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A week after the Chicago memorial and the ordeal with Powerplex, Debbie decided they needed a family vacation.
“Where are we going?” asked Oliver. He was practically vibrating from excitement.
“Where do you want to go?” asked Debbie.
“New York!” he said immediately.
“Really?” said Mark. “I didn’t know you were interested in New York.”
“Are you kidding? Everything important happens there! Hamilton, and Spider-Man, and—”
“I can’t believe you’re obsessed with Spider-Man,” Mark grumbled. “He can’t even fly.”
“We’ll go to New York,” Debbie said firmly. “And… if it’s not too soon… I was wondering if you two would be alright with Paul coming along.”
“That would be awesome!” said Oliver. “We’ll be like a real family!”
“We are a real family,” Mark said, more harshly than he intended.
Oliver looked at him reproachfully. “You know what I mean.”
“It’s fine,” Debbie said. “Paul doesn’t have to come along. I just—”
“No, no. Paul can come.” Mark forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you sure?” she said anxiously.
“I’m sure.”
“Whooo!” Oliver skipped around the living room. “We’re going to fly, right?”
“Only if you stay in the car!” said Debbie and Mark in unison.
“Awww.”
They both laughed.
Their first few days in New York were spent together, doing the usual touristy things. They went to the top of the Statue of Liberty; they fed the ducks in Central Park; they even, at Oliver’s insistence, went to see a musical.
On the way back to their Brooklyn hotel, Oliver noticed Debbie and Paul making gooey eyes at each other and had an idea. “Why don’t Oliver and I go exploring on our own tomorrow?”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” said Debbie.
“Awesome!” said Oliver. “No adults!”
“Hey, I’m an adult,” said Mark.
“Eh, not really,” Oliver said.
Mark met Debbie’s eyes, then looked quickly away. “I really am, Oliver.”
Oliver seemed to sense the tension in the air. “Okay,” he said uncomfortably. “Whatever.”
The next morning, Mark woke up to a masked face two inches from his eyes. He yelled, and pushed it away without thinking.
There was a yelp and a crash, followed by peals of laughter. Mark’s mental machinery, dusty with sleep, finally kicked into gear. He leapt off the bed and ran across the small hotel room he shared with Oliver.
Oliver, who he’d just thrown into the flower-patterned wall.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—are you okay?”
Oliver got up and shook plaster from his hair. He was grinning like a maniac. “That was fun!”
Mark sagged with relief. “I’m sorry. You surprised me. I wouldn’t…”
“It’s okay!” said Oliver. “We’re Viltrumites. It didn’t even hurt. And I meant to surprise you.”
There were hurried footsteps outside and a knock on the door. Debbie called, “Mark? Oliver? Is everything okay? We heard a crash.”
“It’s fine,” Mark called back, but Debbie had already taken out the spare key card and opened the door. Her eyes went to the hole in the wall and the plaster in Oliver’s hair.
“What happened?” she said sharply.
“We were play-fighting, and I flew too fast and crashed into the wall,” said Oliver.
Debbie’s expression shifted from alarm to exasperation. “Really? Play-fighting indoors?” She shook her head. “What are we going to tell the hotel?”
“I can fix it,” said Mark. “I’ve crashed into my bedroom wall plenty of times from flying in through the window. I’ll just go buy some plaster from a hardware store.”
Debbie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Alright. Have Oliver help you. He ought to learn at some point.” She turned around, closing the door behind her. “See you at the buffet downstairs!”
Once her footsteps had receded, Mark turned on Oliver. “Why did you lie to her?”
“She would have made a big deal out of it. It’s not a big deal.”
“I threw you into the wall, Oliver.”
“But I’m fine! Anyway, superheros need to be ready for anything.”
It was chilling sometimes, how much Oliver echoed their father’s words.
But Mark said nothing. He couldn’t explain to Oliver why it was so important for Mark to be able to control himself. Oliver only knew the bare details of his fight with Angstrom… and his fight with Nolan. Mark was inclined to keep it that way.
Instead, he asked, “Why are you in your superhero costume?”
“Aren’t we going to fly around the city?”
“I was actually thinking we could be normal tourists today.”
“What? But that’s so boring.”
“I saw some rental bikes a block over. We could bike across the Brooklyn Bridge.”
Oliver thought it over. “...Okay. I guess that’s kind of like flying.”
Mark was relieved. He’d been avoiding going out in public as Invincible since the whole Powerplex thing. He was irrationally nervous that someone would come and start screaming at them while he and his brother were buying ice cream.
Fortunately, the bike plan worked out perfectly. After breakfast, they rode into Manhattan, shouting and pointing out gulls and motorboats. They biked up the East River Greenway, crossed over to Central Park, and took a turn around the Sheep Meadow, which, to Oliver’s immense disappointment, did not contain a single sheep. There were a few shirtless guys smoking pot, day-drinking, and blasting Tame Impala, whom Mark steered Oliver away from (despite wanting to complement their taste in music).
They turned in their bikes at the edge of the park and bought falafel sandwiches from an old guy with a pushcart.
“What’s falafel?” asked Oliver while Mark paid.
“It’s made of… um, I don’t know, actually. It’s starchy and fried. You’ll like it, trust me.”
Oliver took a bite and his eyes widened. “This is so weird. But also really good.”
“Told you so!”
They walked back south, past the Empire State Building and the Flatiron Building, through Lower Manhattan and the twisting, lantern-hung alleys of Chinatown. After an afternoon of wandering, they emerged onto a wide street close to the East River.
“Look!” shouted Oliver. “We’re back at the Brooklyn Bridge!”
It was an impressive sight from street level, tinted red by the dying sun.
Mark cursed himself. “The sun is setting,” he said. “We need to hurry if we’re going to get back before dark.”
“Aww,” said Oliver. “Can’t we just—”
“You don’t want to worry Mom, do you?”
“Fine. But how are we getting back? We don’t have time to walk or bike.”
“No…” That was a good point.
“I know! We can take the subway!” Oliver pointed across the street, where a staircase led underground.
The thought made Mark nauseous. “I don’t know…”
“But we’re being normal tourists, right? And I’ve always wanted to take the subway.”
“We don’t have a transit card,” Mark stalled.
“We can get some! I saw a video about it. They have these machines that take your money and print a ticket automatically, it’s super cool!”
Mark sighed, looking down at his little brother, who looked like he could be ten years old but had been born less than a year ago. Although he learned exceedingly quickly, there was still so much he hadn’t experienced, and it was sweet to see him get excited about something as simple as a ticket machine. Had he really never been on a train?
“Okay,” said Mark. “We’ll take the subway.”
“Yes!” Oliver pumped his fists. “C’mon, the light is green!”
Mark allowed himself to be tugged across the street, trying to quell the anxiety bubbling up in his stomach. The last time he’d been in a subway, some… not-great things happened. But that had been over a year ago.
He managed to keep his breathing steady as they descended the flight of stairs and headed to a kiosk. He forced himself to smile as Oliver exclaimed at the plethora of buttons. The kid was on a gadget kick, and apparently that extended to half-functioning artefacts from the seventies.
Oliver read the screen. “It says ‘Press 1 for day pass’ and ‘Press 2 for one ride.’”
“Press the second button, then.”
“What happens if I press the third button?”
“Um…I don’t know.”
“I’m gonna try it!”
A train whistled on the platform below them, and every muscle in Mark’s body tensed. He took a deep breath. Held it. Let it out.
“Wow! I can make it give me the instructions in Japanese instead!”
“Oliver, you don’t know Japanese.”
“Yeah, but it looks really cool! Whoops—”
Mark leaned against the wall and rubbed his temples. “Can we just get the tickets, please?”
“Okay, fine. Give me the money.”
“Here.” He handed over a few bills. He didn’t trust Oliver with a credit card; he’d probably buy them a monthly pass by accident. Or on purpose.
Oliver went silent with concentration. He gave Mark the first ticket, then started the process over for his own.
Below them, another train passed.
“Hey Mark! What do you think this button—”
“Jesus Christ, Oliver, can you just get the fucking tickets already?”
Oliver stared at him, open-mouthed.
Mark straightened. “Oh sh—Oliver, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Oliver grinned. “Ha! You said the F-word. I’m telling Mom when we get back.” A ticket popped out of the machine, and Oliver skipped toward the turnstiles, singing, “Mark said the F-word, Mark said the F-word…”
Mark shook off his guilt and followed him. “Hang on, Oliver, let’s hold hands—it’s really crowded in this station, I don’t want us to lose each other.”
He caught up with Oliver past the turnstiles and they pushed through the crush of commuters. The closer they got to the platform, the harder it became for Mark to control his muscles. By the time they reached the stairwell, he was holding Oliver’s hand just to keep his own from shaking. He gripped the metal banister and forced his legs to move, to take one step down, then another. But it was like walking through molasses. The air was hot and humid and swarming with voices and the screech of passing trains. Abruptly, the sounds warped into screams and tearing metal. Mark tasted blood. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t stop it—
“Mark?”
No—wait. He was with Oliver. They were going… somewhere…
Screech. He was with Dad. They were going to kill everyone.
Half in the past, half in the present, he stared at his surroundings, which were hazy and dreamlike. People rushing past them. They were on the stairs. It didn’t make sense. They were on the train tracks.
“Mark, come on, we have to get to the hospital—”
“No.” His mouth was full of blood. “Stop.”
“But I’m not doing anything!”
Mark tried to focus his eyes on the face in front of him. His breath caught. “Oliver?”
Oliver was having the time of his life. Having been homeschooled in the suburbs, it was exhilarating to be surrounded by so many people. There were people with sandwiches and people with boomboxes, ladies in suits and men in skirts, teens smoking vapes and old women sleeping on the tiled floor. Half a dozen languages twirled through the air. It was barely controlled chaos, and Oliver loved every second.
He only wished his brother wouldn’t be so annoying. Why was he so grumpy at the ticket machine? And did Oliver seriously have to hold his hand? He wasn’t going to get lost. Heck, he’d snuck out of the house plenty of times and never forgotten his way.
Still, he allowed Mark to slow him down and take his hand. Oliver had noticed that sometimes, adults just needed to be reassured.
The station was larger than Oliver expected. They rounded a couple of bends before arriving at the stairs that lead down to the platform.
But halfway down the staircase, Mark stopped.
“Mark?” Oliver looked up at him. He was staring down into the station, keyed-up and tense. Oliver felt a rush of excitement. That was Mark’s battle look.
But when he looked where Mark was staring… nothing was there. He realized Mark wasn’t really looking at anything. He was just staring into space.
“Hey, kid! You’re blocking the stairs!”
Oliver startled and tried to continue down, but Mark’s hand kept him tethered.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The man shouldered past him, muttering something about the “problem generation.”
“Mark?” Oliver tried to pull away, but it only tightened Mark’s grip. His heart started to speed up. He pressed his left shoulder to the banister, to get out of people’s way, and faced his brother. Something was definitely wrong. Mark was looking straight at him, but it was like he didn’t see him. Like he was looking through him. His breathing was off too, shaky and shallow and much too fast.
Was he poisoned? Was he sick? Was someone messing with his brain again, like Cecil had done?
There was a creaking sound as the banister in Mark’s right hand started to bend.
Oliver tugged. “Mark, come on, we have to get to the hospital—”
“No,” said Mark. “Stop.”
He stopped pulling on Mark’s hand. “But I’m not doing anything!”
Around them, commuters swore at them for blocking the way. Mark tilted his head and seemed to see Oliver for the first time. “Oliver?” He looked scared.
“We have to get out of here.” Oliver seized Mark’s moment of lucidity and pulled him back up the stairs, ignoring the protesting crowd. They pushed through the emergency exit and half-ran, half-flew up to the street.
“What the fuck? That purple kid can fly!”
“Yeah, whateva, we’re gonna miss the train.”
Oliver half-carried Mark onto the nearest rooftop. They landed unsteadily and stumbled a few feet.
His mind was racing. “Hang on, I’ll take us to the Teen Team headquarters, they can—”
“What?”
“Don’t worry. Whoever poisoned you will pay!”
“Poisoned?” Mark stepped back and took in his surroundings. His face fell. “Oh, no. No, no—I haven’t been poisoned. Shit… I did it again, didn’t I?” He covered his face with his hands.
“Did what?”
He uncovered his face. “Sorry, Oliver, I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Oliver said defensively. “I was concerned.”
The side of Mark’s mouth quirked up into a smile. “Okay. I didn’t mean to concern you.” He rested his hand against a vent and used it to lower himself shakily to the tar roofing. Oliver couldn’t remember a time he’d seen Mark so unsteady.
“Why were you acting weird in the station, then?” he asked.
“Ah…” Mark took two very slow breaths. Oliver waited patiently. “It’s complicated.”
“I thought you’d seen a bad guy or something.”
“I sort of did. But it was just a bad guy in my memory.”
“You were remembering a bad guy?”
“Yeah. And it made me pretty scared. So I froze, I guess.”
“But…” Oliver frowned. “You said it’s not a good idea to freeze when you get scared. You’re supposed to—”
“Sometimes you can’t help it.”
“Oh. That makes sense.” Oliver crouched next to him. “Do you want a hug?”
Mark tensed. “Um…maybe not right now.”
“Oh. Okay.” He sat back and hugged his knees. “Can we go back to the station soon? It’s getting cold.”
“I…I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”
“Because… the station reminds you of the bad guy?”
“Yeah. Exactly.”
Oliver looked out across the East River. A grin spread across his face. “...Does that mean we can fly?”
Mark laughed quietly. “I guess we don’t have a choice, huh?”
“Oh no! This is terrible!” he said sarcastically.
“Flying in New York at sunset? What a terrible view!” Mark grinned. “We’ll just have to stay high above the ground, so no one recognizes us.”
Together, they launched off of the rooftop into the violet sky.
For dinner, Mom, Paul, Mark and Oliver went out to a Moroccan restaurant. The waiter asked what Oliver was dressed as and laughed when he said he was an alien. Oliver ordered a whole plate of falafel.
“I didn’t know you knew what falafel was,” said his mom.
“Mom, of course I know what falafel is. I’m not stupid.”
Mark raised an eyebrow at him. Oliver kicked him. Mark kicked back.
Walking back from the restaurant, Mark went up ahead to catch up with Paul, who’d gone to buy them all cookies from a bakery near their hotel.
“Mom?” said Oliver.
“Yeah, honey?”
“Have you ever seen Mark get really scared?”
“Lots of times.”
“I mean, cause he was remembering something?’
“Do you mean like a flashback?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Oh, honey, did he have a flashback today?”
“Maybe?” Oliver was suddenly worried he’d said something to get Mark in trouble.
“It’s been a while since that happened. I thought they might have gone away.”
“They used to happen a lot?”
“I suppose so. Ever since…” She trailed off.
“Ever since what?”
“Nothing.”
“What? Ever since what?”
“It’s Mark’s business, Oliver. You can ask him if you want. And if you’re polite.”
“Fine.”
After they repaired the wall together, Mark made Oliver go brush his teeth. He turned off the overhead light, flipped on the lamp, and lay down on his twin bed. Soon he was immersed in volume #138 of Seance Dog.
“Boo!”
Mark shot up and dropped the comic. Oliver had jumped out from behind the bed. Mark was so engrossed, he must not have noticed him crawl across the carpet.
Oliver almost fell over laughing. “Got you again!”
“Hey!” Mark threw Seance Dog at him. “That was mean.”
“I can’t believe I caught Invincible by surprise. Twice. In one day.”
“That’s not fair. You’d understand if you read Seance Dog. It’s captivating.”
“No, it’s not. It’s about a dog.”
“Ugh. You have no taste.”
“I’m not the one who likes kid books when I’m nineteen,” teased Oliver, picking up the comic and sitting on the bed next to Mark.
“You read Magic Frog . That’s worse.”
“I’m not nineteen! And it’s not worse! It’s way better!”
“Sure, little bro.” Mark took back the comic and flipped through it, trying to find his page.
“Mom said you used to have a lot of flashbacks.”
“Uh—” Mark choked. He flipped too far and started turning pages back.
“Is it because of Dad?”
He looked up. “What? How did you know?”
Oliver shrugged, picking at the edge of the hotel duvet. “You only ever seem scared when you talk about him.”
“I do?”
“Sometimes.” Oliver wasn’t looking at him. “But it doesn’t make sense. He’s not a bad guy, is he?”
“Not exactly. It’s complicated, remember?”
“Because he did good stuff and bad stuff.”
“Yeah.”
“But the good stuff doesn’t get rid of the bad stuff.”
“Yeah.”
“But even if he hurt other people, he wouldn’t hurt us. We’re his kids. So why are you scared of him?”
“Oliver…” Mark put the comic down. He wasn’t sure how he and his mom had managed to keep this a secret for so long. It wasn’t a secret; they hadn’t not told him on purpose. But they hadn’t told him, either, and somehow, it seemed he’d never found out the details of the Chicago destruction. “How much do you know about the bad stuff Dad did?”
“Well… he went kind of crazy and knocked down a bunch of buildings. And he killed the Guardians of the Globe because he wanted the Viltrumites to be able to take over.”
“Right. Well, when he ‘went crazy,’ I tried to stop him.”
Oliver looked up. “Really?”
“Of course. I didn’t want people to die.”
“But…he’s your dad.”
“That doesn’t make a difference. Remember? It doesn’t matter how much someone matters to you.”
“But—”
“No. That’s not how it works. It’s not okay for someone to die just because you don’t know them. And it’s not okay for someone to kill just because you do know them. Good people do bad things.”
“I know. Jeez.” Oliver stood up and jumped onto the other bed, then back, and back and forth, making the mattresses shake. “But if you stopped him, how come he still killed people?”
“Because he beat me. Because he’s stronger than me.”
Oliver stopped jumping. “Oh.”
“So, yeah. I didn’t really want to tell you, but… he has hurt us. I mean, he’s hurt me.”
He stepped back onto the floor. “But, like… it was just because you were trying to stop him, right?”
“He hurt me a lot more than that. He hurt me more than he had to. I… I almost didn’t make it.”
Oliver stood on the patterned beige carpet in his bare purple feet, an expression of utter disbelief on his face. His pyjamas were covered in stars.
“I don’t want to make you scared of Dad or anything. But… like I said, he’s two different people.”
Oliver bit his lip. “Can I give you a hug now?”
“Sure.” Mark opened his arms.
Oliver rammed into him and squeezed him so hard, he couldn’t breathe. It was okay, though. Viltrumites didn’t need to breathe.
He mumbled something into Mark’s hoodie.
“What’s that, bud?”
He pulled back a little. “If Dad ever tries to hurt you again, I’ll kick his ass.”
A lump formed in Mark’s throat.
“I’m serious!” said Oliver.
“You shouldn’t have to choose between your dad and your brother,” said Mark.
“I know, but… I know you only hurt people when you need to.”
Mark stared at a constellation on the shoulder of Oliver's pyjamas. The Big Dipper. His dad had once joked about taking him there.
Then he realized one of the stars was actually a piece of plaster, still clinging to the fabric. It must have fallen out of Oliver's hair.
“Not always,” Mark said quietly.
And he turned the light off and his back to his brother.