Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aimsey let out a bitter laugh as she read the headline of the morning paper: ‘ANGEL OF DEATH FINDS MISSING GIRLS BEFORE POLICE: ARE GHOSTS COMING FOR THEIR JOBS?’

It was an amusing title, really, given the fact that it wasn’t entirely inaccurate — the spirits had been helpful, and nearly anyone was more competent than the police — but Aimsey just couldn’t get over the goddamned name the media had given them. 

“It’s so fucking pretentious,” he grumbled into their hand, as she leaned on her elbows on the counter of the café. 

‘Angel of Death’ was a peculiar name for a vigilante who wore rainbow goggles and a hat with bunny ears on it. Certainly not his first choice. 

Tommy (aka Flor) always laughed whenever he addressed them as such. “You got this one, Angel of Death?” he would call with a grin, and Aimsey would shake her head in playful exasperation and give him a thumbs up before flipping him off. 

Even so, Aimsey couldn’t deny that it did have a bit of merit to it. He had control of the dead, and wasn’t a villain, so, ‘devil of life’ wouldn’t fit quite as well. Plus, if they were fast enough, she supposed that maybe her white hat could appear to be something resembling a halo? But even that was a stretch. 

There was a sudden tapping on the counter which interrupted their train of thought. 

“Oh!” Aimsey exclaimed, eyes widening in shock and face flushing with embarrassment.

“Sorry, uh, got lost in my own world for a moment there,” she apologized, and quickly tucked away the newspaper and straightened out their uniform before turning to give the customer all of their attention, “welcome to the Cosy Café! What can I do for you today—” 

That was when he noticed the stranger in front of her, and suddenly his throat was dry. This wasn’t anyone Aimsey had seen before. 

They had golden hair which stopped at their shoulders, with purple seamlessly weaved all throughout, as well as deep purple eyes which were staring at her intently, the ghost of a smile on their face as they briefly made eye contact before averting their eyes politely to the menu. 

Aimsey coughed, covering her mouth as he did so before straightening and grinning widely at the stranger as to evoke a sense of confidence which was nearly nonexistent at this point. 

She had expected a regular customer, someone she’d seen before, someone who looked like they belonged around here. He hadn’t expected a stranger who looked so much like they didn’t belong, but in the best kind of way, the way that was mysterious and exciting. 

“Um, well,” the stranger started, a bit nervously, and Aimsey noticed they had a tinge of what must be an Irish-sounding accent, “I’m, uh, I’m not much of a coffee drinker? But I want to give it a try. Do you have any recommendations?” they asked kindly, smiling sheepishly. 

Aimsey lit up. This was something he could do. “Yes! I love coming up with drinks for people,” they said, excited, mind racing with possibilities. 

Aimsey hummed in thought, tapping her chin. “How about… an iced vanilla latte with oat milk? I can add an extra vanilla swirl to make sure the coffee taste isn’t too strong.” 

The stranger smiled, a bit uneasily, and nodded their head. “That would be great, thanks.” 

“And, could I get a name for that?” 

There wasn’t anyone else in the shop, but Aimsey found herself asking anyway. It wasn’t often that someone new came around, and he liked to get to know everyone who stopped by. (Especially interesting strangers).

“Guqqie,” the stranger replied, and laughed a bit at the way Aimsey’s eyebrows furrowed in response. “It’s G-u-q-q-i-e.”

“Huh. Like ducky, but with a G,” Aimsey commented, dumbly, and the stranger’s smile widened. 

“Exactly,” they replied, with a laugh, and Aimsey busied herself with making the coffee in order to hide the embarrassed blush that had formed on her face. 

Guqqie studied the menu again before taking out their wallet, only for Aimsey to shake his head. 

“No need. Can’t make you pay for a coffee you’re not sure you’ll even like,” they said, with a smile, and Guqqie reluctantly put away their wallet.

“Okay,” they said, softly, with a smile soft enough to match, before turning to find a seat.

The stranger — Guqqie — took a seat at one of the tables in the front, and tapped their foot on the ground, eyes roaming around the store to take it all in. 

“You should check out the flower shop next door,” Aimsey said, reflexively, while putting a cap on Guqqie’s coffee and writing out their name (with a little duck doodled next to it, because he’s cute like that and wanted to make a good impression). “Also,” they added, “you’re up!” 

Guqqie laughed and walked to the counter, grinning as they noticed the doodle. 

“Also, there’s, uh, something I always do for my customers after giving them a coffee,” Aimsey started, a bit nervously, and Guqqie met their gaze curiously. 

“I always give people a complimentary flower with their order, to help advertise the flower shop… and also just because I like to,” he finished with a sheepish smile and a shrug, before handing Guqqie a flower before he could chicken out. 

It was true, she always did that — ever since Hannah had hired Tommy, they had an abundance of flowers, so there were always extras and she’d agreed that it would be a good way to promote the shop — but for some reason it felt different this time. 

“Oh,” Guqqie replied, eyes wide, “thank you.” 

They peered at the tulip in their palm and then asked, “Why this one?” 

“Um, well,” Aimsey began, straightening up and trying to be more confident, “it reminded me of you. And it, uh, it symbolizes caring and good wishes. So.” 

Guqqie’s smile widened. 

“But enough of that. The moment we’ve all been waiting for: try it!” Aimsey urged, gesturing to Guqqie’s untouched coffee. 

“Okay, okay,” Guqqie replied, laughing. They took a sip and their face scrunched up, momentarily, before meeting Aimsey’s expectant face and schooling their features into something more neutral. 

“Hmm,” Guqqie hummed, “not bad.” 

Aimsey grinned. “You’ll be a coffee connoisseur in no time!” 

“I’m trusting you to help me get there,” Guqqie replied. 

Aimsey nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, don’t you worry, Guqster. You’re in good hands.” 

Guqqie let out a surprised laugh at the nickname, covering their face in embarrassment as they let out an involuntary snort. “I’m not worried, Aimster,” they replied, and Aimsey blinked in confusion before remembering she had a name tag on. 

“Thanks for the drink,” Guqqie said, “And the flower. I’m gonna go check out the flower shop now.” 

Aimsey nodded and waved, calling cheerily, “Goodbye! Come again soon!” before promptly slamming his head on the counter once she was completely sure Guqqie had left. 

“I’m helpless,” he muttered to himself, groaning. 

No more than ten minutes later, Tommy poked his head into the shop, an amused smile on his face. 

“Got a new customer, do we, Aimeo?” he called, waggling his eyebrows, and Aimsey lifted their head from the counter and fixed him an unimpressed look. 

“Yes, it seems like we do, Tomeo,” Aimsey replied, voice strained, hoping to avoid the inevitable. 

Tommy’s grin widened mischievously. “She seemed proper interested in the, ah, what was it again?” he tapped his chin dramatically as if in deep thought, “Pink tulips? Any idea why?” 

Aimsey rolled her eyes. “I give flowers to every customer, Toms,” he grumbled, “you know this.” 

Tommy hummed. “Did’ja get her number?” 

“No I didn’t get—” Aimsey spluttered, exasperated, “why would I… what… Did you?!” 

Tommy chuckled. “Nah, she was much too old for me.” 

Aimsey exhaled in relief for a moment before she realized what he’d said. “Too old?! What do you mean too old?? They were my age, Tommy. I’m only, like, two years older than you.” 

“Like I said,” Tommy replied, “too old. Ancient, even. I don’t date old people. Too wrinkly and senile.” 

“I’m only twenty, Tommy!” Aimsey exclaimed, and while he knew Tommy was only teasing, he always managed to get a rise out of her anyway (and sometimes it was fun to humor him). 

“Exactly, Aims,” Tommy said, nodding sagely, “you’ve got one foot in the grave already.” 

Aimsey shook their head in disbelief. “I don’t know why I tolerate you,” she said, and Tommy only smiled. 

“Because I make life 100 times funnier,” Tommy replied, easily, looking proud of himself. 

“More like 100 times more annoying,” Aimsey muttered, a small smile on her face. 

“Same difference, really,” Tommy said in response, and Aimsey couldn’t help the way her smile grew involuntarily. 

“Well, your big fat crush aside,” Tommy continued, leaning on the counter, “have you seen the headlines?” 

“Yeah, I have,” Aimsey replied with an eye roll, “and I literally just met them! How could I possibly have a ‘big fat crush’ on someone I met a minute ago?!” 

Tommy shrugged. “I dunno. Love works in mysterious ways,” he said, waggling his eyebrows once more. 

Aimsey sighed. “Just… shut up,” she said, defeated. 

Tommy grinned. “I mean, there’s Romeo and Juliet, and—” 

“Romeo and Juliet were just dumb fifteen year olds who didn’t know what love was,” Aimsey interrupted, and Tommy feigned a gasp. 

“How dare you insult one of the most iconic love stories of all time?! How dare you insult The Bard Boy himself, Mr. William Shakespeare?!” he exclaimed, and Aimsey just raised a brow in response. 

“Didn’t take you for a Shakespeare guy,” she said, and Tommy nodded sagely. 

“Shake’s my man,” he replied, and then said in a lower tone, “real ShakeHeads call him Shake. You’d know that, if you were cultured like me.” 

“Ah,” replied Aimsey with a nod, pretending to act enthralled, “personally my favorite Shakespeare novel was Gone With The Wind.” 

Tommy nodded, and Aimsey tried her hardest to contain a laugh, but it broke through. “Tommy,” they said, voice full of laughter, “Shakespeare didn’t write books. And he didn’t write Gone With The Wind.” 

“What, did he tell you that? Talk to old Shake himself, did you?” Tommy accused, and Aimsey grinned. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

Tommy rose from the counter and shook his head, “Whatever, Angel of Death. Keep talking to dead guys and pining over strangers. I’ll be talking to women.” 

As he made his way toward the connected flower shop, Aimsey called, “Yeah, yeah, Flower Boy. Keep talkin’ to your plants.” 

Tommy flipped her off and entered the shop, leaving Aimsey by themself once again. 

“Angel of Death,” she grumbled, “why couldn’t they have gone with, like, Ghost Whisperer or something?” 

The subdued laughs of spirits chorused in the background, and Aimsey raised a middle finger to the air and muttered, “Oh, of course you guys would like that,” before making herself a coffee.

Hannah never minded if she helped herself. 

Aimsey remembered the day he met Hannah Rose like it was yesterday.

It was actually more like a year or two ago, but, still, the memory was fresh in their mind: 

It was Aimsey’s second time crime fighting, and this fight in particular had been rough. Blade had gotten her good, not taking the suggestion of “talking things out” or their comments on his very apparent anger issues very lightly. Even still, Aimsey got some solid hits in despite the Blade’s rumored imperviousness — he wasn’t completely impervious to their abilities, she’d learned — and had nearly gotten him to back down until the flapping of wings signaled Shrike’s arrival to the fight. 

Aimsey had loosened her spirits’ control on Blade for just a moment due to their surprise, which had been enough time for Blade to break free and for both of the villains to advance on him, backing her into a corner in all senses of the word. 

“Hey there, guys,” Aimsey had nervously chuckled, back pressed against the cold wall of a nearby building, “we can talk this out.” 

Shrike laughed, surprised, and Blade had grunted in response. 

“Talk it out?” Shrike questioned, his tone amused. 

“Yeah,” Blade muttered, “she’s like this.” 

Shrike grinned, his beady eyes staring down at them like he’d found something new and shiny and curious, and Aimsey noticed that his teeth looked rather sharp. She gulped. 

“Look,” she’d said, “I don’t want to have to do this. I’m a rather reasonable person.”

“I’m not,” Blade grunted, attempting to push forward, but Shrike held him back. 

“No, Blade,” Shrike said, still intrigued, “I want to hear them out.” 

Aimsey sat up with a huff and met his eyes. “How about a truce? We stop all the fighting and go our separate ways. I won’t turn you in, no one gets hurt. It’s a win-win scenario.” 

Blade scoffed and Shrike grinned. Aimsey shivered. 

“Won’t turn us in, eh?” 

Aimsey nodded. 

Shrike pretended to weigh his options. “I appreciate that, but, I think I’m good, actually,” he replied, simply, and even though Aimsey had known that would be the case, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed. 

Blade raised his weapon, and Shrike opened his mouth, but Aimsey was prepared. He didn’t like to do this very often, but this was a dire situation, and so it felt necessary. 

They closed their eyes and tugged, lightly, with their mind, and opened their eyes to see both men hunched over and gasping, clutching their chests. 

“Sorry, boys!” Aimsey called, leaping to her feet and preparing to run. “Just a quick energy drain! Won’t last long.” 

He patted them both on the shoulders with mocking comfort, “Next time you should take my offer.” 

With that, they raced away from the scene and stumbled into the first building she found in a far enough distance: The Rose Residence. Seemed nice enough. 

The bell rang as they pushed through the doors, breathing unsteadily. 

“Um, hi?” called the person at the counter, “Are you alright?” 

Aimsey had laughed. “Peachy,” she breathed. 

The cashier’s mouth twisted to the side. “That doesn’t look good,” they said, “come with me. I can help.” 

In his state of blood-loss-related delusion, Aimsey had simply shrugged and allowed the stranger to guide her downstairs to the basement, which, looking back, wasn’t the most intelligent idea. 

“I’m Hannah, by the way,” the stranger had said, and guided Aimsey to what appeared to be a hospital bed. 

“I’m Aim—”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Hannah interrupted, “you don’t need to tell me.” 

Aimsey blinked and was suddenly reminded of the fact that she was supposed to keep his identity a secret. “Oh. Thanks,” he replied, dumbly, with a smile. 

Hannah examined Aimsey for injuries, and nodded before straightening up. “Alright. Just hold still and I’ll get you fixed up. It will only take a minute or two. Just… don’t be alarmed. It’ll feel a bit weird at first.” 

Aimsey raised an eyebrow in confusion but nodded anyway. What did they have to lose? 

Hannah held her hands out above the injury — Aimsey had surely broken a rib or two and had a nasty gash on her leg — and specs of white began to emit from her hands, like pixie dust. 

“Is that—” Aimsey started, and Hannah nodded. 

“Yeah,” she replied, “I’m a healer.” 

Aimsey watched with wide eyes and an open mouth, fidgeting slightly at the sensation of the magic — ?! — as it entered her body and healed it. 

“That’s so cool,” Aimsey said, in wonder, before her eyes started to droop. 

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” Hannah encouraged, and Aimsey blinked rapidly. “You can sleep after.” 

Hannah stayed true to her word as she led Aimsey all the way upstairs, where apparently, above the flower shop, an apartment complex existed. 

“You can stay in there for tonight,” Hannah said, and opened a door for him, “get cleaned up and get some rest and all that.” 

Once inside the room, Aimsey hesitated, and Hannah added,  “You can lock the door, too. Here’s the only key.” 

Aimsey grinned and gave her a thumbs up before promptly falling face first onto the bed. 

Hannah laughed and closed the door. 

When he wandered through the doors again the next day battered and bruised, Hannah offered for Aimsey to stay there permanently, and they nodded. 

“And make sure you use the basement entrance next time,” Hannah had quipped, and Aimsey smiled. 

After a while, Hannah offered them the other side of the store to open a café — “You owe me,” she had joked, but Aimsey had taken it to heart and nodded nobly — and now, here they were. Working at the Cosy Café, living upstairs, going to the basement whenever he got beat up. 

But Aimsey wasn’t the only one. 

There had been a couple other residents when Aimsey moved in: two childhood friends, Jack and Niki, as well as Hannah’s younger brother, Purpled… and then there was Tommy. 

Tommy, who had arrived in a similar way to Aimsey: stumbling through the doors of the flower shop, in desperate need of medical attention, but in his case the doors had been locked and the medical attention he’d needed came in the form of being around plants rather than the polluted city air. 

Hannah had found him on the floor, a bed of moss underneath him that hadn’t been there prior, a kid with nowhere to stay and an affinity for plants, and, well, she’d always had a thing for strays. 

Aimsey supposed that they did, too. 

Aimsey and Tommy got along like a house on fire. Or maybe that was just how Tommy got along with everyone. He inserted himself into hers and Hannah’s and everyone else’s lives rather quickly, and ever since he’d arrived, The Rose Residence was never out of flowers and there was always someone to fill the silence. 

They didn’t ask him where he’d come from in such a state, didn’t ask why he’d not had anywhere to stay, but they couldn’t ignore the signs. 

He’d shown up to Hannah’s in clothes which barely resembled an actual outfit — likely nabbed from a convenience store and clumsily put together — and had told Hannah his name after hesitating just a bit too much, and sometimes he flinched when the basement was too dim and smelled a little bit too much like chemicals and the windows were locked and Hannah tried to touch him.

But they didn’t ask. 

“He’ll tell us when he wants to, if he wants to,” Hannah had told Aimsey gently when they’d said they wanted to ask. “You have to let him come to you. You can’t force it out of him, no matter how good your intentions may be.”

Niki, Jack, and Purpled had all agreed. (Not that they were much for sharing or being vulnerable).  

And Aimsey had bit their tongue and clenched their fists and nodded, stiffly, shoving down the all-consuming desire to Help. 

Sometimes it still bugged her. (Often). Like right now, for instance, as the emergency alert rang on their phones, signalling villain activity.

Tommy’s face hardened and his shoulders clenched, eyes clouded and far away, before he blinked and nodded over at Hannah who had run into the room at the sound and said, “You guys get this one, okay?” 

Aimsey nodded, too, and smiled over at Tommy, who returned it, strained just enough to make Aimsey twitch. 

“Niki and Jack will take your shifts,” Hannah said, and as she did, two pairs of footsteps ascended from the basement. 

Jack’s grumbles became more audible as they both approached: “I don’t want to be stuck inside, I want to be out there!” 

“They’ve been working all day, Jack, let them have this!” Niki responded, knocking his shoulder with hers. “Remember what happened last time you were out on the field? You need to heal.” 

“Heal shmeal,” Jack replied, grumpily, and a crack of thunder sounded from outside. 

Niki gave him a pointed look. “You’re injured, Jack. Just give it a rest. Please.” 

Jack rolled his eyes and conceded before meeting Tommy and Aimsey’s eyes and giving them a thumbs up. 

“Kick their asses for me, will ya?” he drawled, a reluctant smile on his face. The thunder stopped. 

Aimsey and Tommy brandished twin grins as they responded at the same time, 

“Sure thing, big man!”

“You bet your ass we will.” 

Chapter Text

The night air was crisp as Tommy and Aimsey exited Hannah’s — from the basement, of course, which was cloaked in one of Niki’s illusions — and the two grinned, invigorated. As much as they liked their day jobs, nothing could beat the thrill of a good fight, a good victory. 

“Alright,” Purpled’s voice sounded as soon as the vigilantes had turned on their earpieces, “I’m not entirely sure what we’re up against. It’s Spectre, and, uh, they seem to have stolen an ice cream truck?” 

Tommy and Aimsey shared a confused look. “What?” they both said, uncertain, but continued to follow the red dot on their respective watches, which indicated where the villain in question was located. 

“Spectre’s a bit of a wild card,” Purpled continued, “new to the scene, unpredictable. Be careful. We don’t really know much about them yet, but we know they’re pretty powerful.” 

“Noted,” Aimsey replied. 

“Spectre’s got, like, ghost powers, right?” Tommy questioned, and Purpled hummed in agreement. 

“Yes. Which means, theoretically, that Angel should be able to handle them in that state,” he said, “but we don’t know for sure, and we don’t know if he can control them when they aren’t in… for lack of a better word, ghost-mode.” 

Aimsey made a face at the nickname. “You know I hate when you guys call me Angel,” she grumbled, and Tommy smiled from beside her. 

“It’s less of a mouthful,” Purpled replied before quickly moving on, “and that’s not the point. Be careful out there. I’ll be in touch.” 

With a click, his voice faded out, leaving behind only the ambience of a city at night and the sound of their heartbeats, which pounded erratically in anticipation. 

“Why would someone steal an ice cream truck, anyway?” Aimsey asked aloud, and Tommy shrugged. 

“Probably because they like ice cream,” he replied, like it was the simplest answer in the world. 

Aimsey gave him a look that he could tell was unamused even behind her goggles, and he shrugged. “What? Like you’ve never considered it.” 

“Why in the world would I want to steal an ice cream truck?!” Aimsey spluttered, and Tommy opened his mouth to protest but their bickering was cut off by a beep-beep-beep sound from their watches which meant that they were getting closer. 

Tommy held his hand out and Aimsey grabbed it, grinning and giving him a nod. “Vine us up, Flower Boy,” Aimsey said, and Tommy laughed and held his free hand out, a vine shooting from his palm like one of Spider-Man’s webs. It launched through the air and wrapped around a lamppost, catapulting the two of them in the air. 

They landed on a roof, overlooking a scene that looked a little bit more complicated than how Purpled had described it. There, in the center of it all, was Spectre — dressed in a white and purple suit, flickering in and out of vision erratically, playfully — who grinned as one of the other villains with them drove the ice cream truck. There were at least two or three others, though they were hard to make out from so high up. 

“Purpled,” Aimsey grumbled into his earpiece, “you didn’t say they had backup.” 

“I said I had very limited info,” Purpled bit back, before saying in a less clipped tone, “but I’m sorry I didn’t know. Someone must have messed with the feed or something... Still. Be careful. Let me know if you guys need any backup, too.” 

Aimsey sighed and turned to Tommy, who nodded before she had a chance to ask if he was ready. “”M always ready, AOD,” he said, knocking his shoulder into theirs with a grin that was nearly hidden behind his mask — if you could call a handful of leaves that grew themselves into a makeshift mask a real one, anyway. Aimsey grinned in response. 

Wordlessly, they leapt from the rooftop — Tommy with the comfort of his plants to break his fall, Aimsey with the borrowed ghostly ability to float — and the truck stopped in its tracks, Spectre’s laughter with it. They didn’t seem nervous, though. Only intrigued. 

“Hey, guys. Want some ice cream?” they asked, and flashed them both a smile that was all teeth, teeth that seemed unnaturally sharp. 

“Well, if you’re offeri—” Tommy started, and Aimsey scoffed and interrupted.  

“No, we would not,” she said, “we’re here to stop you.” 

Spectre frowned, though it looked more like a pout. 

The door of the ice cream truck opened, revealing the driver to be none other than Copycat, the villain known for her quick movements and ability to clone herself. “Shame,” she said, with a shrug, “we have so much to share.” 

Tommy and Aimsey stood in place, uneasy, waiting for a reason to strike. 

“There’d be more for everybody else if you didn’t steal it,” Tommy grumbled, “especially for kids. Why would you take ice cream from kids?”

Copycat and Spectre laughed. 

“I mean, it seems kinda obvious,” Copycat started, with another shrug, “we wanted some ice cream.” 

Aimsey could feel Tommy’s eyes on her in a way that shouted I told you so! without needing to say the words aloud. She didn’t avert her eyes. She needed to stay alert. 

The passenger side door opened, revealing a girl dressed in white and pink, eating an ice cream sandwich. 

Aimsey blinked. This entire situation felt like something out of The Twilight Zone. 

She massaged her temples. “Okay,” he said, “can you just… give the ice cream truck back? This doesn’t have to be a big fight.” 

The new person swallowed the last of her ice cream sandwich and simply said, “Nah, don’t think we can!” 

She had an aquatic look to her, this villain neither Aimsey nor Tommy had ever seen before, with feathering fringes that looked like antennae on top of her head. Kind of like an axolotl. 

“Alright, then,” Aimsey replied, squaring their shoulders, “fight it is.” 

Four copies of Copycat materialized, then, all of them grinning, eager for a fight. The axolotl one summoned a ball of water to her hands with a smile. Aimsey nodded toward Tommy, silently telling him to deal with them. Aimsey was the one with ghost powers. Spectre was theirs.  

Tommy grinned, unphased when the ball of water was sent his way. “Forgot to water my plants today,” he told her, smugly, “so thanks!” 

Spectre vanished from vision, then, and Aimsey felt around with her mind to locate their spirit — “Gotcha!” they said, and forced the villain to rematerialize. 

Spectre gasped, eyes wide, before Aimsey’s hold was relinquished, and Spectre disappeared again. 

“Curious,” Spectre said, now standing behind them, “your powers aren’t strong enough against mine. I had wondered if they would be.” 

Aimsey growled and turned, hands clenched into fists and poised for a fight. “I was going easy on you.” 

Spectre’s eyes brightened. “Were you?” they asked, sounding almost giddy. They flitted out of vision again, only to reappear beside Aimsey, planting a playful tap on his shoulder. 

Aimsey huffed and told them, “You asked for it,” before closing her eyes and tugging, starting to drain a small portion of their life force with barely any forethought. She’d become much more jaded than she’d once been, hesitating to use her ability on Blade and Shrike. 

“Agh- what the—” Spectre hissed, flickering in and out of view again, unable to maintain full control of their invisibility. 

Tommy was throwing vines at all versions of Copycat that he saw, trying desperately to discern which one was real, cracking the ground open below them to see if they would fall. The clones all giggled in unison, and it sent a chill down Aimsey’s spine. 

Water filled her lungs, then, and Aimsey sputtered, disoriented, which gave Spectre enough time to escape and disappear once more. 

The axolotl girl had a smug smile on her face as she curled her fingers together, controlling the water. Aimsey struggled for breath before realizing the futility of her efforts, and focused her energy on summoning a ghost. It was as easy as breathing — which, ironically, they currently couldn’t do. 

As their eyes threatened to close, blackness clouding their vision, a ghastly figure wrapped its barely-present arms around the girl’s neck, effectively cutting off her air supply. 

Aimsey spat out water, breathing a sigh of relief as air filled his lungs. As soon as he could breathe well enough, he gave the spirit the signal to loosen up its hold a little. “We don’t want,” he huffed, short of breath, “to kill anyone. Okay?” 

Begrudgingly, the ghost nodded and did as she said. 

“AOD! Little help?” Tommy called, voice muffled, and Aimsey turned their head to see him pinned under the weight of the ice cream truck, which Spectre was slowly lowering onto his body with their supposed telekinetic abilities. 

She assessed the situation: she could tell that the truck’s entire weight wasn’t on him, as it seemed to hover ever so slightly above the ground — Tommy wasn’t flattened like a pancake, and she could still feel his life force, which were both good signs — and as she rushed over and saw the playful glint in Spectre’s eyes, she knew their end goal wasn’t to kill him. But he was definitely injured. 

“Let him go,” Aimsey ordered, summoning an army of spirits beside her in case she needed them. Copycat summoned double the amount of clones to try and compensate, but it was clear that the effort caused her a bit of strain, as they weren’t able to maintain shape for long. 

Spectre gave her an innocent look, clear eyes shining. 

“And why would I do that?” Spectre asked, and raised an eyebrow — which Aimsey noticed was also purple, like their outfit, and briefly they wondered if it was naturally that shade or if Spectre had a complex makeup routine pre-evildoings. She pushed that thought aside as quickly as it came. 

“Because you don’t want to kill anyone.” 

Spectre hummed, tilting their head and letting their hand slip just a little, lowering the truck the slightest bit and gasping in mock surprise as Tommy grunted and Aimsey tensed. 

“How do you know what I want?” they asked. 

“I don’t,” Aimsey admitted, “but you haven’t killed anyone yet. Why start now? It’s an ugly thing, to take a life. I’ve never done it, not on purpose, and I don’t ever plan to.”

“The Angel of Death has a rule against killing?” Spectre scoffed, raising a distractingly purple eyebrow. Then, in a tone which bordered between playful and condescending, they added, “Doesn’t make much sense if you ask me.”

Aimsey sighed in exasperation. “First of all, I didn’t come up with the name,” she replied with a roll of her eyes, “but, if you’re actually wondering, just because I can control the dead doesn’t mean I want to create more dead people. I respect the dead like I respect the living.”

It was Aimsey’s turn to scoff as she added, haughtily, “I have a moral code. You should try getting one.”

Spectre laughed, a light and musical thing. “You’re too much fun,” they said with a smile. 

All at once, Copycat’s clones faded to reveal that the girl wasn’t there at all. 

“What—” Aimsey started, the grip on her spirits loosening momentarily in shock, allowing for the other girl to break from one of their grasps. 

A moment later, the real Copycat landed beside Spectre in an impressive show of acrobatics, brandishing in her hand what appeared to be a large diamond. Spectre’s eyes glistened as bright as the gemstone. 

“Okay, okay, fine, the flower kid can live!” Spectre announced with a laugh, lifting the truck off of Tommy and placing it on the ground beside him. Before Aimsey could get to him, though, Copycat summoned fully-formed clones which circled around her, and she huffed in frustration, trying to fight her way out. 

“Ax, you good?” the copies all called, and the axolotl girl — Ax, oh, that makes sense — gave a thumbs up in their direction. 

“Yep! Just regrew my injured lungs!” she replied, and all Aimsey could think about was how badly they needed an Ibuprofen. 

“Well, as fun as this was, Angel, we’ve got places to be,” Spectre said with a grin, one that Ax and each of Copycat’s clones matched. 

Aimsey glared at each of them, silently thinking of a game plan. It was too late to call for backup, Tommy’s injuries needed to be looked at. Surely, the others back at Hannah’s would understand if she let them go in order to ensure Tommy’s safety. Plus, she knew now what the villains’ real objective was: the diamond. She wasn’t leaving completely empty-handed. 

Before Aimsey could make an effort to drain their life forces and escape, Copycat and Ax got inside the truck and sped off, all of the clones disappearing with them. 

Spectre went invisible, fading into the night before they suddenly whispered into Aimsey’s ear, voice low, “One last question before I leave: do you get consent from the dead before they do your dirty work, Angel?” 

Aimsey’s breath caught in his throat. 

“I don’t need to waste my time explaining myself to you,” Aimsey growled, trying to mask the fact that Spectre’s words had cut a little bit too deep. 

Spectre rematerialized a few feet away, and nodded. “You’re right, Angel. This was a nice chat and all, but I think I’ll be going now. See you around!” they called, and vanished without a trace. 

Aimsey tried, in vain, to search for them with her powers, but came up with nothing. 

“Well, fuck,” she muttered, dragging their hands across their face. 

“You can say that again,” Tommy replied, sounding more like a pained groan than anything, from where he was currently on the ground, still, struggling to get himself into a sitting position but making a valiant effort to do so. 

Aimsey helped him to stand, shouldering his weight with the help of a few spirits. (Tommy was light, but tonight she needed the help). “Come on, Flower Boy,” Aimsey said with a sigh, “let’s get you back.” 

It was difficult to drag Tommy back to Hannah’s basement as the kid moaned and groaned, talking and complaining incessantly — “Those ice cream stealin’ bastards!” — luckily, though, in these parts, it wasn’t all that uncommon to see two injured people in costumes doing the post-battle equivalent of the walk of shame. 

Aimsey turned on her headpiece and muttered, “Purpled, can you have Mirage let us in?” and the barriers surrounding Hanah’s basement disappeared, only for the two of them to see. 

The door opened before Aimsey could have the chance to try and maneuver Tommy out of her grasp long enough to try, and they breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Hannah’s face. The girl’s eyes widened at the sight of Tommy, and she beckoned them in. “What happened?” she asked, and ignored Purpled, who had stood from his spot at the computer and was itching to interrogate them about how well the mission had gone. 

Aimsey handed Tommy off to be examined, and slumped down in the closest chair. He opted to let Tommy start, seeing as the boy always had a lot to say and she wasn’t really in the mood. 

“Copycat was there with all ’er clones,” Tommy groaned from his spot in the examination chair as Hannah hummed and placed her hands on his forehead, her pixie-dust-like magic seeping into his skin and closing up the gash that had formed there, “and there was this fish girl, who grew her lungs back, and Spectre has telekinesis, apparently, and they stole the ice cream truck — which Spectre almost dropped on me, by the way! — and took all this ice cream from kids , and they’re so goddamned annoying.” 

Aimsey nodded along as he told the story, rubbing their fingers along their temple to ease their burgeoning headache. 

“And they… got away?” Purpled questioned, and Hannah shot him a glare. “What!” he exclaimed, raising his hands in the air in protest, “I’m just asking. It’s important to know how strong our opponents are and which of our members are best suited to fight them.” 

Aimsey sighed. “Spectre had Tommy pinned under the truck, threatening to lower it on him. Copycat had me surrounded by her clones, and Ax — the fish one — had escaped my spirits and could’ve drowned me if she’d wanted to. There wasn’t anything else to do other than let them go.” 

Hannah continued to heal the rest of him as she listened, nodding along in understanding. 

Purpled nodded, solemnly. “And they just wanted the ice cream? Seems a bit weird to have that as your chief villain motivation,” he remarked. 

Aimsey shook their head. “I’ve got good news and bad news,” she started. “Good news is I know what they really wanted. Bad news is that they still have it.” 

Purpled raised an eyebrow in silent question, urging them to continue. 

“The ice cream truck was a distraction,” Aimsey began, “so that the actual Copycat could go and steal a diamond, while her clones stayed behind with Spectre and Ax to keep us busy.”

Purpled’s eyes widened. “Copycat has control over her clones without actually being near them? That’s… interesting.” He typed away, furiously, likely writing that information down to file away for later. 

“It was pretty impressive, actually,” Aimsey said, “I thought she was there the whole time, and I wouldn’t have realized she wasn’t, but she lost full control once or twice. Spectre did, too, on their invisibility. Or, uh, ghost powers?” 

Purpled fixed her an amused look. She shrugged. “Just because I have ghost powers doesn’t mean I know about everyone else’s.” 

Two pairs of footsteps sounded down the stairs, then, and Niki and Jack appeared, looking anxious to see how the mission had gone. Tommy gave them a thumbs-up from where he sat on the table, and they winced. 

“I take it that the mission didn’t, ah, go well, did it?” Jack asked, and Aimsey gave him a rueful smile. 

“Depends on how you look at it,” she said at the same time as Tommy said, “It was shit!” and Purpled made a ‘so-so’ sound. 

Jack nodded slowly. “I see,” he said, though it was clear that he didn’t. 

“You guys close up upstairs?” Hannah asked, not moving from where she was busy healing Tommy’s ribs. 

“Yep,” Niki replied, “Jack wanted to close up early so he could try and join them but I wouldn’t let him.” 

“You should’ve,” Tommy muttered, and all Aimsey could do was sigh. 

“That bad?” Niki asked, tentatively. 

“You should see the other guy,” Aimsey replied, and Tommy guffawed. 

“In this situation, Aims, we’re the other guy!” he countered. 

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” Aimsey said, incredulous. 

“You don’t even make any sense!” was his intelligent reply. 

That seemed to dissolve any of the tension and feeling of defeat left in the room, as Aimsey took note of small smiles and amused looks on everyone’s face — though most would have denied it if asked. 

Hannah sat up straight and surveyed Tommy for any other signs of injury or discomfort. “You doing okay?” she asked, and Tommy nodded vigorously. 

“Got that post-healing high,” he announced, giddy, sitting up as well, “gonna go make some cool ass flowers.” He paused for a moment, considering, “And maybe some drugs.” 

Niki giggled despite herself, and Jack and Purpled were both smirking. 

“Tommy,” Hannah started, her tone serious, “you can’t make drugs.” 

Tommy visibly deflated, as if he had truly been considering it. 

“Without me,” she finished, with a grin, and everyone laughed. 

Aimsey beamed, feeling nice and warm, headache and defeat long forgotten. It was a new sensation she’d very slowly been getting used to for the past few months: feeling at home. They hadn’t felt like that in a long, long time. It was nice. But fragile. Something to protect. And he would. He would protect this little family of his, no matter the cost. 

Hannah had told them both that they could take the day off, but Tommy and Aimsey disagreed, filled with shame from their failures and feeling the need to make it up to everyone. Tommy made some offhanded excuse about needing to be around the plants, and Aimsey just said she’d rather work than do nothing. 

Hannah had sighed, a small smile on her face at their stubborn antics, and muttered, “Fine,” saying that Jack would likely jump for joy at not having to work an extra shift. (She was right). 

Aimsey drummed her hands on the countertop, humming along to the music that played throughout the café. In all honesty, they liked working. Well, working here, at least. Aimsey wasn’t all about being a slave to capitalism and all that, but the Cosy Café was nice. 

It was a good place to think, as well as a good place to distract himself from thinking if need be. The smell of coffee was calming, as was the act of making things with his hands and having nice, easy interactions with strangers. 

They turned on the news for background noise, but quickly became bored of the reports on the weather — Jack could change it if she wanted him to, so none of it really mattered to her all that much — and sighed, searching their mind for something else to do. Most of the morning regulars had already come and left. Ranboo, someone Tommy had dragged in once and kept coming back ever since, sat in his usual spot in the corner, nursing a coffee and a muffin. He seemed too content with silence to start up a conversation, so Aimsey held their tongue. She could always ask a ghost to come and talk, but, well… A lull fell over the café. 

Unbidden, Spectre’s smug face flashed in her mind, their purple eyebrow raised playfully. Their words played: Do you get consent from the dead before they do your dirty work, Angel? 

Did she?

The ethics of their powers was something Aimsey had always grappled with. She tried to let the ghosts know they didn’t have to obey him, didn’t have to do anything they didn’t want to, but it never really felt that easy. She compelled them. She controlled them. The spirits were hers to manipulate and she did. 

Sometimes, in the heat of the moment, he forgot to ask. Forgot to remember they should give the ghosts a choice. Sometimes, as easy and thoughtless as blinking, Aimsey forced them to do as she said. 

The bell on top of the door rang as it opened and shut, signaling the arrival of a customer. Aimsey straightened and smiled, in that easy but rehearsed way, her smile widening as he saw who had entered the shop. 

“Michela!” Aimsey exclaimed in greeting, grinning at one of her regular customers and someone he had come to consider a friend. 

Michela smiled. “How’re you doing, Aims?” she asked, walking up to the counter. 

“Same old-same old,” Aimsey replied with an easy smile, “what’ll it be today? The usual?” 

Michela nodded. “But, uh, also, two coffees to go. I’m picking them up for some friends.” 

“Oh?” Aimsey asked, eyes widening as she went to make Michela’s coffee, “That sounds nice.” 

“Yeah!” Michela replied, excitement evident in her tone, “We’ve been hanging out a lot lately. It’s been nice.” 

Aimsey hummed, putting the cap on the first coffee. Michela recited the other two orders and Aimsey started to make them, only pausing to groan involuntarily at the television as the news reporter said, “Vigilantes Angel of Death and Flor were spotted last night getting defeated by villains Spectre, Copycat, and a third villain who appears to go by the name ‘Ax.’ It is unclear what the villains were truly after, but it is clear to us that vigilantes Angel of Death and Flor were unable to stop them from stealing an ice cream truck, of all things. Are these really the people we should be trusting to keep us safe if they can’t keep a few villains from stealing ice cream?” 

Aimsey grumbled to himself. Stupid reporters. 

“I didn’t know you cared so much about all the hero-villain shit,” Michela commented, tilting her head in question. 

Aimsey stilled for a moment before putting the finishing touches on the last cup. He shrugged. “I just don’t like seeing the bad guys win.” 

Michela met her eyes when she turned around to hand off the cups, and said, “How can you be sure that they’re the bad guys?” 

Aimsey blinked. Michela smiled and handed over the money with a shrug, saying, “I just feel like things are rarely that black and white, y’know?” 

Aimsey nodded and smiled back, though it was uneasy. “Yeah,” he said in reply, giving her the tray with the coffees on it, “well, have fun with your friends!” 

“Thanks, Aims!” Michela called as she left, and Aimsey’s shoulders sagged in relief. That had been a little bit too close for comfort. 

“You’re right,” Ranboo said from his spot in the corner, and Aimsey looked over to him in surprise. “I know that it’s complicated, the lines between good and bad, but, it’s about the people at the end of the day. And anyone who would steal an ice cream truck — which I doubt was all they really stole, but, that’s beside the point — and then beat up two people trying to stop them, isn’t a good person.” 

Aimsey nodded. “Yeah,” she said, “yeah. I agree.” 

They smiled at each other, softly, a sense of understanding between them. Aimsey ignored the chittering of uneasy spirits in the background, and instead enjoyed the easy silence. It’s about the people , he thought to himself. I’m a good person.