did."

"Was it... worth it?"

"...It will be," you assure her. "It will be."

"…sure." Amy doesn't sound like she believes you, which... is fair, this is kind of a hail mary you're trying to pull. "Anyway, I should probably hole up in my room before I get caught in the crossfire."

"Have a good night," you say.

"...I'll try..."

The next morning, your dad has thankfully managed to take some of his anti-depressants and is more... present than he usually is. Which at least means he can step in and dull the edge of how Carol is acting, if only slightly. You don't have to deal with being called a villain yet, just a horrible excuse of a daughter who clearly is more interested in her own whims then in doing the right thing.

A+ parenting, right there. Really teaching the kids how to treat others with respect and kindness.

You don't even bother to listen to most of her so-called criticism, since it generally amounts to you being irresponsible in blatant defiance of the facts. She's already proven she doesn't respect you, and you sure as hell don't need to respect people who don't respect you. That's, like, teenage survival 101. If they don't care, you don't care.

Amy is very deliberately quiet, although she shoots you concerned glances when Carol isn't looking. You don't blame her for not wanting to get in between the two of you; she's more a victim then you are, and this sort of abuse is exactly why you're going behind Carol's back in the first place. You do shoot her a reassuring smile when you think Carol isn't looking. Amy just rolls her eyes.

But of course, the woman who calls herself your mother has to go and make things even more awkward. She makes a point of pushing you into her car and driving you to Arcadia directly. And opening the car door. And frogmarching you to the front steps. And telling you, loudly, that she will be here when school ends to pick you up. While everyone has their phones out.

Public humiliation as a disciplinary measure. Wooooo, what fun. And to make matters worse, you're called directly to the principal's office before school starts.

He gives you a very level look as you enter, straightening up in his seat. "You understand," he begins, "that here at Arcadia, we try to treat all our students equally, no matter how privileged or famous they might be."

"Yessir."

"That includes intervening when family troubles spill over into school time and have an effect on our student's education," he continues. "I understand you had an... interesting conversation with miss Verdant earlier this week."

Shit.

"Is there anything you need to discuss with me?"

Chapter Text

"Are you actually willing to stand up to a lawyer when she starts screaming about defamation?"

"Yes," the Principal replies bluntly.

You blink. "...wait, really?"

"Arcadia prides itself on its reputation," the principal reminds you, "and that reputation is more often than not assailed by angry parents who feel their precious child should have gotten some special treatment that they did not, in fact, need. Defamation lawsuits are not common, but not so rare as to be unheard of. We usually go through one or two a month. Usually, though, it's in defense of their child--"

Wait, shit, he's got it backwards. "Oh, no no no, sorry, let me clarify," you quickly correct him. "I'm not saying 'you suing Carol Dallon for defamation of the school', I'm saying 'Carol Dallon suing the school for defamation of her character.' Cause, like, that's completely different."

The principal simply raises a single eyebrow.

"All I'm saying is this is the kind of thing that will blow out of proportion really... REALLY quickly," you explain. "Mom... can't exactly... it's difficult to convince her that she might be in the wrong."

"I've met many parents like that--"

"And she is a lawyer, you know," you point out. "There's a difference between entitled parents and, uh, legally competent ones. This is just..."

You trail off, trying to figure out how to explain it.

"...it'll blow over," you finally say.

"Ahuh," says the principal, unconvinced. "Well, I can see this conversation isn't going to go anywhere, so you're free to go to class."

Oh. That was... okay? Sure. You nod, backing out of the office hesitantly. Uh... that was a win, right? You're... you're counting it as a win. It was a win. Probably.

What just happened?

You manage to arrive at your first class with only the normal amount of fanfare for an open cape in school. Sure, some people are shooting looks at you curiously, this morning's little 'presentation' was not at all a private or subtle thing, but they aren't making a big deal about it. Or at least they aren't where you can see it. Maybe they're talking behind your back, the gossipmongers and rumor mills are an eldritch organization who will never stop the spread of strange and embarrassing stories after all...

It isn't until your second class that people start to ask about what happened that morning, and even then you wave it off as just one of Carol's moods. It's probably better to keep what's going on at home on the down-low for now. After all, the more attention is on the Dallon household, the more likely Carol is to pick up on it, and the more likely she is to 'prepare' for what you're planning. And if she prepares, then legal proceedings happen and things start to drag on and...

Yeah, you're not going to be spilling your guts to complete strangers.

Anymore.

The school counselor was a one-time thing!

By the time lunch rolls around, you suspect that your attempts to avoid questioning has, ironically, led to a bit of a backfire. Everyone seems to be coming up with increasingly ridiculous explanations for Carol's behavior. You smashed her car. You seduced Hookwolf. You're secretly Marquis's lovechild. You told your mom you don't want to be a hero, and instead want to be a tap-dancing dentist. (You're pretty sure that last one is the result of some collaborative story telling game the theatre kids play, you don't know the details, but theatre kids are like that.) The students all murmur to each other, glancing at you constantly, and a few even seem to get the idea to ask Amy what's going on.

She responds with aggressive snark, of course, because that's just who she is, but it's clear she's just as annoyed with the situation as you are.

It's in the middle of this mess that Dean approaches you. Dean, the boy you've been avoiding ever since you broke up with him. Yeah, alright, you're going to get back together again later, but you wanted time to process your own emotional state and, let's be honest, you're kind of a horrible person to him--the regular breakups and makeups cannot be a healthy relationship. At least, not if you understand what a healthy relationship is. Which you're honestly not sure that you do, not after your realization that your entire childhood was built on the foundational lie of having a mother that actually loved you and you've been conditioned to accept everything Carol does as normal and oh god Dean's giving you a look now the 'I know something's wrong do you want to talk about it' look that you don't want to give into but god the way his eyes sparkle when he does that is that part of his power or are you just being a dumb hormonal teenager--

"Hey," you say, trying to convey in a single word the complicated concept of 'I appreciate you want to help but god damn it let me wallow a bit more while I fix up my shit'.

"Hey," he replies, his own utterance seeming to project a bit of hurt but a lot of sympathy, as though you had given him a verbal lashing out of your own stress.

"What's up?" You don't want Dean to press this. He's cute and you (think you) love him, but every time he pushes he tries to go the peacemaker route and there CANNOT be peace in this situation. Hopefully your tone communicates that.

"Not much," Dean replies, casually shoving aside the opportunity to talk about literally anything else. "What's up with you?"

Oh great, so he asked the question. And now he's going to want an answer, because he (probably) actually cares about you and will want to help you work through your troubles. And maybe you should let him? Like, the power of friendship or whatever might be useful here, but at the same time this is some real fucking personal shit you're dealing with and you don't even want to talk about it. And it's like, what the fuck Dean? You've broken up with him too many times to count! Why should he even care? Sure, the rumor mill is in full swing, but...

but....

You carefully do not sigh. He'd take that as permission to comfort you. And you're not sure you want that. But you realize you haven't exactly answered his question, so you have to come up with something to say...

Chapter Text

You don't want to talk about your homelife. Or Amy's tribulations. Or mom grounding you. You don't want to talk about anything in your head right now. But...

Goddamnit.

You might as well talk about something that affects Dean specifically. Specifically, your relationship.

"Dean... what even are we?"

"What?"

"I mean... we break up and get back together constantly," you point out. "That's not... that's not the sign of a healthy romantic relationship."

"We're teenagers," Dean pointed out. "We're going to make mistakes."

"The same mistakes, again and again, constantly?" You shake your head. "Dean, I... I think this isn't working."

"Vicky, what are you saying?" Dean asks, his tone filled with worry and nervousness.

"I'm saying that... that you're a good person, a good friend," you begin. "That you try your best to help everyone around you. And that you're amazingly gallant, but. But. The thing is... it's like, you're a Disney prince, right?" you try to explain. "You are this... perfect, good-looking man that the heroine swoons over, and young girls all think that's what they want growing up, but it's also... an ideal. Not, like... I mean, a relationship is between two people, right? Not two ideals. I think... I think I fell in love with the idea of you--no, that's not right. I think I was trying to force myself into this... stereotypical romance, the fairy-tale dream, but let's be real here, I'm not a fairy tale princess. And... I don't think I can have a romantic relationship with a fairy tale prince."

Dean stares at you, uncomprehending for a moment or two.

"...A fairy tale prince?"

"Yeah."

"Are... are you saying I'm too good for you?" he asks, in complete disbelief.

"...maybe," you admit. "I don't know. All I know is that this?" You gesture between the two of you. "It isn't working. It's constantly falling apart, and I... I only realized it recently, when I got my head out of my own ass. I'm sorry, Dean, but... whatever we are, I don't think we were meant to be together."

"I don't believe in fate," Dean tells you. "I think we chart our own destiny." He takes your hands, gently. "Victoria, I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, but relationships take work. You know that, right? That people in love don't just ignore... problems, but work to overcome them together?"

You look into his pleading eyes... and sigh as you take your hands out of his. "You deserve somebody who's not caught up in her own shit, and that... that can't be me. I really am sorry." You try to smile gently. "We can... still be friends. If you're okay with that."

Dean is still gaping at you, uncomprehending. "...I... honestly never thought I'd be friendzoned," he finally admits.

"Dean, this isn't being friendzoned," you deadpan. "Being friendzoned is asking a girl out and getting 'Sorry I see you as a friend.' This is an amicable breakup, we were dating and now we aren't. At least," you run your hand through your hair nervously, "I hope it's amicable because, you know, I don't... I don't want to be hurtful about it."

"...wait, but we were already broken up. How are we breaking up again?"

"Well, before we were 'on a break' because we kept expecting to get back together, but now we've admitted the relationship wouldn't work out."

"You mean that you've admitted the relationship wouldn't work out."

You wince. "Dean--"

He holds up a hand. "I... understand you believe that," he says. "And I would be an absolute ass if I were to just... try to force this to happen again. I just... I thought we had something. And I'm not sure where it fell apart. This just... came completely out of nowhere for me, and after that thing with your mother this morning I..." He sighs. "I'm worried about you, Vicky. Whatever's going on, I just... I want to help. I didn't expect... this conversation. Whatever it is."

"I didn't either," you admit. "But... it's been coming for a long time."

"I... Vicky, I have to ask--what brought this on?" Dean's voice is still hurt, and a little confused. "I mean, this... this is a big change to spring out of nowhere."

You sigh. "I'm just realizing that a lot of stuff I took for granted is made up bullshit fed to me by my mother and society and... I want to be a better person. Not believe in lies. You get that right?"

"...not really," Dean admits. "I'm not sure how dating me made you a bad person, I mean."

"It wasn't dating you that made me a bad person, it was my reasons for dating you that made me a bad person."

"I mean... if you're doing the right thing for the wrong reasons, doesn't that still make you a good person?"

"Nnnnnnnnnnoooooooooo," you say slowly. "No, I don't think it does. Because then you might do the wrong thing for the right reasons as well. Or... something? And besides, dating you is morally neutral. It is not good or evil, it is... choice. Free will. But the social contract is that if we're dating, we're trying to build a relationship founded on loving each other as people, not as... not as the image we project, or the concepts we desire. So if I'm not dating Dean Stansfield as a person, but the idea of Dean Stansfield as the idealized boyfriend... then I'm violating the social contract."

Dean stares at you as though you'd just started spouting quantum equations.

"My point is," you explain, "I've been hurting you to help myself, and that's wrong. So I'm going to try to stop hurting you."

"By breaking up with me."

"Yes, exactly!" You give him the proudest, biggest smile you can muster. "You got it!"

Dean sighs. "No, no I don't. But... I guess if you think you're doing the right thing... who am I to argue?" He shakes his head and walks away.

You feel an immense weight lift off your chest, even as another settles in your stomach. This. This is not what's been bugging you for a while, but it's a confrontation that has been a long time coming, and you feel that you handled it very well. And that means you'll be fine when you finally confront your mom. Probably. Maybe. It's... possible...

...but that's a long ways away. What's not a long ways away is this afternoon. When Carol is supposed to pick you up, as part of her humiliation/punishment of you.