A Society of Power (and the people inbetween)

Patton has spent his entire life training for and wanting nothing other than to attend the most famous Superhero school in all of Ghora, East Bridge University. Despite very real qualms about this career, Virgil chooses to follow the only friend who has ever accepted him for his quirk and applies as well. Through their testing process, they meet Logan Sanders, a clearly intelligent fellow with more than a few secrets.

Chapter 1: Prologue (And now I'm 18)

Chapter Text

Janus is standing in front of Virgil’s door.

Virgil knows this, not because his father has seen fit to let Virgil aware of his presence, but because of the break in light next to the crack between the door itself and the floor.

He’s been ignoring that shadow for the better part of five minutes. It’s much easier to sit with his legs dangling off his bed and play random notes on his guitar than it is to think about the “talk” Janus feels required to give him.

Admittedly, Virgil did have an anxiety attack at the dinner table and then refused to talk about it for the next hour, so it's probably a good thing Janus is standing in front of his door.

Finally, his dad knocks.

Virgil strums a random chord a bit louder and doesn’t respond.

“Virge?” Janus’s voice is not at all gentle, but Virgil’s lived with him long enough to know when he’s being kind. “Virgil, can I come in?”

Virgil hits another chord. “I don’t know, can you?”

There’s a very loud sigh from the other side of the door but it edges slightly on laughter. “Really?” His voice is dry now, but still softer than it would be normally. “We both know I’m not coming in without permission.”

It’s Virgil’s turn to sigh. He pushes the guitar onto his pillow and traces the side of it with one finger.

“Yeah.”

“Hm?”

“Yeah!”

“I need clear consent Virgil.”

“Oh my god Dad, come in.”

Janus is smirking a bit when he comes in but his smile falls when he sees Virgil.

Virgil offers him a bitter smile.

His hair is a disaster, mostly because Virgil spent about ten minutes curled with a weighted blanket in the corner of his room repeatedly tugging on the strands. He can’t see his face, but Virgil can easily imagine the dull brown of his eyes and the way his face feels to have lengthened.

“Oh Virge.” Janus shakes his head. “You’re looking well.”

And suddenly, everything Virgil has done to push his dad away comes tumbling down. It’s replaced with a desperate, almost tangible need to be held by him.

Virgil doesn’t say this of course. He just makes grabby hands.

Janus is by his side in a moment, pulling Virgil’s head against his chest and rubbing down his back with one hand. Virgil leans into it. He’s been taller than his dad for about four years now but when he’s just drained like this, it doesn’t matter. He feels just as small as the first day he met him.

“Today a good day then?” Janus asks and Virgil chuckles.

“It was.”

“I can tell.”

Virgil laughs again. Normally, he might pull back and glare at his dad, but the need for comfort hasn’t left so he lets Janus pull him closer.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Virgil grumbles. “Do I have a choice?”

Janus’s hands pause on Virgil’s back. “Always,” he says, as Virgil knew he would. “However I do recommend telling someone.”

Virgil groans.

“You could keep bottling it up. Your therapist says that’s good for you—”

“Your mom.”

“Excellent response.”

For a second Virgil is silent. Then he turns his head into Janus' stomach so his eyes are buried and his mouth is just muffled enough with cloth that Janus won’t be able to make a noise without missing something Virgil says.

“I’m trying out for East Bridge tomorrow.”

Already he can feel a knot forming in the back of his throat and there’s a sort of stickiness to his chest that’s crowding his lungs and keeping him from being able to breathe.

Janus says nothing.

“I want to go. I do. I want to.”

“But…?”

“I don’t know!” A sob broke its way out of Virgil and his entire body trembles with the negligible effort to keep himself from allowing a second to escape. “What if I’m wrong? What if I go to East and I go into the superhero program, and I hate it!?”

“Then you drop out.” Janus says it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Virgil isn’t even close to done. “What if I don’t realize I dislike it until I’m 40, and it's too late to change, and I just have to live with the fact that my life is worthless—”

“Virgil.”

“—my life isn’t worthless, but that my life won’t ever be able to make me happy, and that there’s nothing I can do to change it!”

“If 40 is when your life ends, I must be ancient,” Janus says, not all too gently but still in that kinder tone he always uses when Virgil’s upset. “Virgil, what would you say if I told you I wanted to stop being a lawyer and become a shopkeeper?”

Virgil mumbles something.

“I’m just going to assume you said ‘go for it, Dad’ because anything else is unacceptable and I will ground you.”

A watery laugh replaces the sobs.

“Your life doesn’t start when you get to college and it isn’t over when you choose one job. Anything you pick is reversible.”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “I can’t just follow the dopamine.”

“Why not?” From anyone else the question would have sounded sarcastic, but from Janus it’s very clearly sincere.

“Because I’ll never get anything done?!” Virgil doesn’t pull away from Janus, but if he did he would be glaring at him. “Because short term happiness doesn’t mean long term happiness?”

“If you try something for a few years and hate it, you are always allowed to change what you’re doing. You have a safety net.” Janus’s hands card through his hair. “You’re allowed to explore.”

The words are nice.

Virgil can’t bring himself to believe them.

Chapter 2: Trial 1 (Fight)

Chapter Text

There are at least 1000 kids in the room. Patton glances over at Virgil and is quick to offer a smile, hoping to soothe the twisting of his friend’s hand. The returning smile is weak, but better than nothing.

They’re standing in a space spanning at least the length of a football field. A large white dome covers the top of it, made of solid white material, and yet translucent enough that the ground is alight with sunlight. Barren brown dust floats up to just about their ankles and already Patton can see some of the kids coughing.

There’s a thump from above them. Half of the kids fall quiet. The others whisper, but every head points to the sky.

No other sound is made.

The whispers gradually turn back into conversations and Patton lets Virgil tug on his sleeve and pull him closer.

“We’re gonna do great!” He twists the pep in his voice to force away faint nausea. “It’ll be okay, Virgil!”

Virgil grimaces. “I hate everything.”

Patton’s response is a knee jerk tease, one he’s sure he uses at least five times a day. “Even me?”

When Virgil doesn’t immediately respond, Patton flicks his shoulder and can’t help but grin at the first genuine smile he’s seen on Virgil all day.

“Ow!”

“Tell me you love me!”

Virgil mutters something, flips Patton off, and finally grumbles; “I
love you, idiot.”

Patton smiles. “We will be okay, you know.”

He sounds like he’s trying to convince Virgil. If Patton pretends hard enough, he'll even believe it. It’ll have nothing to do with the shaking of his body, the rapid dance routine his heart commits to as it tries to thump its way out of his chest.

This is something Patton has wanted since before he got his power, since before he met Virgil. The dream to become a superhero has been ingrained in him since birth and for as long as Patton has been aware, it has consumed every waking thought.

Would this class help his East Bridge application?

How many hours should he be training?

Is this internship a good one?

How many weapons should he know how to use?

Is his quirk strong enough?

Does he have the right body type?

Now he’s here. Standing with Virgil, standing with people surrounding him on all sides, all also hoping for the chance to fulfill their dreams.

There’s another noise from the top of the dome they’re under. Silence falls just as fast as the first but the rumbling of different voices return much quicker this time.

“They have to be doing it on purpose, right?” Virgil’s voice is higher than normal. “Is it some kind of test?”

Patton blinks. He can hear himself speaking (“I’m sure it's fine, Virgil! If it’s a test, we’ll be able to figure it out!”) but his heart is beating faster and any thought his brain comes up with is immediately lost.

No. No. He’s sure it's fine. He’s sure.

(If he just keeps telling himself that, it will be.)

“It’s not a test.”

Patton turns towards the voice.

The boy he’s met with is about his age. His hair is cut short, but it hangs around his head at different angles, giving the impression that he’s just taken a pair of scissors to it and hacked. When he meets Patton’s eyes, Patton almost has to look away; they’re a dark blue, and colder than any blizzard he’d ever seen. His skin is white, almost sickly so, and he’s skinny enough that Patton wonders if he could pick up a 10 lb dumbbell with both hands.

“How do you know?” Virgil's voice is still high, now slightly defensive.

The boy’s gaze shifts over to look at Virgil. Unlike Patton, Virgil doesn’t even flinch under the ice in his eyes.

“It’s a guess,” he informs them. He pauses. “A good one.”

“So it’s just a coincidence?” Patton askes. He almost doesn’t want to, not as the person turns back to look at him but he needs to know.

“They’re trying to stress you out.” The boy’s lips twitch. “They want to see who works well under pressure. Anyone who’s too nervous right now will be more likely to fail the first test.”

“That’s horrible!” Patton wraps his arms around himself. “Why would they make things worse!?”

The boy doesn’t respond.

Patton’s breath comes out faster than before the boy had spoken, however, Virgil actually seems to have calmed down a little. When a third hit sounds against the dome, louder and more aggressive than the last two, he flips it off.

“Assholes.”

The boy's lips twitch again and this time his eyes soften a little.

“What’s your name?” Patton tries. He straightens out his shoulders and purposely adds a bit of pep in his voice. “My name is Patton! This is my bestest—” Virgil rolls his eyes— “friend Virgil!”

“I’m Logan,” the boy says. Logan stands slightly straighter. “He/him.”

“I— oh— I— sorry!” Patton is already mentally kicking himself. “I’m he/him as well, I’m so sorry! I should’ve started with that! Virgil is he/him too!”

Logan’s posture doesn’t shift at all but he offers Patton a weak smile.

Patton judged him too quickly. The cold from earlier has partly melted and he seems much more human now. The way he spoke was certainly a bit curt, but Patton thinks about how he had been spiraling; it had been the boy’s voice that stopped him from hitting the bottom.

“So…” Virgil’s voice trails off. Patton can practically see him racing for something to say and his eyes flit back and forth from Logan to Patton several times. “What’s your favorite color?”

If Logan finds the question odd, he doesn’t remark upon it. “I’m partial to navy blue. Yourself?”

“Black.” Virgil frowns. “Purple. Wait. Black. No, pur- black and purple.”

“Those are adequate colors. I understand your indecisiveness around them, they both can be very calming.”

“They express the inner darkness of my soul.”

Logan’s smile is close-lipped, but much more real than the one he gave Patton. “They’re adequate for that as well.”

The following silence is uneasy, but Patton seems to be the only one to notice it. Both Logan and Virgil are still and while they aren’t looking at each other, their faces are generally relaxed.

Patton’s fingers tap against the side of his leg. “So Logan!” he says happily. “Why did you choose to try out for East Bridge?!”

Logan’ s quiet, so Patton tries again.

“It's always been my dream to apply! I don’t really know when it started! It’s just so cool isn’t it!? You get to help people and stop all the bad guys!”

A muscle twinges in Logan’s jaw and still he doesn’t respond. Just before Patton can push a bit harder, a voice echoes over the dome, silencing everyone for a fourth time.

The voice is soft and musical, speaking the way a parent might to their toddler. It should calm Patton, but every part of him is suddenly on edge. His hair stands up, his fingers close in and out, and breathing becomes rather difficult.

Virgil looks to be about the same, if not worse. His breaths come hot and heavy and his face is gradually lightening. Patton reaches out for him and intertwines their shaking hands together.

Most people around them seem to be doing the same. A girl a couple of feet away is gripping her hair and whispering to herself; a boy keeps cracking his knuckles and he prances from foot to foot. There are a few however, who seem wholefully unaffected.

Logan is one of them.

“Welcome to East Bridge University Testing. My name is Siren and I will be your guide through this first test.”

Patton grits his teeth.

They might be successful in scaring him, but he could push through this. He just needed to keep out of his head, and stay calm.

He could do that.

He could.

“Virgil, it’ll be okay!” Patton stutters. “It’s just the voice. It’s okay!”

“I know.”

Logan purses his lips. “I think they’re going to have us fight each other.”

Patton is already tense and the very idea makes his skin crawl. He wants to be a superhero but there's nothing in him that wants to hurt anyone. He certainly doesn't want to take the chance to be a hero from someone else.

“How do you know?” Virgil asks.

“They’re trying to scare us to see how we’ll do in a fight when pushed to the limit.” Logan responds. “There’s nothing in this room but contestants and if they needed us to be worked up before a task, Siren would need to reuse their powers. Therefore, we have to be the first test.”

“I don’t want to hurt anybody!” The words burst out of Patton and he takes a deep breath to try and steady himself.

Logan’s tone is sharp. “I thought you wanted to be a hero?”

Patton has barely begun to wrap his head around that sentence when Siren’s voice slides through the air again, somehow softer and yet more anxiety inducing.

“Your first task starts now.” Siren’s voice goes up on the word now and Patton can feel his body rise with it. He fixes a smile on his face.

He’s good.

He’s fine.

“For the next five minutes, you will be fighting each other.” Patton can’t help the glance over at Logan. “If you are able to remain standing, you may move on. The timer starts now.”

The chaos doesn’t begin instantly but when it starts, it starts together. The rumbling of voices from earlier turns to a deafening, neverending scream that can’t quite hide the sickening sound of flesh on flesh and cracks from all around the room. Patton barely has time to recognize the sharp wind near his cheek before he’s throwing up his hand and pulling up from deep inside of him.

It’s more instinctual than anything else. Patton can’t describe the way he reaches, and it's been a long time since he thought about how his hands go flat. When he was little he had to point in the direction of the object; now, just moving his hand is enough for him.

A shining shield, glowing a light blue color, instantly covers him. The fist that would’ve sent him to the floor bounces off of it and some random kid hits the dirt. They instantly go to get up to their feet, but Virgil fixes them with a look and Patton watches the kid freeze.

Virgil cocks his head at the kid. “Don’t touch him.”

The kid screams and Patton’s stomach drops. He wants to tell Virgil to stop, and starts to open his mouth to do so but the kid cuts him off.

“Stop. Stop it. Stop. Please, please, please—

The kid’s eyes stare up at Virgil, but slightly to the left of his face. They reach out at nothing, then whimper and slide, covering their eyes with one hand and pleading.

Eyes shut against whatever they see, but Patton knows it makes no difference. You can’t close your eyes against images in your head.

Suddenly, the kid quiets. Whimpers still shudder past their lips but their eyes open and when they glance between Patton and Virgil, they’re able to meet their eyes.

They don't get up.

Virgil doesn’t ask the kid what they saw, though Patton knows that Virgil has no idea what he put into their head. Instead, Virgil just makes his way beside Patton, stepping around the kid and intertwining his and Patton’s hand together.

Patton pulls away. He kneels next to the kid and without looking, creates his own glowing blue dome over both him, Virgil and the kid.

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t— don’t— stay away. Do you understand? Stay away!”

Patton flinches. “It’s okay, okay? Virgil didn’t mean to make you upset, he was just all worried about me. I’m sorry we hurt you.”

The kid still isn’t moving.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Leave me alone.”

“I’m—”

“Patton.” Virgil’s eyes are dark when he looks at him. “Leave them be.”

“They need help! We should help them! We hurt—”

“No, I hurt them. Come on Patton, let’s move on. They want to be left alone.”

Patton’s mind is racing. “Look, um, Mx, I’ll leave the force field over us, alright? The announcer lady said all we had to do was keep standing, okay? So I’ll keep everyone away and then the three of us will be able to move on to the next task, alright?”

The kid nods slowly. Their breathing is still hard and when Virgil moves they flinch.

Logan has long since disappeared. Patton wonders if he’ll be able to survive round one; while he certainly seemed clever, there was nothing about him that spoke to any kind of strength. Maybe his quirk is powerful enough to get him through this.

The next few minutes are painful. Patton stands in his forcefield, Virgil beside him and the kid is still on the ground. Every now and then he debates letting another person in but Virgil glares at everyone who passes so Pattin chooses to let it be.

All around them, people are screaming. Blood bounces against his forcefield more than once and all different kinds of fighting methods are brought out. One boy sends a wave of fire against a girl, only to watch it die in midair. Patton has to look away when his face turns blue. He can’t see air molecules, but if he could, he was sure all of the oxygen would have disappeared from under the firewielder's nose.

“Your five minutes are up.” This time when the Siren speaks Patton’s heart slows. All of his tapping stops and he almost lays on the floor, wondering if the sand of the dome is comfortable enough to sleep on. “Anyone who continues to fight will be suspended immediately.”

There isn’t silence and even the Siren’s voice isn’t enough to stop Patton from whimpering at the cries of the others. More than half of the contestants are on the ground, and only the very lucky are unconscious. Some are struggling to get onto their feet, crumpling on broken legs. Others just lay still on the sand sobbing.

Pattons cheeks are wet and Virgil folds him into a hug.

This is to become a superhero, he promises himself. That’s all he wants.

He wants to help people.

“If you are able to, please make your way to the five doors on the eastern side of the dome.”

Patton pulls from Virgil’s arms to spin in a slow circle. The dome had seemed solid a second ago; now he can locate five rectangles, the edges of which are glowing a faint gold.

He drops the force field.

All around him, people are making their way over to the door. A couple of people are running, a few gloatfully strutting, but most are moving the way Patton feels, slow and broken.

He spots Logan. The boy is kneeling next to one of the fallen, two fingers up against the top of their neck. For a second, he holds his breath and when Logan pulls his hand away, he can’t read the expression on his face.

Patton starts walking before he can see if Logan goes or stays.
Virgil instantly falls into step beside him and to Patton’s surprise, the person Virgil scared follows as well. They make their way up to a door on the side and quickly step into line.

“Are you okay?” Virgil whispers.

Patton nods on instinct. “Of course I’m okay! You?”

“I could be better.”

The line disappears in front of them. Virgil passes first through the frame, glancing back at Patton before stepping off to the left and out of view. Patton follows and just before he can turn with Virgil, he looks behind to watch the kid he’d protected try to follow as well.

The door shuts on their face.

Patton holds his breath staring. Surely it was a mistake. Yeah, the kid had lost to them, but they weren't down. They weren't done.

The door opens and somebody Patton doesn’t recognize steps through and the kid is gone.

They’re never going to be allowed in East Bridge.

Because of him.

Patton turns to follow Virgil.

Chapter 3: Trial 2 (A More Formal Meeting)

Chapter Text

Virgil moves away from Patton when they make it into the next room. Patton doesn’t protest but he does point to a quiet spot against a wall and tell Virgil to meet him there at the first sign of trouble.

The moment Virgil is away from him, he closes his eyes.

The kid’s face joins a small group of others Virgil has ever dared to use that part of his quirk on.

His hands curl into fists.

Your quirk doesn’t make you evil, Virgil.

The voice sounds suspiciously like Janus.

The kid hadn’t followed Patton out of the dome. Virgil had looked for him, quietly so as to not frighten them more, but the look on Patton’s face had been enough to tell Virgil that the kid wasn’t going to be coming through. Whatever the Trainers had been looking for, that kid had lacked.

Because Virgil had used his quirk on him.

He swallows.

He doesn’t regret it. Patton certainly wants him to, even if he won’t say it, but Virgil had seen the way the kid was starting to get up. He had seen the fire in that kid's eyes, all directed at Patton. And most importantly, he had seen the fingers slowly shifting into small sharp blades.

So he had made sure the kid wouldn’t be able to use them.

“Virgil?”

Virgil swings around instantly, already on high alert. His quirk tickles the back of his throat, ready to jump up at a moment’s notice.

It’s Logan.

His hands are completely covered in blood, his face splattered with it. The clothes hanging from his frame are all black but Virgil can see how the end of his shirt droops lower, slightly darker than the rest.

“Are you okay?!” Virgil exclaims.

“What? Oh.” Logan looks down at himself. “Indeed. None of this is mine.” He gestures down at himself.

Something in Virgil's chest tightens. “How many people did you…?” his voice trails off, but Logan clearly gets his meaning because something in his eyes shifts.

“I didn’t harm anyone beyond very basic and quickly recoverable self-defense.” Logan attempts to wipe his hands on his shift and just ends up spreading the blood around. “Logically speaking, it makes absolutely no sense to attack someone. There’s a high chance that people have come in groups, such as you and Patton, so knocking down one would make you more likely to be a target. It makes much more sense to simply avoid the fighting until the five minutes are up.”

“Then why?” Virgil gestures wildly at Logan. “What did you do?”

All of the emotion on Logan’s face shudders to an abrupt stop. “I tried to help.”

Virgil cocks his head to the left.

“I’ve not been medically trained, but I’ve read a number of different books and… well, the point is, I was hopeful I could mitigate some of the damages that would need to be tended to immediately.” Logan stares down at his hands. “I believe I was partially successful.”

It’s the way his voice cracks just ever so slightly on partially, the one crevice in this wall of armor, that has Virgil reaching forward. His hand stops halfway in between them and he pulls back.

“Come on.” His voice is heavy. “Come sit with me and Patton.”

Logan blinks and for a moment, but at Virgil's wave follows. Patton’s already waiting at the spot he pointed to and when he sees Logan, he jumps up, eyes wide.

“Are you okay? I— when I saw you in the dome you didn’t have any blood on you! What happened?! Do you need a medic?”

“No.”

“He’s fine, Pat.” Virgil smiles over at his friend and Patton smiles back, almost instinctively. “Can he sit with us?”

Virgil isn’t sure what he would do if Patton said no, but luckily, Patton’s never one to exclude. Instantly, Patton is nodding, making room against the side of the metal gray dome they’ve entered for both Logan and Virgil to collapse against it.

All around them, other contestants are mostly doing the same. Some are giving themselves medical aid, a number whispering together, and almost all are taking the chance to sit back and breathe.

It takes less than a second of silence for Patton to try and fill it.
“It’s a really interesting first trial, right?” Patton asks. “How many trials do you think there’ll be? I’ve read online that there are usually like two but I’ve also seen people say there can be as many as eight.”

“My estimate is three more.” Logan uses one hand to constantly wipe one finger, turning and rubbing at the blood. All he manages to do is swap the red from one hand to the next. “At the beginning of the trail, I counted the number of kids in exactly ¼ of the dome and came to a total of 281 kids. If I use this to estimate the population of the total number of people in the dome, I get about 1124, give or take.”

His hands are still moving in an attempt to push the blood off. It’s much more frantic than it had been earlier and while Logan’s face remains filtered of all emotion, Virgil can see his chest rising and falling quicker and quicker, still smearing blood and unable to get it off.

“When I stayed behind, I counted the leftmost line to estimate how many people passed the first exam. There were 98 people who entered that door. If I once again use that to estimate the total number of people entering each line, I get a total of 490 people. That means that the first task reduced the number of contestants by 56.4%.”

His hands move much more rapidly now and Virgil watches him try to wipe it on his bloodsoaked shirt, only to pull his hands away with equal amounts of blood as before.

“If I assume that the next couple of tasks will do the same, it would take three more tasks to reduce our number to about 75 people. They’ve said that there are three trainers this year, Siren being one of them, so it's very likely that they’re only planning on admitting three classes. Each class will likely be of 25 people.”

Normally Patton would’ve zoned out, but the one thing that’s always been able to keep his friend’s attention is superheroes, regardless of how boring he finds math. He nods quietly, clearly commuting the numbers in his head and trying to apply it to the situation he’s in.

Shirt deemed insufficient, Logan has gone back to wiping his hands together. His lips are pursed, eyebrows down, and his chest is going up and down, up and down, up and then it stays up for far too long before sucking in deep.

Virgil shrugs off his jacket. He hadn’t come to the training tryouts in his normal attire; black ripped jeans, a basic black or purple long sleeve shirt and a puffy sweatshirt isn’t the best for physical activity. Instead, Virgil wears black running pants, a long sleeve purple running shirt, sneakers, and most importantly, a black sweatshirt hanging unzipped off his frame.

Now, he pushes it off. The hairs on the back of his neck rises almost immediately and Virgil has to resist the urge to glance behind him or fling the sweatshirt back on.

“Logan.”

The boy turns to look at him, hands still fruitlessly rubbing together.

“Can I…?” Virgil holds the jacket up. He’s not sure how to explain what he’s about to do, mostly because he can’t believe he’s making this decision.

Somehow however, Logan gets exactly what he means. His body locks up and for a moment, Virgil thinks he’s going to say no.

The nod Logan gives is stiff.

Virgil slowly shifts so his body is in front of Logan. Before he can stop himself, he lowers the sweatshirt over Logan's hands and mops off the top of his left hand, before shifting to mop his right.

Patton is staring at him, openmouthed. He looks down at the jacket, back at Virgil, and then down at the jacket again. Three times his mouth opens and closes and three times nothing comes out.

Virgil’s back feels very strange. He wants his jacket back.

Carefully, Virgil shifts Logan’s hands over and uses the end of his sweatshirt to slip in between his fingers and wipe the blood from each of the crevasses. Logan is frozen underneath him; he doesn’t even think the boy is breathing.

“Are you okay?” he mutters, quietly enough he wonders if even Patton, who’s sitting right beside him, can hear.

Logan’s nod is stuttered.

Virgil moves onto the next hand. He shifts his jacket back over to a clean spot and once again fiddles his way in between Logan’s fingers. This time, their hand brushes for the briefest moment and it’s like lightning shoots its way up Virgil’s arm. He manages to keep his expression blank, especially since Logan flinches at the touch, eyes wide.

When Virgil pulls back, both of Logan’s hands are purely white. The only sign of leftover blood is the dried stiffness of his shirt and the flecks spread up over his face, looking more like dark red freckles.

“Thank you,” Logan whispers. He pulls his legs towards his stomach, arms wrapping around them.

“Of course,” Virgil tells him.

Patton is still staring at the jacket in shock.

“Hello contestants.” Siren’s voice sounds over the metal dome. Unlike before, Virgil doesn’t feel his heartbeat rise with their voice and he lets out a quiet breath of relief.

He really prefers tasks that don’t mess with his emotions.

“Your next task begins now.”

Logan suddenly moves. He flips up to his feet, placing his heels right against the very edges of the metal dome and leaning fully against the edges. His hands curl against the smooth walls.

Virgil is halfway through getting up to copy him, fingers slipping against the smooth metal of the wall, when the entire floor gives out from under him.

Chapter 4: Trial 2 (Start)

Chapter Text

Roman is in the middle of a particularly funny anecdote about the expression on some girl’s face as he bashed her head into the ground when the floor opens up.

He scowls.

It’s a very easy trick; one his parents had pulled on Remus and Roman more than once in their training, and quite frankly, Roman is rather disappointed. He’d thought the test to get into East Bridge would be hard.

Clearly not.

With a sigh, and a frown (he had been cut off in the middle of his speech after all) Roman tilts his head to the side and imagines a parachute above him. He can almost feel the golden straps wrapping around his thick muscled frame and cold metal of the parachute handles in his hands.

And then, all of a sudden, he can.

The red and gold swirl cloth flaps slightly as it catches him, pulling him up. Then, the cloth expands out and Roman is left above the crowd, watching how his competitors tried to survive the sudden drop.

Remus, of course, is absolutely fine. He snaps his fingers rapidly and with every resounding click, a trampoline appears slightly lower than him for Remus to jump off of and onto the next. He whoops out loud as he does it, spinning in air to flash Roman a smile before leaping off to the next.

He looks like an idiot and Roman has to resist the urge to shout for him to take this seriously.

There are a couple of people with airbending quirks; Roman watches a girl catch herself immediately, and then gradually begin to lower herself to the unseen bottom. One boy transforms rapidly between a cat and a human, frantically trying to get himself to the wall, although for what Roman isn’t sure. The walls of the drop seem relatively smooth, besides a ring of bolts to hold up the plates of metal, so there’s nothing for the shapeshifter to grab onto.

One kid—a boy with smooth black hair, dark brown eyes, and tan skin—just falls. He was standing next to two other boys, one a dark brown with ruffled black hair and the other so white Roman has to wonder if he’s ever seen the sun before. It takes the east asian kid 20 feet before he realizes he needs to do something, and then his hands press flat and a blue shield spreads out underneath him.

When he hits it, he groans.

The other two boys have somehow not fallen and Roman realizes why a moment later.

Apparently, when the floor opened up, it left about two inches of floor right against the edge to continue standing on. The skinny white boy is able to remain standing, heels pressed right against the wall. The other boy hangs, one hand clenched tightening around that little bit of floor and the other desperately reaching for it.

“Virgil!” the shield boys yells out. “I’ve got you!” His hand presses flat and a blue shield spreads out underneath the hanging kid.

Roman rolls his eyes and turns away. Degenerate. This was a test. You don’t help people during a test; if they’re not strong enough to be able to complete it themselves, then they don’t deserve to be here.

It's as simple as that.

Not to mention, the idiot had used his hand as a method of his quirk. That was one of the techniques his parents had pressed out of him; in any dangerous situation, kidnapping, fight, etc, the first thing someone would do is try and tie back your hands.

The boy—Virgil apparently—drops, falling expertly (although Roman could do it better) and tumbling up into a standing position.

“Logan, you come too!” Patton yells. “I can make platforms for all of us!”

But the white kid shakes his head. “I’ll meet you at the bottom.”

“Logan?”

“It’s important I do every task myself.” Roman swears the boy's eyes flicker up to him. “I recommend the both of you go. I shall see you at the bottom.”

“Does your quirk-” Patton starts.

“I shall see you at the bottom,” Logan says again.

Roman’s nearly past where the white kid is standing now. He looks weirdly familiar, but Roman can’t imagine where he would’ve seen him before. Just the boy’s clothing is enough to let Roman know he’s lower class, so it’s not like he could’ve run into him at one of his dinner parties.

The familiar feeling won’t go away, especially as the boy glances at him again and Roman gets a full look at his face. He knows that face. It’s different somehow, but it makes his skin crawl in ways Roman’s only ever experienced under his mothers hard glare.

He must’ve passed him on the street somewhere. Roman can’t imagine where he would’ve passed someone who looks like that but it’s the only way he could’ve ever seen that kind of person before.

The boy takes a breath and then turns. Before Roman can blink, he’s dropped, hanging off of the edge of the floor just like the other boy had before him, both arms gripping the two inch ledge with all of his strength.

Despite himself, Roman is leaning forward. The kid looks weak. He looks like nothing. But he survived the dome fight without any visible marks and the blood of his enemies splattered on his face.

What was his quirk?

Whatever it is, he doesn’t use it. Logan’s forearms tremble as he drops the ledge with one hand and just as quickly grabs it about 3 inches to the left.

The boy is just out of view by the time Roman sees him lowering himself onto the tiny bolts on the wall.

The rest of the way down is relatively boring. There are a couple of other people going about Logan’s method and using the bolts as a way to rock climb. Most kids have just fallen.

Roman really hopes his parachute doesn’t land on anyone's dead body.

But when Roman reaches the bottom everyone looks completely fine, even the ones Roman watched scream past him. Remus saunters up to him as his parachute pops out of existence and greets him with a grin.

“What the fuck bro?” Roman greets. “What’s happening here?”

Remus’s torso swings back and forth, dancing to something only he can hear. “Elitra was here to catch their fall.”

Roman grumbles.

“I know! Boring!” Remus sings. “They should have gone crunch crunch crunch! Hey! You!” Remus reaches out and grabs a random boy. He cocks his head at him. “You should be dead, you know.”

The boy wretches his arm away.

“What was the fucking point of the drop then?”

“Dunno. Fun? Adventure? More stimulating fear?!!” Remus grins. “Tire out the people who can’t trust a little gravity?” He waves his fingers in front of Roman’s face as he says it, and Roman glowers at his brother as he slaps the hand away.

“Who would be tired out by this?” Roman shakes his head. “I expect better from some esteemed school.”

Remus’s smile is sharp. “Maybe they did it for fun!” He sings the words as he says it. “That’s why I’d do it! Surprise! You’re going to go splitter splatter!”

The two boys Roman saw using blue platforms land. Virgil glances up but Logan is long out of sight.

“It must be more than that,” Roman mutters.

They wouldn’t just randomly drop them for the fun of it, especially if they were going to give time for people to calm down after the fact. It doesn’t make any—

Roman hasn’t even finished the thought when everything goes pitch black.

Someone screams. Then, people are calling out names and the iron circle they’re located in fills with shuffling. Roman is touched by at least three people, all of which he fully chucks off to the side. He doesn’t need to call out to know if Remus is standing behind him; unlike the rest of these imbeciles, Roman’s been trained to recognize his brother’s heartbeat, his very breath.

The darkness doesn’t stay that way for very long.

Suddenly, a glowing blue dome appears off to the side. A whisper of fire shimmers in front of him, an actual flashlight to the left of that. But it's odd, what the light does.

Instead of illuminating the area, it just becomes a landmark. It's similar to seeing a tree in a field; the tree itself doesn't allow for more sight, but it gives more depth to an area, creating a marker for a walk back.

It goes very quiet.

Roman stands there, on edge and yet purposely relaxed. He doesn’t have to be a genius to know that this darkness isn’t natural, however, it is worrying that he doesn’t know who this quirk belongs to. Roman and Remus have been grilled since birth about all tiers of the government officials, including this school and not once did someone with the power of darkness come up.

Logic stands however, that if they can create darkness, they may also be able to see into it.

So Roman tucks away the little fear bubbling within him. After all, it’s not like he hasn’t been trained to fight in the dark. Even if it's not his most impressive skill, he’s certainly better than everyone else here (save Remus, although Roman would never admit that to his face).

There’s a thump off next to the dome and Roman wonders quietly if the boy he saw earlier has finally landed.

Chapter 5: Trial 2 (In the Dark)

Chapter Text

The lights shut off as Logan climbs and instantly, Logan freezes. He blinks a couple of times, wondering if he should wait for his eyes to adjust, before his brain catches up with his natural reaction and he quietly scolds himself.

This is the work of the Spy.

The Spy doesn’t have a name. Or a face. According to the public actually, the Spy doesn’t exist at all. But enough newspapers have celebrated interestingly timed deaths in politics due to random power outages and, well, it wasn’t hard to figure out.

There would be no adjusting to this light.

So Logan closes his eyes and pulls up the image of the metal circle he’s crawling down. He can picture the smooth dark metal, the little nubs his fingers desperately cling to. His arms burn, and his legs are trembling underneath him.

It would be so easy to drop.

Logan could drop. East Bridge would never let an aspiring student die of their direct action, especially a task like this that required specific kinds of quirks. The entire experience is an obvious way to test reactions, creativity, and probably to disorient the students. The darkness is just the next step in that test.

But Logan can’t afford to lose points on a single one. He must be perfect, must be exceptionary.

He grits his teeth and eyes closed, Logan continues his way down the little nubs.

The image in his mind moves with him. Logan doesn’t remember counting the number of nails he has left to the bottom, but suddenly he knows the answer is 174 and he knows he’s about 30 ft up.

170.

163.

Logan’s breaths come in short gasps. That’s fine. He’ll keep going until his body can’t produce any more ATP and his muscles finally give out.

He has too.

He wonders for a moment, as he works his way down, why the Spy would reveal themselves like this. It doesn’t make the most amount of sense; if nobody knows that you exist and then you suggest you do, surely that’s an overall loss.

Logan answers the question almost as soon as he asks it. Why would the Spy not care? Because it no longer matters. The Spy’s work is done. They’ve retired.

Why would they help with the introductory exam then?

Logan answers that question too. They’re going to be one of the teachers.

3 ft left.

Logan lets himself drop onto the floor. He lands on his feet with a thump, squatting down to keep the blowback from his knees and then standing upright. His eyes open.

Fire sparks a bit in front of him, a flashlight off to the side of that. Logan immediately recognizes Patton’s glowing blue dome and he can only guess that both Virgil and Patton are underneath it.

His hands tingle.

He wants to go to them. There’s a strange pull in his chest, telling him to reach out to Virgil and Patton. Especially Virgil. He can still feel the way Virgil’s sweatshirt slid between his fingers, the almost painful instances where the sides of Virgil’s hands brushed across his.

Logan winces. He takes a step back from the blue dome.

When he has something, he’ll go to it. Something about what they should do in the test or any information. Then, they wouldn’t mind when he asks to join them.

He’d be useful.

Logan closes his eyes again.

There were 490 people that had entered the metal room. 10, not including himself and Virgil, had managed to keep themselves from falling by pressing themselves against the wall. 7 remained at the top.

He didn’t know how many had fallen, but he had seen around 94 people using their powers to slow or stop their fall. One person had used an air quirk, another repeatedly blasting fire. A couple had grown wings, and of course…

Roman and Remus used their ability to summon any real object. The power of creativity.

Logan blocks the thought out of his head.

Based on that, he’d estimate about 400 people just fully fell, quirk unhelpful in this situation. They wouldn’t have moved very much, so the arrangement of people would be similar to how they had been standing at the top, probably slightly shifted towards the wall.

He plants that image into his head. Logan adds Virgil and Patton standing under the blue dome and randomly guesses the depths of all the other people in the room.

Any time he hears a shuffle from one side of the room, the map he just created has a faceless body move with it, in accordance to whatever the shuffle might be. In general, nobody seems to be moving much at all.

That can’t have been what the Spy was going for.

Logan drops his map, placing it deep into the instinctual part of his brain for safekeeping, and then summons up a different image. It’s a block of a city, a clearly unfunded area where the buildings are crumbling and the streets have more potholes than cement. Logan expertly walks them, jumping over the trash left stewing after the pickup truck missed this neighborhood for 2 weeks and turning at the street sign “Magnolia.”

He picks up a box on the side of the road and opens it. Newspapers are almost overflowing, all on random clips of the Spy. He shifts through it rapidly.

... Storm Stella has shut down the entirety of the Northwest area…

...Prime Minister Dora got into an accident last night, after attempting to drive in the storm…

...Mayor Carson…

...Prince Edward…

...Senator Quilla…

…had a stroke…

…had undiagnosed diabetes…

…found dead…

…dead…

Logan shuts the box. He stood alone in the alleyway, pondering.

There was no way the Spy wants him to kill anybody. While that might’ve been their job, Logan can’t imagine they would be allowed to teach a bunch of 20 something year olds if they were outwardly that bloodthirsty.

But all of the Spy’s hits had a target. One person they were supposed to take out, one main objective.

Which meant the fall wasn’t just about creativity. It was to separate the students, to ensure nobody could be quite sure of their surroundings. And to see who would figure out whatever it was they wanted figured out first.

This is a game of wits.

Logan smiles.

This he could do.

He could easily metagame. In fact, Logan reckons he’s one of the only ones who could; most people don’t know the Spy exists.

However.

Metagaming would be used to make his accomplishment look cheap. It could discredit him.

Logan needs to solve this purely off of the hints he’s meant to use.

So Logan lets his city fall away and pulls the self-made map back into his mind’s eye. He isn’t sure how long he spent in his city, but the map hasn’t moved very much, which suggests it hasn’t been longer than five minutes.

Good.

Most of the people are around the edges, whether by design of the fall, or due to their desperation to find any friction possible. The few that are in the middle are the ones that have been able to catch themselves.

Roman and Remus are among them.

Logan shakes himself off. He has to think about this logically, apathetically. The drop had been meant to test reaction time, but it was likely that it was also meant to ensure those with a good reaction time were rewarded.

Which meant the first clue is in the middle.

Logan takes a step towards the center, arranging his map in his mind as he goes. He’s maybe four steps away from the center when he has to pause and take a moment to breathe.

Roman and Remus can’t see. They don’t know who he is. They don’t know what he is. Constant murmuring is covering up his well placed footsteps; there is no reason anyone should even know somebody is moving among them.

He’s fine.

He’s just being stupid.

Logan takes another step. At this point, he’s standing at the very center of the map. The blue dome is off to the left, fire much closer now, and the flashlight keeps bobbing in front of him, likely as the person shifts it from hand to hand.

Logan squats down. His right hand reaches out, brushing against the floor. For a brief moment, everything is perfectly smooth; his fingers don’t catch on any groove or even a piece of sand carried over by one of the students.

Then it does.

Almost instinctively, Logan brings up a second map of the room. He leaves the one of people off to the side, still in his mind’s eye but no longer encompassing his direct attention, and creates a snapshot of just the floor in front of him. He can’t see the color of the floor so he makes it a dark gray. Then, slowly, Logan traces the bumps again.

They’re small, patterned. Clustered not randomly, but in a straight line.

It’s braille.

Logan doesn’t even have to jump into his city to pull out the numerous signs he’s seen with braille underneath it. It takes him less than a second to construct the language in his head and he once again brushes his fingers over the groves.

A. M. I. I. N. T. H. E. R. O. O. M.

Am I in the room?

There’s another line underneath it.

C. A. N. Y. O. U. F. I. N. D. M. E.

Can you find me?

The final line is the one Logan holds onto.

P. R. E. S. S.

Press.

Logan pushes down.

He knows it's dumb as he does it; if there had been some kind of trick to it, he would’ve felt it in either the floor around it or the actual braille. Still, it would be dumber not to try.

Nothing happens and Logan stands.

Press.

A button? Pressure? Press conference? Press on nails?

On instinct, Logan goes to pull up all the newspapers he found on the Spy, wanting to apply context to the situation. He shoves them back down almost as soon as he pulls them up.

Metagaming isn’t allowed; he uses the hints he’s given and nothing else.

Am I in the room? Can you find me? Press.

His first thought is that the Spy is talking about themselves. Are they in the room? Can he find them?

Logan dismisses the thought. If the Spy was talking about finding themselves, “press” would’ve been first. It would be a command that would lead Logan to finding them.

He’s supposed to find the thing to press. Which is likely a set of buttons, purely because of the situation he’s in, and it’s likely against one of the walls because putting anything on the floor could lead to somebody accidentally stepping on it.

The buttons would have to be high enough up that nobody would find them accidently and low enough that Logan wouldn’t have spotted them before the Spy made everything go dark.

Which wall is it against?

Which way is the braille facing?

Logan hops up to his feet. He keeps his shuffling to a minimum, trying to keep anyone from noticing the commotion. Slowly, Logan makes his way to the right, sideways from Virgil and Patton’s blue dome and closer to the flashlight.

It’s easy to stop just before the wall; the map in his head has been pulled back up and he double-checks that he’s right up against it before reaching out and touching it with a single hand.

His fingers brush up against the same kind of knob he made his way down.

Already, Logan can feel his body beginning to tremble at the very idea of climbing back up. He already aches and he wants nothing more than simply drop beside the knobs and go to sleep.

Instead, Logan puts his fingers against the little knobs. He calls up the same image he used to climb down and forces his body to move.

He gets up 71 feet before he reaches out and brushes against the smooth metal.

Another foot. Smooth metal.

Another.

His fingers tap the edge of a carefully carved rectangle of stone.

Press.

Logan does.

“Welcome to your second trail!” A new voice sounds over the loudspeakers. Shuffling instantly increases but the whispering stops instantly.

Logan grips the little knobs tightly. Most of him is ready to start the trip down but he can’t get rid of that small instinct saying that he doesn’t know if his task is done yet.

“Your next task is to make it out of the room.”

There’s a loud groaning noise and Logan blinks. The groan almost shreeks, grinding metal against unforgivable metal.

He drops his map and opens his eyes.

It’s still black, but now the fire is partially hidden and it's slowly disappearing, as if somebody is raising a black wall up over it.

No, Logan corrects. Not as if somebody is raising a wall over it. Walls are rising, covering the light, separating the people even more.

They’re putting everyone in a maze.

“You have twenty minutes to find the exit,” the voice continues. “Good luck.”

Logan is about to jump down, when the voice continues, not out loud like it had before, but quietly, a whisper next to his ear.

“A floor will appear next to you. When you get on it, it will escort you to the exit and you will be free to get to the next task.”

Logan pauses.

“Spy?”

The voice pauses. “What?”

“I assume you’re the Spy? I could be wrong, of course, but I haven’t heard of anyone else with your quirk.”

“You’ve heard of me?”

The newspaper clippings give an instinctual hello.

“I’ve read about strange occurrences and was able to connect them.”

“Fascinating.” The voice hums. “I look forward to seeing how you proceed.”

But Logan is already shaking his head. “I have to complete the maze.”

“You completed my puzzle and survived the drop. That’s enough to prove yourself.”

“It’s not.”

Before the Spy can respond, Logan begins his way back down the wall and towards the further task in front of him.

Chapter 6: Trial 2 (A Bloody Maze)

Chapter Text

Virgil is already struggling to breath when there’s a loud screeching sound around him. On instinct, he reaches out and grabs Patton’s hand, drawing his friend closer. He can feel his quirk building within him, but he shoves it away. Without a target, using it would be like trying to stab air.

When the screeching finally stops, it's almost worse. He winces with the quiet, breaths picking up, and he can feel his insides sucking in on themselves. His chest is so tight it's painful and while his eyes aren’t at the point of burning yet, they are beginning to prick with the efforts of shoving tears back.

Then the floor begins to move. It rises all around him, not quickly, and not fast enough to be harmful, but just like the walls, changing around him while he can’t do anything to stop it.

He goes to reach into his sweatshirt pocket, and only remembers when his fingers close around air that he had removed it earlier.

“Virgil? Are you okay?”

“Dad.”

“What?” Patton’s voice is soft, but slightly higher pitched than normal and it wavers on the last syllable. “Virgil?”

“Want Dad.”

“Oh.” Patton goes very quiet. “Janus isn’t here Virgil. We’re at the Superhero Initiation Test. Remember?”

“Yes.”

Virgil closes his eyes.

Exhale, Virgil.

He pushes all the air out of his lungs, making the whoosh noise Janus had taught him back when he first joined his household.

Now, inhale for four seconds.

Virgil’s already counting in his head. He stutters slightly in breath at the last second, but Janus’s voice stays soft and Virgil keeps going.

Hold for seven. You’re doing well, Virgil. Keep going.

He has to exhale early, and the moment he does so, Virgil inhales, back to the panicked terrified breathing of earlier.

That’s alright. We’re just going to start again. Exhale.

Virgil lets out the whoosh and tries again. This time, he makes it all the way through the seven seconds of stilled breath, and he exhales in rhythm to the sound of Janus’s firm count to eight inside his head.

He repeats this until his breath evens out and he’s finally able to swallow, stand up straight, and look around.

It’s still dark. Patton’s dome remains up and around both of them. Virgil can’t see his friend, but he can imagine the way Patton is halfway between reaching out for him and staying still, waiting to see if he’s able to calm himself, or if he wants Patton to help.

Patton’s always been very good at reading those lines.

“Virgil? Do you need a break?”

“I— no, shit—”

“Language!”

“Patton, I’m sorry.” Virgil’s voice comes out in a rush. “This is really important to you, and you have a time limit, and I’m just breaking down—”

“No, Virgil!” Patton’s hands hit him in the face gently, probably in an attempt to hug him. “Oops, sorry. Virgil, I’m never going to be upset with you for having an anxiety attack!”

“I should’ve— I dunno, held it together better or—”

“You’re fine!” Patton promised. “Look at me.” There’s a short silence. “I’m just going to assume that you’re looking.”

Virgil snorts. His hands still shake but they're slowing down now. He doesn't have to think about his breathing.

“We’ve got plenty of time. Alright? I’m not upset. We’ll move on when you’re ready.”

“Okay. Yeah.” Virgil nods. “Let’s do it.”

Their hands fumble back into each other’s grasps and Patton lets the dome drop. While the light is gone, it’s not the same as turning off a flashlight; there is no plunge into darkness. It’s more like watching a tree vanish from midair.

Virgil blinks anyway.

“Alright,” Patton says. “We’ll go back to where we think the wall is, and I’ll leave tiny little force fields on the ground as we go. I think if I make them small enough, I can hold them. Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Virgil’s voice is small. They begin to walk, and all Virgil can think about is how useless he’s being. Patton protected him in the first task, he got him down from the ledge when the floor dropped from beneath them, and now, once again, Virgil is letting his friend lead.

Even if he manages to get into the superhero program, at this point he can’t say he really deserves it.

“Okay. Okay. I don’t know what to do.”

“Patton?”

“I’ve hit a wall.” Virgil can easily imagine his friend's grin, especially as a comically loud slap against metal resonates throughout the room. “I’ve just hit it, Virgil. I don’t know what to do.”

Virgil snorts, even as he rolls his eyes. Some of the tightness in his stomach loosened. “Do you actually not know what to do?”

“Oh course not!” Patton's voice is lighter than normal. “But that’s okay! Pick a direction!”

Virgil blinks.

Right? Maybe? But what if right is wrong, and he leads Patton away from the exit. It’s been his friend's dream for so long he can’t just take that away from him.

Left? But left could be wrong too, left could end with a dead end, or numerous turns that keep them lost. He’d already wasted a couple of minutes on his anxiety attack, he can’t really afford to waste more.

But he’s just wasting minutes right now, isn’t he? He’s not responding fast enough, and the 20 minute timer is ticking.

“You pick,” Virgil finally manages.

Patton instantly pulls him to the right and Virgil feels even more useless than before.

Each second feels like 20 minutes in and of itself, and Virgil is shocked how with every turn they take, they still have yet to be eliminated. The two of them bump into other people a couple of times but nobody wants to fight in the dark and it just leads to mumbled apologies and continued walking.

“...can’t be the test.”

Virgil pauses. Patton tries to tug him forward, but Virgil keeps himself still.

“Awww, does ickle Romankins not like the dark?”

“Shut up, Remus.” There’s a bit of shuffling. “This doesn’t practice any sort of skill! It’s just luck!”

“The greatest skill on our side is luck. Appreciate it.” The other one speaking, Remus apparently, adds a voice as he says it, goofily stern and higher than his own. He’s clearly mocking someone's mantra, probably something repeated to him a lot by the almost robotic way he’s able to spit out the words.

“There must be a trick we’re not getting,” Roman mutters. “I’m not going to be kicked out by something like this.”

Blood is rushing in Virgil’s head, but around all the noise, an actual coherent thought manages to make itself clear.

There must be a trick.

“Patton,” Virgil says, “don’t you think there has to be something more than just… wandering? Like this is fu— this is stupid. We’re accomplishing nothing.”

“Virgil,” and Patton clearly misunderstands, because his voice is softer than normal. “We’re going to be fine-”

Something hot burns in his stomach.

“I’m not saying we’re not. I’m saying we need a better plan than wandering aimlessly.”

Instantly Virgil feels bad, but he doesn’t regret saying it. He can’t see Patton’s face, so he’s not sure how his friend is responding, but he can feel the way Patton’s hand twitches in his grasp.

“Alright!” Patton’s voice is just as high and good natured as before. “What do you think we should do?”

And this is where Virgil pauses. Because while he’s certain the answer can’t be to just run around in a circle, he also has no idea what the actual answer is. He’s never been able to look at any sort of puzzle and dissect it. He knows that that puzzle piece doesn’t go there, but he can’t pinpoint where it should be.

“I—” He trips over himself. “I just know that this is wrong.”

There’s a short silence. Again, the hand in Virgil’s twitches.

“I mean, I know that we have to figure out a trick,” Virgil says. He pulls his hand from Patton’s to talk, making sharp sort of motions that he forgets Patton can’t see until several moments later. “If we keep walking, we’re never going to get anything done. We’ll be kicked out.”

“Virgil, I think you might be thinking worst case, which is okay, but—”

He’s not listening.

“It’s not just the worst case!” Virgil’s voice is still quiet, despite the edge coating each word. “I mean, it might be, but I think… there’s some logic behind it, okay? I’m not just— okay, I am just shooting in the dark—

“In the dark!” Patton says gleefully. “Get it? Because we can’t see?”

Virgil shakes himself off. “There must be something more than just walking. Maybe something on the walls, or—”

“Virgil, I touched the walls,” Patton reminds. “They’re just smooth.”

Virgil’s eyes are still shut. He shifts back and forth and very lightly begins to pinch the edge of his fingers. It’s not nearly enough to hurt, but he lets the pressure gently begin to organize his thoughts.

Patton’s done nothing wrong. He just wants to get the maze done and while Virgil might disagree method wise, it doesn’t make Patton the bad guy. He needs to stop feeling like every attack against his argument is an attack against him. It’s far too close to his near anxiety attack for him to be getting heated with someone, but Virgil can’t help it; he knows this is wrong. He knows that they will fail.

His left foot shifts down. He shifts back to the right. To the left. To the right.

Virgil halts abruptly.

He’d been so caught up in trying to stay calm, Virgil hadn’t even considered what had caused his panic. Obviously, the walls were to create a maze, but the floor…

“Does the floor feel different to you?”

“Virgil—”

“Does it feel different to you?” His voice is sharp, and Virgil can keep blaming it on his earlier anxiety attack or he can admit that Patton is just getting on his nerves.

There’s a quiet shuffling and Virgil realizes a second later that Patton is reaching down to touch it.

“I mean slope. It’s on a slope.”

“Um… hold on… you’re right! What do you think that means?” Patton pops his lips. “Should we follow the slope?”

“It’s better than just wandering. I guess.”

“Definitely!” And Patton’s voice is full of such unrelenting optimism that Virgil finds himself nodding with him. “Do you think we should go up it? Should we go down?”

“You won’t get a chance to do either.” The new voice makes Virgil’s jump and on instinct, his quirk raises up, ready to strike. The person sounds almost like they’re laughing.

A second person actually giggles from behind them and then Virgil is able to pinpoint the two of them. It’s the boys that gave him the idea that there must be a trick to it, Roman and Remus. He’d thought they managed to get far enough away that they wouldn’t be nearby, but…

“You sound so spooky, bro! Ooooooo! I’m a ghost!! Come out of the dark to slice your throats and leave you to drown in your own blood!”

Virgil’s hands curl into fists.

“That’s a little far, Remus,” Roman mutters. “But. Might as well pick off some of the competition.”

Virgil has just enough time to raise his arms in protection of his face before a fist slams into both forearms. They bark out in pain, but Virgil grins.

He’s already won.

“What?” It must’ve been Roman who hit him, because his voice is high and stutters as he speaks. “What is… Remus? Are you here?”

“Of course! All the fun is here!”

There’s a splattering next to him and Patton cries out in pain. A glowing blue dome appears off to the side of Virgil but it’s followed by a loud giggle.

“Do you really think that will work against little ole’ me?”

Roman whimpers. “Mother, please—”

Virgil lets his quirk continue to eat at Roman’s brain and moves for the dome. His heart is pounding in his ears and he stops when he gets right up to the light.

“Patton!”

There’s another cry, and the dome drops. Every single light Patton has been using to mark their way drops as well.

“Oh, that’s no fun. Don’t just pass out on me.”

Virgil doesn’t need to think before he’s flinging himself towards the noise. Something on his skin sparks as he hits both Patton and Remus. He doesn’t pause as he unleashes his quirk on the both of them, throwing them into whatever hellhole they hate the most.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, Patton.” Virgil recognizes his friend's mind instantly; while he’s never used his quirk on him before, there’s something about his power that allows him to become familiar with the minds he’s around often. He can’t explain it but it ensures that Patton is only manipulated for a second before Virgil rips him back into reality.

Roman and Remus are left with Virgil’s quirk slowly massaging their minds.

Instantly, Virgil drops next to Patton. He slowly places his hands down until he hits Patton’s chest. When he pulls back, there’s something wet and sticky coating his hand and everything in Virgil’s mind goes silent.

“Patton, Patton, can you hear me? Can you hear me, Patton?”

His friend moans.

“You’re going to be okay. I’m going to apply pressure and then when this test is over they’ll take you to a hospital—”

“Have to finish.” Patton’s voice is so small Virgil can barely hear him.

“We will, next year, I promise, but right now we need to make sure you’re okay.” He can’t really think; his hands press down on Patton’s stomach, but he can still feel blood oozing out. Virgil’s eyes are hot and heavy and his body shakes but his face is dry and his hands hold still. “What matters is you.”

“N-no. We have to finish.”

“Next year—”

“This year.”

Virgil grimaces just in time for a hand to loop around his neck and rip him to the floor.

“Found you!” Remus sings from above him. “Naughty little visions aren’t going to work on me! But do you know what will work on you?” Something cold presses up against Virgil’s side. “Can you guess? Can you? Can you?!”

Virgil claws at Remus’s hand. Everything around him is so sharp, so annoyingly painful that he almost cares more about his stupid heartbeat than he does about the knife.

There has to be a way out of this. There has to be, not because there always is a way out, but because Virgil needs to save Patton. He can’t afford for there to be anything other than a means of escape.

The hand tightens around Virgil’s throat, but he wouldn’t be able to breathe normally right now even without the added pressure. Remus sits on top of him and leans forward to hold both the knife to Virgil's side and keep his hand around Virgil's throat; the setup is forces Remus to lean down the slanted floor instead of up towards the top of the hill and he uses Virgil's body as a stabilizer.

Virgil drops the vision on him, throws him back into it, and then drops it again. He does it rapidly and Remus makes a sort of sound that sounds a bit like a dog expecting to be kicked.

The knife twitches against his side, digging in just enough to sting, and Virgil throws out an elbow as he rips Remus to and from reality. It smacks into something and Remus grunts.

The knife clatters across the floor, letting out an especially loud bang as it hits the maze wall on the other side. Remus’s body lurches with it and he manages to catch himself by tightening his grip on Virgil’s neck.

“You… goddamn… jock…”

Remus snorts from above him, but the noise sounds almost painful. “That’s your best insult?” Another knife presses up against Virgil’s side. “Here’s mine.”

Fucking knife bitch.

Virgil pivots the right side of his body as hard as he can. Luck is finally on his side; the knife is set up downhill. Virgil doesn't have to think too hard as he shoves his body forward and chucks Remus off of him. Remus goes rolling down the hill, knife clattering with a shriek of metal on metal.

Okay. Okay. Virgil doesn’t have time to gather his thoughts. He gets to his feet shakily and searches in the darkness for Patton's limp body. There’s a hiss in the distance and Remus’s boots make a thump as they hit the ground.

“Sorry Patton,” Virgil whispers. Both arms come around to grab underneath his friend's armpits. Instead of dragging him up the hill and away from Remus, Virgil tugs him downhill.

It’s what saves him.

There’s a gush of wind rushing past him and then a mix between a banging and a scratching noise as the tip of Remus’s knife hits right where Virgil would’ve been had he gone the other direction.

“FUCK!” Remus screams. “Where are you?! I’m going to fucking kill you!”

Virgil wants to respond. Something boiling within him is begging him to respond, but he concentrates on getting Patton to safety instead.

That doesn’t stop him from leaving Remus in whatever his worst nightmare is until they are finally fully out of distance.

Virgil shutters to a stop and is in the processing of placing Patton on the floor when the boy moans.

“Don’t… stop…”

“Patton—”

“Don’t! Please.” There are tears in his friend’s eyes and Virgil doesn’t think it from the pain. “Don’t.”

Virgil closes his eyes. He wants his favorite fiddle cube, but it's back at home on his nightstand, not allowed in the East Bridge University Testing zone. Instead, he gnaws at the fleshy part of the bottom of his mouth, careful not to break skin.

“If you pass out, we’re done.” Virgil keeps his voice firm so Patton won’t be able to tell how much his heartbeat increases with each word he says. “Okay?”

“I… won’t.”

For some reason, the quiet broken words don’t inspire Virgil with much confidence.

Chapter 7: Trial 2 (The End)

Chapter Text

It takes Logan all of three minutes to find the exit.

The maze itself was relatively simple not to get lost in; he simply created a map in his head as he walked, and used what he had encountered to predict the rest of it. The map adjusted itself with every new discovery.

The room he stands in now is a simple metal box, about the size of three public high school classrooms. It’s an exact cube, and seven lights have been implanted into the ceiling. There’s two exits; the one Logan entered—a flimsy white cloth hanging over a seven foot frame—and a heavy metal door on the opposite side of the room.

The first thing Logan does is check the room for any gadgets. There is one on the wall; a sort of box thing he can only guess was where he was originally supposed to enter, had he listened to the Spy and avoided the maze. Besides that, the room is void.

This is just a waiting period.

And so Logan waits.

He’s sitting against the wall, directly in between the two doors. It takes five minutes and 34 seconds before the next person enters.

It’s a girl, with black hair tied into locks and glaring brown eyes. Her hand lights up with fire at the sight of him.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Logan says calmly.

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

The fire dies. “Good.”

She drops herself down on the other side of the room, directly across from him.

One.

It takes four more seconds before a group of ten people fall through the entrance.

Eleven.

Twenty-eight.

Forty-three.

He still doesn’t see Roman or Remus. Or Virgil and Patton.

Ninety-five.

One hundred and eleven.

Could this task really be too hard for them? Virgil and Patton are understandable but Logan knows Roman and Remus have been training for this since birth.

He leans forward slightly.

One hundred and fifty-nine.

There’s something warm glowing in his chest: something painfully hot, yet also soothing. It takes Logan a solid thirty seconds to fully place the feeling and once he does, he instantly tries to crush it.

But he still can’t help but to stare at the door, hands curling in and out at his sides, barely breathing on the extraordinary off-chance he misses them.

One hundred seventy-two.

Two hundred.

Two hundred twenty-three.

The constant stream of people entering the room is beginning to die off. It’s still consistently fast, but they’re no longer tripping over themselves.

Roman and Remus still aren’t here.

Two hundred thirty-five.

Virgil’s back pushes against the cloth door and Logan is immediately on his feet. Then he sits back down again.

It’s strange, how quickly he’s decided that he wants Virgil and Patton to get through this. That feeling alone is almost enough to keep Logan from going to them.

But then Virgil drags Patton’s body into view and Logan gets to his feet once more.

Virgil drops Patton onto the ground, shoving quite a few people out of his way as he does so. None of the other kids do anything other than move aside, which gives Logan a clear line of passage to both Virgil and Patton.

“What happened?”

“He… he was stabbed.” Virgil’s voice is near frantic; his hands tremble and now that they’re no longer holding Patton up they’re wringing each knuckle out, pulling and twisting like one might remove a bottlecap. “Remus—”

Logan has to swallow to keep his face emotionless.

“—and Roman, these two boys, they attacked us in the maze. I managed to get us away, but Patton said—”

“Need to finish,” Patton whispers and Logan looks down. “Need to get through it.”

“You have two more tests. There is no way you’re completing them in your condition.” Logan’s voice is curt. “Patton, I am going to check the wound. Do I have your permission to do so?”

“I have to finish the tasks!”

“Patton, I need permission to touch you.”

“I need—”

“Patton.”

The boy whimpers and Logan ignores the small twinge of guilt. He does need to examine the wound and if Patton is simply going to ignore him while he talks, Logan is going to have to make sure he’s heard.

“Yes.”

Virgil kneels next to Logan as he lifts up Patton’s shirt. It’s clearly designed to be some kind of fighting gear, because it clings to his body and it takes Logan at least 20 seconds to lift it up.

It hasn’t hit anything major. The knife is gone. Two-hundred-forty two. It’s still bleeding.

Logan reaches down and removes his left sneaker. It’s two sizes too big for him, mostly because of what was available, but Logan reaches into it and removes a tiny ziplock bag with an empty plastic bottle, and a nearly depleted roll of white bandage.

“What’s that?”

Logan doesn’t look at Virgil, but he knows Virgil is watching him. From the moment Logan had begun to work on Patton, Virgil has marked every movement and his shuttered breath when Logan removed the bag lets Logan know just how little Virgil trusts him.

Smart.

Two-hundred-forty nine.

His bottle of rubbing alcohol has long since been emptied, so Logan doesn’t bother to take it out of the bag. He does however immediately apply to bandages. There’s not enough to wrap around Patton, but it's a sanitary cloth that he can use to apply pressure.

Patton whimpers.

“You’re going to be okay, Patton,” Virgil tells him. His voice is forcibly firm, but it still shakes at the last note. “You’re going to be fine.” He turns to Logan. “You can help him right?”

Two-hundred-fifty two.

Logan closes his eyes.

He’s back in his city, but a different part of it than the area that contained the box about the Spy. It’s still filthy and trash still litters the ground but there’s one entrance that has been cleaned; it's an entrance that always has fresh food placed at the front door that nobody ever takes.

Logan steps around it and into the well sanitized brick Doctor’s Office.

It’s clearly not designed for medical usage, but the community has gathered up enough resources over the years to make it comfortable. Pristine tools lay secure behind glass cabinets, and there are several beds laid out, none white, none containing paper sheets, but all completely clean.

Logan walks past all of that to the bookshelf leaning sideways in the corners and removes the medical books he’s only ever read once.

He opens his eyes.

“It likely hasn’t stabbed anything important. Patton was very lucky. If he gets through this, he should be able to make a full recovery.”

“If?” Virgil’s voice is high. “There must be something we can do!”

“We are doing it. We’re applying pressure. Beyond that, only someone with a healing quirk would be able to make any kind of difference until we can get him to a hospital.”

Two-hundred-fifty four.

Virgil eyes flash. “Right.” He gets to his feet. “Does anyone here have a healing quirk!?”

That’s not going to work.

Even if they did have such a quirk, which is fully possible, there’s no way they’re either going to reveal that quirk to the group or help the competition. The first task was instrumental for a number of different reasons, but one was that it very clearly divided people. Now that everyone has chosen their respective groups—whether that be with or without others—they’re not going to suddenly change them.

Sure enough, nobody responds.

It might be better that way anyway, Logan thinks. A healing quirk would allow Patton to finish the tasks, but the power does tend to leave the body weaker, instead of stronger like the natural process would.

“Alright,” Virgil says, and Logan is struck by his dark tone. “Let’s try this differently. I said, does anyone here have a fucking healing quirk?”

All at once, half of the room screams.

Logan jolts up. His hand is still steady against Patton’s but he glances from Virgil, back to the cowering kids, and then back to Virgil.

Virgil’s head straightens and all of the kids let out long gasping breaths.

“Anyone?” He asked again, darker still.

Nobody responds, Virgil’s head tilts and the entire room seems to flinch.

“I do.” The voice comes from in the middle of the group. A path forms and a boy about 6’5 with muscled limbs and a bit of fat comes out from the crowd. “I can help him.”

Two-hundred-fifty four.

Instantly, Virgil focuses on the man. He drags him up to Patton’s side and Logan shifts slightly so he can sit beside him and get a proper look at everything that’s going on.

The boy kneels next to Logan, utterly dwarfing him. “Move your hand.”

Logan does so immediately. The cloth is sticky enough with Patton’s blood and sweat that it doesn’t move an inch.

When the boy goes to put his hand on Patton’s stomach, Virgil hisses.

“What’re you doing?”

“Healing him,” the boy deadpans. His entire palm presses up against the wound and a warm golden light sinks from the boy's hands and into Patton.

Two-hundred-fifty six.

Patton whimpers slowly dissipate and he lets out a low breath. It doesn’t take any more than a few seconds for Patton to sit up, and stare at the boy in wonder. The wound is still there, but it looks weeks old and Logan doesn’t need to jump into his city to know that it shouldn’t do much to impact Patton's performance.

“That’s amazing!” Blood coats his torso, but Patton wriggles around and the cloth flutters to the ground. “Thank you! Thank you so much! What’s your name?”

The boy just gets to his feet and turns to Virgil. “Don’t use your quirk on me again.”

Virgil’s eyes narrow.

“He won’t! He really doesn’t like to!” Patton’s promise is immediate and he waves to get the healer’s attention. “He was just really worried about me!”

Logan’s gaze flickers between Patton and Virgil. His index finger twitches slightly and he forces himself to hold his hand still.

Virgil isn’t looking at Patton. He holds his body steady, but his fingers are still twisting at his sides. His back isn’t straight, but it's tense, and muscles twinge slightly. The hair on the back of his neck is standing up, and Virgil’s jaw is set forward.

Patton isn’t looking at Virgil either. His expression is soft but he keeps twitching, both reaching towards Virgil and simultaneously pulling away.

The boy glances between Virgil and Patton. “You owe me.”

“I don’t owe you shit,” Virgil snarls. “You helped because I forced you, not out of the goodness of your heart.”

For a moment, the room is quiet.

Two hundred sixty.

Then, the boy’s steps thump away as he turns and stalks back into the crowd.

It doesn’t take long for whispers to start up, and then it’s back to being comfortingly loud. It’s not the same kind of noise that had occurred during the first exam; it’s not cautious greetings and quiet evaluations. By now, most people have identified their acquaintances and speak in their normal voice.

“Patton!” Virgil drops himself to his friends side and Logan feels himself retreat from the scene. He pulls back as Virgil throws his arms around Patton and has to swallow to keep his shoulders from tingling at the mere idea of that touch. “Are you alright? Don’t you ever fuc— don’t you ever do that again, you understand me?!”

“It’s alright, Virgil.” Patton’s hands stroke down Virgil’s back and Logan has to turn away. He glances back towards the door.

Two-hundred sixty two.

There’s only about forty seconds left until the Spy’s twenty minute time limit is over.

Roman and Remus still aren’t here.

“I’m safe. You saved me. And we managed to finish!!” Patton almost sounds like he’s singing. “This is good!”

“You could’ve died!”

“But I didn’t. Because of you!”

“Patton—”

“There’s no need to worry anymore, Virgil! We’re okay! Okay?”

Virgil’s breathing hasn’t calmed down. His body has tightened around Patton’s and Logan can see the way Virgil is continuously reaching down to pull up on his quirk, most likely a protective instinct, and then shoving it back down.

“You’re allowed to still be fearful,” Logan offers. “Your sympathetic nervous system has been working overtime to ensure that you and Patton get here safe. Based on your relatively unharmed status and Patton’s single wound, I would hypothesize that you handled yourself very well in the fight, but that doesn’t mean your body and you aren’t still reacting to it.”

Virgil pulls back from Patton a little. “Yeah,’ he mumbles.

He’s no longer turning his hands over, so Logan turns back to the door.

They only have ten seconds left.

Could Virgil really have stopped them?

Two-hundred sixty four.

Logan leans forward. His heart is pounding in his chest and all he can think is that he might make it onto the next round while Roman and Remus, who have trained their entire life, may not.

But the answer to his question is given three seconds too soon.

Remus comes through the opening first, Roman right behind him. Both of them appear to be unharmed, but Roman visibly pulls back when he notices Virgil, before forcing a cocky grin on his face. The expression is tight, and his body too stiff for it to be anything but fake as he crosses the entrance threshold.

“Your time is up.”

It's the Spy’s voice. Several people look around, trying to figure out where the noise is coming from, but Logan doesn’t bother. He’d checked this room from head to foot for mechanisms and the only one he’d been able to find is one that he had been meant to use and the lights.

Which of course meant that the sound system had been installed into the lights in order to properly hide it.

Roman is snarling something at Remus. He gestures toward Virgil, movements sharp.

Remus says something back and pats Roman on the back. His hand stays there after he’s hit him a few times and Roman’s shoulders drop just a smidge and the frown on his face loosens.

Logan’s eyes burn.

“Anyone in the maze, please remain where you are and a staff member will come and find you. You are welcome to attempt to reapply and try our initiation process again next year. If you continue to find the exit, you will be denied this privilege.”

“Those who have been successful—”

Many, including Virgil and Patton, jump at the new male voice that continues the announcement. Logan tries his best not to wonder why. It feels like it should be obvious, that if the first test was done by Siren, the second done by the Spy, then the third would clearly be conducted by a new person.

“—will continue onto our third task. Each one of you will enter the room one at a time when the light in the distance turns green. When the light is red, you will not enter or you will be disqualified.”

The heavy metal door at the end of the room begins to creep open. The entryway is dark, but far far off in the distance a green light blinks in slow rhythm. Nobody steps through.

Logan gets to his feet. In this sea of people, he’s not tall enough to get any kind of look at the entrance, made worse by the fact that he’s near the beginning of the room after moving to be near Patton and Virgil.

Somebody takes a step for the entrance. They glance behind them as they do so.

What place do I want to be in when I enter the room?

Half of Logan’s brain is already occupied, running through every news channel he’s ever listened to and every list of superheroes he’s ever read, attempting to place the voice. The other half tackles this new question.

There are two-hundred sixty six people in the room. The next task is going to try and cut them down by half.

—voice is too raspy to be Strike—

Middle is the safe choice, but most people are aware middle is the safe choice, which means people are going to fight for that spot, or stubbornly wait, and Logan can’t see that going well for him. Besides, if he was to create a task, he’d factor in that most people would want to be in the middle and he’d try to punish them somehow.

—he sounds a bit like Countdown, but Countdown is much too unruly to ever be a teacher—

Going first would be a viable option had Logan remained where he had originally planned to be, but now he’s too far over, stuck on the other side. He’s not certain he’d ever want to go first anyway; it's much too risky of a play.

He’s Jupiter.

And everything clicks.

Logan wants to go last. He knows Jupiter; he’s an incredibly famous superhero. While he might not have the temperament of the Roman god, he is very famous for his dueling skills. Logan already knows what the test is going to be.

Jupiter is going to fight every single one of the two-hundred sixty six people in this room.

Chapter 8: Trial 3 (Patton's Battle)

Chapter Text

It’s been seven hours. The room has mostly cleared out; sixty-two people lounge randomly against the wall, across the floor, and for some, on each other. Patton is draped across Virgil's legs, talking quietly about different names of dogs and why the name “Cat” tends to be overlooked.

Virgil seems wholly interested in the topic, so Patton keeps talking, but his gaze is fixated on the door.

Should he go through?

The adrenaline has long since died. Patton has taken multiple hour long naps in the time he’s been here. His head feels stuffy, his body long and not his own.

Everyone who has been waiting appears to be in the same boat. That is, everyone except Logan. This entire time, Logan has somehow managed to remain awake and at rapt attention. Each person that goes through the door, his eyes sweep.

The light, which had been red a moment ago, suddenly goes green.

Logan’s jaw ticks.

“What’re you doing?” Patton finally asks. Virgil jumps a bit at the change in subject, shifting Patton’s head from his knee to the top of his calf. “Why’re you… watching?”

“At first I was simply working out the exact measures of the test,” Logan responds. His gaze doesn’t move from the door, and he sweeps the bulky girl that crosses the threshold. “Currently however, I am looking to see who will be passing on.”

“What?”

“What’s the test?!” Patton shoots up from Virgil’s lap. “You know what it is? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I do know what it is.” Logan pauses. “Honestly, I didn’t tell you because I had thought you’d be able to figure it out by yourself. I didn’t want my knowledge to seem redundant.”

A large portion of the audience has their eyes cocked towards them at this point, something Logan clearly doesn’t miss. The light in the tunnel turns green, but nobody steps through. They’re all waiting.

Logan sighs. “My apologies. I had thought it was obvious. The test is to duel Jupiter.”

Patton can’t breathe. “What?”

“There’s no chance of winning that.” Virgil’s voice is calmer than Patton expected, but a sort of darkness writhes underneath it. “We might as well go home.”

“I would concur, if the test was designed that you could only pass on if you won. However, I believe the actual test is that you have to last 90 seconds in the ring with him.”

The light is still green.

“You’ve been counting the seconds between it being green and red?” Patton blinks. “Did… did that girl just pass?”

“No.” Logan’s eyes flicker around the room, at all the people either suspiciously not looking at him or very very obviously staring. “That lasted 32 seconds. Accounting for time to get to the ring and for everything to be properly explained, I’d guess she lasted anywhere from two to four seconds before having been hit out of the ring.”

Silence.

The light is still green.

“When are you planning on going through the door?” A girl asked. Her black hair is tied in locks and she sits against the wall in the middle of the room. She hasn’t moved much from that spot the entire time, only getting up to stretch.

“I’d prefer to go last.”

“Why?”

Logan meets her gaze. “That answer is for my own benefit.”

The girl shrugs. “Fair enough.”

A boy slowly gets to his feet. His hands clench at his sides and very slowly, he begins to walk his way towards the door. For the past five hours, nobody has really noticed who’s stepped up, when and why. Now however, everyone watches as he moves, pausing shortly in the doorframe.

“You could be wrong,” the boy finally says.

“I could be,” Logan agrees. “It is entirely possible.”

“Is it probable?” Virgil asks and that seems to be the right question because Logan’s lips twitch. It couldn’t be called a smile in any way, but he’s certainly less stone faced.

“Is it probable I’m wrong? No. I’d say it’s very very likely that I am correct. However.” Logan nods at the boy. “Nothing in this world is certain.”

That does not seem to make the boy feel any better, but he finally ducks through the door.

The light goes red.

Everyone is watching it now. Every lip is moving, counting the seconds. Patton just watches Logan.

The light is green.

“How long was that?”

“I counted 120—”

“120? I only got 100!”

“It’s definitely not 100—”

“Did he pass?” Patton asks Logan.

“The light was red for 103 seconds,” Logan responds and everyone is quiet again, listening. “The rules were likely explained much quicker to him, given he already knew them. For simplicity’s sake, I’m going to estimate 20 seconds.”

“So they didn’t pass,” Virgil mutters.

“No.” Logan is staring at the doorway. “With my estimate, they would’ve lasted eighty-three seconds.”

Seven short of what they needed.

“Your estimate could be wrong,” someone points out.

“Yes,” Logan agrees.

The room goes quiet again.

10 more people go through the door. According to Logan, six pass. Four don’t.

Patton's leg is bouncing where he sits and he has to swallow every four seconds. His body is still loose and not connected, but now his head feels sharp. His hands pulsate with each pump of his heart and he can feel his breath getting caught in his lungs before finding its way out.

Virgil gets to his feet.

“Virgil?”

“There’s no point in me staying here. I’m just freaking out.” Virgil shakes his head back and forth. “I’m going to go.”

Patton wants to beg him to stay. He wants to tell him that they can walk through the door together, because he can still feel that knife plunging into his side and he can still the way Virgil’s hands were tight around his shoulders, dragging him towards the entrance.

He knows why he’s alive right now and it's not because of anything he was able to do.

Virgil glanced over at Logan. “Thank you for telling us the next task.”

Logan jumps at the words. He blinks, then seems to settle back into his body and gives a tiny nod.

The light goes green. Virgil leaves his side. The light goes red.

Patton can’t tell if he’s breathing anymore. His lips move slowly with his count and he scratches his hands against the floor.

50 seconds. It’s red.

80 seconds. It’s red.

100 seconds. It’s red.

At 111 seconds, the light goes green.

Patton looks over at Logan.

“He passed,” Logan says calmly and Patton’s entire body sinks into the floor.

More people pass through the door, until there are only around 23 people waiting to go.

Patton finally gets to his feet. Logan doesn’t look at him and while Patton waves as he leaves the boy, he doesn’t say anything.

When Patton steps through the door, he’s not standing in any long dark corridor with a blinking light at the end of it. He’s standing in light.

There’s another dome above his head, made of light plastic that allows the glow of the sun to wash over the ground but doesn’t allow any details of the outside to come out. The ground is made of dust and it flies up around Patton as he takes a step forward, coating his black fighting suit in light brown.

There are two doors on either side of the room. One has a big red X glowing above it. The other has a large green checkmark.

Right in the middle of the dome, in the middle of what appears to be a 30 ft in diameter metal hula hoops, is the superhero Jupiter.

“Hi!” Patton jogs over to him, stepping up into the dome. “My name’s Patton! Am I going to be fighting you now?”

Jupiter grumbles. “Every single goddamn person has known this is a duel. Who figured it out?” He cocks his head to the side. “Who figured it out? And why the fuck did they bloody tell everyone?!”

“It was a boy named Logan! He’s…” Patton searches for a word to describe him. “... very smart!” Patton takes a moment to rethink all of his interactions with Logan and just shakes his head. “I’m not really sure why he told everyone. He just kinda does that.”

Jupiter scoffs. “He could’ve used that information to give himself a leg up. Instead he decided to give everyone a bloody leg up.”

“Well, he only told like sixty of us.”

“Still! Fucking looney!” Jupiter rolls his eyes. “You have to survive in the ring for ninety seconds, or you’re done. If you manage to hit me once during that time, it doesn't matter how long you last, you win. Timer starts now.”

Patton barely has time to flatten his hands before a lightning bolt strikes over his head. Just in time, his glowing light blue dome appears, cracking under the pressure. A second lightning bolt hits the same place. Patton moves. He drops his shield, throwing himself forward. Another three lightning bolts strike. Patton throws up a shield for each one, and each one breaks under the weight of it.

He rolls, managing to get back up to his feet, and flings a sliding shield toward Jupiter’s legs. Jupiter casually throws two lightning bolts; one at the shield, shattering it instantly, and the other at Patton.

Patton hands fly up over his head. The shield instantly shatters, and the lightning bolt strikes him.

He screams. He flattens his hand, and he sends another shield shooting towards Jupiter.

Jupiter grins. “Good.” He breaks the shield easily. “Very good. You’re being very inventive with your powers. That’s impressive. And at your age!” Jupiter whistles. “Well done!”

Another four lightning bolts come in rapid succession. The first two are stopped by Patton’s shields. The third is mostly destroyed, and Patton is just able to leap out of the way.

The fourth hits. Hard.

Patton collapses to the ground, convulsing. He has enough of a mind to fling a shield up around him, just as another bolt strikes. It hits hard and his shield instantly snaps beneath it.

Another bolt goes flying toward him and Patton flings his hands up. The shield flickers.

The bolt hits just as the shield reappears. It’s only able to stop half of the blow, but Patton just happy to have had it stop any.

He flattens his hand again. Five tiny circular shields appear and he shoots them towards Jupiter. His hand remains flat, but he uses it to shove himself onto his feet.

He can’t feel his lungs, but his entire chest is burning. There are tears in his eyes and he hates this, he hates it, but he has to keep going because he needs to become a superhero.

Jupiter easily shoots the little spheres out of the sky and it's then that Patton realizes he hasn’t managed to make the hero take a step.

“Very good!” Jupiter cackles. “Very good indeed!”

Patton wants to let the compliment wash over him. He smiles as if it does, and even manages a chipper “Thank you!” but every part of him is just ready to be done.

Has it been 90 seconds yet? He must be close right?

He runs point blank at Jupiter. Maybe, maybe if he can get a hit in, this will all be over and he can rest before he has to go to the next horrible task.

Jupiter sighs. “Well, it was fun while it lasted.”

A lightning bolt shoots right at Patton’s body, and this time it's clearly designed to shove him out. It’s arched just below him, so when it hits he’ll go flying in the air, unable to use the ground as friction, and it flies towards his chest instead of the typical from the sky bolts Jupiter had used before.

On instinct, Patton throws a shield out in front of him. It glows a light blue. Then it flickers.

The bolt hits him right on.

Patton is screaming. His body lifts from the ground, but he’s still crying out. He can’t breathe, he can’t think, and he’s going to leave the ring.

It’s not instinct. It’s painful, forced movement but Patton raises and flattens his hands and the force field appears directly behind him.

He crashes into it and drops to the ground like a stone just before the shield flickers out of existence.

Something beeps above his head.

“Time's up!” Jupiter smiles. “Very good work, Patton. Very good indeed!” The door with the green check mark above it lights up and opens silently. “Good luck on your next task!”

Patton doesn’t want to move. The ground feels nice, soft, and if he stays here, he won't have to keep working.

But he needs to become a superhero.

So he gets to his feet.

“Thank you!” His voice sounds happy, excited. “That was a lot of fun!”

“For me as well!” Jupiter responds. He winks at him. “If you succeed, I’d be more than happy to spar with you again!”

Patton almost physically pulls back at the suggestion. His stomach is heavy, lined with lead, and he has to swallow three times around a golf ball in his throat before he finally manages;

“Yeah, that sounds great!”

He doesn’t run out of the room. Patton’s happy to say he manages to keep himself at a casual stroll but as Jupiter’s eyes follow him, he can’t help but feel like he’s fleeing.

Chapter 9: Trial 3 (Logan vs. Jupiter)

Chapter Text

“So,” Jupiter says as Logan approaches. “You’re the one who figured out my task.”

“Yes,” Logan responds. His hands clench into fists at his side and he takes a breath. “I am.”

“Why the fuck did you tell everyone?!” Jupiter explodes. His arms cross over his chest. “You just gave away your advantage! That’s a completely—it's just a stupid thing to do!”

Logan says nothing. His eyes skim over Jupiter’s muscles (tense), his chest (rate of breathing is faster than average), the narrowing of his eyes, and the way his hands crackle slightly with energy. Still, Jupiter is sitting back on his heels, bottom of his face loose.

Logan just shakes his head. “I didn’t give up any advantage.”

“Yes you— you could’ve been the only one to know about the test! Instead, the last seventy—”

“Sixty-two actually.”

“You’re a real smartass, huh?”

“It’s understandable you would assume that.” Logan hides a full body shudder as Jupiter cocks his head at him. He makes a show of looking Jupiter up and down. “Since it’s quite obvious your brain has significantly less gray matter.”

“You calling me fucking stupid?”

“Do you need me to spell it out further?” Logan asks. He swallows dryly. “I’d be happy to do so, but I do worry about your ability to comprehend, given your previous demonstration.”

He keeps himself sharp. Curt. Cocky.

He raises his eyebrows as he says it, just to make sure the message sticks.

Jupiter goes quiet. “Spy told me she wanted you to do well.”

Logan shrugged. “I made an impression on her task.”

“You won’t make much of one on mine.” And then there was a lightning bolt surging for him, arching in a way designed to lift him off his feet and kick him out of the ring immediately.

So predictable.

There’s no time to avoid it, but Jupiter isn’t allowed to kill him, so Logan does the next best thing.

He crouches, curling his upper body into a ball so that he’s as small as possible and only the balls of his feet touch the ground. His heels of his feet tap together and both hands come over to cover his ears.

When the bolt hits him, it shudders through his whole body but doesn’t shove him off the ground. He would scream but it'd be quite counterproductive to his plan here, so Logan just takes it and stands back up.

“Pathetic,” Logan says. He’s very proud of the fact that his voice doesn’t wobble at all. “You defeated Puppeteer with that measly quirk?”

A second bolt comes at him and Logan instantly resumes the same position. His cells are on fire and he can feel his body balking at the sensation, but once it's over Logan gets back to his feet and meets Jupiter’s eyes head on.

“You must be able to do better than that.”

“I could kill you right now,” Jupiter told him. “I could light your measly body up and leave you ashes on the fucking floor.”

Logan takes a step forward. Dust comes up around his feet and he tilts his head to the side.

He knows what the movement looks like. It looks like he’s about to use a quirk.

“Do it.”

When the lightning bolt comes, Logan is positive Jupiter is aiming to kill him.

Jupiter is very good. He’s built like a tank with a quirk to match, and at full power, he could easily turn Logan into a forgotten scorch on the ground.

i>But.

The hero has fought two-hundred sixty five battles. They may have been against children, many of them failing quickly, but he’s repeatedly used his quirk for seven hours and 59 minutes. What’s more, Jupiter has been forced to work to control his power in order to keep from permanently harming the kids.

Logan resumes his first position and lets the bolt hit him head on.

It burns. He can’t stop his body from spasming and distantly, he can feel himself entering a familiar soft headspace. Logan has to force himself to attention, making himself count the number of seconds before the bolt finally stops.

In a fluid motion that makes his vision go white, Logan gets up to his feet. Once again, he meets Jupiter’s gaze.

“Weak.”

“What are you?!” Jupiter demands. “You should be dead!”

“Should I?” Logan shakes his head. “Perhaps you’ve lost your touch.”

He wants to lie down. He wants to stop. But at the same time, Logan is enjoying how easy it was to set all the dominoes up. There are just a few more in his chain and Logan can see the exact path the last one will take.

It’s exhilarating.

Another lightning bolt crashes over his head and it takes all of Logan’s power to keep his face blank and body loose. He smoothly gets up to his feet and takes another step towards Jupiter.

That last domino hits the sand and Jupiter yells as he rushes for him.

Jupiter’s forearms hit Logan’s chest and he shoves, pushing Logan from the middle of the ring towards the side. In three seconds, Logan is going to cross that line. He’ll be out.

Logan winds one arm back. He’s not strong; the force of any hit alone would never be enough to actually do any real damage.

However, there are several parts of the human body where skill and strength of the opponent doesn’t come into play. Punching the kidney, for example, will cause a great deal of abdominal pain regardless of how many abs the person has lined up to protect it. There are other areas, like under the armpit which could deaden Jupiter’s arm, the chin, the temple, all of which are perfectly viable options in a fight Logan knows he would never win based on strength alone.

Logan ops for none of these and slams his fist right into the side of Jupiter’s neck, around where the carotid artery is. There, if he does it right, he can hit the vagus nerve.

The moment Logan’s hand strikes Jupiter’s neck, the hero freezes. He doesn’t fall forward, which Logan hadn’t expected to happen but would’ve preferred, but his arms do drop from shoving Logan back and he wobbles from foot to foot, blinking rapidly.

Logan glances behind him. He’s only about a centimeter from the ring.

Slowly, as to not disturb Jupiter, Logan sneaks away from the edge and back to the middle. Jupiter is already turning, electricity crackling around him, eyes glow a bright yellow— but it doesn’t matter, and the hero knows it. Logan has already won.

He’d figured out the rules to the duel almost immediately. It was quite easy to come to the assumption that there would be a time limit on the duels; there was no kid in that room who could hope to defeat Jupiter. So there needed to be a different way of measuring how good someone was.

Time it was.

But time isn't enough. Logan realized that the moment he thought it, back before anyone had entered through the metal door and come to fight Jupiter. Time alone was too akin to the first task. What’s to stop the kids from just trying to dodge his attacks and hiding?

Which is where the second rule had to come in. There had to be a reward for being able to hit Jupiter.

Logan’s breath comes in quick gasps. He’s tense, and his body is prone to duck back into the best position for surviving a lightning strike. Slowly however, the lightning around Jupiter dies and the hero just stares at him.

“You hit me.”

“Yes.”

“You… you hit me.”

“We’ve covered that.”

Jupiter draws a hand over his face. “That rule was just to get you fucking kids to fight!”

“I’m aware.”

There’s a silence as Jupiter looks him up and down. Then he snorts. “Fuck kid, good job. Good plan too. There are a couple of villains locked up because I made them mad. Forced them to make fucking stupid descions.” Jupiter shakes his head. “You have a quirk that keeps you from feeling pain?”

It’s an interesting conclusion to jump to. Not one that Logan would’ve personally decided on, given he didn’t have enough evidence to decide anything, but one that was based enough in reality according to what Jupiter had seen.

“No.” Logan shrugged. “It was simply necessary to act as if your attacks didn’t bother me.”

“You’ve got some good acting skills then,” Jupiter grins. His gaze is slightly more calculating than Logan would like. “Go ahead through the door with the checkmark!”

Logan nods at the hero. Dust fluffs around him as he makes his way over from the center of the ring to the door. He slides through it, not bothering to count the number of people waiting for him on the other side of the door. He’d already done it while waiting for his turn to fight Jupiter.

One hundred and forty-nine.

Including both Virgil and Patton.

And of course…

Logan’s eyes slide over Roman and Remus. His pulse quickens, but he forces himself to look away.

It’s a room identical to the last one. Patton is lounging across the floor, eyes closed. His body is tense and there are lines on his face that weren’t there when Logan had seen him earlier. His lips are pressed in a thin line and while he’s chatting happily to Virgil, the tone is too high, too cheerful.

Virgil on the other hand is loose. He’s shaking slightly, but his eyes are alight and there’s a soft upturn to his lips. None of that had been present when Logan first saw him in the fighting dome; his shoulders had risen slightly after the fight with Roman and Remus, but now they were higher, and when Virgil saw Logan, an actual smile broke over his face.

“Logan!” The moment Virgil realizes how loud he is, a horrified expression crosses his face and he instantly quiets. “You did it!”

It’s almost cute how quickly Virgil corrects himself. Logan can’t help but relax at the sight of him and he’s more than happy to have the excuse to stop himself and walk over to him to take a seat beside him.

“I did. You appear to have also done well.” Logan doesn’t smile, but he nods at him. “I saw that you were successful.”

“What do you mean?” Virgil asks. Then his expression clears. “You were able to count the seconds.”

“Correct.”

The expression on Virgil’s face is an odd one; he’s half-smiling at him, eyes soft. It’s not one Logan is used to and he has to dive through his head to try and come up with a moment somebody else looked at him like that.

He can’t.

Patton smiles at him as well, but it’s a smile Logan recognizes. His eyes stay shattered and the moment Patton turns away, it falls from his face.

When Virgil looks at him though, the broken smile reappears.

“How did your fight against Jupiter go?” Logan asks. The question is posed to them both, but he’s facing Virgil and it’s Virgil who grins with his response.

“I just—my quirk makes it so I can show anyone their worst fear.” Virgil doesn't look at Patton as he says it. “I have to know where they are though. Like, when I was fighting Roman and Remus, I wasn’t able to use my quirk on them until they touched me because it was dark. Once I had a hold of their minds, then I could keep a hold of it. ” He closes himself off, the smile falling from his face.

“That’s an impressive quirk,” Logan says quickly. He scans the way Virgil looks up at him, face tight. “I’d imagine you’d have to face quite a bit of stigma, but it sounds fascinating.” He’s not exaggerating either and several thoughts hit Logan at once.

In order to make someone experience their worst fear, Virgil has to be influencing numerous parts of the brain. The occipital cortex, obviously, in order to ensure that they see the right things, but also the parietal cortex to affect sensation, the temporal cortex to ensure they hear the right things. Perhaps the medulla. Maybe even the amygdala: Virgil had claimed to show people their worst fears. Did he also increase their fear of them?

Which of course begs the question; Could Virgil choose which parts of the brain he wants to influence? Right now Virgil says all he can do is show people their worst fears. However, Virgil very obviously has some kind of diagnosed anxiety disorder, so it’s very possible that he’s simply more accustomed to that kind of feeling and therefore has an easier time putting that onto others. If he worked at it, could he make people experience anything? Could he expand how much of the brain he had control over?

Logan wants to ask. He wants to tell him some of this, because he thinks the beginning part at the very least, might help calm him down and see that Logan is never going to judge for any quirk.

He doesn’t.

“I… There is some stigma around my quirk, but it’s really not that bad.” Virgil’s lips tighten.

Lie.

Virgil’s eyes flicker over to Patton and then back to Logan.

“Anyway,” he coughs, “Jupiter told me to fight, and so I instantly was able to stick him into his worst fear. He froze up for about ten seconds, but the fucker must be used to mind quirks or something, because he was able to move right after that. He still couldn’t see me, so I just had to keep moving.” His eyes are alight again. “It was kinda fun.”

Patton looks up from the ground. “Did he ever manage to hit you?”

“Yeah, of course.” Virgil smiles over at his friend. “But I actually managed to keep going!”

The differences and similarities between the two of them is extraordinary. Virgil’s motions are large and his hands flap by his sides every couple of seconds. As he glances between Logan and Patton, his smile is stretching from literal ear to ear and Logan watches him fail to smother it multiple times.

Patton’s smile also stretches from ear to ear. His motions are small, stiff, and he taps two of his fingers against his thumb rapidly. Every now and then, that movement will stutter to a stop, but then Patton will glance over at Virgil and they’ll pick back up at top speed.

Logan says none of this. In fact, Logan says nothing at all. He wants to continue the conversation; there’s a very strange sort of pull telling him to figure out something to say and ensure that Virgil and Patton will keep talking to him. But he can’t. They’re looking at each other right now, talking to each other, and adding himself to the fray would only serve to annoy them. Besides, he has his doubts as to whether they’re actually interested.

“Cool!” Patton’s voice squeaks as he speaks, his efforts to sound elated and happy fighting a very clear want to shrink away. There’s a very short silence. “What do you think the next test is going to be? Do you think it’ll be as electrifying as the last?” His eyebrows raise.

Virgil snorts and rolls his eyes.

“I doubt it,” Logan responds. “They’ll likely move on to a new tester, as they have for the last couple of tests.”

“What?” Patton asks.

“I doubt they’d use electrification again.”

“No… I mean…” Patton grins. It still doesn’t reach his eyes. “It was a pun, silly!”

Logan blinks. “I don’t understand.”

“It was a joke! A play on words!” Patton waves his fingers in front of his face. “I was being funny!”

Logan blinks at him.

“It was electrifying as in really exciting. But also electrifying as in actual electricity!”

“Oh. I understand. You’re using the double meaning of the word in order to use language in a more interesting way.” Logan nods to himself. “Understood.”

Patton stares at him for a moment and Logan is about to ask if he misunderstood again, when Patton suddenly laughs and pats him on the back. The touch itself is enough to send shivers surging down Logan back and it takes all of his strength not to rip himself away. Luckily, it only lasts for about a second before Patton lifts his hand, still laughing.

“Yeah, you got it buddy!”

His skin is still tingling where Patton touched it and it takes several moments for Logan to properly nod back at him.

Virgil says something to Patton, Patton responds, and Logan uses the moment to allow himself to fade into his head. He’s still present with them; if either of them asked what they had been talking about, Logan would’ve been able to respond. However, he’s only computing it, not listening.

There are four tasks. They’ve completed three of them; the first task being the fight in the dome, the second being both the falling, the triggering of the maze and the maze itself, and the third being the fight against Jupiter.

So far, they’ve tested their ability to hide in crowds, luck and creativity, cleverness, and fighting capabilities. Siren had done the first, followed by the Spy and Jupiter. Those three would likely be the teachers the students would be divided up between. This was very likely to mean that the final test would be run by the director of the Superhero branch.

His superhero name was simply “The Director.” His quirk was rather basic but still rare: Superstrength. This inhuman ability was coupled with his very impressive mind that had quickly pushed him to the top of the school and into the politics of the state.

What would he test?

It would be unlikely to be geared around what had already been tested. Logan assumes anything the Director would want to see would be something new in order to fully eradicate the last of the students.

So what has yet to be tested?

His brain is already answering the question before it has even been asked.

Weaponry, endurance, teamwork, communication, agility, strength, balance—

What would be more important to the director?

For a moment, Logan debates jumping into his city, just to start browsing information on the man himself, but ultimately decides he doesn’t need to.

What’s most important?

Teamwork. Superheroes work in teams of two to six. It’s very likely that the director starts the conversation by telling them to get into groups.

Communication. Superheroes need to know what their teammates are doing when. If they’re in battle with one villain, you can’t be worried about the other one behind their back.

The other ones are a lottery. Or, perhaps more likely, the test is designed around whatever could check off the most boxes of leftover skills.

Logan cocks his head to the side.

Okay.

He knows what the next test is.

Logan’s head glances up and down at the other contestants. Patton and Virgil are good choices, simply because he already has established himself there (and there’s a strange tugging in his chest telling him he wants to team with them) but he doesn’t open his mouth to talk to them.

He quietly scans the other contestants.

Remus and Roman will pair up together, and considering that the trial will likely involve teams of four, they’ll grab whoever Roman deems to be the most applicable to the both of them. That likely means two more boys, likely two aggressively muscled boys, and likely ones Roman has already talked to during the very first task.

Logan shifts his mind to another topic but he’s already figured out who they’re going to pair with before he’s fully turned away from them.

“Hey.”

Logan turns and meets the glaring brown eyes of the girl who had exited the blind maze right after him. He blinks twice, then manages to wipe his face clean of emotion and nods in her direction.

“Salutations.”

“My name is Nikita.”

“I’m Logan.”

Virgil and Patton have stopped talking behind him. He knows they’re listening in, just as he knows that the only reason Patton has not jumped into the conversation to introduce himself is due to Virgil holding him back. It's smart of Virgil, Logan supposes. After all, the reason Nikita approached him was clearly because she believed talking to him would give her some kind of advantage; interrupting whatever shocking nugget of information he had would be simpleminded.

“Did your plan work?” Nikita’s words and tone are very forward, but she stands back from him, shoulder up high and hips rigid.

There’s no particular reason to keep that piece of information hidden. “It did,” Logan responds.

“Do you have any idea what the next task is going to be?”

He pauses for a second.

Would it be more of an advantage to keep what he came up with to himself, or more advantageous to allow others in?

It doesn’t take long for his brain to present him a never-ending list of the pros and cons for both.

“I know the terms of the next task and what some of the likely events will be.”

“What?”

That’s Patton, but Logan doesn’t turn to look at him.

Nikita raises an eyebrow. “How?”

“Process of elimination.” He wants to continue, and go down the list of everything he had managed to deduce and how he had done it, but biting his tongue is something he’s very very practiced at. “The next task is going to be based on teamwork. There will be three parts of the test and it’ll be done in teams of four.”

“What’re the parts?” Virgil asks.

Logan turns his body, ensuring that everyone he’s addressing— Virgil, Patton and Nikita— are fully in front of him. “I’m unsure of the order, but I know it’ll include communication, weaponry and agility. I expect the communication test will separate us and have us work together to complete a type of puzzle. There will be 37 teams, the first 19 of which will pass, meaning 76 students will be in the freshman class to be trained into superheroes.”

“How do you know that?!” Patton is smiling, but his fists close and open at his sides. “I mean, that can’t be possible!”

“Process of—”

“Process of elimination,” Nikita repeats.

She turns something over in her head. She’s smart. Maybe not in the way Logan is, but she was smart enough to deduce that Logan had figured out the third test and therefore likely to have figured out the fourth. Nikita was also bold enough to approach him.

He can almost see the way she’s figuring out the pros and cons of asking to team with him.

Logan also knows exactly what is on which list.

He doesn’t look like much. He’s skinny, malnourished, undermuscled. He has yet to demonstrate any sort of quirk, which is something people tend to flock to, and while he’s made it this far there’s no reason to believe he’ll make it much further.

But he’s also made it this far. He was in the blind maze’s exit far before any else, including Nikita. He somehow managed to get past Jupiter and he’s smart enough to be able to tell everyone the tasks before they happen.

He can see the moment she makes the decision.

“I would be more than happy to team with you.” Logan tells her before she can voice it. “Whether Patton or Virgil would elect to join us, I’m uncertain.”

Nikita blinks, then rolls her eyes. “You’re a bit of a show-off, aren’t you?”

“I— maybe?” Logan frowns. His mind whirls, going through every interaction he’d ever had with another person. “Insufficient data.”

“Patton and I would be happy to join,” Virgil jumps in. Then he blinks. “Or at least, I think we would be, I don’t speak for Patton, I didn’t mean to—”

“Of course I’d be happy to join!” Patton nudges Virgil with his foot. “We’ll be one badass team!”

Logan glances Nikita up and down. She doesn’t look surprised; in actuality, she’s let out a very quiet breath. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.

Anyone can tell that Virgil is one of the most powerful people in this place.

“Hello finalists!” The Director is loud and it would echo around the square room had it not been filled with people. “Congratulations! You’re made it!”

Nikita glances at him but he simply stands tall, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Well, I mean you’ve nearly made it,” The Director says and there’s a chorus of boos and this time Logan does roll his eyes. “I know, I know. Just one little task left!”

“Prick,” Virgil mutters.

Patton shifts. His lips are shining and he glances between the speaker and Virgil a couple of times.

Logan’s not surprised he’s uncomfortable. It’s a consequence of growing up praying to be a hero; he’d begun to idealize all of the different people who had already gone through the training.

Now he’s actually meeting them.

“Everyone please divide into teams of four.”

Instantly, people begin to group up. Logan quietly marks each group, counting who gets with who and what their quirks are. Unsurprisingly, Roman and Remus have teamed up together, and they’ve added two buff looking men to be their partners. The one on the right of Remus, a guy named Ronald, has a shapeshifting quirk. The one beside him, Alexander, can summon anything he’d stored away previously.

They’ll pass.

Actually, Logan can make a pretty good guess at who’s going to pass for most groups here. Before he can fully start to focus on it, his mind has already categorized each of the 37 teams in front of him.

12, of the teams including Roman and Remus’s, will definitely pass.

18 of the teams will decidedly fail.

Which left 7 of the teams, including his own, to be a bit of a toss up.

The walls around them began to rise up. A new metal wall appeared behind it, with 37 doors, each a different shade waiting for each of the teams to go through.

“Does it matter what we pick?” Patton asks. His voice is high.

Still, it’s a smart question. A rather obvious one, but Logan has learned what is rather obvious to him is not always so obvious to everyone else.

“No,” Virgil answers. Logan nods in his direction, mostly because both Nikita and Patton are looking at him to confirm this.

Nikita points at a bright orange one, the door color rather akin to her quirk. “That one then,” she says. Her eyes spark.

Logan allows her to take the lead.

Chapter 10: Trial 4 (Swords and Shields)

Chapter Text

When they enter the room, there’s a table laid out in the middle of the room with four headpieces sitting on it, easily recognizable as the ones superheroes use while in combat themselves. For the first time in a while, a spark of excitement lights inside Patton and he rushes to put them on.

“Virgil!” He smiles at his friend, barely wilting at the sight of Virgil’s grimace. “Isn’t this exciting!? We’re just like the superheroes!”

“It’s more uncomfortable than I thought it would be,” Virgil replies. He seems to realize his response isn’t incredibly chipper, because he opens his mouth to add something.

Logan beats him to the punch.

“These are cheaper. They’re just designed to look like the real model.” He slips each into his ear.

“It’s still cool though,” Virgil adds hastily.

Patton's smile shrinks slightly and when he tries to pull it back up, it doesn’t listen.

“We don’t have time to wait around,” Nikita says. “Come on.” He gestures toward a door on the other end of the room, already heading over.

Logan grabs her just in time.

Arrows shoot out from the left wall, striking right through where Nikita would’ve been and sinking deep into the wall on the other side. The table with the headsets lowers into the ground, and a new table takes its place.

Patton feels his stomach drop and has to remind himself that this has been his dream since he was young.

“That would’ve killed her!” Virgil cries out.

“Unlikely,” Logan replies. “The arrows have been blunted. It certainly would’ve incapacitated her, however.” His eyes narrow.

The new table carries weapons of all different kinds. There are shields, bows of all different sizes, swords of all different shapes, daggers, maces, clubs, spears, axes. Patton takes an involuntary step back.

“Virgil, take the recurve bow, it's the one on the end there.” Logan doesn’t leave any room for argument. Without questioning, although certainly with a weird glint in his eyes, Virgil removes it.

Patton has to keep himself from gagging at the sight of weapons in Virgil’s hands. It’s painful to imagine Virgil using them, doing actual damage to a person.

“Nikita, take the spear in the middle, the one made out of metal. Patton, take the…” Logan voice trails off. “Take the silver shield on the right and the sword next to it.”

It’s an excellent guess in terms of what Patton is used to. Both the sword and shield were regular in his training sessions. There however, they were blunted, often made of a weighted wood. Here both seem much more real.

Patton can’t get himself to go towards them until he notices the way Virgil is blinking at him. Instantly he moves, hands curling around the cold metal, goosebumps forming that have nothing to do with the slowly warming chill.

Logan takes two daggers, one sliding into his pants leg pocket. The other he grips firmly in his hand, fingers whitening around it.

They loosen all in one go.

“The arrows only come on one side of the wall,” Virgil says slowly. “If Patton gives me the shield, I could shield us—”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Nikita says and Virgil visibly bristles. “If that’s the plan we’re going with, Patton should be the one to shield us. Look at how he’s holding it. He clearly knows how to use it.”

Patton takes a step back just in time to watch Logan slide another shield across the floor. It lands firmly at Nikita’s feet.

She blinks at it.

“The holes are visible and within reaching distance,” Logan says mildly. “Would you like to seal this shield over them?”

For a second, there is silence. Then Nikita’s hand lights afire and there’s a playful sort of look in her eyes.

“It would be my honor,” Nikita grins.

Logan and her both walk over. He points out all three holes and she fits the shield over, a dull thunk filling the room as arrows fire once again. Light quickly spreads all over the shield and there’s a distinct smell of hot metal.

“Are you alright?” Virgil asks him and Patton hates the question.

The answer is, of course, that he’s fine. There is no reason for him to be anything other than fine; he’s quite literally living his dream right now. It’s just a lot darker than he had imagined, a lot sweatier, a lot more painful. Screams echo in his head more than he expected and every face that fails he wants to be locked in his mind so he can give them a hug and help them understand that it's not their fault.

He can’t, of course. He doesn’t know what any of them look like.

“Of course I am!”

“You’ve just been… I know this is your dream and all,” Virgil says slowly, “but you got hurt and you’ve been acting a bit off. It’s okay if this isn’t what you thought it would be.”

“It is!” Patton’s voice is harsher, coarser than he wants it to be and Virgil visibly takes a step back. “I’m sorry.” He forcibly softens. “I just didn’t expect it to go for so long! I’m okay, really!”

That makes sense right? That must be why he’s feeling this way. He’d been underground (maybe), for days at this point, and the only rest he’d gotten had been on a hard metal floor, surrounded by not-yet-friends.

Virgil’s lips press together for less than a second.

“We’re done,” Nikita calls out and Patton has never once been happy for an interruption when it comes to talking to Virgil, so it can’t be relief that floods every part of his body. “You guys can go.”

Patton jogs away from Virgil, quietly reminding himself that they are technically competing to finish the tasks first. That, obviously, is the only reason why he doesn’t pause to see if Virgil follows, and why, for one of the first times in his life, he doesn’t ensure that Virgil is in front of him.

Nikita pulls in front of him almost immediately and throws open the door at the end of the room. She doesn’t pause once before darting in, something Patton is unable to recreate. His fingers brush against the cold metal doorframe and he ducks his head under, glancing around slowly.

It’s a dimly lit room, small and completely empty. Nikita stands in the middle of it, spear up.

“Logan!” She yells and the boy appears next to Patton and slips his way around him.

Like Nikita, he doesn’t pause before entering the room, but while Nikita stands tall and fierce on her way in, he does glance around, flickering over walls and small details that Patton doesn’t even register.

“What’s next?”

“Virgil climbs that ladder over there and gets to the top level,” Logan says mildly. “I recommend doing it quickly, there will be targets attacking us in about ten seconds.”

Patton doesn’t even want to know how Logan’s figured that out. Virgil glances at him as he passes and immediately takes to the ladder Patton hadn’t noticed in the dark. There’s a small platform next to it with no guardrails and barely big enough for Virgil to sit down.

Patton swallows.

“What—”

The first target arrives.

It’s a clanky sort of machine, clearly designed for training. This one is made out of plastic, but the one that appears behind it is made out of straw and the one behind that wood. Nikita doesn’t hesitate in blasting all three with fire, but her quirk doesn’t make a dent on the plastic one.

“Designed against heat,” Logan says swiftly and then he darts forward, dodging the raised arms of the target and sliding his dagger right into its neck.

The target collapses at his feet. Patton blinks, and it's not a target laying on the ground anymore but the boy at the beginning of the trails, the one Virgil had used his quirk on. He blinks again and it's the body Logan had tried to help at the end of the first task. Then it's a girl who didn’t get out of the maze.

“Patton!”

It’s the years of training that saves him. Patton ducks on instinct and a target’s long blunted sword flies right where his head would’ve been, missing him by an inch. He spins around, shield up to block the target’s next attack. There’s an easy opening; Patton could easily slice this target’s head off and move on to the next.

He doesn’t take it, choosing instead to clang his sword against the target’s. The opening vanishes.

Logan is terrifying. He ducks and weaves, knife slicing into plastic throats and leaving target bodies crumpling behind him. His strategy isn’t well trained, but it's dirty. Logan only jumps forward if there’s an obvious opening and it's almost like he’s predicting when the opportunity is going to happen; there’s no pause between when the target messes up and when Logan moves.

Fire has spread down the handle of Nikita's spear and dances on the tip of her blade, travelling from her hands and slightly up her wrist. Her eyes are almost glowing and she solely focuses on the wooden and hay ones, only going after the plastic targets if absolutely necessary. She’s not trained in combat, but she’s clearly trained in something; her movements are graceful, fast, and harsh, yet completely light footed and the spear never seems to get in her way.

It’s Virgil that surprises Patton the most.

His aim isn’t perfect but it's much more accurate then Patton was expecting and it’s very quickly precise. For the first 20 seconds, almost no arrows rain down. Then, Virgil seems to notice exactly where the targets are coming from.

There are about 5 extra arrows in the wall and many don’t quite do enough to take down the target, hitting legs and lower areas of the torso. Some however, go right through the target’s head and the few times Patton does look up at Virgil, his friend almost appears to be glowing.

Patton still hasn’t taken down this one target.

He blocks another attack and ignores another easy opening.

The targets clearly aren’t designed to be that difficult to take down; they’ll take down anyone who is completely untrained or doesn’t try, but beyond that it's more the number that makes them scary than anything else. He should be cutting through them like he cuts out pictures of really cute puppies, not standing here, letting this one stop him.

His sword raises. It teeters slightly, in a way it hasn’t since he was five and first convinced his parents to give him fencing classes.

The target takes a step back. It's just to block him, Patton knows that, but suddenly the target seems much more nervous, shaky. Suddenly, it seems human.

“Patton, you’ve got the last one!” Virgil shouts down to him.

Patton is able to physically turn and look at Virgil, able to fully watch him go down three rungs on the ladder before having to worry about blocking any attack from his target.

Logan’s dagger slides into the target’s throat and Patton has to stop himself from screaming the word no.

“Hey!” Virgil jogs over. His eyes are alight, his hands flap slightly by his sides and he's grinning. “Patton had that!”

“No he didn’t,” Logan says.

Patton can’t figure out how to respond.

Chapter 11: Trial 4 (Bombs and Buildings)

Chapter Text

The door leads to four more doors with the sign “one each” on all of them.

Virgil stops walking.

A part of him, the part Virgil is actively ignoring, grins at the sight of it. There's a strange sense of joy in every one of these tasks, even the terrifying ones, and where Virgil would normally balk at a challenge, this time he leans into it.

But…

Patton’s face is white and he still hasn’t said anything. He’s smiling, sure, but Virgil knows fear well enough to recognize that look in his best friend’s eyes.

He can’t just leave him.

“Does it matter what door we go through?” Nikita asks. It's directed towards the whole group, but everyone glances at Logan.

Logan blinks slowly.

“Not enough.”

“Then there’s no point in waiting around,” Nikita says and she clips her way up to the door closest to her—the third one—and opens it.

A black curtain mars their view. Nikita glances back, just once, and it’s not out of some kind of insecurity. She’s looking at Logan, waiting to see if he does or says anything.

Logan nods once at her and takes the door directly beside her, also the one closest to him. He opens it.

A blue curtain this time blocks their view.

Logan’s eyes narrow slightly but he doesn’t move to say anything.

Virgil takes the door beside him. For a second, he debates asking Logan and Nikita to push down one and allow him to be next to Patton. He licks his lips and his mouth opens for the briefest of seconds.

Patton takes the door next to Nikita, the one farthest from Virgil, without a word.

Virgil closes his mouth and opens his door. A purple curtain waves in front of him, beckoning him forward.

With only the very briefest of hesitation, Virgil takes that step.

There's a bomb in front of him on a desk, right next to a wire cutter. The very moment Virgil steps into the room, it starts counting down.

4:59.

4:58.

For a second, Virgil can’t breathe. He can’t think, he can't move.

In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8.

Virgil clicks the comm in his ear and turns on its mic. “I’ve got a bomb counting down from 5 minutes.”

“What!?” Patton’s voice sounded off. “Are you alright!? Can you leave the room!? We should switch places, all I have is a pamphlet!”

Something strangely hot rises in Virgil. “I’m fine, Patton.”

“I’ve also got a pamphlet,” Nikita says. “Logan?”

“Affirmative.” Logan’s voice is more monotone than in person but it's oddly reassuring. “Virgil, what do you see on the bomb?”

Slowly, Virgil approaches it. “There’s the five minute countdown in the middle. There are all these boxes with like little things in it.” Virgil’s mind catches up with his mouth. “I have to do these tasks correctly to diffuse the bomb.”

“Yes,” Logan responds, a tad bit impatiently. “Do the boxes have numbers on them?”

“No?” Virgil’s not about to pick up a live bomb but he squats over it, squinting. “It’s just the tasks. There are five of them, two on the top and three on the bottom.” He pauses for a second. “The timer is to the left of the two tasks.”

“Okay.” There’s a rapid flipping of paper. “Tasks need to be solved in this order: wires, buttons, words, graphs, words, big buttons.”

“You said words twice!” Patton jumps in.

“It’ll need to be done twice,” Logan says curtly.

“That doesn’t make any sense! Are you sure—”

“Guys the timer is at 3:46!” Virgil interrupts.

“Who has wires on their pamphlet?” Logan asks. There’s just a touch of something in his voice, making each word he says faster, but Virgil can’t pinpoint it.

“I’ve got it.” Nikita sounds as sure as ever. “I need a number and the colors in order.

Virgil throws his shoulders back and pops his fingers on repeat. “There are six. It’s red, blue, white, white, blue, red.”

“They’ve got all these fucking versions,” Nikita says quickly. “Is it red blue white white red blue?”

“Red, blue, white, white, blue, red!”

“Cut the first white wire and…” Nikita’s voice trailed off and there’s a flip of the paper. “The last red wire.”

Virgil desperately wants to ask Nikita to double check. It’s almost a blessing that he had been given the bomb; if he had been one of the people telling the person with the bomb what to do, he almost certainly would’ve frozen.

It’s hard not to think but Virgil hands close around the wire cutters and he snaps each one Nikita indicated.

“Done.”

“I’ve got buttons,” Logan says. “Virgil, are they arranged like a diamond or a square?”

Virgil drops the wire cutters back on the table. He manages not to glance at the bomb's timer.

“There are four arranged in a diamond. The top one is blue, the left one is red, the right one is yellow and the bottom one is green.”

“Are any of them alight?”

“No.”

“Press green, blue, yellow, red.”

Logan’s instructions are easier to follow than Nikita’s. There was no pause in his instructions and he seemed so sure. Still Virgil’s hands are shaking as he does it.

“Virgil, what’s the time?” Nikita asks.

“2:56.”

“Who has words?”

“I do!” Patton says.

Virgil’s heart plummets and he wants to kick himself for it. Patton and him are good at communicating. That’s his best friend. It’s going to be fine.

“There’s a screen that says the word okay,” Virgil says. “The words underneath are buttons with the words okay, wait, and first all on the left in a column going down and nothing, ummm with three mmms, and left in a column going down on the right.”

“Oh golly,” Patton says. “What are the top two buttons?”

“Okay and nothing.”

“Okay… and the screen says left?”

“The screen says okay.”

“Does the screen say um?”

“The screen says okay.”

“Sorry, I’m just looking through all the options,” Patton says and Virgil wants to scream.

“Patton, we have 2 minutes and 20 seconds.”

“Does the screen say bear?”

“The screen says okay.”

“Right, yes.” There’s a flipping of paper. Virgil’s eyes trail to the counting timer. “The screen says okay?”

“Yes.”

“And the top two buttons are okay and nothing?”

“Yes?”

“What are the rest of the buttons?”

“Wait, and first on the left in a column going down and ummm with three mmms, and left on the right.” Virgil trips over his words as he talks.

They’re at a minute and 59 seconds.

“Okay, press okay and um.” Patton pauses. “I really don’t like this Virgil. What if we switch—”

Virgil’s already pressed the buttons. “Done.”

“Who has the graph?” Logan says, so quickly the syllables almost blend into one another.

“I’ve got it.” The exasperation in Nikita’s voice is palpable and she’s talking about twice as fast as she would normally. “Talk to me Virgil.”

“It’s a dark green screen with light green dots on it in a six by six,” Virgil says quickly. “On the top row, second column, one of the dots is a red triangle. In the fifth row, fourth column, one of the dots is a sort of knob that I can turn.”

“Okay, okay, okay, okay.” Nikita’s panicked breaths do nothing to calm Virgil down. “That’s it, there’s nothing white or orange on the screen?”

Virgil knows the answer is no but he looks anyway. “No.”

“Okay. Turn the knob three clicks to the left.”

He has absolutely no idea what that means but the clock is at one minute 25 seconds so he does it immediately.

“Done.”

“Patton, we’re back to you.” Logan says.

“The word on the screen is Bear.” Virgil can hear his heart hammering in his ears.

“Bear?”

“Yes.”

“Are the buttons all the same?”

“Obviously!” Virgil takes a breath. “Yes, Patton.”

“I think… umm…” Patton’s voice trails off.

“The words were okay, wait, and first on the left and nothing, ummm with three mmms, and left on the right.”

“Okay. I’ve got this. Press um…”

Virgil’s about to hit the button when Logan’s voice booms down the mic:

“No!”

His hand freezes.

“Patton,” Logan says, much more curtly than Virgil has ever heard from him. “When one of the words is um, you may not use that as a filler word when you speak.”

It’s like a bucket of ice cold water had been thrown over him. Virgil glances down at the button, mere millimeters from his hand.

“Sorry,” Patton’s voice is small.

“What’s the word?!” Nikita near-shouts.

“Press um… no not um! Press nothing!”

Virgil’s hand is still frozen above the task. He takes a breath, trying to get himself to move.

What if Patton literally means press nothing?

“Virgil!” Logan says and Virgil’s hand moves and he pushes down.

Nothing happens.

“Done.” His voice is shaky, wavering. “42 seconds.”

“Who has the big button?” Logan asks, but there’s something in his voice that tells Virgil he already knows.

There’s a three second silence. Virgil knows, because he watches the timer slip into the thirty second range.

“I do,” Patton says quietly.

“The button is red and it says press!” Virgil says instantly. “That’s it.”

“Okay, okay, um, I mean,” Patton stumbles as he talks, paper flipping loudly in Virgil’s ear. “It’s red?”

“Yes!”

“And it says press?”

“Yes!”

24 seconds left.

“What color are the words in?”

“White! They’re white!”

“Okay, um, I think… Virgil I…”

17 seconds.

Patton mumbles something.

“What?!”

“I think you need to let the time run out,” Patton says, a bit louder but still barely loud enough for Virgil to make out.

“Are you sure?”

The silence is deafening.

10 seconds.

“The button is red, right?”

“Yes!”

5 seconds.

“Yeah just… just wait.”

3 seconds. 2. 1.

Virgil closes his eyes. There’s a soft click. His eyes open.

The door on the other side of the room swings ajar.

“Alright people,” Nikita says. “Last task.”

Virgil steps out very slowly and gets a good look at the last room. And despite everything, despite the bomb and Patton’s shaking voice and the many many hours stuck in this continuous perilous situation, he can’t help but grin.

When Virgil was eight, Janus took him to something called “The Jungle Adventure.” It was the most fun Virgil had ever had, and very quickly became something Virgil would drag Patton and Janus whenever he got the chance.

The first time, he had been on the kid’s courses. Rather than climb shaking ropes several 10s of feet above the ground, going from tree top to tree top, he was a little over a foot off the ground, crawling between sturdy wooden tunnels and jumping from swinging wooden pole to wooden pole.

Now, he was easily one of the most skilled people there. Janus would always call him odd, for having anxiety about everything and yet none when one false move could send him careening towards the ground.

(One false move would actually just leave him dangling on the safety wire, he would be fine.)

Virgil just said he didn’t make any false moves.

The most extreme version of a Jungle Adventure stretches out in front of him, ending across the room with a golden door. Rather than trees, a city skyline makes up the obstacle course, with buildings as trunks and wires as ropes.

Logan steps out beside him, takes one look at him, and nods slightly. His lips twitch, just a little, as if he were trying to smile and didn’t quite know how.

Nikita steps out beside Logan and grimaces.

“Damn,” she mutters.

“Are you afraid of heights?” Logan asks, and his words are gentle but there’s something firm in his stance.

“A little,” Nikita admits. “I managed to keep myself from falling during the second task, but it certainly didn’t help.”

“I suspect we’ll be fine.” Logan glances over at Virgil. “Both Virgil and Patton have likely both done this before.”

Patton steps from the room as Logan says his name. His face is white, his body is shaking, and there’s the most unhinged, unPatton smile on his face. Virgil’s arm twitches, and he debates for a second trying to make his way to him, but the ledge is small, and Logan and Nikita stand in his way.

“Right.” Virgil glances at Logan, who just waves at him. The meaning is clear and it makes Virgil’s throat go dry.

You’re in charge.

But he knows this. He’s good at this.

“Logan’s right,” Virgil says, knowing how unnecessary the sentence is as he says it. “Patton and I do this a lot.”

He takes in the course, eyes jumping from section to section.

There are no safety clips or wires. If they fall, they’re gonna hit the ground, and Virgil isn’t interested in finding out whether or not that means injuries or not. The first section has four lines; clearly sections to do by themselves. The next part looks like a partner obstacle course, and the final one will need all four of them.

Alright. Easy enough.

“Patton, you’re going to pair up with Nikita, Logan you’ll be with me. If, um, that’s okay, obviously.” He manages not to stumble over his words but they feel foreign in his mouth, uncomfortable. On instinct, he glances at Logan.

Logan nods at him.

“First part you’ll do alone but, um, I guess try and support each other? I don’t know if you’ll be able to catch the other if they fall, but uh, yeah.” This is rapidly getting worse. Virgil glances at Logan again.

Logan’s lips twitch in that way that looks like he’s trying to smile. It’s oddly comforting.

“Next you’ll have to work in pairs of two, which I’ve already divided you in, and then um, we’ll have to do it with the four of us.” Virgil nods. “Okay.”

“Let’s do it,” Nikita says, and she does smile at Virgil when he looks at her so clearly he didn’t mess up too badly.

The first part is easy enough. Black wires hang from the ceiling with metal poles connecting them, essentially creating five large swings they have to jump across. Virgil finishes first, then turns to see how Logan was progressing.

Logan had clearly never done this before, but his body was about as close as you could get to Virgil’s correct form without practicing. He leans forward, reaching out with his foot and slowly putting his weight from one leg to the next before bringing his hands over and pulling himself onto the next swing.

Patton finishes next and begins to shout encouraging things at Nikita that Virgil genuinely can not tell if she appreciates.

Logan finishes next, with Nikita not far behind.

Right.

There are two buildings, close enough to each other to be used as a climbing device but far enough away that you need two people in order to actually use it properly. Near the bottom, a few yards down, is a rooftop that clearly leads to the next course.

Virgil takes a breath.

“The next platform is at the bottom,” Logan mutters and Virgil nods at him.

Patton and Nikita are far enough away that Virgil can’t be 100% positive about what's being said, but he assumes they’re figuring out the proper steps to get up. Patton could probably just create a glowing blue step ladder down to the bottom. Logan and him, on the other hand…

“Shall we?” Logan asks and Virgil nods back at him.

They link arms, elbow intertwined in elbow, pressing back to back. Slowly, the two of them approach the gap.

“It has to be at the same time,” Virgil says.

His back is tingling slightly. Virgil’s more aware of it then he’s ever been in his life.

“With enough room for the second leg,” Logan responds.

“On three?”

“Affirmative.”

“One. Two. Three.”

Both of them lift the leg closest to the gap and press it against the building.

“Now!” Virgil says, and Logan and him lift their second leg and press it as well.

His entire body is shaking. They’re back to back, jutting against each other. He can feel every pointy bone in Logan’s body, every straining muscle. Logan's arms have gone paper white as they work to hold Virgil close—and Virgil's own strain against him.

Their legs are bent in front of them, pressing tight against the walls of the building. They can’t look at each other, can’t look down, but Virgil’s breath is strangely even.

Despite how shaky Logan is, Virgil can’t imagine a scenario where they drop down.

“Ready?” Logan asks, and his voice is tight, forced.

“Left first,” Virgil strains. “Say each foot as you move.”

“Smart.”

Virgil swallows. He closes his eyes.

“Left,” they say together and Virgil manages not to cry out as he lifts 25% of his balance off of the building and drops it just as quickly to a part below it.

Logan back shifts against his in rhythm. His foot drops, almost silently against the building's wall.

“Right.”

Again, they move together, breaths flowing in and out at the same time. Virgil trembles. But, he’s not afraid. Not in the way that quickens his breath, that sends him into shambles, not in the way that hurts. It’s a new kind of fear, one that tightens his muscles and makes him stronger. His chest is still tight but it's comforting somehow, sure.

“Left.”

“Right.”

“Left.”

“Right.”

Virgil is smiling.

He doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand it at all. Any normal person would be scared out of their mind right now. Frankly, Virgil should get out of this situation and have a panic attack.

But he’s not going to.

He’s going to keep smiling.

“Left.”

“Right.”

“Left.”

“Right.”

Logan is so firm against him. Virgil has put so much trust in him so quickly, but he’s met each challenge with a level head and a calm look. There’s so much he doesn’t know about this boy but he knows enough to press his back against his and know he’s not going to drop.

“Left.”

“Right.”

“Left.”

“Right.”

“Left.”

They keep going, steady, picking up some speed but never going fast until the two of them are about three feet from the next platform.

“Okay,” Virgil says, and he doesn’t sound like himself yet somehow he’s more himself than he’s ever been. “I’m going to get off and support your body the entire time. Then you can just jump.”

Logan is quiet.

“I won’t drop you.”

“I know.” Logan is trembling, and it must be from the strain of holding himself up but somehow, Virgil doesn’t think that’s the only reason. “I just… Can I do it?”

“Well…” Virgil closes his eyes. He doesn’t like confrontation. “I’m stronger than you.”

Another silence.

It stretches on, and both their legs shake with the effort of waiting.

“Your plan is better,” Logan finally says. “I… yes. That makes sense.”

It’s slow.

Virgil turns, slowly, and puts one foot on the platform. Slowly, he begins to flip his body so he’s facing straight away from the gap and presses his right forearm straight against Logan’s back. He keeps spinning, bringing his other legs to the rooftop and turning to press both open hands against Logan and hold him up.

His arms are trembling, fingers extended, but he does not drop Logan.

“Reach your feet out.”

Logan does so, and Virgil grabs him and pulls him onto the platform. They fall, straight backward, and Virgil smashes the back of his hand against the ground.

Only it’s soft.

Logan’s hands are wrapped around the back of his head, body lying right over Virgil’s, nose almost touching his own.

“Are you okay?” Virgil asks.

“I should be asking you that question,” Logan says. “Although, admittedly, it would be unnecessary.”

“You know the answer?” Virgil guesses, slightly teasingly.

Logan actually does smile then, and it's real, not one of his sad attempts, and it's one of the most beautiful things Virgil has ever seen.

“Affirmative.”

Chapter 12: Trial 4 (The End)

Chapter Text

Patton’s arms hurt.

Patton’s arms hurt, and he can hardly stand after that last exercise. Nikita hasn’t smiled once at any of his jokes he’s made and Patton can't even blame her because he isn’t either.

He can still hear Logan’s “No!” pounding through his ears.

”When one of the words is um, you may not use that as a filler word when you speak.”

As soon as this is over, Patton can actually start learning how to help people. He just has to get through the next task.

“Giant’s ladder,” Logan says. He’s standing closer to Virgil than he had before, and Virgil smiles at him.

It takes Virgil a second to look at Patton, and when he does, the smile isn’t the same as it was in Logan’s direction.

Maybe Patton’s reading into things.

He’s probably just really tired.

“That’s a good description, Logan!” Patton chirps.

“No, Pat, that’s the name,” Virgil says. He pauses. “Well, it is also a good description.”

Two wires hang down, holding up six metal bars that slowly increase distance between the two of them. It’s long enough for each person to stand with ample space, but short enough that they have to interact.

Compared to the last tasks, it looks like a walk in the park.

Nikita hops up on the first bar and the entire thing moves.

Patton takes it back.

Logan follows suit almost instantly, clutching the bar above him in completely steady hands. Virgil steps up next to him, one hand holding the wire and one the top bar.

Patton swallows.

He’s almost done.

He’s almost there.

He is.

Patton gets on too.

It’s sturdier than he thought and the bars are wide enough that he can basically stand without the additional support from his arms, even with the movement. It’s more like being on a rocking boat than anything else.

The breath Patton takes is long and thin.

He can do this.

“Are we tall enough to jump up?” Nikita asks Logan, which Patton thinks is fair.

Nikita stands at about 5'7. Patton is 5’8, Virgil is 5’10, and Logan also looks to be around 5’8. They’re not short, but they’re certainly not the tallest bunch.

“There’s no need for anyone to jump up,” Logan replies. “The only thing that would accomplish is shaking the ladder.”

Slowly, Logan drops, shifting his support from the top beam and wrapping his hands around the one he’s standing on. He puts himself in a crouch position, one knee—the one facing Virgil—at a direct 90 degree angle.

“I should’ve been in the middle,” Virgil mutters.

“Most likely.” Logan looks up at him. “The next bar will be empty.”

Virgil grins. He places one foot on Logan’s thigh and uses it to hoist himself up, easily bringing himself up to the second bar. Once stable, Virgil doesn’t bother standing; he scoots his way in between Logan and Nikita and offers the boy an arm.

Nikita, somehow, has already gotten the message and knelt down the same way Logan did. Logan clasps Virgil’s hand and with only a very slight hesitation, steps onto Nikita’s legs. For a moment, Logan is being completely supported by others before managing to stand on his own. He now stands on the outside of the ladder where Virgil had been standing before, and Virgil is in the middle.

Should Patton move to the middle?

“I’ve got you,” Nikita says. She turns, placing her knee towards Patton. “Hop on up.”

He doesn’t like stepping on her. As he pulls himself up, all he can think about is how he’s leaving her behind, stranded on the bar below.

Why didn’t he kneel? He should’ve been the one helping her, not the other way around!

The next time goes even smoother and this time Patton makes sure he’s the one who kneels for her before she can get the chance to try it.

There’s a moment, on the fourth rung, where Virgil misses the top bar and begins to fall. Patton screams, on instinct, but Logan is completely steady and grabs his best friend on either side of his chest, holding him in place.

Virgil is shaking.

“I’ve got you,” Logan says. His eyes are light. “You won’t fall.”

There’s something there, something Patton doesn’t understand.

That’s okay. Virgil will tell him later.

“Thank you,” Virgil says. There’s something in his voice too. When he reaches up the next time, he doesn’t miss.

Patton is sure to kneel down for Nikita. He’s the last one up.

They’re standing on the sixth and last bar. The only thing left is to hoist themselves up onto the roof, and desperately hope that they’re one of the first groups to finish.

It’s such a large gap.

Both Nikita and Logan work to support Virgil getting up to the roof. When Logan makes his way up, there’s a moment, a second, where his foot has left Nikita’s thigh and it's not yet around the roof’s edge where the only thing holding him up is Virgil.

Nikita is next, and Patton bows down for her, trying to keep his leg as firm as possible. She gets up with relative ease, Virgil and Logan on either side.

Patton stares.

He’s alone.

All three of them are reaching down for him, ready to hoist him up but he’s the only one left. The one behind the rest.

It’s his own fault. It could’ve been Nikita. It was Nikita, at first.

He can’t do it.

He doesn’t deserve it.

The only reason he’s here is because Virgil had to use his awful quirk and hurt others. Without that, Patton would’ve been left in the maze, bleeding out.

Frankly, who knows where he would be without Logan. That boy had predicted everything, helped him with everything.

His quirk wasn’t even working properly. Patton has used so much against Jupiter that he hadn’t had enough left to build platforms. Nikita and him had been forced to work their way down that building.

And now he was alone.

“I can’t,” Patton whispers.

“Patton, come on!” Virgil is leaning down, hand out. “We’ve got this! This is your dream!”

Virgil’s only here because of him.

Virgil went through all of that because of him.

Virgil had to use his quirk, because of him.

“I’m so tired.”

“Get up,” Nikita says. “You can quit when we finish.”

Logan is silent.

Patton just wanted to help people.

He takes Virgil’s hand and allows his best friend to hoist him up onto the roof.

When the four of them walk through the final door, they are the seventh group to finish. They’re successful.

It oddly feels like a defeat.

Chapter 13: Trial 5 (Logan's Trial)

Chapter Text

Logan stands silently.

His clothes stick to him, due to blood, sweat and pure longevity. Hair is plastered against his face and it’s only practice that keeps his hands still and his breathing normal.

After all, he did expect this.

All four of the Superhero teachers sit in front of him, behind a large cleared desk. The Spy, a deft 45 year old woman sits to the far left, and she peers at him with dark brown eyes. Long curly black hair is pulled up into a braided bun, and she’s the only one smiling at him.

Jupiter sits beside her. He’s not frowning necessarily but he’s also not the main one Logan is concerned about. Jupiter is well known for an emphasis on quirks in superheroes, but he’s always been willing to make exceptions.

The Director sits in the middle. He is smiling, rather goofily, but it's not at him. The Director has never been seen in public without a smile on his face and whether that's due to personality or just marketing, Logan can’t be 100% sure. It’s likely a combination of both.

Siren is at the end. Long blonde hair brushes against her forearms and she pierces him under a dark green gaze.

“It’s nice to meet you officially, Logan Berry.”

Logan nods at her. “You as well, Miss Siren.”

“You’re the fifth quirkless applicant we’ve ever had make it to the trails.” Siren folds her hands in her lap. “And the first to make it past the first round.”

“You don’t look like much,” Jupiter grunts.

Logan meets his gaze, slow and confident. His stomach twists. He ignores it. “Yet I beat you.”

The Spy laughs. “He was very good, wasn’t he?”

Jupiter doesn’t look happy about it but Logan can tell he agrees.

“There are concerns,” Siren says, “about whether or not you would be able to survive being in our program.”

No there aren’t.

“We also wonder just how applicable this field is to you,” Siren says. Her mouth is twisted oddly. “Villains without quirks are usually handled by the police. Whether or not a quirkless hero would be a threat to a villain is currently unknown. You may end up being a burden to your team.”

That, she genuinely means. Wonderful.

“Come now, Siren,” The Spy says. “He passed our course! I would even say he did better than the other applicants!”

“Our course is a test of skills,” Siren replies. “It’s to show who’s weak, not who’s strong.”

It’s such a blatant lie that Logan struggles to keep his face completely neutral.

The Director is watching him.

Logan stays silent.

“He beat me,” Jupiter begrudges, “but tricks won’t always work. A lot of the time, it is just a matter of who can take the most punches.”

For you, Logan thinks.

“The rules are if you pass the course you make it into the class,” The Spy says. “It hardly seems fair to change them for one student.”

“He won’t do well!” Siren leans forward, looking to meet the Spy’s eyes. “I will not have his failure reflect on our school!”

Logan’s lips twitch. Just slightly. Just enough for the Director to mark.

“Mr. Berry,” The Director finally says, “do you have anything to say for yourself?”

It’s sometimes boring, how easy it is to make the dominoes fall.

“Certainly sir.” Logan takes a breath. “We could start with the very simple. Under Article 32, clause 10, it is illegal to discriminate against people in the workplace or in public schools because of religion, sex, gender, race, sexual orientation, pregnancy, disabilities or genetic information, national origin, age, or quirk. Your school falls under both categories; if you do not allow me into the program, I have grounds to sue.

“Secondly,” Logan continues, because he likes the stupid looks on their faces, as if they weren’t aware that quirkless individuals could know their rights, “even without the law, I would still be able to sue you for false advertising. I applied to your program and got into the trials. I was told that should I complete them, I would be able to continue with your program. I did each and every one of them as designed, I followed the rules, and I was successful. To kick me out now would go directly against your word.

“Now, I can analyze what each and all of you have said in front of me. Siren, you were particularly verbal in my leaving the program. You add 75 people to your program every year. Tell me, how many of those actually finish?”

He waits a beat.

“The average, roughly, is 45,” Logan says calmly. “How many of those go on to become superheroes?”

Still silent.

“That answer is 25. How many die within the first month?”

Nothing.

“6. How many become famous?” He doesn’t wait this time. “Three. Three out of 75 people become famous and reflect well on your program. It’s much better odds than any other superhero school. It is nothing.

“If I fail, the public will chalk it up to me being quirkless. Nobody will blame your school; you will likely be revered for giving me a chance. If I succeed, I will be setting an example for many quirkless people and your school will be revered for being my chance. There is no world in which you lose by accepting me.”

Logan has practiced that speech in his head for at least a month. It is somewhat cathartic to let it out.

“You will die,” Siren tells him.

Logan meets her head on. “It is my life, Siren.”

The Spy is smiling at him.

“I don’t like it,” Jupiter says. “I don’t like it at all.”

“We could be blamed for your death,” The Director says, but his tone is all wrong and Logan knows he’s won.

“If you try and train me to the best of your ability, I won’t fail.” He doesn’t stutter as he says it, but his stomach flips. Sternly, Logan reminds himself that he means it.

Siren makes a noise.

Logan thinks for the briefest of moments. They’re still on the fence.

Well.

There is a reason he didn’t accept Patton’s help when he offered Logan a way down on his shields. There is a reason Logan jumped back into the maze after The Spy’s offer to just pass the level.

The next words out of his mouth are very calculated.

“Your first task was rather easy to figure out. I knew what it was when I walked into the room. I wasn’t hit once, despite not having a quirk, and I managed to choke out a person who was attempting to harm me.” Just to unconsciousness, but they knew that. “Afterwards, I saved the life of a boy that would’ve died before your medical services got there.”

“We’re all very aware of how supposedly impressive you are,” Siren interrupts.

Logan ignores her.

“I figured out your second task before the floor opened up, I didn’t fall nor did I have to rely on a quirk in order to make my way down. I was the one who solved the Spy’s riddle, I knew who the Spy was before I entered the room, and I solved the maze before any other contestant. I figured out Jupiter’s task and I’m the only one who was able to hit him.”

Jupiter grumbles.

“The obstacle course was a group effort, but I led most of it and in two cases, both when fighting the robots and in the room with the bomb, I am the reason we did not fail.” Logan meets Siren’s eyes as he says it. “You will not be able to honestly say anyone did better than I did.”

“You’re lucky,” Siren responds coldly.

“I’m smart.”

The word echoes around the room.

“Logan,” the Spy says, and her voice is gentle and her eyes are laughing, but it's not at him. “Were you aware this meeting would occur?”

“Yes.”

Siren laughs. “Really?”

“During your task,” Logan tells the Spy, bluntly ignoring Siren, “you’ll notice a boy named Patton offers me a way down using his quirk. His friend, Virgil, allows him to help.” Logan meets Siren’s eyes. “I do it myself.”

The Director waits until Logan looks over, then nods at him.

“We can’t have a quirkless in the Superhero program!” Siren glares at the man beside her, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “It’s unheard of!”

“The Spy has already expressed an interest in teaching him,” The Director replies and Siren throws her hands up. Jupiter doesn’t look particularly happy, but he also already admitted how impressive he is.

It’s not like he’s got much of a leg to stand on.

The Spy, on the other hand, looks positively gleeful.

“Mr. Berry,” the Director says, “would you care to speak with me alone?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Logan doesn’t shift to move; if the Director was going to invite him into his office, his body would’ve twitched, consciously or subconsciously. Instead, he waits.

Jupiter, Siren, and the Spy are all slower on the uptake than him, with the Spy figuring it out first and Jupiter last. Finally the room empties and the Director meets his eyes.

“You’re very impressive, Mr. Berry.”

“Thank you, sir.”

A hand brushes over his neatly trimmed beard, before settling back down in his lap. He’s relaxed, secure. Of course he is, Logan could’ve said that before he ever entered the room. There’s a tenseness in his face Logan didn’t know about, a sharpness in his gaze that the TV’s in his old home couldn’t pick up on.

And the hand he used to brush around his beard is bruised on every knuckle, although Logan is confident he hasn’t been in the field for years.

The Director is 68 years old. He looks wonderful for his age, but years of fighting crime are going to take a toll.

Logan wants to see his hand again.

“I will welcome you into my school. You’ll be learning from Spy, though I’m sure you already know that. What I’d like to talk to you about, is how confident you are that this is what you want.”

This, Logan can tell, isn’t a plea to get ‘the quirkless’ to leave, but an actual warning. There’s too much light in his eyes for it to be anything else.

“You will be the center of the media for the next couple of weeks,” The Director says, and his voice has changed. He’s still smiling, but there’s no goofy edge to it. “Normally, our school will have an article come out on the size of the class, who looks the most promising, and what villains we need help with. It’s fairly simple, lasts about a week, and depending on the publisher is either favorable or neutral. When I accept you, none of this will occur. You will be plastered on every newspaper, and each one will investigate you, your past, and make guesses as to when you will die or quit.”

“I’m aware.”

There’s not much they’ll be able to find.

“There is no way I will be able to prepare you for it. I will do my best to protect you, but I will be largely unsuccessful.”

Logan nods at him. “I will appreciate the attempt.”

“Anything you succeed at will be ‘good for a quirkless.’ Anything you fail at will be expected.”

This time, Logan’s eyebrows shoot up. “I have lived as a quirkless, Director.”

The Director smiles. “I know. But you have not lived in the media.”

It’s a fair point, and one Logan is willing to concede to him. He nods quietly.

“Are you confident this is something you can handle?”

For a moment, Logan looks at him.

Suit is well maintained, but his muscles are pressing against the cloth, making the shirt too tight. His movements are all slow, purposeful.

“Yes,” Logan says.

“That says nothing of the students.”

It takes all of Logan effort to keep his face carved and emotionless.

“Some might accept you,” the Director concedes. “Most will not.” He strokes his beard again and Logan gets another look at his hand.

Heavily calloused, bruises on every knuckle and old bruises underneath that.

Logan’s flying through every medical textbook he’s ever read and he lands on a disease, a very rare genetic one named Perderia that he pins onto the Director. So far, it fits.

Logan wonders what it would be like, to spend years as the most well known Hero, with the Quirk of Super Strength, and suddenly become quirkless. To have to work out for muscles, to only be able to lift what a powerful average man could.

No wonder the Director is sympathetic to Logan.

“I understand that, sir,” Logan replies.

“And you’re still confident?”

“Yes sir.”

The Director sighs, and he somehow manages to do it while smiling. “Then I shall see you in class when term starts, Mr. Berry.”

“Yes sir.”

The Spy’s class consists of 25 people.

She stares down at her attendance, each name fitted with a picture of the person.

Some are recognizable.

Roman and Remus Royalty are the ones the Spy worries about the most. She knows the Royalty family and she knows what those two boys have gone through. More importantly however, she knows what kind of views those boys have been taught.

It’ll be hard to remove the elitism but the Spy didn’t decide to start teaching because she thought it would be simple.

Logan Berry, obviously. The first ever quirkless. His three partners, Nikita Longmoon, Patton Dream, and Virgil Casey.

He was so small.

That was what the Spy had thought when Logan had stood in front of them. He had been so confident, so quick, so sharp. There hadn’t been a moment out of that boy’s control.

She used to grip to control like that, back when everything around her was decided by other people. She wonders when Logan learned to devote that clever mind to predicting others.

So small.

18 years old.

They recruit so young for superhero school. Younger still, if you count the actual work needed in managing to get in. It’s impossible to pass those trails without years of some kind of training.

The Spy’s dark hands trace each name in her attendance. She just had them manicured last week, mostly because she can have them manicured now without worrying about losing a pink nail in somebody’s blood.

She wonders how much he knows about her.

She wonders where he comes from.

Chapter 14: Acceptance! (Yay?)

Chapter Text

The acceptance letter sits on Patton’s desk.

The car ride home had been silent. Patton had smiled at both his parents, said something he doesn't remember about how it was “everything he ever dreamed it could be”, and promptly fell asleep in the backseat.

Virgil had texted him a few times over the past week, but Patton had always had some kind of excuse to avoid him. He's pretty sure that by now, Virgil has caught on but he hasn't said anything.

Yet.

Nikita had asked for Logan and Virgil’s number. She added Patton on as an afterthought.

The groupchat Nikita made has been silent for a week.

Nikita: Hi this is Nikita.

Bestiest Friend Ever: hi this is virgil

Logan: Salutations. This is Logan Berry.

Patton: Hey everyone!! :] This is Patton!! Great job working together!

He wonders what class everyone will be in. For a moment, he finds himself wishing that Logan is separate from him and Virgil.

Patton pushes that away. He likes Logan! Sure, he was a little weird and Virgil seemed to like him far more than Virgil had liked anyone before, but Logan was the reason they passed!

Patton isn’t.

Patton is the reason they nearly failed.

Twice.

The acceptance letter is lined with gold.

Patton thinks gold is a rather bright color.

There’s a knock on his door.

“Patton, my dear, just checking in!” Patton’s mom sounds so cheery. “You know we’re dropping you off later today?”

“Yes, mom!”

“I asked Janus if he wanted us to bring Virgil, but he said he wants to drop him off so it’ll just be us two for the ride up.”

Patton nods. “Mmm-hmm!”

“I have some onigiri for the trip, do you want anything else?”

“No, that’s good!”

“Are you sure? We have plenty of other things!”

“No, that's good mom, thank you!” He tries for a smile and suddenly figures out what he’s supposed to say. “You’re the bestest, Mom!”

“Aw, thank you honey! Come downstairs and have lunch with your mother now.”

Patton looks at his acceptance letter again.

“Yes, Mom.”

He gets off of his bed, fingers skimming the page. They used such fancy ink for it. It makes sense. The Superhero school is one of the hardest to get into. There were so many basic tests you had to pass, the SAT, the Physical, and then the final one.

Patton touches his name.

Dear Mr. Patton Dream,

We are delighted to inform you…

Patton opens his phone.

He scrolls to the news app and clicks the search bar. The most recent search, Superhero Test Hospilizations stares up at him, and it’s second nature to click it.

It’s all articles he’s seen before. Injuries, no deaths. One person was in critical condition when the meds got to him, but had since been fixed up by doctors and healers. A couple of the articles mention that a different testee had kept the person alive until the doctors got there.

Logan.

A wave of anger rushes through Patton.

Patton blinks at it. He shoves it away. He clicks on the most recent article, one from 2 days ago, and re-read the headline.

Superhero Entrance Exam Continues Its Five Year No Death Streak.

The subtitle underneath that.

This year had the 2nd lowest report of life-threatening injuries in the Exam’s history.

He’s read this article two times already today.

Patton reads it again. He looks up over his walls.

There are shelves lining it, all full of Superhero figures, magazines, printed out articles, even comic books detailing their most aggressive fights. Patton even has some villain collectibles, though he makes sure to only get the ones that are actually in prison.

The battle for the power grid is his favorite story, even if his mother never seems to like it when he brings it up. The whole of Ghora’s technological power had been brought to its knees and it had taken Zeus, John Searle, and Bloodhound to find Shadow and turn him in.

The people had been saved.

Patton wants to be like them. Ever since reading that story, Patton has always wanted to be like them.

Superheroes are supposed to help people. Only the best people, the most courageous, selfless, smartest, kindest people are very able to pass the exams. That’s why they’re so difficult, Patton tells himself.

He’s been telling himself that for a week.

The kid from the first test flashes in his mind. He can still hear that kid’s scream as Virgil takes a hold of their mind and forces them to experience their deepest fears. Virgil has only used his power a few times in front of Patton, and it’s made his skin crawl every time.

The kid didn’t pass.

Are the heroes truly the kindest if they don’t let people in?

Are they truly the kindest if they let people get hurt?

Is their cause enough?

Patton doesn’t know why he’s questioning things. He knows the Superheroes are good. He knows why the test is made the way it is, and why each task was more and more draining. In order to have the best of the best, you have to make sure to test everyone.

Patton leaves his room to go have lunch with his mom for the last time before East Bridge University.

Virgil is sitting next to his Dad, driving to East Bridge University. A fidget cube moves rapidly in his hands, mostly to press the buttons but every now and then rolls the sort of game controller on one of the sides.

“You said you liked it,” Janus says kindly.

“I did like it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know why. Patton didn’t like it. He’s still not responding to my texts.” Virgil stares at his lap. “I used my power multiple times.”

“There’s nothing wrong with using your quirk.”

Virgil doesn’t reply to that.

“I didn’t know we blamed knives for stabbing people,” Janus says.

“Oh yes, the fantastic argument of ‘it’s not the weapon it’s the person.’ Every gun restriction activist is quaking right now.” Virgil stares out the window. The trees soar past him. “I liked using it.”

“Obviously. It’s a part of you you’ve been ignoring and pushing away. Why wouldn’t you enjoy accepting it?”

Virgil didn’t want to accept it. He imagines Patton’s face when he had used it in front of him, the apologies that had fallen from his best friend’s lips. Virgil checks his phone again.

No new messages.

“I don’t want to hurt people.”

But even as he says it, he remembers the way Jupiter froze when Virgil first stuck him into his worst fear. He remembers being proud of bringing someone that powerful to their knees, even for a few seconds.

He’s still proud.

“Why was it so fun?” Virgil buries his head in his knees. “I don’t even want to be a superhero.”

But that was never true. He just didn’t know.

He still doesn’t know.

“You enjoyed the test?” Janus asks.

“Yes.”

“Then try the school.” Janus glances over at him and gives his shoulder a quick squeeze. “If you hate it, I’ll come drive and pick you up myself and we’ll find something for you together. You’re young, college is free, and I’m rich.”

Virgil snorts.

“You can take your time figuring you out. You’re 18, Virgil.”

“I’m supposed to know!”

“I didn’t know 18-year-olds could tell the future.”

“I— urg!!” Virgil wants to throw the fidget cube but he’s in a car filled with windows so he just groans. “I want to know I’m doing the right thing! I don’t want to go down a path that’ll make me worse!”

His quirk was for hurting others.

He enjoyed fighting others.

Virgil suddenly can’t breathe. His thoughts are tumbling, one after another and he can feel his heart hammering inside of his chest.

“Virgil, I’m going to touch you,” Janus says.

Virgil nods, wondering quietly how Janus will do that and drive.

“Breathe with me, okay? In-2-3-4-5. Out-2-3-4-5. In-2-3-4-5. Out-2-3-4-5.”

Virgil breath stabilizes.

“Now name five things you see.

“You, steering wheel, trees, fidget, my hands.”

His breath is calmer and he doesn’t have to focus on it as much. Slowly, it dawns on Virgil that the reason Janus can concentrate on him is because the car is parked on the side of the road.

“Four things you can feel.”

“Shirt, your hand, pants, chair.”

His hands aren’t tingling as much, which is good because that’s Virgil’s least favorite part of anxiety attacks (beside the rest of it).

“Three things you can hear.”

“You, cars, me.”

His head feels quieter now. There’s still something saying his enjoying superhero training is wrong and he needs to run while he can, but he’s also remembering that Patton’s been Superhero training his whole life.

Patton isn’t wrong.

“Two things you can smell.”

“Car and my deodorant.”

He can feel his body in the chair. Virgil’s arms are shaking a little, but Janus is holding them and that’s helping. His feet are firm against the ground. Most importantly, the feeling of Virgil’s heart has faded away.

“One thing you can taste.”

“Saliva?”

“That works.”

Virgil heaves out a sigh and meets his father’s eyes. Janus raises his eyebrows, looking somehow non-judgmental and incredibly judgemental at the same time.

“You’ve always enjoyed physical challenges,” Janus tells him. “You’ve also always enjoyed kicking people who hurt you or Patton into the dirt.”

Virgil looks down.

“That doesn’t make you a bad person, Virgil. I would actually say, shockingly, that fighting for people you care about actually makes you a very good person.”

“Okay.”

“Do you believe me?”

“Maybe.”

Janus sighs and restarts the car. “I’ll take it.”

Chapter 15: Quirkless (Squ-)

Chapter Text

Roman’s mother hugs him tighter than she has ever hugged before. He wants to sink into it but forces himself to stand to attention.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers. Her arm snakes out and just manages to grab Remus before he jumps away. “I’m proud of both of you.”

“Thank you,” Roman says. “It was easy work.”

He keeps his face still.

It was easy work.

The boy he had fought got lucky, that was all.

“Of course it was!” His mother, Glenda Royalty, pulls away. Her dark blue eyes scan over him and she smiles gently. “I taught you well.”

Remus nods at her, shifting from foot to foot. She watches it, grimaces, but doesn’t scold, which Roman blinks at.

“You did, Mother,” Roman says. He relaxes, just a little, when she brushes his already perfect hair into place.

Remus manages to still his feet when she does the same to him. At Roman’s glance, he doesn’t begin moving again.

His hand twitches slightly at his side.

“I will be keeping track of your progress,” Glenda says and her tone shifts slightly.

Immediately, Roman stands at attention. His hands are still at his side, his chest is forward, and he locks eyes with Glenda’s. His heart picks up.

“The Royalty family has been number 1 in this school for three generations,” Glenda says. “I will expect consistent letters about my boys in the number 1 and number 2 spot.”

When she says number one, she nods slightly in Roman’s direction.

“You have no excuses,” she says. “You have both been training since you were born. If I find out you have failed for any reason, I will know what little attention you have paid during my lessons.”

Roman nods.

“Do not associate with the wrong type. There going to be many children there that joined on a whim. They do not last in the field, so they are not worth your time.”

Remus shifts.

“Most importantly.” Her eyes flash and Roman just manages to keep himself from flinching. “I have heard that the school admitted a quirkless.”

There’s a sort of visceral reaction. Roman pulls back from the word, eyebrows knitting together, lips pursing.

“What?!” Roman blinks at himself. “I mean…”

“Don’t worry, Roman, I forgive your outburst.” She stares at their front door with a sort of hatred Roman has never seen before. “I had a similar reaction myself.”

“We can get them out,” Remus sing-songs. “I’ll summon legos to spawn in front of them wherever they walk!”

It’s almost more startling to see his mother smile at one of Remus’s suggestions than it is to learn that a quirkless is going to try and be a hero.

“It shouldn’t be hard to figure out who the Squick is,” Glenda starts.

Remus’s face hardens slightly at the word but he maintains his smile.

Roman doesn't react at all.

“Your job is to get them out. I will not have East Bridge sullied by some worthless Squick trying to prove their place. Quirkless do not belong in our high institutions. I have attempted to talk to the director about this, but he’s refusing to hear reason.”

Roman grimaces himself. The director had always been described as a little bit odd, but to allow a quirkless into the school takes things to another level.

“We can do it, Mother,” Roman says immediately. “We’ll get them out.”

“I know you will.” Glenda’s voice changes again and she smiles. Gentle again. “I’ll miss you both so much.”

Roman’s heart melts.

He loves his mother so much.

“We’ll miss you too, Mother. And Father.”

Remus nods.

“Oh, your Father wanted to be here. He said you said goodbye last night?”

Roman and Remus both nod.

“Excellent.”

Glenda gives them both one more hug each. When Roman and Remus begin towards the front door, Roman can’t help but glance back.

His mother smiles at him and waves.

Quickless in East Bridge!

First Ever Quirkless Passes East Bridge Exam

Class of 3098 includes Quickless Student

Who is the Quirkless? Inside Scoop.

Class of 3098 Scores; How did the Quirkless pass?

Logan flicks through the next article on his phone.

He sits in his dorm room, right in the middle of East Bridge University’s enclosed campus. East Bridge is slightly different from other universities; it also serves as a government building, which means each checkpoint requires an id and the entire thing is completely fenced in. All of student life; bars, restaurants, shops, gyms, and of course, class buildings are stuck within the fenced area.

Logan can’t imagine the amount of paperwork one would have to do to get a business set up here.

Well.

He can.

In fact, he knows exactly what forms are needed.

Logan scrolls slowly through his phone and flicks to the next article again.

Does a Quirkless deserve to be in East Bridge? Opinion Piece.

He’s sure the answer is no.

Nobody has dared to use a slur in their title yet, which Logan is somewhat surprised by. He figured at least Wolf news would pop it in, even just for rage clicks.

Demands for Squick Accomodations Reach a new Height

Logan has never been proved wrong so quickly.

The room is white, with light tan plastic floors that have been carefully designed to look like wooden planks. There are about five different outlets, one next to his white-sheeted bed, one next to his plastic wooden dresser, one next to his desk and spinny black chair, one beside the two boxes that constituted his shelf, floating above his desk.

He didn’t ask for a single but admits quietly that he is much more comfortable in it.

Ding!

Logan checks his phone. The notification is to another article, this one describing how the school’s reputation may suffer because of him.

He closes the news app and opens the message app, which, until very recently, had been completely empty.

It’s odd, Logan thinks, having contacts in his phone. He’s always only had his two, Dr. Tyler and Swann, so the sight of another three is something he still starts at.

The texts, however, are much weirder.

hi logan

Salutations.

it’s virgil from exam

Yes. I have your contact information.

cool. i was wondering if you’d want to meet up when we get to school

This idea is favorable.

cool

And then:

Hello.

you like, okay?

I believe so. Why do you ask?

there are a lot of articles coming out about a quickless kid

This is accurate.

sorry nvm.

Don’t worry, your assumption is correct. I am not offended. I’m doing okay, thank you for checking in.

theyre being so awful

Yes. However, I took that into account when I got into the exam.

you were the reason we did well

It was partly a team effort.

yeah but you were the reason we passed. so just don’t believe the articles okay?

Thank you, Virgil. I do really appreciate it.

ofc

Finally, the most recent:

Salutations, Virgil.

hey logan

There is a cafe about seven minutes from my dorm room that is open 24/7 called Cuppa Joy. Would you like to meet there when you arrive?

that sounds good. you at east bridge already?

Yes.

cool. i’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.

Logan reads over all the conversations again.

They’re not conversations he’s used to having. He’s never reached out to people before and asked them to hang out; Logan not sure if he’s ever had anyone to reach out to. The words are based on conversations he’s heard others have, books he’s read, and frankly the fact that he does tend to enjoy a good cup of coffee.

Logan wonders if Virgil will invite Patton. He gives it a very good chance but it’s not as high as it could be.

Another ding!

Another article.

For a moment, Logan debates just letting it go. But he’s never survived on ignorance before, and even if the articles are obnoxious, Logan’s not going to be able to understand anything if he buries his head in the sand.

Logan clicks on it.

Quirkless in East Bridge: What does it mean?

Logan reads it.

Chapter 16: Coffee (and Conversation)

Chapter Text

The coffee shop Logan chose is adorable.

The walls on the outside are a soft blue color, with lots of windows letting the sun in. When Virgil steps in, he’s immediately greeted by shelves lining the walls, framed artwork of all different styles and a range of coffee mugs and bags of coffee set up for purchase. The shelves are right against the light tan wooden walls, which contrast nicely with the wooden furniture all around the store.

There’s a nook in the corner with one dark blue and one purple armchair, a coffee table in front of the two, and a bookshelf in between. Flowers sit on every table, all purple in nice black vases, each handmade and different from all the others.

Immediately, one of the barista smiles at him. Nobody shouts out hello or waves him over to the counter, which helps Virgil breathe a little easier, but there’s still a welcoming homey feel to everything.

Logan hasn’t arrived but that makes sense because Virgil is about 15 minutes early.

He debates for a second where to sit. Eventually, after some deliberation, Virgil walks his way over to the armchairs and picks up a book from the bookshelf without reading the title.

The door dings.

Logan walks in exactly 10 minutes early. He doesn’t smile when he sees Virgil, but his shoulder does relax and he makes his way over.

“Salutations.”

“Hello.”

They stand there for a second and Virgil curses himself.

He likes Logan and there’s a sort of familiarity there. He doesn’t feel the need to keep up sharp edges and watch every word and action around him; in fact, his thumb turns over itself, gently stroking the other’s knuckle.

But Virgil also has no idea what to say.

Luckily, Logan seems to know what to do. “Would you like to get coffee?” he asks mildly. “I’ve been here once before and while I can’t quite judge your own taste I found it to be quite enjoyable.”

“No educated guesses?” Virgil quips. He wants to slam a hand over his mouth as soon as he says it, but Logan just seems to relax more.

“Unfortunately, I’ve not seen any form of consumption on your part before.” Logan starts to turn towards the bar. “Rest assured, after today, I’ll have plenty of guesses.”

If Virgil didn’t know any better, he’d say Logan was joking back at him.

The barista is very patient, even when Virgil mispronounces the coffee blend. Virgil gets a large black, and it’s handed to him in an adorable light green mug with dark green spots. A dinosaur’s head curls at the top, the handle making up its long neck.

“You get 50 cents back when you hand it in,” the barista says, “as well as a stamp on this card.” They slide it to him.

It’s a very basic card with the name “Cuppa Joy Cafe” on top and five blue and purple alternating circles underneath.

“You fill out the card and you’ll get a free drink.”

Virgil thanks him.

Logan orders the same thing as Virgil, black as well, and gets a mug covered in flowers. The handle is smooth, but the details of the flowers come off of it in small bumps that Logan hand immediately slides across.

“Same to you,” the barista says.

“Yes,” Logan says simply. “I have a card. Sarah gave it to me yesterday. May I ask for your name and pronouns?”

“Art.” The barista blinks. “They/Them.”

“Excellent. My name’s Logan, he/him.”

The two nod at each other, and then Logan follows Virgil off to the side. There’s a series of following the other, where Logan steps in front, and then Virgil until they finally make it to the armchairs. Logan slides into the blue one and immediately, Virgil takes the purple one across from him. The chair is soft and it supports him perfectly.

“This is a nice place,” Virgil says.

“Yes, I rather thought so. They do a lot to encourage artists.” Logan takes a sip of his coffee. “I’m not the best at small talk,” he says.

Relief floods Virgil. He relaxes slightly into the chair. “No, I’m not either. The last friend I made was when I was in kindergarten, I have no idea how to do this.”

“Excellent, we can be inept together.”

They go silent.

The quiet with Logan isn’t comfortable, per say, but for a near stranger, Virgil is shocked he can relax as much as he is. It’s interesting, Virgil thinks, how much he trusts the man across from him considering how little Virgil actually knows about him. Where does he come from? How old is he? What’s his favorite hobby, his favorite food?

Then again, Virgil thinks, what he does know about Logan is arguably more important. He knows that Logan is incredibly intelligent and observant, capable of putting small details together in ways Virgil has never seen before. The days in the entrance exam taught him just how kind Logan is, how much he cares about others.

Virgil doesn’t know when Logan was born or whether or not Logan likes pasta with sauce or butter, but he knows enough to dangle from a giant ladder with only Logan supporting him and believe everything is going to be okay.

“How do you think we should do this?” Virgil asks.

“Well.” Logan sips his coffee again. He sucks a drip of coffee from his lips almost elegantly. “I spent my time searching for good get to know you questions, if you’d like to try your hand at some of these. They were under an article called ‘skipping the small talk.’”

Virgil smiles. “Deal. And honesty only, obviously. Doesn’t work if we skip the truth.”

“Agreed.”

His phone dings, and Virgil glances down. The article Logan mentioned sits in his messages and Virgil opens it up.

“What’s your favorite way to unwind after a hectic day?” Logan recites. The way he says it makes Virgil feel warm, almost squishy.

“I listen to music and write poetry,” Virgil says. “I’m not very good but you know. It makes me happy.”

Logan nods. “That makes sense. That is an excellent way to unwind.”

“I came up with it with my therapist.”

It’s small, but Logan’s lips quirk just a little bit. “I have read a couple of psychology books that suggest your coping strategies are quite healthy.”

Virgil’s hand glides over the dinosaur head on the top of his cup. His therapist, Macy, is a really nice woman in her early 40s. She had asked if he wanted to try and continue therapy while he was at college and Virgil had stayed quiet for long enough that Macy had laughed at him and told him to think about it.

Virgil needs to email her.

“What about you?” Virgil asks. “How do you unwind?”

“I read.” Logan takes a sip of his coffee. “I’ve mastered speed-reading, which allows me to scan a page without an inner dialogue. I chunk words or use markers. At the moment, I can read about 21,000 words in a minute but at my best I was up to 26,000.”

Virgil gapes at him.

Janus is a lawyer, so Virgil is no novice when it comes to speed-reading. While he himself can’t do it and frankly has no interest in attempting to learn, Janus is amazing at it. His record is about 3,000 words per minute, compared to the average of 238.

“How the fuck did you do that?”

It doesn’t occur to him until after that he just dropped a swear word.

“I had a lot of time to read in my youth,” Logan responds. “I wanted to know as much as possible.”

There’s a short silence. Then Logan turns back to the article and reads out the next question.

“What is your biggest dream or aspiration?”

And immediately, Virgil’s stuck. The panic from the car ride here nudges him, but Virgil forces it down and focuses his attention with a breath.

This is an obvious get to know you question. He should’ve expected this.

“I don’t know,” Virgil says. He impresses himself with how steady his voice is, but Logan looks him up and down anyway.

“The question caused some anxiety,” Logan remarks. There’s no judgment in his gaze or in his stance. Just casual observation.

“I’m scared,” Virgil admits. His body feels almost soft and the hair on the back of his neck stands up. There’s no instinct to flex his fingers or pick up his fidget cube “I didn’t have a lot of friends at high school, but I had Patton and he was happy to be there for me so I followed him here. But I don’t know what I want to do with my life and I don’t want to make the wrong decision.”

He doesn’t mention the lack of money-making interests, the hours spent zoned out in school or the assignments done the block before and then turned in next period. There’s nothing about school that excites him. The most alive Virgil’s felt, to be completely honest to himself, was during that exam.

And he doesn’t know what that says about him.

“Why did you decide to do the exam?” Virgil asks.

Logan doesn’t immediately respond.

There are some things Virgil’s been able to put together. It’s hard to see multiple news articles about the mysterious quirkless admitted to East Bridge University and not figure certain things out. The only thing Virgil doesn’t understand is why Logan stuck himself into the limelight.

“You’re aware I’m quirkless,” Logan says. It’s not a question but Virgil nods anyway. “I don’t come from a quirkless family.” Logan’s brushes up and down the cup, mindlessly petting over a bump created by one of the flowers. “They weren’t happy with who I was. I’d like to prove them wrong.”

A very familiar dagger twists in Virgil’s heart. Before he can fully think, he’s opening his mouth.

“My parents gave me up,” Virgil says. “My Dad, Janus, he adopted me when I was four. He was very open about everything and he’s an amazing Dad, it’s just…”

“They were your family.” Logan meets Virgil’s eyes and there’s a deep understanding there. It’s a new feeling, what rushes over Virgil. He’s not sure what it is, but it makes him feel light and it makes his eyes burn. “They were supposed to accept you.”

Virgil takes his first sip of coffee. It’s absolutely amazing and it takes all of his willpower not to take a second sip. He doesn’t want to look greedy.

“Janus accepts me,” Virgil says. He’s surprised, slightly, by how raspy his voice is. “But they… they were bad parents before I manifested. But when I did manifest my quirk, I took control of both my parents’ minds. They dropped me off at the police station the same day and told them they wanted nothing to do with me.”

Police tended to be the superheroes who went through East Bridge and were strong, but not strong enough to cut it for the big leagues. They had been very nice to Virgil while waiting for CPS to arrive; one had even given him a lollipop.

“That shouldn’t have happened to you.” Logan shifts in his chair and for a second, Virgil is sure he’s going to try and take his hand. The second passes just as quickly. “Quirk manifestations are always messy. You cannot blame a child for using something they don’t know they have.”

The line is something Virgil’s heard before, but it feels more real coming from Logan. He sounds so certain, like the very possibility that Virgil did something wrong is preposterous.

“Yeah, well.” Virgil scratches his arm. “Now I have my Dad.”

“Indeed.” Logan takes another sip of coffee. “And of course, you have Patton.”

Virgil smiles. His smile droops.

For a second, Virgil wonders if he should confide in Logan. How much does he know about him really? But Logan waits patiently for him, doing nothing to either push or wave Virgil’s concerns away and Virgil just trusts him.

“He hasn’t been really answering my texts. Just one word shit.”

“I think perhaps Patton had a very different idea as to what East Bridge was going to offer him,” Logan says. There’s a hint of reproach in his voice and Virgil watches him carefully. “I would imagine the test changed a lot of evidence pushing Patton towards his current belief very quickly.”

He likes Logan, but if the man insults his best friend he’s going to drop him.

“It is understandable to be ignorant,” Logan continues. “I would imagine losing any ignorance can be a very painful experience, let alone a belief that you've hinged your future on.”

“What belief?”

“The belief that Superheroes are good,” Logan responds.

Virgil sighs.

He takes a sip of his coffee.

“It’s an easy one to believe,” Virgil finally says.

It’s a belief Virgil hasn’t tried to fix because Patton loves his Superhero dream like nothing else. From the time Virgil met him, Patton had been planning out his name, his costume. His bedroom had been decked with Superhero comics books and figurines.

“I used to play Superheroes with him.” Virgil smiles fondly down at his cup. “I would be the helpless citizen and he would charge in and save me from whatever fucking villain had been in the news that week.”

“It’s very easy to conflate the comics with reality.”

Virgil nods quietly. “I didn’t want to tell him that the people he revered were in class with the police that threw tear gas at me during protests. Just the ones that never managed to get famous.”

Logan blinks twice. “I can understand your trepidation.”

They both take a sip of their drinks.

“Do you go to a lot of protests?” Logan asks.

Virgil feels his chest shine and he leans forward, already smiling. “I’ve helped plan a lot of small protests and one really big one. The Felons Rights Protest in Cletrora City? I was a major frontrunner in planning that.”

Logan’s eyebrows raise and he nods. “That’s very impressive. That protest managed to give 100s of people a retrial.”

“My Dad’s a lawyer,” Virgil says. His eyes are alight and his hands struggle not to flap at his sides. Eventually, he gives in and lets them. “I’ve heard him talk a lot about the people he’s defending. They don’t deserve to be fucking treated like fucking shit. And to not be able to vote when they leave? That’s just fucking ridiculous.”

Logan’s phone clicks off and he stows the article in his pocket. “How did you get started?”

Virgil starts with his very first meeting with the governor.

It takes him about half an hour to finish his story. The two remain in the coffee shop, talking about whatever comes to mind, for the next three hours.

Logan doesn’t have to pull out that article again.

Patton still hasn’t texted Virgil but all of Virgil’s stuff is in the dorm room they were going to live in for the next year. Virgil isn’t, which is Patton’s one source of relief.

He’s going to have to tell Virgil the truth. That texting him felt hard but Patton didn’t know why. That he wanted to see him, of course, and he’s very happy to see him now, but that everything has been so weird since the test and he just needed time to think.

That’s what he’ll say.

Virgil will be accepting. Patton accepted all of Virgil’s things, from his anxiety to his quirk. He has to.

Besides, Virgil is his bestest friend in the whole world. They swore an oath when they were only five years old to be friends forever and neither of them were about to start breaking that promise now.

There’s a knock on the door.

Patton fixes a smile on his face and opens it.

Virgil’s wearing a hoodie, black with sewn in purple patches. His black hair is swept in a fringe across his brown forehead and he purses his lips when Patton opens the door.

“Hey, Patton.” Virgil sits back on his heels and if Patton listens carefully, he can hear the click of Virgil’s fidget cube in his pocket. “Can I come in?”

“Of course silly!” Patton exclaims. His stomach is tying knots but he steps aside with a little bounce and takes Virgil’s hands. “I’m so happy to see you! I got so excited about planning to come here I forgot to text!”

Virgil’s face was already unreadable but it goes perfectly blank at his words. “Just too excited?”

“Yeah! They only give you a week after the exam to fully prepare, you know, and I needed to make sure I brought all my stuffies! Look it!” Patton opens his suitcase and numerous stuffed animals all explode out of it. “They’re ready for a new adventure.”

His throat hurts and his eyes burn and Patton doesn’t know why he’s saying what he’s saying. He wants to tell Virgil everything, from the weird feeling in his chest now to the strange uncomfortable emotions he felt during the exam.

“Aren’t you excited?”

“Sure.” Virgil looks over his side of the room. “I mean, I still need to unpack.”

The room is large enough to fit two twin beds right against each side of the wall with desks at the foot of each one. There’s a small entryway and then a walkway to the side that leads to a shower and toilet. Everything is white, bare and suitcases line the little floor space they have.

“We can unpack together!”

“Sure.” Virgil looks at him. “Patton, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

It’s such a softball. Patton could so easily grab it.

“Of course!” Patton turns back to his suitcases. “You should see the new sheets I got!”

The softball falls to the floor and Virgil sighs behind him.

“What color did you pick?” Virgil asks.

Patton can’t read his voice.

“Light blue,” Patton says.

“Cool,” Virgil responds.

The rest of the unpacking is rather quiet.

Chapter 17: Class (and enemies)

Chapter Text

Patton is determined to like the first day of class.

East Bridge is not like other colleges; it is best described as a cross between an elementary school and a military base. Patton will live without his parents in dorm rooms surrounded by a campus, and like everyone, he is assigned to one mentor. Unlike majoring in something like political science at a different school, as Virgil’s father had, superheroes in training did not sign up for classes to take each semester and did not have different professors. Instead, their mentor instead taught them everything.

The classroom is built for 25 people, with rows of 5 by 5 going back. There’s a whiteboard in the front, a projector, shelves with varying books lining the walls. It looks nice, but admittedly like a very clean expensive high school classroom.

His mentor is a woman, with dark brown eyes and long black hair braided into cornrows, and she smiles gently as everyone enters the classroom.

Logan stands up beside her, asking her some question that can’t be heard over the noise of the classroom. Virgil has yet to enter the room, so Patton finds himself a spot at the very front of the classroom and puts on his best smile.

When Virgil does walk in, he grimaces slightly.

“Patton,” Virgil says when he reaches Patton’s desk. “Is it okay if we move back a little?”

“I was hoping to be in the front! Best spot for learning, you know!”

“It’s a little too front,” Virgil grumbles. He eyes the back row, then sighs. “What if we sit in the second row?”

It’s where they’ve sat for all of high school. A compromise between Patton’s front row and Virgil’s back row, a way for Virgil to both blend in and Patton to learn. Side by side, always.

Patton opens his mouth to agree, maybe apologize for the front row.

“Salutations.”

“Logan!” Virgil smiles, cheeks a slightly warmer brown than they were a second ago. “How’re you doing?”

“I am well.” Logan eyes the door. “I do wish I had been informed as to who we shall be in class with.”

“Want to know all your new friends!?” Patton smiles.

“Not precisely.”

“What were you talking about with our teacher?” Virgil asks.

“She approached me to ask about my comfortability in the class,” Logan responds. “An understandable question considering my particular arrangement, but obviously one I cannot answer until I know who I shall be sharing a classroom with.”

Virgil nods, as if what Logan said made complete sense. Patton tries desperately to think of something to say to bring Virgil’s attention back to himself and finds he is not able to come up with anything.

“Ah, you must be Virgil.”

It’s all Patton can do not to scream. His eyes pop out of his head, body leaning forward, all in an attempt to drink their mentor in.

Their Mentor is certainly not in any comic books. Patton looked her up the moment he received the letter telling him who would be teaching him and found absolutely nothing. It was both slightly disappointing and incredibly intriguing.

“Yes.” Virgil wrings his hands together and blinks. “That’s me.”

“Your particular quirk was quite impressive,” their Mentor says.

The strange hot bubbling that had appeared the moment Logan walked over nearly doubles. Patton forces a smile on his face.

“It is?” Virgil shifts from foot to foot and slouches even more, attempting to recede into himself.

“I thought so as well.” Logan steps up beside Virgil. There’s a careful inch between the two of them. “How much of his quirk were you able to observe? Were all the mentors watching the entire time?”

Virgil visibly relaxes.

Their Mentor glances between Logan and Virgil, smiling wryly. “We observe what matters. I, in particular, am very good at that.”

Logan nods and the Spy walks back to the front of the classroom to greet the new student walking in.

“Thank you.” Virgil wraps his arms around himself. “I didn’t like that.”

“She was just complimenting you!” Patton isn’t sure whether to get up from the chair to give Virgil a hug or not. It feels weird both to do it and to not. “You did really good in the exam!”

“I can understand being overwhelmed by the attention,” Logan allows. “You did an excellent job trying to maintain your anxiety in such a moment.”

Virgil scuffs.

“I do mean it,” Logan replies.

“Thank you,” Virgil says again, voice soft.

Patton does his best not to bristle at it, then wonders at himself for caring. Virgil has always only had him as a friend; this should be looked at as a step in the right direction!

“Do you want to sit with us?” Virgil asks. “I was just seeing if Patton would move to the second row.”

Logan blinks slightly, then looks up at the classroom. He looks back over at the two of them and his face hardens very slightly.

“Would you not prefer the back row?” Logan asks.

“I do, but Patton likes the front so we compromise to the second. We’ve been doing it since high school.”

Logan studies the classroom again, examining the 5 rows. He says nothing.

Patton doesn’t like the look on Logan’s face.

“What if you just sit behind me?” Patton asks. He keeps his tone light and he’s really not sure why he’s suggesting this. There’s a tried and true compromise that they both are used to and they both like.

He doesn’t know why he’s not moving.

“But… Pat, we always—”

“I just really want to sit in the front! This is my dream!” Patton’s smile feels too wide on his face, almost painful. “We’ll still be right next to each other, don’t worry.”

Virgil looks lost.

“I would be happy to sit beside you,” Logan tells Virgil and Patton’s stomach clenches. “If I am still welcome to?”

Virgil meets Logan's eyes. “You are.”

They sit in the seats behind Patton. Normally, Patton would sit in the second center seat and Virgil would sit to the left of him; this time, it’s Logan sitting in the center second.

Patton takes out his notebook silently. He removes a pencil covered in cats and dogs and places that beside the notebook. Everything about it is neat and tidy, the exact opposite of how Patton likes things.

“Welcome in.”

“Thanks, Teach.”

All of the blood drains from Patton’s face. Before he can stop himself, he’s swiveling around to look at Virgil, eyes wide. Virgil catches his gaze and nods grimly.

The two boys that attacked them in the maze, Roman and Remus, walk in together. Patton can’t remember which one is which; the maze had been pitch black and neither one of them went to speak again. They take their seats in the front row as well, one next to Patton, right in front of Virgil and one at the end.

Patton’s skin is crawling. He hears one of them laugh and is thrown back into the maze. His stomach lurches reminding him of the cool steel that had slid right into him.

Again Patton searches for Virgil’s gaze but this time Virgil isn’t looking at him. His eyes are firmly placed on Logan. Patton tries to study the boy himself, wanting to see whatever Virgil is looking at, and finds nothing. His face is blank, maybe a bit paler than normal, and he sits straight up with his hands hidden in his lap.

“Are you okay?” Virgil whispers.

Logan nods.

“Did you have an encounter with them too?”

“I… know of them.” Logan replies in a low voice, careful not to let the two boys hear him. “Are you quite alright? Your own encounter sounded harrowing.”

Virgil’s eyes slide to Patton’s stomach. “If you need to, we can move.”

Logan tracks the movement. “Patton, would you be open to shifting over a couple of seats? I believe it is the best option for Virgil’s comfort.” His eyes glide over Patton, calculating something. “Perhaps the best option for your own comfort as well.”

“And yours,” Virgil hisses.

Logan doesn’t say anything to that.

Patton does want to move. More importantly, Virgil clearly does; his hands are wringing around the fidget cube his Dad got him a while ago and his eyes flicker back and forth, from the two boys to the open seats away from them.

“Yeah,” Patton says, “we should move.”

“But what if they figure out it’s because of them,” Virgil mutters. It’s less of a question than a statement and as Virgil says it, he shrinks into himself. “I don't want to—”

“I am unable to see the board properly from this angle,” Logan interrupts at completely normal volume. His voice remains monotone and steadfast. “Would you guys mind moving over a couple of desks to allow me better access to the board?”

A soft smile spreads across Virgil’s face and he looks up at Logan, almost adoringly. “Yeah, that works for me.”

Patton could’ve done that. Why hadn’t he said anything first?

“Yeah!” Patton hands curl white around his notebook. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

They move to the only free spot that would allow them to keep their current arrangement; one desk to the right and one row back.

Patton sits in the second row, Virgil and Logan both in the third.

He wonders what would’ve happened if he had just agreed to keep their normal seating deal.

Roman surveys the crowd.

He doesn’t recognize all of them. The boy he noticed crawling down the wall during the exam is here, talking in hushed tones with the boy beside him. When the boy responses a chill down runs down Roman’s spine—he knows that fucking voice. It’s the boy from the maze, the one with the quirk that showed him… Roman shakes his head rapidly.

Without thinking about it, he tunes himself into Remus’ breathing.

They breathe at the same rhythm, always. It was something their mother didn’t even need to train into them.

“That’s him.” Roman’s sure to growl, refusing to betray the heart hammering in his chest. “That’s the boy we met in the maze.”

“Oh?” Remus responds.

“I looked up his quirk. He’s either not connected to anyone important or they’ve kept it all under wraps,” Roman replies. His teeth ground against each other. “I don’t know who he is.”

“Well then,” Remus gets to his feet. “Let’s make our introduction!”

“Remus, wait--”

But his brother leaves him no choice but to follow him up to the three boys, standing straight, shoulder to shoulder.

“Hello!” Remus sing-songs, “How’s it popping?!”

The front one has gone a bit ashy and his hands go flat on his desk. “G-good!” he stutters. “I’m Patton!” The nervous tone is still there, but now mostly hidden beneath the enormous amount of emphasis the boy puts on his name. “This is--”

“I’m Virgil.”

Virgil interrupts Patton to fix both of the boys with a glare.

Again, Roman forces himself to tune into Remus’ breath.

“Yes, I remember you two!” Remus grins a devilish grin. “We met in the maze didn’t we?”

“Yes.” Virgil’s voice is as dark as the shadows they first crossed him in. “I remember you as well.”

Every hair on Roman’s body stands on end and it takes all of his years of training to keep his body still and the smile on his face. Just Virgil’s voice is enough to flash him back, back to the thing Virgil had put in his head.

His mother standing over him, a girl behind her, a girl his age with his mother's eyes. She’s bleeding out and sobbing and Roman doesn’t move.

Roman blinks rapidly against the flashback.

“You were very impressive!” Remus leans over the empty desk next to Patton, gripping the very edges of it. “Lucky too, weren’t you?”

Virgil’s left hand twitches. “I could get lucky right now.” His gaze switches to Roman. “If I wanted to.”

Not even the years of training is enough to keep Roman from flinching.

“And what’s your name?” Remus turns his attention to the boy next to Virgil. “Found yourself in a fun crowd, didn’t you?”

It takes over 10 seconds for the boy to respond. His hands remain clasped in his lap the entire time, eyes pointed down at the desk.

“I’m Logan.”

“You look very gut-able!” Remus flicks his hand and a knife appears in it. “Virgil, Virgil. I wanna make a deal. Will you make a deal with me?”

Virgil sits back. “Depends.”

“You stay the fuck out of our way,” Remus growls, “and I won’t stab your little friends here.” He flicks the knife back and forth.

Instantly, Virgil is out of his chair, leaning forward to stare Remus directly in the eyes.

“Take a step towards them,” Virgil snarls, “and I’ll show your brother something that'll make the fall out a window his best fucking friend.”

Roman takes a step back.

Remus leans forward and kisses the tip of Virgil’s nose.

Virgil backs up instantly, wiping his face so hurriedly you’d think Remus had dunked him in wet manure.

“Class is about to start.”

The Logan kid sounds almost robotic, and he’s still not looking at either of them. “I suggest the two of you find your seats.”

The moment Remus’s attention turns fully to Logan, the boy sits back in his chair. His face twitches, in small enough movements that only someone with a trained eye would be able to tell just how scared he is.

Roman forces himself to breathe.

Virgil is terrifying. Roman has never encountered a quirk like that before in his life and it’s one he’s completely defenseless against. However, like his parents taught him, when one avenue for control closes it is always possible to find another one.

Roman is sure Patton, the trembling boy in front, still remembers the knife Remus slid into his guts. In any one on one between the two of them, regardless of circumstances, Patton is dead. That’s one avenue.

The second one still refuses to meet his eyes.

All three are without a superhero family; they’re vulnerable. For all Roman knows, one of them is the quirkless.

“Alright Class!!” Their Mentor claps in front of them “Seats please!”

Roman and Remus glance at each other. Roman nods.

Yes it’s fine, let’s go sit.

Remus nods back.

I want to kill them.

Roman rolls his eyes and turns to walk back to his desk. Remus plops beside him, knife gone.

When Roman turns to glance at the three boys, he spots the hilt right next to the ground, blade buried in Virgil’s backpack.

Chapter 18: Professor Tente (Monologues)

Chapter Text

The Spy didn’t interfere with the many commotions happening around the room, but to say she didn’t notice would be slander, especially when the biggest one had involved her most well known student. She remained silent, not to enjoy the squabbling—though she did quite appreciate the dark looks Virgil was giving Remus—but to get a more proper look at the interactions that would be happening daily in her classroom.

“Hello everyone!” The Spy says. “My name is Ethonian and I’ll be your Mentor for the next four years.” Ethonian smiles at her students, silently marking each one.

Logan is squinting ever so slightly and he nods at her name. Ethonian knows he has only ever known her as “The Spy” which isn’t an official superhero name by any sense but one she quite enjoyed the idea of anyway.

Patton writes it at the top of his notebook. She worries about that one, though she won’t say it until he comes to her. There’s too much life in him, too much hope, and already so much of it has crumbled away.

Virgil doesn’t move much. Just fidgets. Ethonian has met his father once, when he was working a case with one of her targets. Janus is a very nice man and more importantly, not a very easily fooled one. It had been difficult to get him to believe his client had died of a heart attack but she had got there in the end.

Roman and Remus are gaping at her.

Of course, the Royalty family knows of every person in a high chain of command, and to be a mentor you had to retire as the best. The fact that Ethonian was an unknown, especially considering how rare her quirk was, must be terrifying for them.

“Your first lesson, and the one I want you to remember for the rest of your life as a superhero, is that knowledge is power.” She meets each of her students' eyes with a smile. “Can anyone tell me anything about myself?”

Logan nods.

He’s the only one who moves.

“I am happily unmarried. I own a dog named Cherry and I’ve been working for Superhero Inc. since I was 25. I’m 41 now.” Ethonian crosses her arms over her chest. “That’s of course, not the information you wanted.”

The room goes pitch black. Not for her of course; she can see just fine; everything is in slightly finer detail, slightly greener then before but otherwise looks exactly the same. Ethonian grins at the startled scream from Patton, the instinctual fire from Nikita that the girl immediately puts out, and the various other startled sounds around the room.

“My quirk is called The Silent.” Ethonian begins her walk around the room. She brushes a student’s shoulder, a kid named Blake with golden hair and a very powerful magnetic quirk. Blake starts and Ethonian is already gone.

There’s no point in walking on her tiptoes, or of keeping herself from hitting desks. In fact Ethonian hits a girl’s desk (Birdie, with flight) with her hip as she walks by and the thing moves very so slightly, making a loud screech.

A screech only Ethonian can hear. None of the kids move, each one waiting patiently to see where this lecture is going.

She taps Patton’s head and he starts.

All around the room, The Spy walks around, tapping and nudging, some movements with a reaction and others without any. She stops in the middle of the classroom, fingernails drumming on Logan’s desk and drops the darkness around them.

Ethonian would be lying if she didn’t admit there was more than one reason she chose Logan’s desk.

There’s no fear, no gasps like the ones Ethonian smugly hears around the room. His eyes squint, and he purses his lips ever so slightly before dropping back to stillness.

“What have you learned?” Ethonian asks.

Nobody responds.

Logan quietly raises his hand.

She smiles. “Yes Mr. Berry?”

“Your quirk contains two parts that work in tangent,” Logan explains. His voice is like that she heard in many of the rooms during the exam; it’s calm, collected. Sure. “There is the darkness aspect, which alone is quite formidable. Most people are reliant on sight and such a quirk would leave many on unsure footing.”

Ethonian nods.

It’s interesting how each student pays attention. Discounting Nikita, Patton, Virgil and, of course Logan, there are three people in her class that had been in the waiting room for the fight with Jupiter when Logan had explained exactly what the next task would be. All of them are completely tuned in, leaning forward.

Patton’s lips are pursed, gaze downward, even as he pays very close attention. Nikita is smiling a bit smugly; she sat herself in the back, and Ethonian is willing to bet she regrets not sitting herself beside Logan now.

She’s a smart one. She likely knows exactly who the quirkless articles were talking about and it’s very clear she doesn’t care at all.

Virgil’s eyes are shining. He smiles as Logan talks, never once looking away from him.

The rest of the students pay attention, but without the immediate authority granted to Logan by those who know of him.

“The second part of your quirk is the insurance,” Logan says. “You cannot be perceived in any way without choice.”

“I felt her touch me,” Patton says. He blinks at himself. “Not that I think you’re wrong or anything, it’s a really good theory!”

Logan nods. “Yes, I agree. Many people in this room did perceive her, but only when she chose it. That desk there—” he points at the one she bumped with her hip— “it’s slightly to the left then it was from before the darkness, but nobody heard it move. Remus’ hair—” again Logan points and his hand quivers slightly as he does so— “isn’t swooped to the left so much as just layered on his forehead, similar to how it might look if someone ruffled his hair. He never made a sound. Yet many people felt when Professor Tente touched them, or heard the drumming of the wall off to the left.”

Ethonian likes the way he explains things. There’s not so much detail that the students are bored by it, but enough to accurately support his hypothesis. With the right training and perhaps a couple of decades, Logan would be excellent to have standing in her shoes.

“Therefore she can be perceived. If her quirk just failed at times…” Logan paused and she knows what he’s thinking.

If her quirk just randomly failed, which is very possible from a general population standpoint, she would never have been able to assassinate quite so many authorities.

But of course, none of her students know what her past job was. Logan shouldn’t know what her past job was but one of the reasons she was delighted to take him on was the clever way he had pieced it all together.

“… the darkness likely would’ve had flaws as well.” Logan meets Ethonian’s eyes for a brief second and she’s sure he’s aware she knows what he holds back. “Therefore, it is most likely her active choice to have been perceived.”

The class is speechless. Some even start to applaud.

Good.

There had, obviously, been more than one point to this exercise, as there had been with the text she had created during the exam. The first and most important was the power of observation. Ethonian—the Spy—wants her students to know exactly what power is. Quirks are very useful, sometimes the most useful tool a person can have—but they are never the only tool and to think of them that way makes it a crutch for someone perfectly capable of walking.

Secondly, Ethonian wants her class to know exactly what kind of powerhouse Logan is. It will become quite obvious who the quirkless is by the next lesson. Better to have their first impression be this than the ableist words some inspired journalist scribbled on a newspaper.

And, of course, Ethonian wanted to see just how much Logan could figure out.

“Correct,” Ethonian says. “I hope you were all paying attention. Learning how to identify quirks you’ve never encountered before is a necessary skill for any aspiring superhero. Excellent work.” Ethonian walks back up to the front of the class and taps the board.

“Now, this lesson is required to be quite boring. The syllabus for the year!” Ethonian grins at her students. “Let’s begin.”

Chapter 19: Classwork (and morality)

Chapter Text

Logan is well aware Patton isn’t sure if he wants him here. It’s a tentative unsureness, which Logan’s less used to, but a push away from him nonetheless.

No, Logan doesn’t find Patton’s nervous dancing around him with jokes and strained smiles at all unusual; it’s Virgil he can’t help but study. Virgil’s smile isn’t strained and he lights up whenever Logan speaks, even about nonsense Logan is quite sure the average person isn’t interested in. Logan finds himself leaning into that smile, desperately coming up with ways to coax it out of him.

He likes it when Virgil smiles.

“I can’t believe we already have homework,” Virgil grumbles.

There are three textbooks for this class, all of which Logan has already read cover to cover. The first, Superhero Ethics, is government mandated after a superhero named Green murdered a ring of villains. It was later discovered some of the villains were under the age of 18 and that Green had known that going in. The superhero had immediately lost his license and this textbook became the government's way of stopping any events like that from happening again.

Logan is sure it doesn’t work, but technically the rules in it are well thought out.

The next two textbooks are clearly “Spy” textbooks, not government assigned. The first one is a morality puzzle book, where you figure out the situation and it becomes increasingly difficult to decide who is in the right. The puzzle part ensures that the average person is incapable of having all the information when making the decision.

A more interesting take on the ethics rulebook, Logan thinks.

The next is sort of a gossip column, with lists of heroes and villains, their quirks, their skills, and the relationships they all had with each other. There are people in the book Logan hasn’t ever heard the name of before.

He wonders, briefly, if Roman and Remus have.

He decides that line of thought isn’t useful.

“It’ll be fun!” Patton says. He sounds excited, but his voice is wrong. Different then it was when Logan first met him. “Besides, it’s only one puzzle!”

“Ughhhhh.”

Logan feels lighter at the sound of Virgil's voice. A tightness in his chest unfurls, making it easier for him to breathe.

“Shall we do it together, Virgil?” His tone is lighter than he expected too. “I don’t think you’d quite enjoy leaving it for the last minute.”

Patton blinks at him.

Virgil grins. “Yes! I forgot I had you with me! We're gonna ace this—I’ll read the thingy now then.”

Logan’s face goes hot.

“We are able to read that there will be an earthquake nearby large enough to have destroyed the entire City of Gloria, killing or heavily injuring everyone in it. There is not enough time to evacuate. When help gets there, they discover that half of the city is completely fine while the other half has been demolished by bombs. There has not been any earthquake. Was this a moral action?”

Even as Virgil reads the page, Logan naturally pulls out the book in his mind’s eye. All the different ideas he had while reading it have been noted down on the paper on yellow sticky notes. The notes are only in his mind’s copy; his real textbook sits on his desk, opened only once and essentially still brand new.

“So, what are we thinking?” Patton asks. He does have a hint of real excitement in his voice this time. “I mean, clearly blowing up half the city is wrong. All those people—”

“I think we need to know the whole situation—” Virgil says at the same time. “Oh, uh. Sorry. I thought you were done after the question.”

Both of them stand there. Neither look at the other and both fidget, shifting from foot to foot.

“Looking at the situation is a good idea,” Logan says hastily. He’s not the best with feelings, but he knows he doesn’t like it when people are upset. “Let’s do that.”

Virgil brightens and Patton visibly deflates.

Logan frowns.

Clearly he messed something up but he’s not quite sure how. Surely there was something he could’ve said to make them both happy.

“Right, so there was going to be an earthquake,” Virgil says. “No time to evacuate anyone so everyone’s just gonna die.”

“But the earthquake didn’t happen.” Patton hands cross then drops back to his side. “The readings were wrong.”

Virgil frowns. “I don’t think that’s right.”

“The bombs they set off were likely seismic depressors," Logan responds. He’d already completed every puzzle in the book and now sort of regrets it; it feels wrong to just monologue his answer and deny them the chance to figure it out themselves but he also desperately wants to engage and talk with them. “They were what stopped the earthquake.”

“Are those bombs?” Virgil asks.

Logan nods. He’s about to explain himself, and the science behind it. They aren’t normal bombs, he would say, because normal bombs aren’t powerful enough to have any kind of effect on earthquakes. These are specifically designed bombs that release pressure from within the earth.

But Virgil already nods, accepting Logan as his word.

Logan just manages to keep himself from blinking.

“Right, so explode half the city to save the whole city or don’t explode any part of the city for the whole city to die. It’s the trolley problem,” Patton says. “I think it makes sense to try and protect the many. It's wrong to let everyone die when you can help some people.”

“That’s certainly one approach,” Logan responds. He’s very familiar with utilitarianism, the philosophy of doing the least harm possible—or sacrificing the few for the many.

“What part of the city was blown up?” Virgil mutters and it’s clearly to himself but Logan latches onto it anyway.

“I was wondering that myself,” Logan replies. He doesn’t add that this had been a few days ago, back when he read the book the first time. “If it had been completely random, you may make the argument that destroying half the city was worth it. However—”

“If only the poorer parts were bombed I’d have questions,” Virgil finishes.

Patton blinks. He’s pulling back a little bit, knees turning on the bed so he’s no longer completely facing them both. “I—um. Yeah. That makes sense. ”

Virgil doesn’t seem to notice. He’s completely focused on the page, pointer finger skimming over the words. “And were they not able to set off the bombs near the city for the same result?”

“Maybe it wouldn’t have done enough,” Patton suggests. “Like maybe the earthquake would’ve still happened.”

“I agree,” Logan says immediately. His hope is that acceptance will make Patton relax; instead, the boy just tenses further.

“Surely less of a result is better than knowing you’re murdering half your population,” Virgil responds. It’s hurried, slightly mumbled, and Virgil doesn’t face anyone as he says it, completely ingrained in the textbook.

Patton winces.

Logan wants to comfort him, but he’s unsure exactly how to start. There’s nothing to base it off of; the most he can think to do is clean off Patton’s hands and the very idea of touching Patton makes Logan want to squirm in his seat.

“It changes if the city had the ability to understand the decision being made,” Logan says. “Choosing to die for the greater good allows autonomy. However, based on the lack of time to evacuate, I would guess the bombs came as a surprise.”

“They could’ve sent out a farewell,” Patton offers.

“But not a choice,” Virgil responds.

“No.” Patton looks down. “Not a choice.”

Everything about the exchange is so different from when Logan first met them, and yet, simultaneously it is almost the same. The false smiles, the opinions stepping over each other. Neither notice the others frown; Patton hadn’t seen the way Virgil had gritted his teeth every time his quirk came up during initiation, and Virgil doesn’t notice the way Patton shrinks now.

“A farewell would be better than nothing,” Logan concedes, mostly to try and make Patton smile. It doesn’t work, but Patton’s movements aren’t as stilted as before. “They would’ve at least known it was coming.”

“I think the answer is it depends,” Virgil says.

“I believe it is unanswerable,” Logan amends slightly. He winces as he does it, and the world shrinks. Suddenly, he’s not aware of each word the person says and is much more in tune with Virgil’s expression. His body movements.

“Unanswerable?” Virgil asks.

“I believe the point of the first exercise was to prove how subjective morality is,” Logan says. “Morality is a feeling. We can justify the feeling in any direction, but the justification is not truly morality.”

He could keep going.

‘You see it as wrong,’ Logan wants to say, ‘because you have become conditioned to hate the government and to believe the higher ups make selfish choices. You are very often right, because a person doesn’t enter government without being somewhat narcissistic in believing they’d be good at running it but it can influence your feelings. Patton on the other hand is quite for superheroes, which is why he jumps to the government doing the right thing.’

Logan says none of that.

“Morality is feeling,” Patton repeats softly.

“That was my takeaway from this lesson,” Logan responds.

He glances at Virgil, then looks away, keeping his head down.

“That makes sense.” Virgil flips through the book, then back to the original page. “I’m pretty anti-government, so I probably would jump to it being immoral, while Patton’s more…” Virgil pauses. “...neutral, so he’s more likely to see it as okay.”

Logan stares at him long enough that Virgil shifts.

“Am I wrong?” Virgil asks.

“No.” Logan clears his throat. “No, that makes sense.”

Chapter 20: Friendship (with tension)

Chapter Text

Virgil pauses in front of Logan’s door. He knows his plan—and his back-up plan—like he knows the back of his hand but the door looms over him, firmly unknocked.

He reaches his hand up, pauses, then drops it back to his side.

Maybe he should just give up now. Logan could be busy today and Virgil can just go back and ask Patton to hang out with him and everything would just be like in high school.

Virgil reaches up to knock on the door again, drops his hand back down, and debates kicking the door.

It’s clearly laughing at him.

Virgil is about to try again when the door opens inward, allowing Virgil a full view of Logan’s dorm room.

Virgil leaps back, hand coming up. His heart is beating at ten miles a second and he can feel his breath, harsh, painful.

“I apologize! I heard your footsteps stop by my door and I had thought someone might have discovered I was quirkless and wanted—are you quite alright?”

Virgil nods but his breathing is getting worse.

This is going all wrong! He had thought he clicked with Logan, especially at that coffee shop earlier and now the shaky base they had built is crumbling all around him and Logan’s never going to want to be his friend—

“Virgil.” Logan’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “What’s an object you see beginning with the letter A?”

Virgil doesn’t know any words that start with the letter a.

Apple. Is there an apple near him? No, which means he can’t answer Logan’s question because nothing else starts with a—

It slowly dawns on Virgil that he should, perhaps, look around his environment and name things instead of just assuming only apples apply.

Door.

Wall.

Window.

Virgil peeks through Logan’s doorway.

Bed.

Blanket.

Pillow.

Maybe nothing does start with an A.

“A chair,” Virgil says, somewhat defiantly.

Logan nods, eyebrows raising ever so slightly. Virgil’s not even sure Logan is aware of it, which makes Virgil glow.

“That’s two words.”

“A-chair. It has a hyphen.”

“That is grammatically incorrect.”

“Grammatically incorrect your mom.”

“What?”

And then Virgil is laughing, because the look on Logan’s face is absolutely priceless. It’s a shaky kind of laughter; the panic from before dissipates into it, making him soft and slightly shaky.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil says. “This is going all wrong. I wanted to try the bus system from here to Bridgewater the like, nearby city, and I was going to invite you to come with me but then I got anxious and then the door was laughing at me—”

“The door was laughing at you?”

“It was being mean!”

Logan lips quirk up. “I’m very sorry my door was laughing at you. Is the offer of traveling the bus system still available?”

Virgil nods.

“Well. I shall need to grab my phone and I suggest you take me up on an offer of water. Would you like a cup of water? I shall have to fill it using the bathroom sink but I assure you it is properly filtered.”

Virgil nods again and follows Logan into his room.

“You don’t use a Brita?” Virgil asks.

“That filter doesn’t do anything substantial.” Logan pulls a box out from under his bed and opens it, revealing outrageous amounts of neatly packaged food, a set of utensils, a bowl, a plate, and of course, a cup.

Nothing starts with the letter A.

Logan passes the cup to Virgil. “Do I need to point you in the direction of the bathroom?”

“No. I shall use my psychic powers.” Virgil twiddles his fingers with a grin. “My psychic powers say it’s the only other door in your room.”

Logan smiles and Virgil's heart stops in his chest.

It’s close lipped and the bottom lip is slightly uneven, plumper more to the left then the right. A small but nonetheless noticeable dimple forms on his left cheek, right near a freckle that makes it look like a frowning cyclops.

Virgil’s heart picks up speed and he traces it with his eyes, again and again. He wants to squish it, wants to pull Logan’s face into his hands and hold it and—

“Yes, that is correct,” Logan says. “You’re the first person in history with two quirks, congratulations.”

Virgil doesn’t know what they’re talking about.

“I—yes! I’m so cool! I’ll fill this up in the bathroom! And… pee! I need to pee. Can I pee?”

Logan’s smile vanishes back to his calm, quietly amused look and Virgil curses himself. Then notices just how soft Logan looks. It’s not the same kind of aching but his hands still twitch towards him.

“Yes, you can pee,” Logan responds.

Virgil immediately flees the scene. The bathroom door shuts softly behind him, because Virgil isn’t insane, and then he buries his face into his hands.

“Urggggggg.”

This is normal. People normally want to hold and hug their friends. Virgil’s just jumping friend hoops far faster than he expected.

He fills the cup with water and gulps it down.

Right.

First an anxiety attack in front of Logan, then he acts like a fool and runs to the bathroom. How could this get any worse? Should he just kill himself now?

Logic says no, but logic often says things Virgil disagrees with.

He pees, because he told Logan he was going to, drinks more water, washes the cup with hand soap and his hand, and then walks back out.

“How are you feeling?” Logan asks.

“Good.” Virgil puts the cup down on Logan’s desk. “Better. I tried to clean it with hand soap—”

“Satisfactory,” Logan interrupts. “I have yet to buy dish soap.” He blinks at himself. “I apologize for interrupting, it was not my intent.”

“No, no, you’re good.” Virgil looks around Logan’s dorm. “Haven’t decorated yet?”

The place is bare. There are white sheets on the bed with a white quilt, all expertly folded. Boxes, mostly cardboard, are arranged beneath the bed, each labeled with Sharpie: Food, School Supplies, Books, Towels/Sheets. There’s nothing on the white walls, although a few notebooks and textbooks sit in the shelf cemented above the desk on the wall. The desk has a laptop on it that looks at least 10 years old.

“I don’t have any decorations.” Logan doesn’t look at Virgil as he says it, slowly picking up his phone from the table.

“They don’t have to be good,” Virgil says. “Patton hung up a lot of pictures of his friends and family. I have a bunch of artwork I made about different protests, so I hung that up.”

Logan says nothing and Virgil wonders if jumping from the window would be a better option than life.

“I can make you a painting.” Virgil stumbles over himself as he says it but he’s already planning it out in his head. “It’ll be blue. And orange. And purple. And black.”

“Do you paint often?” Logan asks. It’s quite a natural change of subject and one Virgil immediately grabs hold of.

“Yes! It’s one of the ways I protest. I like doing murals on the street of whatever it is I’m defending.”

Logan nods. “That’s an excellent way to evoke emotion in people, and this brings them to your side. You’re quite impressive.”

Heat rushes to Virgil’s face. “I— thank you. Um. Wanna go to the bus with me?”

Logan’s lips quirk again but it’s not the smile from earlier and Virgil is left feeling strangely empty. He decides not to analyze it too closely—it must be normal making friends feelings.

“That sounds quite enjoyable.” Logan's phone is in his hand, and like the computer, is several models old. “I have yet to try to use it. Is there a schedule we need to adhere to?”

“It comes every half an hour,” Virgil replies. “Except at night. Then I think it’s every hour.”

“Satisfactory. When does the night schedule begin?”

“Uh.” Virgil blinks. “I don’t know. Not now.” It’s only 1 in the afternoon.

“It may be necessary to know when we take the bus back.”

Virgil blinks.

He hasn’t really considered that Logan might want to hang out with him for longer than like an hour. Maybe a bit ridiculous of him, considering they had hung out for more than quadruple that multiple times but that was something Virgil could talk about with his therapist later.

“We can ask the bus driver,” Virgil decides.

Logan nods. “Satisfactory. Shall we head to the bus stop?”

It takes all of Virgil's strength not to teasingly say ‘indeed.’

“Sounds good.”

The silence for the first few steps is weirdly not awkward, although there is a slight tension there that Virgil desperately hides away from. Logan says something, a short comment about the paint, and suddenly everything is comfortable.

The quiet reminds Virgil of walks with Janus or doing his homework at the kitchen table while his dad cooked him dinner. He smiles and moves closer to Logan so their arms nearly brush with every step; a movement he is fully unaware of.

Logan is suddenly closer to him, and then their elbows do touch and it’s like an electric shock has made its way up Virgil’s arm and through his body. He’s suddenly very warm, and very very aware.

Logan stops in his tracks, completely white.

“I’m sorry.” Virgil is apologizing, not for the touch like Logan might think, but the forbidden pull within him to let it happen again. To make happen again.

“It’s quite alright,” Logan replies. “I…” He looks down. “I am not quite used to… friendly contact. I apologize if my reactions seem disproportionate.”

Virgil has been putting together snippets of Logan’s homelife and he doesn’t quite like the picture that’s been forming.

“Well,” Virgil says. “If you like… absolutely no pressure obviously, never any pressure, you can say no… but… I could touc— do friendly contact every now and then and try and let you get more used to it. If you know. You think that would be useful.”

His heart is hammering a mile a minute and his throat cries desperately for a sip of water. Virgil can’t deny the way he is desperate for Logan to say ‘yes.’

In a friend way. Because Logan is his friend and Virgil wants to help him.

“I…” Logan swallows. “I think that would be quite useful, if it’s not too much of a bother.”

Something inside Virgil leaps for joy and he can barely keep his voice steady.
“Of course not! I want to help! Do you want me to… friendly contact you now?”

Logan looks up at him. The boy isn’t much shorter than him, but Virgil has never seen him look so small before.

“Yes,” Logan breathes.

Slowly, Virgil closes the distance between the two of them. Giving Logan all the time in the world, he reaches out and takes Logan’s right hand into his two own, cupping it between the both of them.

His whole body is tingling. Virgil’s breath stops in his chest, terrified that the wrong move would end this moment and he’d be forced to let Logan go.

“You didn’t mind putting your back against mine,” Virgil whispers. “In the task.”

“Touch with a purpose is different.” Logan’s eyes focus on hands between the two of them, unmoving. “And I won’t lie. The last two tasks were very… demanding. The giant ladder in particular was quite difficult for me.”

A hint of warmth bursts in Virgil’s chest. The one with just him was easier.

“Because you had to touch multiple people?” Virgil asks.

“Indeed. In addition, I believe touch with you is easier,” Logan responds. “You were… very kind after the first task. I had never had anyone… help me in such a way.”

Virgil feels as though he is about to burst but with what he’s unclear. He repeats what Logan said in his mind over and over again: touch with you is easier.

“I couldn’t leave you covered in blood,” he says. He’s still not sure what possessed him to sacrifice his hoodie for Logan; all he knew was it had been almost instinct to remove it for him. Logan had done so much to try and help the wounded in the arena, it would’ve been wrong to leave him quietly panicking. “You deserved better.”

Logan is quiet.

Slowly, Virgil moves his left thumb, rubbing the top of Logan’s hand. Logan swallows, audibly, and leans away.

Immediately, Virgil stops.

“You may continue,” Logan says. “I… You may continue, if you wish.”

Logan was taking very deep and very quick breaths, eyes still locked on their hands. Slowly, Virgil began to move his thumb again, gently across the top of their hands.

“Are you okay?” Virgil asks.

“I am.” Logan nods to himself. “I believe that is enough for today, however.”

Virgil lets go immediately. “Are you okay?” he repeats. He can’t deny the way his heart drops the moment he lets Logan go, or how cold his hands feel.

“Yes.” Logan is staring at his hand, not moving. “I am quite alright.”

“Are you still able to hang out?”

Logan swallows. His breathing evens out and then, he’s back to the stoic boy Virgil met in the arena. Suddenly, Virgil is very aware that he might be one of the first people Logan let see him like that.

“Indeed. I would quite like to still hang out.” Logan looks him up and down. “I am happy you enjoyed that as well, though I am unsure as to what you get out of it.”

As well!

Fuck he knows I like holding him.

“I like helping you?” Virgil nods. “Yeah, helping you. That’s the only thing I liked.”

Logan’s eyebrows knit together. “I do have an offering in terms of returning the favor, should you wish it.”

“You don’t need to repay anything!” Virgil smiles at him. But I mean, if you’re offering, he jokes in his head. It’s on the tip of his tongue and he just decides to bite it back.

“It’s about your quirk,” Logan replies.

Virgil’s hands grip together. Walls he built long ago suddenly jump in front of him, something they have yet to do in a conversation with Logan. He’s used to them being up; there’s not a day that goes by when talking to Patton, his father or strangers where he’s not forced to push emotional responses to the idea of his quirk down down or let quiet remarks about it go.

He knows it's not a pretty quirk. The power screams villain; multiple teachers have refused to teach him because they didn’t want to be known as somebody who aided a future criminal. He just manages to keep himself from thinking about Dayson and Kenja and the many other kids that had been friends with him until learning more about who he was.

“What about it?” The words are cold, biting.

Logan is unsurprised. “It is an incredibly interesting quirk. I believe it to perhaps have more range than currently thought.”

The walls pause around him. Not gone. Just no longer building.

“What?”

“In order to achieve showing someone their worst fear, your quirk must be influencing several parts of the brain at once.” Logan’s tone has completely changed, back to a very comfortable and very well known explanatory mode. “The occipital cortex of course, to ensure they see whatever they conjure, but the parietal cortex as well. You affect their sensations, not just their sight. On top of that, you’d need the temporal cortex to ensure they hear the right things. Likely the medulla as well and perhaps even the amygdala, to make their anxiety more extreme.”

Virgil stands still, unmoving. He’s never heard anyone talk about his quirk this way, from a purely scientific standpoint. There is no judgment in Logan’s voice, no hatred or fear. Just… just his typical brilliant analysis.

“I wonder if your quirk is not so much showing someone their deepest fear, but mind control,” Logan says. “You associate it with fear, rather understandably, because your parents were bastards—” it's the only deviation from calm facts, each syllable hard with anger— “and so you influence only those parts. I believe it may be possible—”

“It’s not.”

Logan says nothing.

“It’s not. It’s… it’s just fear. I can’t… I… It’s not better if my quirk is mind control. I’m still--It’s still evil. I’m --It’s a villain.”

“Quirks are not us,” Logan says. His voice is soft, yet hard at the same time. “I am quirkless, but I am not powerless. Your quirk is powerful, but you are not a tyrant.” He meets Virgil’s eyes. “You can’t let them define you.”

Virgil looks away.

His walls have cracks Virgil has never seen around anybody before.

He likes it.

He doesn’t like it

“I don’t think I need help with my quirk.”

Logan nods. “Let me know if you do.”

They start their walk towards the bus again far enough away that their arms don’t touch.

Logan mentions the chance of rain when they see the clouds outside.

They’re close together again, arms almost brushing. The tip of Logan’s elbow hits the side of Virgil’s arm.

Logan doesn’t flinch.

Chapter 21: New Friends (with drinks)

Chapter Text

“Logan! Virgil!”

The two turn. It’s 7pm; they’d gone out to an art museum, where Virgil had spent the whole time describing the techniques of the different portraits and Logan had info dumped about the artist and the time period, then to a bookstore cafe. Now, the plan is to head back and… Logan isn’t quite sure what was supposed to happen next. Perhaps play a card game? Split up?

“Nikita?” Virgil’s voice is tentative but Virgil doesn’t fiddle with the cube inside his jacket pocket. “How’s it going?”

Nikita walks with two other students. Logan looks them up and down and the time he spent memorizing every student in the school suddenly becomes very handy.

Yuna Heartloft, with a quirk of teleportation. She’s not from a well-known family, but not from a poor family either. Two younger siblings, both boys who got in all kinds of trouble throughout their middle and high school career. Yuna had been sent to the office once, in 1st grade, for yelling at a kid. She had never been sent to the office again.

Her blonde hair is glossy with beautiful large curls that flow down to her stomach. Green eyes follow his gaze and she smiles at him, big and true. She’s wearing a very skimpy green dress and a pack across her back that matches it perfectly.

“Good,” Nikita says. “We were gonna go out to a club. Wanna come?”

“It’ll be fun,” the other one says.

Abidan Howlcrop. This kid is from an influential family, though he’s not near the top of the hierarchy and he has an incredibly interesting quirk; he can copy any power he sees, admittedly to a much lesser degree. He’s an only child in a very large house and with both of his parents as Superheros, one on the streets and one in management, Logan can’t imagine his childhood was full of very many family dinners.

He wears a skimpy outfit as well, jewelry adorning his fingers, neck and ears. His black hair is a curly mass on the top of his head and expertly styled. When he smiles at Logan, it’s much more calculating than Yuna’s.

“We’ve heard so much about you!” Yuna bounces on her feet. “Come to the club with us!”

Logan glances at Virgil.

Virgil’s tense, but looser than Logan was expecting. His feet point towards the group and he leans towards them slightly, away from the bus station they had previously been walking towards. By now, his hand has found its way into his pocket and he works the cube but his breathing is steady. The cube isn’t being used to comfort a potential confrontation happening now; it’s being used to prepare for future anxiety.

“That sounds like a satisfactory experience to me,” Logan replies. “Virgil, are you interested in joining as well?”

“Yeah.”

“Excellent. Nikita, lead the way.”

Nikita raises her eyebrows at him. “I’m in charge?”

“You are the one who invited us.” It would be a confusing question, but Nikita’s lips are quirks and her eyes alight. She’s playing.

“Tell me you don’t have every building in walking distance memorized.”

Both Yuna and Abidan blink. Virgil sits back on his haunches, suddenly smug for reasons Logan cannot begin to decipher.

“If you were planning on going to a club, you must have one in particular.”

“What’s Neon rated?”

Logan licks his lips. “Not highly.” One star. “Would you be interested in trying Starlit instead?”

Yuna whistles. “Oh, I knew you were smart after the first class but you’re crazy! Amazing! Yeah, let’s Starlit, baby!”

Abidan cheers and Logan somehow finds himself in front of everyone, Nikita at his side. Behind him, Yuna starts a conversation with Virgil about the different tasks.

“You were so strong when you were protecting your friend! And your quirk is so interesting! I was part of the group you controlled—”

“Sorry,” Virgil interrupts. He rubs the back of his neck. “I wasn’t really thinking—”

“No, it’s so okay! You were protecting your friend! Plus, I learned my deepest fear which really pushed me to start working on it you know? I assume you know what it is?”

Nikita walks smoothly but her eyes are too sharp to not be paying attention.

“No, I… I make your mind produce the image, I don’t create it myself. I never know what anyone is seeing.”

Logan glances at Nikita just as she glances at him.

“Listening?” she murmurs.

“Watching,” Logan replies. “You’re very interested.”

“I want to know who I’m friends with.”

Logan blinks rapidly. Not responding right now would be odd and Logan quite likes Nikita. He doesn’t want to be the person she shoves away when she learns more about him.

But he can’t think of anything to say.

Are they already friends?

“You’re quirkless,” Nikita tells him.

This is a topic of conversation Logan is very good at navigating. His breathing slows back down but his face goes blank, cold.

“I am,” Logan replies.

“I thought there was something weird about you when we were working together. Everybody I saw used their quirk but you.” Nikita shakes her head. “You never did. I assumed it was just something really powerful and you were saving it.”

“Nobody ever assumes quirkless.” Logan wants to hug himself. He keeps his arms by his side. “Unless of course, I am unsuccessful.”

The conversation between Nikita and Logan falls still. Behind them, Virgil and Yuna seem to be having a great time talking about some tv show they discovered the two of them watched.

Apparently ‘Martin’ is a very complex character.

“My sister’s quirkless,” Nikita says. “She’s certainly much stronger than I am.”

Quirkless sister.

Memories flash in front of Logan’s eyes. Bright lights, paper sheets, dark rooms, and mind-numbing pain stretching throughout his whole body. The whisper of a word.

Layla.

“Quirks aren’t what give us worth.” Logan’s response comes too late, and he knows that, but Nikita lets it slide anyway.

“The world doesn’t believe that,” Nikita says. There’s a question in there, a very easy one to answer.

“I have to.”

Nikita smiles at him then. The conversation had been a minefield; Nikita clearly had very strong opinions and one wrong step might’ve resulted in the end of… what relationship they were currently forming.

But Logan’s opinions are quite strong too.

“You done shots before, Logan?” Nikita asks. Her entire body shifts; less tense, lighter, goofier. Logan allows himself to relax as well.

“Yes.”

“You, Virgil? You done shots?”

“No.” Virgil trips over himself. “But I’m open to new experiences.”

“Whoo!” Yuna wraps an arm around Virgil, who jumps a little before tensing into the side-hug. “Let’s fucking go people!”

Starlit lets them in easily. Music is blasting, and Logan enjoys watching all four of the people he’s with drink down drink after drink. Virgil’s an unsteady drunk, but much less anxious, shouting things out at people and dancing with Nikita. Yuna bounces and sings, flirting with every person who passes her.

“I’m aroace and so uninterested,” Yuna tells him as she pauses in her dancing to suck down another shot. “But it is so much fun to just flirt around a little. Hey baby!” She waves at some boy she’s been dancing with and he waves back at her. “I’m coming back!”

Abidan sits with him at the bar, getting up every now and then but mostly just nodding along to the music.

“You’re cool man,” Abidan says. “Like… I dunno man. You got the aura, you know?”

Logan does not know but he nods anyway.

“I’m sad a lot,” Abidan says. “But I’m happy right now.”

Logan looks him up and down. The man is certainly very drunk; he’s leaning over the counter, sipping on a coke and rum, breathing deeper than average. Happy though? There’s no light in his eyes, no emphasis in his movements.

“I believe you may be lying to me, Abidan.”

“Well.” Abidan smiles. “You know things.”

Logan sips his own drink--a Wine Spritzer--and raises the glass to him.

“You were scary, you know,” Abidan says. “During the exam task shit. I saw you. Scary.”

“I can understand feeling that way.” Logan slowly pulls rum and coke away from Abidan and signals the bartender for some virgin drink. “Hydrating,” he mouths and the bartender nods at him.

“I was part of the group you told about Jupiter.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“See! Fucking scary. You’re so… you know everything!” Abidan puts his head in his hands. “I’m so drunk.”

“I’m aware of that too, although I don’t think most people would miss it.”

Abidan laughs. “I like you.”

“I'm enjoying your company as well.”

“Hmm. Your. Great pronoun ‘your.’ So… your.”

Logan's hand curls around his drink. He takes a sip, mostly to properly judge Abidan’s body language without letting anxiety get in the way.

Still loose. Sad, not tense, eyebrows soft, not hard. He’s not even looking at Logan as he says it; he’s looking at the table. His hands fidget in his lap.

Ah.

“I apologize Abidan. Our meeting was unexpected and slightly irregular. I didn’t get to ask. What are your pronouns?”

“They/them,” Abidan says quietly.

“May I assume Abidan still works for you?”

“Yes.”

There’s a moment of silence. Abidan won’t look at him.

Logan wonders if they would’ve told him sober.

“I appreciate you telling me.” Logan's hand comes up to his chest, tracing the edges of the buttons on his shirt. “I understand that can be a very… difficult task to do.”

Abidan accepts the drink the bartender slides them and greedily takes a sip. Their face doesn’t change and Logan decides they don’t know it’s not alcoholic.

He also decides to heavily tip this bartender.

“I always knew I was different,” Abidan says. “But I didn’t have any words for it, you know? I was just different.”

Logan stays quiet. Abidan speaks with their whole chest, curling their chest in and facing their drink, not Logan. Their dark green eyes shine in the light, more than they had been a second ago. One light brown hand comes up and traces a scar on their left hand.

It’s not a source of panic, that scar. It’s a source of comfort.

Another puzzle begins to come together in Logan’s mind.

“I met this group and none of us had the right words for it, but we were all different. Gillian was the head of the group and they were so cool, you know?”

Logan is pretty sure he knows how the story ends, why that scar is such a source of comfort and why Abidan is here and not in an apartment somewhere in New Yoranna, with Gillian and whoever else had been in his group.

He doesn’t interrupt though. Logan knows the alcohol, the wholly new environment, and the desperation for any kind of social connection is fueling this random confession, but he’s also very aware how much lighter Abidan looks with each word they speak.

“My parents were never home so we would all come over to my house. We made a promise to always be there for each other--” without thinking about it, Logan looks down at the scar and Abidan tracks the movement. They smile wryly. “We cut our hands to seal the promise.”

“Did your parents stop them from coming?” Logan asks.

“Do you know the answer?” Abidan responds. “Mr. Smart Man.”

Logan shrugs. “Not for certain.”

Abidan takes another sip of their drink. “They were always gone, you know? I wasn’t expecting them to come home that night so we were having a party. I was wearing a dress.”

A very soft smile, a smile that doesn’t reach Abidan’s eyes spreads across their face. “They beat all of us within an inch of our lives and kicked my friends out. Gillian’s back was broken; I don’t know if they’ll be able to walk again.”

“That’s a horrible thing to experience,” Logan says, because it is and because it makes Abidan’s hands shake in ways that feel productive.

He knows what the next step was. Abidan’s power is interesting, but much better served in a place they’ll come into contact with quirk after quirk; copying a power to a less powerful extreme doesn’t lead to one winning any superhero fights.

“They told me I had to come here to man up.” Abidan takes a long swing of their drink. “So here I am. Don’t even know what happened to everyone, you know?”

“Is Gillian your friend’s legal name?” Logan asks.

Abidan glares at him. “What’s it to you?”

“If I’m going to find them, a legal name would be more useful.”

Abidan finishes the drink Logan got them and waves down the bartender. “Can I get a second of this? What’s in it?”

The bartender glances at Logan.

‘Lie,’ Logan mouths.

“Rum,” the bartender responds. “Yeah, I can get you another. You alright?”

“Handy-fucking-dandy. My friend's name is Digory Lelion.”

Logan adds a sticky note to the reminder wall he’s built in his mind.

“Great,” says the bartender. “He’s a good friend.” They’re clearly of the assumption Logan’s name is Digory Lelion, which is an understandable jump and not one Logan bothers to correct.

“They were,” Abidan says. “They really were.”

The bartender passes Abidan the same non-alcoholic drink and they immediately begin to guzzle it.

“Your family send you here too?”

Logan goes cold.

“No,” Logan says shortly. He swallows. “My family isn’t aware I’m here.”

He needs to change the topic. Some question, some simple idea, anything to push Abidan away from what they were currently broaching.

Virgil appears next to him. Slightly drunk, smiling and clearly eavesdropping on the conversation Logan and Abidan were just having. If it had been anyone else Logan would’ve cut them a glare; with Virgil, he just smiles at him. He can’t deny the perfect timing of the interruption.

His hand aches with the ghost of Virgil’s touch, the skin pulling away from the muscle in desperate reach to be held again. Yet, it also shrinks against him and begs Logan to go to the bathroom and scrub and scrub until there’s nothing left.

“Abidan?”

Yuna stands up next to Virgil, eyes alight but the smile on her face slowly dying. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Abidan says. “I think I’ll head back though.”

“We might as well all head back.” Nikita appears next to Yuna and places an elbow on Yuna’s shoulder, leaning over everyone.

There are nods from across the group, and soon they’re all stumbling back to the bus. Virgil and Logan end up next to each other, and when Logan stumbles, Virgil catches him.

Logan smiles and thanks him.

Chapter 22: Assessments (Roman's politics)

Chapter Text

“Alright class!” Professor Tente walks in front of them, set to a brisk pace. “Today, I’m going to access all of your skills in a range of different mediums, just to get your baseline here. The exam already gave me a relatively good idea on any brain skills everyone has so we’re going to be focusing purely on the physical.”

“Did the test not do anything for the physical,” Roman mutters to Remus.

“Oh it did plenty for your physical bro.”

“Shut up.”

They stop in the middle of the school’s field. The track surrounds it, and weights have been set up in one corner. There’s a very large white box tapped down on the grass, timers beside it, and a diverse assortment of safety equipment, including a fire extinguisher, a gun, a baseball bat, bandages and medicine, towels, and more.

“You will be divided into three groups,” Professor Tente says. “They were chosen completely randomly so nobody is allowed to get upset with me. Roman, Logan, Yuna, Iskra, Eulalia, Riley, Ariadne, and Finley, you all will be group 1. Patton, Virgil, Remus, Nikita, Avery, Basil, Lior, and Zafira, group 2. And that leaves Abidan, Soren, Lukas, Saskia, Blake, Maeve, Elowen, Inari, and Birdie in group 3.”

Roman grimaces. He glances over at Remus; his brother wears an identical annoyed look on his face and shakes his head, bouncing from foot to foot.

If his mother saw Remus right now, she’d scream at him.

“Remus,” Roman whispers. “Remember, Mom said to find the quirkless.”

“We’ll know today,” Remus responds. His voice is louder than Roman would like it and a couple of people shoot them glares. “I think she’s measuring quirk power.”

“She is?”

“That’s what the square is for.”

“Group 1 will run the track, group 2 will lift weights, and group 3 will follow me to this square. Group 1, you’ll see instructions for you at the starting line. Group 2, you’ll see them at the weights, and group 3, you’ll have me.” Professor Tente clapped her hands. “Everyone get to it!”

Roman’s joined at the starting line by the scrawny boy that’s friends with Virgil and six other people. Before anyone can speak, Roman quickly asserts himself.

“Hey guys! I’m Roman Royalty!” He pauses to make sure his last name echoes around the group. “What are your names?”

Speaking first is such an easy way to assert control. Immediately, everyone is looking at him, paying attention to him, and what he says holds more weight. The command he gave, while a rather simple one, will be followed throughout the ranks and whether or not it’s known, it’ll be remembered.

“I’m Yuna!” A pretty girl with blonde curls and big green eyes smiles at him.

Yuna Heartloft. Rich, with a grandfather in government and a teleportation quirk but a weak family. Not worth noting.

“Riley,” a boy says. He’s got thick curly black hair and a smooth accent.

From the Dlamini family. That is a powerful family, though not one the Royaltys had been able to build a friendship with. Riley himself is known to have a quite powerful plant quirk.

He might be worth something.

“I’m Finley. They/Them.” Finley hits Roman with a glare when Roman raises his eyebrows.

Finley, from the Westhaul family, with gray hair, gray eyes and dark brown skin. Westhaul would be worth it, but a friendship with a kid like Finley would do nothing for him. Finley hadn’t followed in their family footsteps once and despite the immense power behind their memory slicing quirk, Roman is sure they would die in the field quickly.

That, or drop out.

“Iskra.” Her voice is quiet.

He doesn’t know her family. Not worth his time.

“Eulalia! Nice to meet you all!”

Eulalia? Eulalia Pensure? Roman blinks at the name. The Pensure family has a long, long tradition of being in finances and backing the bank; it’s argued that the Pensure family is the most important family in the country. What on earth was a Pensure kid doing here?

It didn’t matter, Roman decides. He needs to get her on his side. His mother will likely want him to marry her.

“I’m Logan.”

The scrawny kid doesn’t look at him while he speaks but there is something unnerving about the way he’s looking at the floor.

Roman doesn’t know where he’s from either.

“I’m Ariadne.”

Worthless as well.

“Right,” Roman says. Everyone looks at him, waiting for his next move. He grins. “Shall we see about this task?”

It’s a rather simple one. Roman is sure to make sure he’s the one to read it aloud--run a mile, time yourself, and write it down next to your name on a sheet of paper--and he makes sure to pass out the timers.

“On your mark,” he calls, “get set! Go!”

They take off.

Roman finishes first with a mile time of 4:34. Not his personal record but close to it. Logan annoyingly finishes soon after, at 4:46. It takes Riley and Finley until 5:20 and 5:24, respectively. Yuna finishes soon after at 5:36 (Logan starts up a conversation with her about track), with Ariadne behind her at 5:54. Iskra ends at 6:45 and finally, Eulalia comes in at exactly 8 minutes.

Roman makes sure to compliment everyone. He gives extra attention to Eulalia, who smiles sweetly.

While they wait for the other tasks to finish, everyone strikes up different conversations. Roman debates coming up with some ice breakers but Logan, Yuna, Ariadne and Finley have already started a full discussion on the initiation exam and Roman doesn’t want to bother and try and pull them back in.

“Hey Eulalia!”

Eulalia smiles at him again. For some reason, it rankles him. There’s something about that smile, slightly off to the side and wrinkling her already too wide eyes, that just makes the hair on Roman’s neck rise.

“Hello Roman.” Eulalia flicks a strand of black hair from her face. “Enjoying school?”

“Of course. How has your family been? My mother was just talking about paying a visit to your father.”

“That's very kind of her. I’m afraid my father has been quite stressed as of late. Perhaps your mother’s visit will cheer him up.” Eulalia smiles as she says it, completely unbothered. “Shall your father be joining her?”

Roman’s back stiffens. “I believe he’ll be busy saving the city. Superheroes never rest, as the saying goes.”

Eulalia is still smiling. “What an interesting saying. I don’t believe I ever heard it around my household.”

Roman does his best not to rankle. He can tell, by the smug little smile on Eulalia’s face, that he’s not very successful.

“I’m sure my parents will be happy to receive your mother,” Eulalia says. “I’ll let them know she’s planning on coming alone, so they set out the right number of plates.”

Behind him, a rock the size of Roman’s fist goes flying through the sky, burning a hole at the feet of a girl with long blonde straight hair. Professor Tente says something to her and she’s clearly the last member of that group to demonstrate her power because Professor Tente claps twice.

Everyone’s attention turns towards her.

“Alright! If you’ve finished, you can move to the next task! Group 1, to weights, Group 2 to me, and Group 3 to running! Let’s go!”

Again Roman takes charge. He leads his group over to the weight and reads out the instructions on how they should find their max for different categories. Roman can lift the most and the boy named Logan is the lowest for every category.

Finally, it’s time to reveal quirks.

“Alrighty!” Professor Tente runs a critical eye over them. “Last ones!” There’s a look on her face Roman can’t read, and it gets more unreadable as it passes by Logan. “Everyone is going to step into this box and do whatever is most difficult for their particular quirk. I’ll record it, and we’ll use that as our base for improvement. Any questions?”

Yuna raises her hand. “My quirk is teleportation. I won’t be able to do what’s most difficult in the square.”

“Good point.” Professor Tente grimaces. “Should’ve thought of that. Do you know how far you can jump? Can you bring anyone with you?”

“I can jump about 5 miles,” Yuna says. Roman starts slightly.

More than he expected little blondie to be able to do, that’s for sure.

“If I space out my jumps a little, I can do six miles consecutively, but I’ll need like 10 seconds recovery in between each mile. I can take one person with me for 3 miles or 2 people for 2. I can’t do more than that.”

Professor Tente smiles. “Excellent! Take Mr. Berry and jump to the campus entrance and back twice, that should be about at your limit.”

Yuna immediately skips over to the thin white boy and loops her arm around his. “Sir, would you care to join me?” She says cheerfully, flipped her hair over her shoulder as she does so.

Logan stares at her arm for a long minute.

“Of course… madam,” he finally responds. His voice is even.

There’s a flash of soft yellow light and Yuna vanishes. Almost instantly, she returns, leaves, and then returns again. She’s panting slightly, sweat dripping down her face.

“Alright Ms. Heartloft,” Professor Tente smiles. “Can you jump across the square?”

Yuna closes her eyes. She’s clinging to Logan’s arm and her foot slips out from underneath her.

Pathetic.

They teleport and land at the end of the square. Logan grabs Yuna as she topples over and carefully sets her to the ground. He mutters something to her that makes her smile.

“Excellent. That was 3.4 miles, so you should be very proud of yourself there. Now, who would like to go next?”

Roman is about to do so, when Eulalia steps in front of him. She doesn’t look at him as she does so, but the swagger in her step completely engulfs him. He watches as she steps up, fire burning within him.

“Alright Ms. Pensure!” Professor Tente smiles. “What’s your quirk?”

“Ink Conjugation,” Eulalia says.

Roman blinks.

For the past three generations, the Pensure’s quirk has been about numbers; it ranged dramatically, from knowing the cost of each item one looks at, to the cost of immaterial things, such as trips or food for a kingdom, to whether the budget balances or doesn’t with a touch. To have a quirk like ink conjugation…

Roman wonders if she’s truly full Pensure.

Eulalia doesn’t look at him but the cool look on her face is enough to let most people know she’s aware of the splash she just made. She removes a pen from her hair and curly black hair billows down to her waist. Roman’s really not quite sure how she got in the bun or how she’s possibly going to put it up again.

She writes in the air, smoothly, quickly. The outline pulses blue, very briefly, and an elephant appears in front of them.

Eulalia takes a short breath, the only sign Roman can see of her exhaustion. The elephant moves and Roman startles.

She can create living beings?

Roman glances next to him where Remus typically stands and curses. His brother was put in another group.

“Excellent work, Ms. Pensure,” Professor Tente smiles. “Can you summon anything else? Even something small?”

The elephant vanishes as Eulalia lifts her pen back up into the air. She closes her eyes and draws.

This time, the outline shines white. A chair appears in the middle of the square, beautiful golden with plump green cushions.

“Perfect.” Professor Tente waves her hand and Eulalia walks off. Her back is straight as she passes him and she’s smiling in a way that unsettles him.

His quirk is different. Definitely more powerful, because Roman doesn’t require some ridiculous device like a pen or pencil to create his construction and, once created, his objects last forever.

But it’ll look the same.

Roman’s still debating whether to step up and go after her, regardless of the similarity, when Finley moves.

“I’ll go.” Their voice is hard and Roman wonders if it’s possible for them to do anything but snarl. No wonder their mom has started requesting they be excluded from events. “I’ll need a volunteer.”

Nobody moves, including Professor Tente. The Westhauls are a famous family and Finley’s memory slicing quirk is known to be powerful; nobody wants somebody routing around, finding a skill they like and taking it, even momentarily.

“I’ll go!” Yuna sounds cheerful enough. Roman is in the process of deciding she’s truly fine with it when Logan speaks up.

“Are you sure you’re not too tired?” he says. His voice is soft but there’s something in his gaze Roman doesn’t quite understand. “You did teleport quite far.”

Yuna pauses. When she looks back at Logan, her eyes are shining. “I’ll be okay,” she says. “It'll be fun to see what skill Finley decides to take!”

Logan nods but his eyes don’t leave her as she walks into the box.

The walk there is short but everyone can feel the weight of her steps. She offers Finley a bright smile. “Whenever you’re ready!”

Finley, to Roman’s surprise and begrudging respect, just takes her at her word. With a flick of his wrist, there’s a shining black light.

Yuna blinks.

Finley teleports.

It must be more difficult to steal quirks than other skills, because they’re not able to teleport very far. Finley disappears to the end of the white box and back and already looks exhausted. Still, they stand up tall and Professor Tente claps her hands.

“Fabulous, Mx. Westhaul. Ms. Heartloft, dear, thank you for volunteering. That was very kind of you.”

Iskra volunteers then, again before Roman who decides he'll have to go last. She shuffles in, head down, and shows off her admittedly very interesting quirk she calls Time Fizz; a quirk that could both slow or speed-up time around objects or people.

Ariadne makes bugs swirl around her and Roman immediately knows Remus is going to love her, which is annoying because she’s not from any family he’s heard of before. He’s going to have to stop his idiot brother from becoming her friend.

Logan doesn’t volunteer.

Roman’s already decided that he can go last, going off with a bang. But the stupid skinny kid won’t raise his hand, nor will he look over so Roman can signal him to go.

They stand in silence.

“Do you want to go, Logan?” Roman finally says.

Logan glances at him.

There’s something in his stance, in his look. The boy is doing everything he possibly can to hide it, but Roman doesn’t have to be well-trained in reading people to see the panic echoing in every part of him.

“I have heard that the school admitted a quirkless.”

No fucking way.

Logan sighs and steps into the square. He swallows, a barely perceivable motion that Roman tracks with his mouth agape.

The boy meets each of their group members' eyes, then searches the field. Whatever he’s looking for relaxes his stances slightly and he steels himself.

“I’m quite sure you’re all aware of the drama around this year’s recruitment,” Logan says dryly.

Iskra gasps.

“I am quirkless.” He meets Roman’s gaze as he says it and suddenly, neither can look away. “I have no power.”

Roman’s chest is so hot.

He’s never met a quirkless before.

That’s not true, he’s met one, he’s held one, one that cheered when Roman got his quirk but cried the next day, one that his parents told him to forget.

One that he doesn’t remember.

Roman throws his head up high. He doesn’t swallow, doesn’t betray any of the ridiculous thoughts that dared to enter his head. This must be what Remus talks about when he whispers of intrusive thoughts, of sharp forbidden things he’s not supposed to think.

They’re disgusting.

It’s disgusting.

It’s disgusting.

Roman spits on the ground. He switches his glare to Professor Tente, who meets it head on.

“My mother will be wanting a word with you, Professor,” Roman growls.

“I’ll be wanting a word with her as well,” Professor Tente replies mildly.

For all of Roman’s training, he’s not fully aware she’s moving until she’s next to him.

“You will serve detention with me for the next week,” she says, and it’s just as mild but somehow horrifying. “I will not tolerate any disrespect of my students. You have all earned your place here and I expect you to treat each other as such.”

Eulalia raises her hand tentatively.

“Yes, Ms. Pensure?”

“I have a question. For him.”

“He will have to decide if he would like to answer it.” Professor Tente's eyes flash. “Tread lightly, my dear.”

Eulalia swallows. She looks over at Logan and when she asks her question, it is completely offensive and only curious. “How did you manage to get here?”

By cheating, Roman grumbles to himself.

He remembers Logan crawling down the wall during the initiation exam, bolt by bolt.

Cheat. Ing.

Professor Tente shares a glance with Logan that Roman can’t begin to decipher. Logan seems calmer now. Now that it’s out in the open, he’s sure of himself and back to his normal stoic look.

“The same way you did,” Logan responds. “The same way you would, had somebody taken your writing utensils.”

Eulalia goes white at the idea. Her hand tightens around the pen she had previously used and she nods quickly.

There’s not much Roman can do yet. He needs to wait because Professor Tente is watching him like a hawk and most of the students around him seem more contemplative than angry.

”Your job is to get them out.”

Roman’s eyes narrow.

I will, Mom.

Chapter 23: Hallway Reunion (Darius' 2nd debut)

Chapter Text

Remus and Roman find him the next day.

Logan knew this was unavoidable so the seed of fear that blossoms in his chest as they approach is quite irrational. He’s able to keep his breathing even and face cool but his thumb twitches.

“Hello, Logan,” Remus sings.

Roman spits on the ground, just as he had when Logan first revealed himself.

“Salutations,” Logan responds.

His eyes flicker over the two of them. Anyone would be able to recognize their training; Roman’s fists, currently hanging at his side, are perfectly closed to keep his thumb from breaking. Remus’ dominant foot is in front and his knees are slightly bent.

But Logan didn’t need to study them to know what they’re capable of. It’s hesitation he’s looking for. A desperate hope, Logan knows, and it’s proven when he finds nothing.

He swallows.

He really wanted them to fail that initiation exam.

“When we learned there was a quirkless, we never guessed he would be in our class!” Remus’s body moves back and forth, like a smiling snake. To anyone else it would look playful, even incompetent. But Remus’s shoulders remain parallel with his hips the entire time. Not once do his knees perfectly straighten.

“But looky here!” Remus’s eyes glint in a way that sends Logan’s heart pounding. “Hiding among us!”

Logan wants to point out the many articles written about himself but his tongue is heavy in his mouth. He did know it would be them who found him first, but he wishes more than anything it was somebody else.

Anybody else.

“You’ve been very sneakyyyyyy!” Remus grins, a snake that had finally found a particularly plump mouse. “And now we get to punish you! Aren’t you excited!?” The swaying stops. His tone shifts slightly, still playful, but colder now. Dangerous. “I know I am!”

Logan swallows again. The seed of fear has blossomed and it takes three blinks for Logan to compose himself.

“I assume your mother told you to convince me to leave?” Logan asks, but it’s more of a statement. His voice is calm, almost detached. Logan knows the answer; he wants them to know it’s not a secret.

Roman shifts. “You don’t belong here.”

That’s a sentence Logan is very accustomed to. It’s practically a lullaby and it helps to cut away from the fear expanding throughout his body.

“I don’t know if you would say I belong anywhere.”

“This is a superhero school!” Roman throws his arms open.

His fighting stance falters with the movement but he is still steady enough that Logan knows it’s ingrained. He wonders, very briefly, how long it’s been since Roman and Remus have stood without being prepared for a fight.

He wonders if they can remember a time their breath didn’t come together.

“You’re a fucking Squick!” Roman’s voice booms throughout the empty hallway.

Logan doesn’t flinch.

“Squicks can’t be superheroes! Go fucking be a janitor or trashman—something worth your goddamn station!”

Of course he’s rude to service workers, Logan thinks dryly.

There’s no way to get himself out of this. Logan had been coming up from the basement when the two accosted him and he stands at the end of a long hallway. The stairway door is behind him but it’s closed and it would actually be stupider for Logan to run to the stairs and risk getting attacked there then it would be to simply take it here.

That is, unless they plan to kill him. Logan can’t be sure.

“Our station is a social construct,” Logan responds. His eyes narrow.

He wants to tell them that if they had been quirkless, they would be standing next to him. Their family would’ve done whatever they could to cover up the shame of having a quirkless relative. For all their power and all their confidence, they are one skill away from being nothing.

An ache in his chest keeps him quiet.

Roman moves first.

Logan expected that.

A fist sails smoothly towards Logan’s nose. Immediately, Logan ducks under, popping back up and bouncing two steps back.

There’s a wall behind him that keeps him from taking a third step. Logan purses his lips.

He needs to get around them.

They know it too. Roman stands back, blocking Logan’s chance of escape and Remus moves for him.

Remus’s movements are less smooth than Roman’s, and much more violent. A left hook goes hurling towards Logan’s left temple. Logan uses his bent arm as a cushion, keeping it tight against his ear and leans into the hit.

Pain blooms up his arm, hot and reverberating, but he doesn’t falter.

The second strike comes faster; Remus’ left fist rocketing towards Logan’s face. Desperately, Logan uses his left arm to shove the punch to the side. It redirects into Logan’s shoulder and lands with a loud thud that shakes Logan’s torso. He bites down to keep from crying out.

Then Remus’s knee drives into Logan’s stomach.

All the air is punched from Logan’s lungs. He forces his right elbow up in retaliation, and bashing it toward Remus’s face. The boy blocks it easily and twists the motion to bring Logan’s body down, closer to his body.

Logan knows what’s coming before it hits him.

Another knee, this time to his ribcage. White-hot pain dances up his side and Logan blinks away stars. He grits his teeth.

Broken rib.

Remus drops him, clearly expecting Logan to fall to the floor but Logan remains on his feet. He pants, pulling himself back into a fight position.

“Ooo, look at him, Roman! Such a tough little quirkless!”

Logan’s silent. He takes the deepest breath he can without crying out and examines the hallway.

“So tough,” Roman echoes. “Still don’t believe in stations, Squick?”

There’s a fire hydrant about five paces behind Roman. He could try and get there, grab it, and spray the foam everywhere. Logan knows the turn on the other end of the hallway will lead to an elevator. If he’s very lucky, the elevators of the building won’t be busy and he can get in before Roman and Remus are able to get to him. Then, if he’s lucky again, the doors will shut before either twin makes it there to stop it.

Logan knows it’s not going to work when he moves.

He makes the motion lurching and Remus thinks he’s going down. The active fighting stance falls away, Remus’s foot coming up to kick him.

Logan catches himself mid-motion, legs burning with the effort, and bolts.

He makes it past Remus.

Frankly, that’s farther than Logan expected.

Roman stops him with a punch in the face that Logan barely blocks. The combined effort of blocking, running, and the force of Roman’s minimized blow sends Logan sprawling. Cold tile meets his back and Logan knows it’s over when he moves to get up and finds Roman’s knee on his chest.

“Not so fast, Squick.”

Logan flops against the ground. He waits, patiently, for Roman to turn to his brother and jumps into action.

Bam!

Logan’s fist slams into Roman’s cheek, hard enough that the knee on Logan’s chest rocks back and forth. It’s not satisfying enough, not remotely, but Logan knows being hit by a “Squick” is going to be a weight Roman carries around for a long time.

Neither brother moves.

Roman leans over, and spits out a mouthful of blood.

“That was a fucking mistake.”

Remus is smiling as he says it, a dangerous sort of smile that sends Logan’s blood running cold. Logan forces himself to present impassively; he forces himself to breathe.

He knows how to handle pain.

Still, there’s something awful about watching Remus squat down beside him. Roman pins his torso down as Remus picks up the arm Logan just used to punch his brother.

He pets Logan’s wrist.

In one quick motion, Remus bends it. The pain starts slowly, an ache that gives way to blistering sharp pain when Remus snaps it like dry wood.

Logan screams. He closes his eyes.

Broken wrist.

Remus is laughing. Roman’s not, but Logan can’t tell if it’s because he’s not the type or if he’s still furious a Squick was able to hit him.

Remus is petting his elbow now. Logan doesn’t open his eyes, but he can feel his arm get pulled straight and his wrist is locked between Remus’s legs.

Remus punches up, right against Logan’s elbow. It cracks and a wave of agony goes sailing down Logan’s body. The second punch breaks it clean and Logan’s scream echoes down the hallway.

Broken arm.

He doesn’t need to look at his arm to know it’s bent, the back of the hand turned up towards his shoulder.

Each wound is pulsing. The pain from his ribcage is almost gone, nothing compared to his right arm, but Roman does his best to bring it back by digging his knee in.

“Listen, Squick,” Roman says.

Apparently they aren’t going to kill him.

“You’re going to leave this school. For every day that you’re still here, we are going to break another bone.”

Logan meets his eyes. He doesn’t answer but doesn’t flinch.

I assume we’ll be quickly acquainted then.

The words float around but Logan doesn’t say them. This time, it’s not out of fear.

There’s no point in angering them.

Roman gets off of him. There’s a pause—then a foot smashes into his ribcage. It clips his arm as it comes back and Logan gags on the pain.

Roman walks away. Remus follows but sends his own gleeful kick sailing into Logan’s arm.

Logan's spasms. He can feel himself drifting back into a very familiar and calming headspace. Everything is detached and suddenly, Logan isn’t the one screaming on the floor.

He’s just watching.

Roman and Remus pass by the fire hydrant. Neither of them notice it; they’re too focused on getting to the elevator around the corner.

It takes over 30 seconds for the elevator to come.

For ten minutes, Logan is in silence. The pain comes in waves, keeping Logan tethered just outside of himself.

“I see…” his voice cracks as he coughs. The pulsing motion heightens the deep-seated ache in his ribcage and again, Logan's brain pulls itself from his own body.

“Fire hydrant. Yellow paint. Metal door. Blood.” Logan wants to close his eyes. “My black sneakers.”

His eyes flutter shut.

“I feel…”

It’s hard not to grimace. Every nerve in Logan’s body cries for attention and Logan has to work to focus.

“The floor. Cold. Hot. My shirt.”

That’ll have to do.

“I hear… well. Me.” Logan swallows against the bile rising in this throat. “The elevator moving. The fluorescent lights.”

Frankly, more than he expected in this quiet empty hallway.

“I smell…”

Blood.

Logan pulls away from the iron tang, then rolls his eyes at himself.

“Blood.”

Can he smell anything else?

“Vomit soon,” Logan mutters and decides that’s good enough.

“I taste…”

Logan never knows how to answer this one. He had managed to keep himself from being hit in the face, so it’s not like he can answer with blood.

Roman could.

“Saliva.”

Right.

Logan’s back.

The pain is too and even though Logan knows it’s only in three main places, it’s everywhere. His head aches, his throat is tight, his chest screams. Both his legs tell him that if he moves them, it’ll be the last thing he ever does.

Logan can’t think about his arm.

There’s never a question about if Logan can get through this. Pain is his oldest companion; frankly, he’s more concerned when something doesn’t hurt.

But he’s just so tired of it.

Logan grits his teeth.

He pushes himself up to his knees.

Pain rushes him and Logan has to blink away darkness. It takes him four breaths to stop seeing stars only for him to lean over and promptly lose his lunch. The motion sends another wave of pain over him and he has to fight the darkness again.

When he’s finishes throwing up, his entire body is shaking and Logan sure he’s pale as a sheet. Still, he moves again, getting up to his feet.

The trip to the elevator is slow. Logan throws up twice on the way and has to lean against the wall for support the entire time.

It takes a minute for the elevator to get to him.

He falls more than steps in, collapsing against the wall. The elevator doors shut behind him and Logan stands silently.

This time, when the world falls away, Logan is in control.

He stands in his city.

As always, the streets are empty. Trash litters the area around him; trash Logan doesn’t bother to look through as he begins to walk. There are no wounds in his city, so when Logan finds the crate he needs, he’s able to reach down and pick it up with two hands.

75 people had been admitted to East Bridge. Logan has met 25 of them, but he memorized the names of all of them before he even started class. He knows who they are, their quirks, their mentors. More importantly for right now, he knows where all 75 people live.

Logan hits the 6th floor with his non-broken arm and the elevator ascends.

The floor he steps out into is an empty hallway but very different then the one he just left. A board greets him, telling him of events and how well he’s going to do at school. Every door he passes has name tags on them with smiling pumpkins, green beans and asparagus.

Logan knocks on the one that says Darius.

“Coming.” A deep voice answers him. There are loud thumps and then the door opens and 6’5 wall of muscle greets him.

“I—what? Are you okay?” Darius' wide eyes scatter over Logan’s battered frame. “What—?”

“My name’s Logan.” Logan’s words come in short gasps. Now that he’s reached his goal, it’s harder to stay on his feet and he has to fight the urge to sink to the ground. “I met you during the initiation exam when my… when Virgil used his quirk on you and forced you to heal his friend Patton.”

The boy’s mouth opens then closes tightly. “Okay.”

“I’m aware you don’t know me very well, and I believe you're not particularly fond of Virgil, but I would quite appreciate it if you could help me.”

Darius crosses his arms and leans against the door frame. His eyes trace up Logan’s body, centering in on what remains of his arm. “How did you get here?”

“I was beat up in this building. I took the elevator.”

“What—do you live here?”

Logan can’t think. The pain is consistent, high, each part of him fighting for attention and continuously one upping each other.

It takes him a second to remind himself to respond.

“I knew people would try to convince me to leave. I knew you lived here. I decided to choose my battleground accordingly.” The words sound smart but they come out in a tight breathy voice. He wants to beg Darius to help but thinks that would only result in a lack of respect.

Darius sucks on his teeth. “You’re the one who told everyone about Jupiter’s task.”

Logan doesn’t really know why that matters, which unsettles him because normally he would be able to look at Darius and tell. “Yes.”

“Why were you beat up?”

Logan really wishes Darius was a more trusting person. He can respect the questions but he’s about two seconds from keeling over. “I’m quirkless.”

He’s met with silence.

Then, Darius shakes himself off and uncrosses his arms to open the door a little wider. “Come in. I’ll heal you.”

It takes Logan three breaths to stop leaning against the wall and another eight to take a step forward. Darius moves to help but Logan pulls away.

The idea of being touched right now makes his stomach turn.

It takes him four minutes to get into the room and seat himself on Darius’s desk chair. Once in, there’s no way to position his body comfortably, so Logan opts for the position that gives Darius the most room to work with. His chest cries out in protest, but Logan ignores it the best he can.

Darius heals his arm first. He holds his hand out, just about an inch above Logan’s arm and the space between glows gold. It takes five minutes for Logan’s wrist to snap into place, then another five for his elbow to straighten out.

Warmth wraps itself around Logan’s body and he breathes a heavy sigh of relief. His chest still aches but in comparison, it feels like almost nothing.

He can think again.

Like all dorm rooms, Darius’s is small for two people. The beds have a single three drawer wardrobe in between the two of them, closets at the end of their bed, followed by a desk right next to them. Darius’ side is scarcely decorated but a photo sits on his desk of a young girl building a sandcastle with Darius. The photo must’ve been taken over 2 years ago because Darius looks to be about 16-years-old. The girl—likely his younger sister—can’t be more than five.

“You were in the room,” Logan says, finally able to make the connection, “when I told everyone about Jupiter’s trail.”

“I was,” Darius agrees. He moves his hand to Logan’s chest and a bead of sweat drips down his face. “You’re the reason I passed.”

One of Logan’s ribs snaps into place. Logan groans with the movement and sways in Darius’s chair.

“I’m glad to have helped.” Logan means it. He’s genuinely not sure what he would’ve done if Darius hadn’t made it into East Bridge. “Did you overheal Jupiter or heal yourself?”

The golden light falters for a second. “Overheal?”

Oh. Oh.

“Yes,” Logan says. He thinks, trying to choose his next words very carefully. “It’s a more complex healing process that allows you to make your opponent’s body more difficult to use.” He blinks twice. “It’s an attempt to make the quirk offense, as well as restorative.”

Darius doesn’t say anything in response but Logan can see the gears in his head turning.

Right. Time to make an offer.

“I’m very likely to be attacked again,” Logan says. He relaxes, just slightly, as another rib snaps back into place. “I would like to be able to depend on your help.”

Darius watches him. “And?”

“I’ll teach you how to over-heal if you help me when I require it.”

The last of Logan’s ribs click into place. There’s still some pain but it’s so small that if Logan doesn’t think about it he can almost pretend it’s not there.

The golden light fades.

“How do I know you’re not full of shit?” Darius asks. “I’ve never even heard of overhealing.”

He could respond with a handful of articles on the topic, starting with a very famous case of a Healer protecting his hospital using that technique, but decides that telling Darius to do research isn’t his smartest tactic. Instead, Logan meets his eyes evenly.

“Was I wrong about Jupiter’s trail?”

A short silence.

Then—

“Good point,” Darius mutters, a bit begrudgingly. “You teach me how to over-heal, I’ll keep fixing you.”

“Deal,” Logan says.

It’s an effort to hide his relief; Logan had been planning on offering Darius something in exchange for his healing, but he hadn’t been sure what he could give. This makes things much easier.

“I’ll give you my number.” Darius pulls out his phone as he says it. “We can plan the first training session.”

Logan manages to hide his start at that.

Another phone number.

At least this is the type of relationship he’s more used to. Tit for tat, nothing more.

They add each other into each other's phones and Logan stands. “Thank you,” he says honestly. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you had turned me away.”

“Did you think I would?”

“No.” Logan tucks his phone into his pocket. “I knew you wouldn’t.”

Darius watches him open the door. “Did you know my roommate would be out too?”

Logan pauses in the doorway. He glances over at Darius’s roommate's side—a boy named Nalthis with a quirk of turning skin to steel and a violent hatred of quirkless people. He looks at the trophy on the desk, proof that Nalthis’ high school basketball team went to nationals and got 1st place.

“The basketball game is on right now,” Logan responds. “I assumed he was playing.”

Darius doesn’t stop him again, so he shuts the door and starts back towards the elevator.

Chapter 24: Mugs (The curtain is not just blue)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Yuna is the one who decides to go to a pottery place.

They’re sitting at lunch—Virgil, Logan, Patton, Nikita, Yuna, and Abidan—when Yuna says “we should make mugs together!”

Nikita’s nose wrinkles. “Mugs?”

“That sounds fun,” Virgil offers. “Is there a place in East Bridge?” There’s class for the next few days and he’s not quite sure he wants to go into the city. Not that it’s difficult, just because he knows Yuna will try to pull them into a club and Virgil hasn’t figured out how to say ‘no’ to Yuna yet.

Actually, that may not be a Yuna thing. Virgil’s not sure he knows how to say no in general.

“There’s a place called ‘Clay and Color’ near ‘Cuppa Joy’ in the middle of East Bridge campus,” Logan replies. Patton starts but he’s the only one who looks surprised Logan knows that. “It’s where Cuppa Joy gets a lot of their cups.”

Nikita points a fork at him. “You know everything.”

“I do not know everything. I simply have a better memory than the average person.” The sentence is so Logan that Virgil smiles. His chest is warm in a way it's never been before and he wants to flutter his hands by his side.

Which, of course, is normal friend behavior.

“What’s 567 times 732?” Nikita asks.

“415,044.”

Everyone stares at him. Then Yuna bursts out laughing. “Logan, that's insane! You must know how amazing that is?”

Every part of Logan is as emotionless as always, except for a very light dusting of pink on his cheeks. The warm feeling in Virgil’s chest grows to an almost unbearable level and he reaches out and pats Logan’s hand just to calm the feeling.

Logan doesn’t flinch the way he would’ve a couple of days ago and instead of diminishing, the fluttering gets even stronger.

Is this how everyone with multiple friends feel?

It must be exhausting.

“It’s simple arithmetic,” Logan replies and he sounds outrageously snobby but nobody at the table even blinks.

Well.

Patton looks a bit miffed but Patton’s never been one to assume the worst so Virgil assumes he’s reading him wrong.

“I like pottery,” Abidan says. “We can all make mugs and you know, pass them around after 10 minutes so everyone works on each mug. They can be like, friendship tokens, you know?”

Yuna claps her hands. “Oh my goddess, Abidan!! That is the best idea ever!”

Virgil can’t help but to beam. He’s very slowly discovering that he loves being in a group of friends and the idea of a mug tying them all together makes everything feel more complete.

“Oh, this is such a good idea! Okay, okay! When are we doing this?!”

“We could go this afternoon,” Nikita suggests. “No class today.”

“When does it close?” Virgil asks.

Everybody looks at Logan.

“5pm,” Logan responds. “But Jata will be okay with letting us stay while she cleans up, so we can stay until about 5:30.”

Of course Logan knows the names of the workers. Virgil’s reminded of the time in the coffee place, when Logan asked the barista their name.

“Amazing! Let’s meet there at 2, and then we can go to Cuppa Joy after!” Yuna squeals. “I’m so excited!”

Everyone confirms their availability. Nikita asks if it would be possible for Ariadne to join and while the new person makes Virgil a little nervous, he does like the idea of another friend.

Who knew he would make so many?

Although maybe he’s jumping the gun. Maybe they’re not friends yet and just like… hang out buddies.

They feel like friends.

Logan, Patton, and Virgil separate off. They have about an hour before they need to head over to Clay and Color, so Patton teaches the two of them a new board game. The first round is about even, with Virgil slightly worse than both Patton and Logan.

In the next round, Logan sweeps them.

They get to Clay and Color at 1:49. Ariadne and Nikita are already there and Ariadne smiles as they come up. She fidgets with the end of her light blue sweater.

“Hey Logan! Hi Virgil! Hi…”

“Patton,” Nikita mutters.

“Hi Patton!” Ariadne’s brown cheeks go slightly warm but she offers them a hand. “I’m Ariadne!”

“Hi!” Patton smiles at her. “It’s so nice to meet you! I saw your quirk, you looked so cool during the baseline testing!”

“Thank you!” Ariadne says. Her hands pull the sleeves of her sweater up until she can bunch them up in a knot. “I did my best!”

“You were quite impressive,” Logan nods. “It’s nice to talk to you again.”

Virgil remembers that they had been in the same group together when Logan had revealed himself as quirkless. Since then, Virgil had noticed that a lot of people that had previously been tentatively striking up conversations with Logan had stopped; some people, like Avery and Blake, had even begun avoiding Virgil for associating with him.

Clearly, it hadn’t put Ariadne off.

“It is!” Ariadne licks her lips, then purses them, then takes a breath.

Virgil tries to imagine attempting to join a pre-established group in an event about making friendship tokens and decides he would rather kill himself.

He reaches out a hand, which Ariadne grabs like a lifeline. They shake and when they come apart, Ariadne smiles at him.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Virgil says.

He wants to keep talking to her.

Fuck, why is everything so hard.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Truly, Virgil is a mastermind at coming up with questions.

“Um… I like pink.” Ariadne purses her lips again.

Fuck, he fucked it. She’s all uncomfortable now and it’s completely his fault. What the hell even is the question “what’s your favorite color?” It has literally not worked once for him.

Well…

Virgil looks over at Logan and his chest explodes with a warmth that almost washes away the need to bash his head into a wall.

It worked once.

“Oo, I love pink!” Patton takes up the reins of the conversation. “Did you go to the decoration flea market they set up? They had this really cool pink ivy I thought about getting for my room!”

The relief on Ariadne’s face is palpable. “I did see that! My bugs don’t really like fake plants so I wasn’t able to get it but it looked amazing!”

“What kind of bugs do you have?” Logan asks.

“You have bugs?” Patton asks at the same time.

Ariadne takes another deep breath. “Yeah! My quirk is easier if I have a relationship with the bug before I try to use it. I own two black widows, a wasp nest, and an ant colony.”

Patton shudders but manages to keep the smile on his face.

“That’s so cool!” Virgil leans forward and for the briefest of moments, forgets to be anxious. “Do the black widows have names? When did you get them?”

Logan blinks. He tilts his head towards Virgil and when Virgil glances at him, the boy gives the slightest smile.

“There’s actually a bug black market for people with my quirk.” Ariadne beams. Her shoulders have relaxed a little bit and she leans into his interest with the same enthusiasm as a child discovering their broccoli was actually a chocolate. “I have a lot of the less dangerous bugs but getting the black widows cost me my Africanized honey bees. It was worth it though, because I can bring Betsy and Stella—that’s their names—I can bring them with me without controlling them.”

“Do you have them with you now?” Virgil asks.

“No,” Logan responds for her, then blinks at himself. “My apologies, Ariadne. Please continue.”

Nikita laughs. “He’s right, I assume?”

“Yeah.” Ariadne is much more relaxed now. There’s still some tightness around her shoulder but when she looks over at them there’s none of the initial panic around the eyes. “It’s alright, Logan. It’s probably difficult to notice everything and have to keep it in all the time.”

Logan stares at her. “Sometimes,” he admits.

“Don’t worry about that with us,” Nikita tells him. “I joined the group with you because of your brain, it would be a bit rude of me to stop being friends with you because of it too.”

Logan’s hand opens and closes at his side. Without thinking, Virgil takes it up and squeezes.

Nikita turns with her eyebrows raised towards Ariadne, who simply nods at her. Virgil has no idea what’s going on. He drops Logan’s hand.

“Hi! Hi! Hi!” Yuna walks up, Abidan in tow and grabs Ariadne's hands immediately. All of the tension that had previously left Ariadne comes back full force. “I have been wanting to meet you! Girl! Your hair is so pretty! My friend Darling, from high school, she had Space Buns 'n' Bang too and yours are just completely gorgeous!”

Ariadne swallows. “Th-thank you! You must be Yuna! I’ve heard a lot about you!”

Yuna drops Ariadne’s hand and squeals. “Nikita, you little goof, you talk about me? Awww!”

Nikita smiles wryly at Yuna but the blonde has already turned back to Ariadne. “I’m sorry to make you nervous. I’m just so excited! You seem like such a cool person! This is my friend Abidan, they use they/them pronouns. They’re also super really cool.”

Every word coming out of Yuna’s mouth reminds Virgil more and more of Patton. Actually, when Virgil first introduced the two of them, he was expecting them to become best friends.

So far, they haven't but Virgil still thinks it’s only a matter of time.

“Hi,” Abidan says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too!” Ariadne takes a breath and Yuna beams at her. Some of the earlier tension is beginning to bleed out again. “Should we make mugs?”

“Yes! Remember, everyone is going to get 10 minutes with each mug!” Yuna holds the door open and everyone shuffles in.

There are three workers in the place, and two other groups of East Bridge students that look up when the door opens, then go back to their painting. One worker stands at the front desk, a long wooden bar with a couple of projects off to the side, preparing to be fired, and a lot of finished works as decorations on the wall behind it. Another is talking to one of the other college groups, wearing a brown apron completely covered in colors and pointing towards the plastic palettes set up right beside a wall of different paint bottles. The final one restocks the ceramics; she lines up two large dogs, each one marked with a 40 dollar price tag.

The worker behind the desk waves to them and Patton takes charge.

“Hi! There are seven of us, are you able to take us right now? We don’t want to be any bother.”

The woman smiles. “Don’t worry friend, we got you. Logan called ahead.” She waves and Logan raises a hand in acknowledgement.

“When the hell did you have time to do that?” Virgil mutters out the side of his mouth.

Logan adopts the same quiet voice. “I called while Patton went to retrieve the game and you were in the bathroom. It was a short call and it felt prudent to the workers.”

“Smart.” Nikita enters the conversation and Virgil has to keep himself from jumping. “Did you tell her we were making mugs?”

Before Logan can respond, the woman—who Virgil can only assume is Jata—continues.

“We have mugs all lined up, so you can choose your style, how big you want it, price.” Jata points towards a shelf completely lined with different mugs.

“Apparently yes,” Nikita whispers.

“Once you have your mug, you can get your paint palette. You can use as many colors as you want or as little. The paint’s your oyster.” Jata laughs, a deep and throaty noise, before continuing. “Set yourself up on a table, do your thing. Make sure you sponge off the mug before painting it, very important. But don’t soak it. Also very important. You’ll find sponges and paint brushes by the palettes by Leyla. Leyla, wave!”

The redhead that had been stocking the dogs waves without looking up.

“Great. Any questions?”

Everyone looks at each other.

“No, I think we got it,” Nikita decides.

“Great! Enjoy your time at Clay and Color!”

Everyone moves over to the mug section.

Yuna picks rather quickly, deciding on a nice short but fat mug that looks perfect for warming up hands after a day of playing in the snow. She waits though, for one other person to join her—and Nikita does, a long slim mug hanging from her index finger. Yuna offers her a hand and Nikita takes it, eyebrows raised but a smile on her face.

Ariadne watches the two of them leave and fiddles with her sleeves.

“Which one are you getting?” Logan asks her.

“I don’t know!” Ariadne smiles at him. She pulls on the end of her shirt. “Don’t want to choose wrong, you know?”

Virgil nods at her. Frankly, the number of mugs is incredibly upsetting and he’s completely terrified he’ll pick one that everybody doesn’t want to paint on.

“Oh, you can’t choose wrong!” Patton beams at her.

“That’s an understandable concern,” Logan says at the same time.

Ariadne glances between the two of them. “It is?”

Virgil wants to ask the same question.

“Patton’s of course, correct,” Logan replies. “There is no wrong choice. However, there are many choices and I would think that can feel rather overwhelming. Feeling the need to choose correctly is therefore, incredibly understandable.”

Virgil’s anxiety quiets and he blinks.

The moment they had listened to it—listened to it, and validated it without giving it power—everything felt so much easier. Which was bullshit, because it meant Virgil had to tell his therapist she was right.

Ariadne smiles at Logan and this time, it feels completely real. “You’re a very kind guy.”

Logan stares at her. “I am?”

“Yes!” Virgil isn’t able to stop his tongue from moving, words loud enough that he’s sure the whole store can hear him. “Of course you are, Logan.”

Logan glances back at him, utterly perplexed. He picks up a mug—a 16oz mug, with a brimmed top and a bulge the way a vase would have—and hands it to Virgil.

“It fits your room,” Logan says.

Virgil takes it.

Patton sits next to Virgil and Yuna. He’s pretty sure Virgil set that up on purpose; when Virgil had introduced him to Yuna, he had said ‘I think you’re really going to like her!’ and Patton told Virgil he agreed after the initial meeting.

He wishes he had been next to anyone else.

“Alright everyone!” Yuna smiles. “All set up?”

Just her voice is enough that the beast in his chest stirs. Patton’s not quite sure what it is; if he had it before getting to East Bridge, he certainly wasn’t aware of it.

It’s hot, whatever it is, and it always seems to be centered around a single person. It would’ve been easier if it just awakened around Yuna, but truthfully there’s one person it seems to roar at more than anyone else.

Logan nods his affirmative. “Everyone appears to be ready.”

Virgil nudges him with a grin. He doesn’t say anything when he does it, and Patton’s pretty sure he did it just to touch Logan. Just for contact.

The monster in his chest screams.

Patton shakes his head.

He likes Logan.

He likes Yuna.

He likes this group of friends.

He does.

He just… he’s just not used to Virgil making friends. It’s a change of dynamic and he’s getting used to it, but he likes it and he’s fine.

The monster is just about change.

It moves, curling up Patton’s body in a wave as Yuna calls out “ready, set, go!” and it takes him a second to be able to put his paintbrush to the cup.

Patton misses his high school.

It’s only been two weeks and it’s all Patton can think about.

He had thought he was ready to leave—he truly did. But every time he goes to his dorm room, he imagines his bed at home. When he eats lunch with his current friend group, he misses the spot in the hallway Virgil and he would eat in. He thinks about the jokes they would tell.

Virgil hadn’t been friends with anyone in their grade, but Patton had been. He had known every single person in their grade and had known them all since they were children, swinging on swings and daring each other to touch the creepy tree in the back of the playground. Now, they were out in the world.

Patton would never see most of them ever again.

And he’s just sitting here. Painting a mug. As if it’s all okay.

The table laughs. Patton laughs too, but he doesn’t know what’s been said or who said it. All he knows is that Virgil is laughing with them.

Everything is different.

He wanted to be a superhero.

Wants.

He wants to be a superhero.

But everything is so different from how he imagined. Some of the people here are awful people—they don’t deserve to be heroes! Heroes aren’t supposed to hurt people, not for fun, and Patton can still hear Roman and Remus stumbling after them in the dark. He can still hear Remus’ laugh.

They should’ve been disqualified on personality.

Virgil laughs again, and this time, he’s the only one. Logan is smiling though so Patton assumes Logan said something.

Patton doesn’t remember Logan smiling once during the exam.

The exam.

Patton pushes it out of his mind.

He’s being ridiculous.

He’s here now, and he wants (wanted?) to become a superhero. He’ll make better friends with the people around him.

Patton is good at people. He is.

“Alright, that's ten minutes!” Yuna announces. There’s a chorus of groans from everybody.

“This looks fucking terrible,” Nikita grumbles.

Logan peaks over at her mug. He blinks twice.

“A dog?” he guesses.

“A fox! It’s a fox!” Nikita drops her head to the table. “Not even the smart fucking boy can tell what it is!” She’s all play when she looks back up and raises an eyebrow at Logan. “Let’s see what you did, fucking smartass.”

Logan passes his mug to Virgil without a word.

“How dare—Ariadne! He’s terrible!”

Ariadne pats her friend’s arm. “There, there.”

Everyone laughs again.

Virgil hands Patton his mug. Virgil’s an artist and Patton can see his skill immediately; in that short time, Virgil has managed to create an outline of an amazing castle and shaded it with varying purple colors. It floats in the middle of the cup, utterly magnificent.

“Virgil, this looks amazing!” Patton squeals.

Immediately, Virgil goes a warm brown. Patton’s monster relaxes at the sight, and it’s easier to breathe when Virgil stutters out a response.

“No, it’s fine. I mean, it’s…”

“There’s no need to be modest, silly! It looks great!”

This is normal. This is how it’s supposed to be. Patton’s supposed to help Virgil.

Yuna peaks around to look at Virgil’s cup and gasps. “Virgil! You’re so skilled!” She takes the cup out of Patton’s hands and holds it up to the friend group.

The monster growls.

“Look at this!”

Now everyone is oohing and awing, and Virgil is smiling. He’s still fiddling with his fingers under the table, but Virgil… doesn’t seem to mind the attention. Which doesn’t make sense because Virgil only likes attention when it’s from Patton or Janus.

“My cup is going to look so much better than I thought,” Abidan says and the table laughs again.

Patton looks at his cup.

He’s painted grass. Thin little lines of green, all the same shade.

Yuna gives Virgil’s cup back to Patton. When she takes Patton’s cup, she smiles and remarks that the blades look amazing.

Patton thanks her. He’s sure to smile when he does it.

They start painting again.

Patton’s really not sure what to add.

There’s so much empty space on this cup. He could add directly to the castle, add a background, add some character. A man starting at the castle.

Maybe Patton could add a cloud.

“You’re ruining my amazing art,” Nikita tells Logan.

“I haven’t touched your fox.”

“It’s ruined. You ruined it.”

Logan sighs and Virgil snorts.

Patton really needs to paint something.

“How did everyone meet?” Ariadne asks. She’s not looking up as she says it; she holds the mug in one hand and a tiny brush in the other. When Ariadne finishes speaking, the very tip of her tongue pokes through her lips.

“Virgil and I met in kindergarten,” Patton says. The monster in his chest smiles as he says it and Patton pushes it away. “He was so cute, wearing this oversized hoodie and sitting way in the back of the classroom!”

“I can imagine,” Logan responds. There’s something on his face Patton doesn’t understand; some kind of softness that isn’t on the rest of the group's faces.

“I’m sure you were just as cute,” Yuna says. “You seem like you would be a really sweet kid.”

“Oh, he was,” Virgil says.

Patton likes the way he says it.

“I walked up to him and asked him if he wanted to draw with me,” Patton tells them. He still hasn’t painted anything on this mug. “He looked a little nervous—”

“Imagine that,” Nikita says dryly.

“—but we drew together and then just became inseparable.”

Virgil smiles at him and Patton smiles back.

He looks back down at the cup.

“I met Logan and Nikita during the initiation exam,” Virgil says. “Logan was, well. You know. Insanely impressive.”

The monster gets up, back raised like an angry cat. Patton tries to shove it away.

He hates that monster. He hates it.

“And then Nikita joined us, and she did amazing in the final task. We went out to Starlit and then just kept hanging out. I guess.”

“That’s the long and short of it,” Nikita responds. She looks like she’s going to continue—probably to mention how she met Abidan and Yuna—but Abidan cuts her off.

“How much time is left?” Abidan asks.

“30 seconds,” Yuna says. Whatever she’s adding to Patton’s cup, she’s very intent about it; she hasn’t lifted her gaze once for the entire conversation.

Patton blinks.

He hasn’t painted anything.

Hastily, Patton adds a cloud. It’s not near the castle, and it’s truly the worst thing he’s ever created, but Yuna smiles as she takes it and compliments it anyway.

Virgil passes him Logan’s cup and Patton studies it.

Logan had painted two blue swirls of colors, one near the top of the handle and the other in the middle of the cup, but stretching out towards the bottom. They looked okay enough on their own, but the purple intertwined into it was completely gorgeous. It turned the swirls into magnificent works of color.

It’s beautiful.

The monster in Patton’s chest absolutely hates it.

“All of the people that were in my exam group are in a different class,” Yuna says. “Abidan is in the room across from me and my roomie and they seemed awesome, so I obviously had to make friends with them. And then I ran into Nikita in the hallway and told her that she had the prettiest eyes in the entire world.”

“I always like it when someone recognizes greatness,” Nikita says.

Everyone laughs.

Patton laughs too.

“I’m just Nikita’s roommate,” Ariadne says. “It took us a little bit to fully warm up but now I think we’re good friends now.”

“We are.” Nikita leaves no room for argument and Ariadne smiles down at her cup.

Patton gives Logan’s cup a black rim.

The monster tells him to paint black over the spirals.

Patton paints the handle black instead.

There’s more chatter around him. This time, Patton doesn’t partake, choosing to stare down at his cup and pretend he’s going to add something else.

They pass the cups.

Yuna gasps when she sees Logan’s and immediately starts up a conversation about an artist her mom really likes that always paints the night sky. Abidan, next to Yuna, makes another remark about how good Virgil’s castle is.

The cup Virgil has just passed him—Nikita’s cup—has an incredibly ugly animal (a fox, Patton reminds himself), a couple of slightly weird looking trees Patton has to assume Logan did, and a number of absolutely adorable squirrels, chipmunks, and bunnies hopping around the forest floor.

Patton paints more grass.

Ariadne’s cup comes to him. It’s got the world’s most okay spider web, a terribly drawn spider, a second slightly better spider, and an absolutely amazing caught fly. Patton makes the edges of the web better but when he passes the cup he really can’t see a difference from when it was first given to him.

Abidan’s cup is a complete mess. It starts with a dancer, then a dance studio, but then somebody set the studio on fire. There’s a fire truck in the window and a man holding a hose beside the dancer.

Patton adds water to the hose.

Yuna’s cup is beautiful. It’s just flowers; pink and purple and blue and yellow. Clearly, whatever joy Nikita got out of making Abidan’s cup crazy did not extend to Yuna.

“Alright! We did it!” Yuna takes the cup from him. “Everyone, they look amazing!”

Nikita’s pouting. “Some of them do.”

“Your cup looks fine,” Abidan tells her.

“My fox looks like a dog!”

“You set my dancer on fire,” Abidan deadpans and the table bursts out laughing.

Patton’s mug has a bunch of birds on it and a single wonky tree, which holds an absolutely exquisite bird house he can only assume Virgil made. He kind of likes it, even if his grass isn’t very featured. It’s homey.

When they go up to turn their mugs in for firing Jata beams at all of them.

“I saw you guys passing ‘em around. Good fun, yeah?” There’s a chorus of “yeahs” in response, and Jata reaches for one of the mugs with a smile. “Logan! This looks great, honey!”

Logan’s mug has been painted completely black, making the details Patton did on the mug somewhat obsolete. Somebody has added pink and green to the spirals, and little white stars decorate the entire thing. It’s definitely one of the best mugs here.

“I am quite pleased,” Logan responds.

“Wait wait!” Yuna jumps forward. “Jata, before you take them all, would you mind taking a picture with everyone holding their mug?!”

“Of course dear! Why don’t you line up right against that wall over there.” Jata gestures to some out of the way area. It’s not completely necessary; there aren’t very many people left in the store, but they file suit anyway.

Patton’s following. He’s not sure he wants a picture to remember this occasion but he is sure that wants to be part of the group.

His left foot catches on the edge of a chair and Patton slips forward. Abidan moves to grab him, but Patton’s able to catch himself.

What he’s not able to catch is the mug.

He feels the handle’s smooth roughness go slipping from his hands. Patton lunges for it, but Abidan grabs Patton’s shoulders to steady him and doesn’t see the falling mug. It hits the floor with a loud unmistakable crashing noise and silence follows.

The little birdhouse lays in splinters. Birds are flying in every direction and the grass Patton painted spreads across the concrete floor.

“I’m sorry,” Patton says. His head is swimming. Patton’s not quite sure what’s going on his body right now; he’s almost outside of it. The only thing he is aware of is that right now, in this friend group, he’s now the only one without a mug.

“It’s completely alright, love! Are you okay?” Jata’s next to him in an instant, broom and dustpan in hand.

“Y-yeah. I’ll clean it up, I just need—”

“No no, honey, it’s okay. We have accidents all the time. Why don’t you go next to your friends and I’ll get this for you so we can take that picture.”

“I’m sorry,” Patton says again and Jata waves him away.

“Are you okay?” Virgil asks. “You can have my mug—”

“No, it’s okay.”

Virgil’s mug is easily the best out of all of the mugs. A castle stands up on a cliffside, stairs going down, clouds all around it. Two knights stand at a distance with a dark brown horse between them. Everything but the castle is a little wonky, but the castle is so prominent that mistakes fade into the background.

He can't tell what cloud is his.

“It’s alright!” Yuna steps forward. “As long as you’re okay, Patton!”

Behind him, Jata finishes sweeping his mug into a pile. She drops it in a trashcan by the register and goes to the back to stow the broomstick away.

“Yeah,” Patton forces a laugh. He’s still not quite sure what he’s feeling. “Really, it’s okay. Let’s get the picture!”

Jata takes the picture with Yuna’s phone. It’s immediately sent into a groupchat—a group chat now named ‘The Muggers.’

Patton’s smiling in the picture.

He’s successful in that, at least.

Notes:

This may have been my favorite chapter to write so far and it's not even focused on analogical I'm betraying my roots

Chapter 25: Podcasts (Mistakes)

Chapter Text

Virgil meets Logan at Cuppa Joy at 9:30am. It’s become a tradition now; they call it Thursday Coffee, and it began quickly after their initial outing here. Class with Professor Tente starts at 1pm on Thursdays and both Virgil and Logan get up before all their friends, so all it had taken was one question for it to become routine.

Logan, as usual, is already sitting at their typical spot. He hasn’t bought a coffee yet, but he’s about halfway through the stack of books he brought, so Virgil assumes he’s been here for a bit. While Logan can’t read at his normal pace due to the nature of flipping pages, he’s still much faster than the average person.

“Hey,” Virgil says. It’s unnecessary to announce his arrival—Logan definitely saw him when he entered the store—but he does so anyway and Logan smiles at the word.

He likes it when Logan smiles.

“Whatcha reading?”

Virgil swings himself down into his usual seat, a purple armchair that perfectly supports him. Carefully, Logan folds the corner of his book inward and places it back onto the stack Virgil assumes he hasn’t read yet. Besides it is the stack he finished while waiting; about two books high.

“It’s a fascinating description of the brain,” Logan replies. “I’ve been interested in the anatomy of it as of late and our school library has a number of different books on it. These were the ones suggested by the librarian.”

Virgil peaks over.

He remembers the conversation he had with Logan: the one and only conversation they’ve really had about his quirk.

I wonder if your quirk is not so much showing someone their deepest fear, but mind control.

Virgil looks up at him. He doesn’t say anything but his feelings are all over his face.

“It is for my own knowledge, Virgil. You did not want to explore your quirk. I will respect that.” Logan meets his eyes. “You are far more knowledgeable than me in this particular vein.”

“I am?” Virgil asks. It doesn’t feel possible to be more knowledgeable than Logan about anything.

“Of course you are.” Logan’s gaze is calm. “It’s about you.”

His eyes are unending, an immeasurable deep blue that stares deep into Virgil’s soul. He feels as if he’s standing at the beach, looking out into the rolling waves, letting the warm summer wind swoosh around you. Virgil’s entire body relaxes into the chair.

“What made you interested then?” Virgil asks, mouth is suddenly strangely dry.

Logan’s eyes flick down to his stack of books and Virgil’s heart drops almost in disappointment. He wants to keep looking at them.

“I will admit, the idea of your quirk sparked the interest but it is certainly not what maintains it,” Logan replies. He looks up. “I can stop, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No I—research what you want, L.” The nickname falls out of his mouth and Virgil feels his face get hot. “I—um— is L okay?”

He doesn’t say he’s been calling Logan that in his head for at least a week.

“Yes.” Logan blinks twice. “I’ve never…” He coughs. “I’ve never had a nickname.”

Virgil smiles. “Well, now you do!”

They order coffee. There are five baristas working and Virgil’s pleased to note that he also knows all of their names. Art takes their order and Jianna, a redhead with brown eyes and a bright smile makes both Virgil’s flat white (with an extra shot) and Logan’s black coffee.

Virgil takes out a sketchbook and a pencil case. He’s been experimenting with charcoal recently, and while it creates a mess of his hands he has found that he really enjoys the look of it.

Logan looks at his notepad with interest. “How do you keep the charcoal from smearing on the next page?” he asks.

“Oh I don’t.” Virgil flips the page. His hands are trembling slightly; he doesn’t normally show people his artwork, and while technically he’s showing Logan the smudges on the back of his page, his drawing of the picture Jata took is right below it. “I spray a fixative on it, which helps, but it still gets everywhere.”

All he can see are the mistakes of his picture. Yuna’s smile is too big, Abidan’s hair isn’t curly enough. He can’t even bear to look at Logan. There is no way to capture the light in his eyes, the sweetness in his smile, the softness of his hair.

Logan nods at the smudges on the back but his gaze travels down, studying the picture. There’s nothing readable on his face but when he looks at Virgil, Virgil glows a warm brown.

“This is amazing, Virgil. How long did this take you?”

“Um…” Virgil tries to calculate the difference between 3:17 pm and 6:35 pm and is quickly disappointed by how long it takes him. “About 3 hours.”

“That’s truly impressive.” Logan looks back at it and now Virgil can see the difference in his expression. His eyes are wider, lips pointed up slightly. “You captured everyone beautifully.”

The compliments warm Virgil up from the inside out, like drinking a hot tea on a cold winter day. He can’t stop himself from smiling, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

Virgil looks back at the drawing.

He supposes Patton's hair does look really good.

“May I see another?” Logan asks.

For a moment, Virgil doesn’t know the answer. His drawings have always been his; even Patton had only ever seen a very select few, and Virgil had picked them out ahead of time. But his initial instinct doesn’t have any of the normal sensation behind it and when Virgil looks closer, he finds that it’s only habit leading him to say no.

There’s none of the anxiety. Virgil knows that Logan is going to be respectful and perhaps most importantly, he knows that Logan will accept a no.

“Yeah,” Virgil says. He licks his lips. “Okay.”

Logan drags his gaze away from the drawing. “It is perfectly okay if it makes you uncomfortable. I will greatly enjoy looking at your art but I would hate to do anything to upset you.”

Virgil’s heart skips a beat.

“You big sap,” Virgil teases. He swallows. He swallows again. “Nah it’s okay. I don’t mind.” He flips the page again.

It’s a very detailed drawing of flowers growing from a crumbling skull. Logan fixates on it, lips turning into a smooth circle to let out a quiet “oh.”

Virgil’s toes shift. His cheeks are on fire but the look on Logan’s face is warming him up in a different way. One that leaves flutters in his stomach and a small but unwavering smile on his face.

“When did you first start drawing?” Logan asks. He doesn’t touch the paper, but his hand comes up and a single finger traces the outline of the skull.

“Since I can remember,” Virgil says. “I like to do it while listening to different political podcasts. I listened to ‘The Steps of Society’ when I made that one.”

Logan silently absorbs the information. His gaze doesn’t lift from the paper for a full five minutes and when he does finally tear his gaze away, Virgil’s pretty sure it’s only because of how much Virgil had started shifting.

“You’re remarkable,” Logan says. It doesn’t just sound like he’s talking about Virgil’s art anymore.

“Th-thank you.” Virgil places his pencil case on the table between them.

He’s not sure what to do with his body. It’s not necessarily odd to receive this many compliments all in a row—Patton’s favorite pastime was always to say as many nice things as possible about Virgil—but the intensity of it makes it feel much more real than anything Virgil has ever received before.

“Do you wanna see another?” Virgil asks. He blinks at himself. He doesn’t think he’s ever asked that before.

Logan nods and Virgil flips the page.

Immediately, Virgil debates throwing himself off a cliff. Or in front of a car. That would probably be easier than trying to find a cliff, the highway is only about a ten minute walk from campus.

“I—um—I like… to draw… people?” Virgil offers.

Logan doesn’t respond and Virgil decides the ten minute walk is too far away and he should just drown himself in his coffee.

It’s still charcoal art, but this one is a close up portrait of the boy staring at it. The drawing has Logan’s head pointed up slightly and his lips are turned in a half-smile. It had taken Virgil much longer than normal, partly because he’s still getting used to charcoal and partly because he had really wanted to capture the glow of Logan’s eyes. Those were easily the most detailed and the first thing a viewer would look at when studying the portrait.

Logan swallows. “This is… very well done.”

Virgil doesn’t know what’s happening. Logan’s not smiling but he’s blinking rather rapidly and he swallows another two more times. When Logan looks up at him, Virgil gets a full look of his face.

Logan is smiling then, a real full smile that spreads across the boy’s whole face and lights up the coffee shop. It’s the most beautiful thing Virgil has ever seen.

Then he notices that Logan’s cheeks have flushed a very light dusting of pink and Virgil’s heart trips over itself.

Immediately, Virgil knows he’s going to be painting this; he needs to fully capture that look and that requires color. Watercolor, maybe.

In whatever way he can, Virgil wants to make Logan look like that forever.

“The charcoal work is exquisite,” Logan says. His voice sounds odd, a little softer than normal. A little rougher. “You’ve made me look wonderful, Virgil.”

Virgil swallows. “You’re not hard to make look good.”

They meet eyes. Virgil’s chest is doing somersaults and he can feel a buzzing between them, an odd sort of electricity. Logan shifts in his chair so he’s facing more towards Virgil, fingers twitching as his side.

“Have you done portraits of any other of your friends?” Logan murmurs. His voice sends a tingle down Virgil’s spine and Virgil finds himself leaning forward.

“No,” Virgil admits. “Just you.”

Logan’s brows knit together. He looks back at the portrait and his gaze softens.

“If you have any old artwork that you’re no longer in want of,” Logan says, “I would be happy to take it off your hands.”

Virgil pulls the notepad back from Logan and the movement cuts through whatever tension had filled the space between the two of them. Logan shifts back to facing forward and picks up his coffee to take a sip of it.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Virgil responds.

He reaches for his flat white.

They sit in relatively comfortable silence. Logan picks up the book he had been reading before and Virgil flicks back to the clean page of his sketchbook and debates what he wants to draw. The only thing that’s coming to mind is Logan, so he doodles a random dog that’ll take him less than five minutes.

“What’s ‘The Steps of Society’ podcast about?” Logan asks. He turns the page of his book. “More specifically, what political issues do they discuss?”

Virgil makes the dog’s nose black, then erases a small circle on the upper left. “It’s about different hierarchies in society. They talk about gender and queerness, the prison system, disabilities, quirks. All kinds of things really.”

“Do they separate quirks and disabilities?” Logan closes his eyes for a very brief moment then flips the page again. It’s something he does often, when he’s learning new information and wants to make sure to keep it all in the same easy to find place.

Or so he says. Virgil’s not really sure what the hell that means.

“Yeah. They say that being quirkless is like having a disability but they think it’s important to separate the two because quirks are ingrained differently in how our society is structured. Like…” Virgil tries to remember how the podcast phrased it. “Having a powerful quirk gets you more power and having less powerful quirks gives you some power but not as much as the person with a powerful quirk. But like, once you’re able-bodied, it’s hard to be more able-bodied. I mean, they talked about how pretty privilege could technically be argued as being a part of able-bodiedness because it’s about viewing one body as better than others, but they say the concepts are still rather distinct. Kinda. Um. They say it better.”

Virgil adds a small tuft of fur. He tilts his head to the side, deciding if he wants to bother adding a shadow underneath the dog, which would be more work but definitely make this pathetic excuse for a drawing look better, or if he wants to just leave it because he’s worked on it for five minutes and hates it.

He commits to the shadow.

“Interesting.” For a moment, Virgil can’t figure out if Logan’s talking to his book or him. “Who are the podcasters?”

“Sienna Howlter and Rainer Crowe. They both have masters in political science.”

Logan flips the page. “I’d be interested to listen to an episode. Do they cite sources?”

“Not in episodes, but they have a website with time stamps and citations. I can text one if you want?”

“Yes, that would be satisfactory.”

Logan finishes his book in the next quiet moment, then closes his eyes and leans against the chair. Virgil draws beside him, giving the dog a much more detailed cat to have as a friend.

When Logan opens his eyes, Virgil asks; “What are you researching besides the brain?”

Logan takes a sip of his coffee. “I’m still investigating East Bridge and all of its nuances, although I believe I've about covered that. I’m also learning new things about astronomy; I quite enjoy physics and applying it to the world around us is fascinating. The ways quirks bend physics is also quite interesting. I’ve come up with a couple of math equations for a few, but nothing covers everything. It’s fascinating.”

“You’ve come up with a math equation? For quirks?” Virgil’s charcoal slips against the paper, utterly ruining his cat. “Is that even possible?”

“It was possible for Roman and Remus’s summoning quirk, as well as a healing quirk, a water quirk, and what would be best described as a hair lengthening quirk. I’ve yet to do much more beyond that. It’s more of a side project.”

Virgil stares. “Fucking what, Lo?! You side projected a fucking physics equation for quirks?”

Logan looks up at him for a brief moment, appears to fall into a small moment of smugness. It looks oddly good on him and it makes Virgil feel all warm and tingly.

“Yes, I did.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.” Virgil laughs. “Are you sure intelligence isn’t your quirk? I don’t think—” he cuts himself off quickly and goes completely still in his chair.

The expression on Logan’s face has gone blank. His lips point downwards, tighter than it would be if he were simply resting, and his eyes stare out, colder than any blizzard.

“Logan?” Virgil blinks. He can feel himself pulling inwards, stomach turning into knots. His whole body tightens and breaths come faster than he wants, hot and heavy against his lips. “Lo—Logan? Are you okay?”

Logan doesn’t respond immediately. Virgil’s sure he’s going to, because Logan sits back and tilts his head to the side, thinking.

Fuck. Fuck, I’m such an idiot, I’m the worst, I can’t do this, I can’t, I can’t—

“It is very often thought that if a person is quirkless, they are incapable of accomplishing what a quirked member of society is capable of,” Logan begins.

All of the blood drains out of Virgil’s face. He places his sketchpad in his lap, drawings completely forgotten and the only thing that keeps his mouth shut is that Logan doesn’t seem finished.

“I can confirm I am quirkless. My family… had my blood tested a number of different times.” Logan rubs his arms as he says it, seemingly absentmindedly but much too fast to be anything other than intentional, as if to prove there was nothing there at this very moment. “I do understand that your statement was meant to be a joke, however… I do feel that the joke… takes away from my accomplishments. I am quirkless. I consider that rather vital to who I am.”

“No, L, you’re completely right.” Virgil’s words come out so fast the mix, each syllable barely discernible from the next. “It was a stupid, stupid thing to say. I’ve only known you for a little bit, but I know how hard you work, how—how much you research, how—I know you’re amazing because you’re you, not—not because of any quirk or—or anything!”

He’s shaking, breathing rapid and uneven. It’s not the first time Virgil has ever messed up; he’s worked enough protests and attended enough clubs to have tripped over his words before, but this is a new kind of terror Virgil’s never felt before. Logan has every right to stay angry and he wonders, momentarily, if Logan’s just going to stop talking to him.

Then Logan looks at him, a sad sort of look that completely shatters Virgil. “I appreciate it. I am aware that I am more intelligent, perhaps, then the average person but that intelligence is me.”

“It is! And it’s amazing and impressive and it doesn’t need to be a quirk to be any of those things!” Virgil wants to reach out and grab Logan’s hands, but while his friend is definitely getting more used to touch, this doesn’t feel like the moment to push him. “It was a bad joke and it was wrong, and I shouldn’t have made it.”

Then Logan smiles and everything in Virgil relaxes. Not because of the smile; it’s hurt and broken and frustrated, but it’s forgiving. And most importantly, it’s very very real.

“It’s alright, Virgil,” Logan says. “Everyone makes mistakes. Thank you for listening to me.”

Logan looks so… lost. Virgil hates it. He hates that he caused it.

“Can I hug you?” Virgil asks.

Everything suddenly slows down.

Logan places the book he just finished in his finished pile on the floor. He moves slowly, getting up to his feet and dusting himself off. For a moment, Logan’s just standing there. Blinking. Swallowing. Fingers curling around each other.

“Yes, please,” Logan murmurs.

Virgil gets to his feet. The notepad barely makes a noise as it slips on the table and Virgil holds his arms out. Logan takes half a step forward, then Virgil does, and then Logan’s chest against Virgil’s. His chin comes to sit on Virgil’s shoulder and Virgil tucks himself against Logan. His hands wrap around Logan’s back, pulling the boy closer, tighter against him.

Logan relaxes, slowly, into the hold. His whole body is shaking and Virgil can feel the outline of every bone in his body. The few weeks at East Bridge have helped Logan gain some weight, but Virgil can still feel the bumps of his spine against his fingers, the bones of his ribcage against his chest.

It’s hard and rough and slightly awkward, but it’s something Virgil never wants to end. He’s warm from his toes to the top of his head, and very slowly, Virgil allows himself to sink into his friend.

They fit together.

Neither of them move for over five minutes.

It’s Logan that pulls back. His eyes are slightly wide but when Virgil looks him up and down, he nods at him. There’s nothing tight in his body, nor anything shaky in his gaze.

“Thank you,” Logan says.

Virgil nods.

“Of course.”

Chapter 26: Drag Queens and Smoke (Mind Cities to the rescue)

Chapter Text

Logan has discovered he’s not the biggest fan of drag.

It’s nothing against the art form. After about 2 hours of research Logan can say where it had originated, how, and approximately when; he has quite enjoyed learning about the deep history of revolution, present from the beginning of drag and continuing in the art form to this day. All of the information had been stored somewhere in his mind city, capable of being found at a moment's notice.

But just standing and watching someone sing, regardless of how well put together their outfit is, isn’t the most interesting activity.

Logan glances over at his group of people. Abidan is having the time of their life, swaying to the music with Nikita draped over their shoulders. Nikita is drunker than Logan has ever seen her but she’s still laughing, so Logan lets it be.

Yuna is smiling, as always. She dances with Virgil, his hand in her right and some cocktail in the other. Virgil’s smiling just as widely as Yuna is and does a little shimmy with his body that Yuna happily copies.

Patton had decided to stay home. Logan has a couple of guesses as to why and none of them are anywhere close to the excuse Virgil said Patton gave when the six of them arrived at Nikita’s room to pre-game. Based on the way Virgil looked down as he said it, Virgil didn’t fully buy it either.

Ariadne is next to him. She watches the drag queen with an air of interest, but her eyes are half-lidded and every minute or so she glances at the floor.

“Are you tired?” Logan asks.

“I’m nearly sober,” Ariadne replies. “Everything at a club is worse when you’re sober.”

Logan can’t exactly argue with that but he can’t prove it either. He’s never been drunk.

“You could buy a drink,” Logan suggests.

Her family isn’t the richest in the world, but they certainly have money. Plus, Ariadne has told them all about her work as a camp counselor over the summer. She took that job with the goal of making money for outings.

But Ariadne looks down.

Oh.

“Have you ordered a drink before?” Logan asks gently.

“No.” Ariadne plays with the bottom of the adorable pink dress she’s wearing. It shimmers in the light and each movement turns into ripples over a pond. “My friends at home would normally get it for me.”

The drag queen asks somebody where they're from. There’s a lot of cheering right after, and Logan can only assume the person responded with some kind of sex joke, especially as the queen puts her hands up to her chest.

“At my show!” the queen says, completely aghast before melting into a sly smirk. “You dirty boy. We’ll talk later.” Everyone laughs, then cheers as the next song comes on.

“Do you want to try ordering?” Logan asks.

Ariadne bites her lip. She looks up at him, meeting his eyes. Her gaze is dull with years of trying and a distinct lack of the wanted accomplishment.

The crowd bursts into merry applause and Ariadne, who is facing away from the stage and could not see the split the drag queen pulls off, does not clap.

She’s alone in doing so.

“Sometimes it’s easy,” Ariadne says. “I like… I was able to go up to my library and tell them that they messed up with this book and I needed them to fix my fees. No problems, just immediately. I was… I was able to meet you! I was even able to ask a question!” Ariadne looks back down and her hand comes up, this time fiddling with the silver chain around her neck. “But I’ve been trying to get myself to walk to the bar for half an hour now. I just can’t do it.”

Immediately, all of the odd little behaviors Ariadne has been making for the past 33 minutes gets filed away under ‘social anxiety.’

“That sounds awful,” Logan says, and he means it.

Ariadne shrugs, a small sort of motion that seems to break her apart. “Well. There’s not much I can do about it.”

“What do you want?”

Logan knows that Ariadne wants him to order for her, and he’s already decided he’s not going to. But he does think he can help.

“I normally get a strawberry daiquiri.” Ariadne looks up at him, slightly hopeful, slightly furious with herself and trying to hide both. “Also, a couple of shots.”

“Okay. Let’s go to the bar.” Logan pauses for just a moment before reaching out and offering Ariadne a hand. He swallows. “I’ll help you.”

Ariadne slips her small hand into his and every nerve in his body is alight. The music dies away, the cheers vanish and even Ariadne fades to nothing. The only stimuli Logan can recognize is a hand in his, touching. Prodding. Hurting.

He closes his eyes. Breaths twice. Swallows twice. Blinks once.

The music comes back first. Then the cheers, then Ariadne, who looks mildly confused but not concerned which at least means Logan covered himself well enough. Finally, the hand fades slightly.

“Let’s go,” Logan says. His voice is even and if Logan didn’t know his heart was going a mile a minute, he’d think he was fine. Ariadne certainly does; she allows him to pull her forward, toward the bar and away from her friends.

Yuna looks up as they go, a question in her eyes. Logan makes a motion as if he’s drinking and her face clears up. She waves them away and goes back to dancing with Virgil.

They’re about at the bar when Logan pauses.

“Logan?” Ariadne asks. “You okay?”

He blinks twice.

The man sitting at the bar is dressed in all black, with a long-sleeve turtleneck, and long pants. On its own the outfit is slightly odd but that’s not why he caught Logan’s attention. No, what’s truly strange is the material.

That’s a modacrylic and wool blend. Thick, durable and incredibly hot. It’s strange to wear it in early fall, when the leaves have only just taken on a light yellowish color; it’s weirder still to wear it to a crowded club with sweat dripping off the dancers and alcoholic drinks warming people up from the inside.

Logan’s gaze flicks around the room.

Another five. There are another six men wearing that same outfit.

Wearing modacrylic and wool blend.

Logan closes his eyes and enters his city.

He runs down to Tulip st. It’s one of the only streets where all the trash is consistently kept in bins instead of in bags by the side of the road. Logan walks right past the cans and enters a brick tenement building. He takes the steep creaking stairs two at a time and steps off at the 3rd floor; Logan knocks on room 301 out of instinct, but opens the door without waiting for anyone to answer.

On the table is a box that Logan rummages through.

Newspaper headlines are in there, sure, but mainly the box is full of conversations Logan had with this room's occupant. The voices play around him as he picks up a transcript, and are abruptly cut off when he throws it away.

“Oh, most villains don’t bother to cause carnage for carnage sake! The big ones have a message—” The paper falls on the floor, then vanishes. It’ll go back to the box when Logan is finished looking through it.

“You could barely call that an attack!” Rumbling laughter. “We call them villains because they fit the definition. The higher ups call it in-fighting.”

That conversation too is cut off before it can continue.

“Everything, the way it’s done, it’s simply illogical!” That’s his voice.

“Of course it’s logical,” the occupant responds. “You simply care about everyone. They care about themselves. So what appears illogical from your framework is very logical to them. And what appears logical to you would be a moronic thing for them to do.”

That paper hits the floor as well.

Logan finds the one he’s looking for.

“Oh, you won’t ever see Smoke here. He prefers to terrorize the middle and upper class.”

“Why?” Logan must've been 16 when they were having this conversation. His voice is higher than he likes it and absentmindedly, Logan’s hand comes up to his chest.

It’s flat, just as he expects it.

“I don’t know. I’m not some villain whisperer.”

“You worked with them for years.”

“Now I’m retired. And I would never have worked with the likes of Smoke. Killing citizens for fun is abhorrent. Death for a cause, that I saw as necessary.”

16-year-old Logan makes a noise.

“I know you don’t agree. I don’t know if I agree either anymore.” The occupant sighs. “Why do you think Smoke concentrates in the upper levels?”

“You say he doesn’t fight for a cause.”

“No sir.”

“Then I would assume he is middle or upper class. He just terrorizes what’s around him.”

“That would be my guess too. He doesn’t do it alone. That’s odd for someone like Smoke; normally they want to do all the hurting themselves. But I think he gets off on just watching people die.”

“What do the others do?”

“Not sure.” The occupant sighs. “They wear fire-proof clothing and wait.”

Logan opens his eyes.

Ariadne waits for him to answer her question. She doesn’t look impatient with him, which suggests it hasn’t been a very long time since Logan entered his city.

The man shifts in his seat. Drinkless.

The club door is closed.

He could be wrong.

He always could be wrong.

“We need to get back to the group,” Logan says. His brain moves at a mile a minute. “Yuna can teleport us out and we can call the superhero hotline and report Smoke.”

“What are you talking about?” Ariadne doesn’t sound scared, but her voice trembles. “Logan what—”

The club shakes, this time out of rhythm with the music. The crowd largely ignores it but the bartender looks up.

The man dressed in fire-resistant cloth smiles.

This time, when Logan grabs her hand, it’s easy. He drags Ariadne back to their friends. Nikita is still on Abidan, but Virgil has joined them.

Yuna is missing.

Where?

Smoke?

No. He hasn’t made his move yet.

Bar?

No, Logan was just there.

Bathroom?

Fuck.

“Logan!” Ariadne pulls her hand out of his. Her eyes are wide, and her pets down her arms to try and calm down. “Talk to me! What do you mean, smoke? Is there a fire?”

Logan grits his teeth.

The club door is closed. If he were Smoke, he would have a man guarding there, somebody who was good at keeping it shut and would be ready to kill anyone who tried to escape but Logan can’t tell how close the start of the attack is.

Is the man there now?

“I—Logan? Guys!” Ariadne waves the group over. They come over smiling but it slowly melds into confusion.

“Hey! You ‘kay?” Nikita still hangs off Abidan. Still completely drunk. “You look a little—a little funny.” She hiccups, then starts laughing.

Virgil is quiet, just watching him.

Logan doesn’t have time to explain his thought process. For a moment, he wonders if he should anyway. They’re not going to believe him without some kind of proof—

But Virgil did.

Actually, Logan can think of multiple times Virgil just took ridiculous things at his word because he believed that Logan wasn’t cruel enough to make them up, or stupid enough to be wrong.

“Smoke is about to attack this club. I don’t know if he's already barricaded the door. Yuna is in the bathroom so we can’t teleport out.” Logan words come out fast enough to blend together.

The club shakes again, off rhythm to the music.

“Abidan, take Nikita and go to the bathroom to get Yuna. You can teleport out and call the superhero hotline.”

Everybody stares at him.

Abidan’s shaking, but they lean down and jump Nikita up their back, so she’s being carried instead of just leaning on them. Nikita is both drunk enough and aware enough that she lets it happen, but a single finger comes out to jab Logan in the face.

“Safe,” she growls.

Logan blinks twice. “Yes?”

“Good.”

The two of them walk off, about as quickly as Abidan can go without dropping Nikita.

Ariadne wraps her arms around herself. She keeps looking around the club, head snapping back and forth as if she’ll summon Smoke forward herself.

“Virgil.” Logan points out one of the men; he stands on the balcony above them, watching the floor with a disinterested look. “Any man who’s wearing that precise outfit—black block made out of wool and modacrylic—incapacitate them. Ariadne, if you can find a fire alarm, have a bug pull it but stay with Virgil.”

Then Logan moves.

Ariadne shouts after him, her voice cutting through the cheers, but Logan ignores her. He fights his way through the crowd, ducking and shoving when necessary. Finally, Logan makes it to the stage and jumps right onto it, palms slapping the rough wood.

The drag queen’s singing stutters to a stop. “Now, I know I’m good but the meet and greet is after the show!” She steps back from him as the crowd laughs. “Security, do you want to help this young man out?”

Logan walks right up to her and snatches the microphone out of her hands.

“What are you doing?” she hisses. Her eyes dart to the crowd, searching for security.

They’re not coming. Another piece of evidence to add to the ever-growing list.

“Everyone! We have just received word that the supervillain ‘Smoke’ is in the area.” Logan’s not particularly interested in a drunken mad dash towards the door, especially since he can’t be sure that’s a safe route. “Please stick to your groups and be prepared to fight when necessary. Thank you.”

The club shakes again.

And again.

This time, everyone looks around.

The door explodes open in a fiery blast and scorching heat rushes over Logan in a never-ending wave. A person standing too close to the door screams as their arm is ripped from their body. It arcs through the air and hits some person in the crowd with a loud wet thud. Blood spatters against the ground, but the metallic scent of iron isn’t enough to overpower the beginning smells of ash.

Smoke steps through the door.

Skin tight black pants that shimmer in the light of leftover explosion greets the crowd as Smoke swaggers forward. It leads into a black long sleeve shirt, also skintight, that crawls right up to the start of his mask. The mask is a simple black as well; it’s the red coat that truly creates his look. Billowing down his knees, it glows with some kind of energy that suggests his whole outfit has been modified by a cloth transducer: a quirk that allows the person to input different properties into cloth.

If Logan were to guess, fire-resistance has been added as well. Smoke’s quirk isn’t fire, and he’s not fire-proof; if he’s not careful, the explosions he creates will burn him just as readily as it’ll burn anyone else.

Logan drops the microphone.

“Hello hello!” Smoke steps forward, voice cheerful and booming. “Expecting me?”

There’s a moment of silence.

Then it’s chaos.

Screams pierce the air and half the crowd runs for the emergency exit. One man makes it out, and is promptly shot in the head with a bang that makes Logan flinch.

It takes another six bodies before people abandon the exit.

A quarter duck under tables, jump behind the bar, or just fall to the ground. Whatever quirk they have covers them like a blanket, whether it be useful or not. The drag queen next to him dives to the floor, one hand over her beautiful wig and the other around her stomach.

The last quarter rush Smoke.

Logan searches the crowd, desperate, but Virgil must’ve moved from where he last left them. Ariadne too is missing and Logan can only hope they're still together.

Two gunshots are heard, and the crowd screams grow louder. Logan looks around wildly and finds the henchman he pointed out to Virgil. A barrel of a gun greets him. He’s about to hit the floor when the henchmen screams and ducks his head. The gun is pointed up and the man fires at nothing twice before dropping the gun and curling into a ball.

He’s dropped the gun.

Logan quietly thanks Virgil and moves.

He jumps off the stage and begins his fight through the crowd. A shoulder smashes into his side and knocks Logan to the floor. Above him, someone trips and their foot slams into his ribcage. Logan goes to get up, and somebody shoves him down.

Fuck!

There’s another explosion. People are screaming and the club, a small building made of old wood and years of spilled alcohol, lights up like a tinderbox.

His breathing gets heavier as the air grows hotter. He can taste ash in his mouth.

Logan wonders if Virgil is close to the fire. He wonders if he’s okay.

Again, Logan tries to stand. His calf is stepped on as he does so and it sends him tumbling back to the floor immediately. He curses as he falls and wrenches his foot away, ready to try again.

A pair of hands yank him to his feet. When Logans up, he finds himself face to face with Yuna. It’s the first time he’s seen anything less than a smile on her face; her lips are set in a line, green eyes flickering with the light of the fire.

“Nikita and Abidan are out,” Yuna says. “I can’t find Virgil and Ariadne.”

Logan swallows hard at the words. Good news. Bad news. He still doesn’t know if Virgil’s okay.

Smoke’s laughing pierces through the screaming and the crackling of the fire. A scream shatters through the air, cut off midcry. It’s female.

Logan’s thankful it’s not Virgil.

“I need to get there!” Logan points to the balcony corner. The man's screams can’t be heard over the sounds of everything else, but Logan is sure Virgil’s keeping a tight grip on the man’s mind. “Teleport me!”

Yuna grabs his hand, grip firm, and they disappear without a word.

It’s almost worse from above. Logan is able to see everything: bodies sprawled on the floor, fire creeping up the walls. Smoke billows all around them, much thicker above and Logan coughs. He raises his shirt to cover his mouth and noise but can’t stop his eyes from burning.

Smoke grabs a person’s face in one hand. The explosion that follows removes it, and the person drops headless to the ground. Fire creeps closer to the bar and Logan’s sure that once it hits the club is going to explode.

He still can’t find Virgil.

Smoke’s henchman is on the ground, curled up in the corner. He screams at an unknowable fear, punches an unknowable thing. Logan grabs his dropped gun and Yuna raides the man for extra bullets.

Yuna coughs too. She kicks off her green high heels and shouts something at him. Logan can’t hear whatever it is that she says, so he gestures for the stage.

She teleports them there.

Shockingly, the stage is still largely empty. Another explosion rocks the club and while the smell of ash is unbearable, it’s nothing compared to the metallic stench, finally co-partner with the smoke. Yuna coughs again and starts to lift her dress up to cover her mouth. She quickly figures out her dress is too short and puts it back down. Green eyes meet his, startling bright now that the white of her eyes have gone a bright painful pink.

Logan’s sure his eyes look the same. He drops her gaze, scanning the crowd again. Hands curl tight around the base of the gun.

Logan left Virgil behind. He needed to let the crowd know, he wanted them to have those few extra seconds. It was the logical decision.

He hates that he made it.

“Virgil!” Logan screams. His eyes burn, and it’s both with smoke and something else.

Yuna puts a hand on his shoulder and brings her lips to his ear. “Do you know how to use a gun?”

Logan blinks.

The question pulls him back. For a moment, he’s briefly upset he screamed out. Then he nods.

He brings the gun up in his right hand and steadies it with his left. Yuna plugs her ears beside him.

A short breath. One that leaves a burning trail of ash down his throat.

Smoke has his hand on a table and is about to explode it. The burst will send the table into the crowd at the center, knocking a few out and, since it’ll likely be on fire, setting them ablaze.

Logan fires.

The bullet soars right past Smoke and through the hole in the club’s wall, where the door used to be. One of Smoke’s men falls dead.

Logan fires again.

The crack of the gun has people dropping to the floor.

Another henchmen down. There’s one more guarding the entrance.

Bang!

That man falls too.

Yuna picks up the microphone and starts yelling at people to leave. The movement is unsteady at first, then it’s all at once. Waves of people rush towards the burning exit, some coughing, some gripping each other. A couple fall in the chaos and don’t get back up.

Smoke explodes as people pass him but without his backup he’s not able to stop the stream of people. Logan turns away from him, searching desperately.

Then—

Despite the chaos and smoke around him, Logan can suddenly breathe.

Virgil is in the corner, face hard and eyes glowing purple. Soot traces up his shirt and his hand is a deep reddish-brown color, clearly recently burned. Ariadne is beside him, dress torn and high heels abandoned, an army of spiders and ants fending off anyone who gets too close.

“Yuna!” Logan gestures.

Yuna’s eyes light up. She snatches up Logan's arm and is about to teleport when a second hand grabs her as well.

Smoke tilts his head. “Boom!”

Logan rips her out of his grasp just in time, but the force of the explosion sends Yuna flying. She hits the floor with a sickening crack, arm black and twisted unnaturally. Blood streaks down her face and she doesn’t stir.

Had her arm remained in Smoke’s grasp, Logan is sure it would’ve ripped off.

Logan steps between them, breath coming fast. His lungs burn with each gasp and his head spins, but Logan forces himself to stay calm. He raises the gun. “Back away.”

Smoke laughs, a high sort of sound that makes Logan’s skin crawl. The fire roars louder, inching closer and closer to the bar.

Logan grits his teeth. He fires.

The crack is deafening and the answering explosion nearly throws Logan down on top of Yuna. Heat rushes in his face, melting away the top layer of skin and Logan uses the bright pain to steady himself.

Guns won’t work then. Not the conventional way.

Logan slides into a fighting stance.

Smoke laughs again. He reaches a hand out for Logan’s face.

Logan blocks.

The explosion sounds off next to his ear. The cracking fire and neverending screaming vanish on his right side, replaced with a loud unending ringing. Logan flinches at the pain but pulls Smoke's skin tight sleeve as far out as he can. There’s just enough room for Logan to stick the barrel in and fire.

The bullet shoots out of the cloth, ripping a small hole in the outfit. It explodes before it hits Smoke, but the hole remains.

Smoke laughs. The sound is odd from only one ear and it mixes with the ringing. “What the hell was that?”

Logan’s head is pounding. It would make sense to step back, but Yuna’s right behind him. He doesn’t want to bring Smoke near her.

Smoke reaches out for his face again. Lazy. He’s too used to winning.

Logan blocks to the other side and blows his other eardrum out. Again, he sticks the barrel down Smoke’s sleeve and blows a little hole in his outfit. Then he throws the gun aside, breathing heavy and painful.

Blood drips down either side of his face. He can’t feel his shoulders, but he’s sure they’re both bright red, perhaps bubbling with blisters.

Smoke says something. Logan doesn’t know what it is.

He needs to get Smoke closer to the fire.

He can’t leave Yuna alone with him.

So, in the only move Logan thinks he can make, he tackles Smoke off the stage and to the ground.

Instantly, Logan leaps off of him. Smoke’s body becomes one large explosion and Logan manages to miss it by an inch. He can feel the heat in the air, sweat mixing with the blood pouring down his face. The explosion hurts but it’s good for something—the tip of the chair leg beside them, broken off from the chair at some point during the chaos, is set ablaze.

Logan grabs it and brings the point down onto the revealed spot of skin he created.

Smoke writes. He starts to explode again but the process involves raising his body temperature and the fire against his skin burns brighter and quicker. Desperately, Smoke rips his arm from the leg, but Logan easily follows.

He reaches down with one hand. There’s ample time to block or shove Logan’s hand away but the concept of not being able to use his quirk has rendered Smoke defenseless. He does nothing to stop him as Logan rips his mask away.

He’s about as old as Logan expected. Early thirties, with dirty blonde hair and flicking brown eyes. His cheeks are pink with exertion and heat and every breath he takes comes in tiny little gasps.

Smoke begins coughing, heavy deep coughs that are mirrored in all the remaining victims. Logan raises the chair leg and before Smoke can begin to react, brings it down, hard on the side of Smoke’s head.

The villain falls unconscious.

Fire flickers closer to the bar. Logan glances back to where Virgil and Ariadne were and is glad to find the corner vacated. He can only assume they made a run for it and a brief, terrifying scan of the bodies on the floor prove they’re not among them.

The ringing is all-consuming as Logan stumbles his way over to Yuna. He picks her up and places her on his back, a slow tedious process rendered slower by the coughing wracking his frame. Her head rubs painfully against his shoulder, popping a blister.

Logan walks.

Each step is like climbing a mountain. The only thing that keeps him moving is the girl on the back and the fire creeping closer and closer to the bar. The remaining henchmen are gone; Logan has to assume it was Virgil who dealt with them because he can’t imagine they would just leave their unconscious boss behind. Not when the emergency exit is still an option.

Logan reaches the door. He glances behind him at Smoke’s unmoving body and the fire creeping for it.

He’s still wearing a largely fire-resistant cloth. It’s possible, even likely he’ll survive.

It’s also possible he won’t.

Logan walks through the door. A crowd of people greet him; firefighters, police officers, people who had survived the bar and the hero Spider. Spider spots him and rushes over. She says something he can’t hear, then frowns when he doesn’t respond, confused.

“I suggest moving away from the club,” Logan says. He keeps walking.

The fire finally hits the bar and all at once, the club catches alight. Heat sparks over them and it hurts but it’s far enough away that Logan knows he’s safe. That Yuna’s safe.

The ringing won’t stop.

“Virgil!” Logan screams it. He doesn’t know how loud it is, only that people react to it. “Virgil!”

Gentle hands touch the side of his shoulder. Logan spins and lets out some sort of noise that he can’t hear but that those gentle hazel eyes soften at.

He’s safe. Virgil’s safe.

Behind him, Ariadne waves. Safe as well.

Virgil says something.

“I can’t hear you,” Logan responds.

Virgil says the same thing, likely louder.

“Smoke ruptured both my eardrums,” Logan says. “I can’t hear anything.”

Something dark enters Virgil’s face. He motions for Logan to set Yuna down.

Logan pauses for a moment. He wonders, briefly, if it would be smarter to wait until the medics can attend to her so he can place her right on the stretcher. Logan doesn’t know exactly what is damaged but she hit her head, so movement could hurt her more.

Virgil motions again.

So Logan puts Yuna down.

Chapter 27: Hospitals (Family)

Chapter Text

“Abidan! Here!” Nikita’s voice floats above the crowd and Virgil looks up.

Ariadne waves at the two of them and both Nikita and Abidan run over. They look remarkably clean compared to those around them; Nikita has ash on one side of her face and Abidan has a streak down their white shirt but otherwise they seem fine.

A weight removes itself from Virgil’s chest. He had known, logically, that if Yuna was with Logan she would’ve been able to get them out.

It’s different than actually knowing, though.

Nikita drops to her knees beside the four of them. “Earth spinning. I am still so fucking drunk.”

Abidan comes to a stop above them. Hands go over their mouth and they let out a quiet noise.

Virgil doesn’t have to wonder why.

He and Ariadne look the best. Virgil has a burn down one arm and a worse one on his hand when a burning piece of wood flew into him. He’s completely covered in soot and every breath he takes sounds like a dying old man.

Ariadne breaths the same. Part of her hair is ash; it had caught on fire and had been hastily stamped out by both Ariadne and Virgil, but the side of her face is deep red anyway. She too is covered in soot, and her eyes are storming as she looks out at the bar.

To say Logan is worse is an understatement. The shoulders to his shirt have been burned away and the skin underneath it is bubbling with blisters and heat. Blood runs down from both ears and the side of his face is a hot pink color that almost looks like blush, if it didn’t arch down his neck. Parts of his outfit are rumpled in ways that suggest he’s been hit and his breathing is both hoarse with the same soot Virgil’s breathing out and something else. The very bottom of his pants leg has been ripped off and used as bandages for Yuna.

Yuna is obviously the worst.

She’s a limp doll, with one ash-black arm twisted in ways no arm should ever bend and blood flowing freely down her face. Logan is bent over her. He hasn’t stopped fussing since putting her down; it reminds Virgil of the way Logan bent over Patton in the initiation evan.

He really is such a good person.

Virgil’s eyes are suddenly full of tears. He remembers the panic of the crowd, the heat as the door blasted open. He remembers using his quirk on whatever man in black he had seen, desperately praying it was a wool and modacrylic blend.

The police sirens echo around him. They bounce around his skull but it’s an odd sound. Like they’re not fully connected to everything around him.

“Will she be okay?” Abidan whispers.

Without missing a beat, everyone turns and looks at Logan.

Logan, who had waved when they arrived, is back to wrapping Yuna’s head in his torn-off pants leg and doesn’t notice everybody looking at him immediately. When he does, he gestures to his ears.

Right.

Virgil points at Yuna. He gives a thumbs up, changes it to a thumbs down and furrows his brows.

Then he pretends he can breathe while he waits for Logan’s answer.

“With medical attention, she’ll be okay,” Logan says. Without his own hearing to help balance everything out, his voice is quieter than normal. “We just need a doctor.”

The task seems impossible. Virgil has no idea how many people were in that club, but everyone here needed some kind of medical care; at least half needed to get to the hospital. Five ambulances had already roared past him and another four were still here picking up people but Virgil hadn’t seen a single EMT make it close enough for him to grab.

“Doctor. Right.” Nikita gets back to her feet. She wavers, about to fall, but catches herself and screams. “My friend is dying! I need a medic!”

Virgil simultaneously wants to pat Nikita on the back and sink into the ground.

“Medic! Medic! Medic! Medic! Medic! Medic!” Nikita chants, getting louder with each call. “Medic! Medic! Oh hello.”

A woman has stepped up to her. Brown hair is pulled back in a bun, and grey eyes peer out from the soot covering the rest of her. “My name is Sarah Little. Who needs help?”

Nikita points at Yuna.

The medic drops to her knees beside Yuna. Logan glances up at her, looks her up and down, then sits back.

“You look like you need medical attention too,” Sarah tells him.
“I can’t hear you,” Logan responds. “Both my eardrums have been ruptured.”

A dark sort of feeling washes over Virgil. One that glances towards the burning club and hopes Smoke is stuck in there. Burning.

Sarah nods. She leans over Yuna, checking her pulse and doing a number of other different things Virgil can’t begin to understand. Without warning, Sarah snaps Yuna’s arm in a way that makes Virgil want to throw up, but twists it back in a normal direction.

“I’m going to get her on a stretcher and we’ll put her in that ambulance over there,” Sarah gestures. “You four will have to figure out your own way to the hospital.” Nikita, Abidan, Ariadne, and Virgil all nod and Sarah turns to Logan. “You can’t hear me,” Sarah mutters. “You.” She points. “Ambulance.” She points again. “With her.” She points rapidly between the two of them, then at the ambulance again.

“Understood,” Logan responds.

It’s immediately very clear that Sarah is good at what she does. She waves over the ambulance and sets up Yuna on the stretcher within a minute. Once both Yuna and Logan are situated and the ambulance door has shut behind them, Sarah gives the rest of them a number of complicated directions on how to get to Bridgewater hospital and abandons them for a group of girls with varying numbers of burns.

Every step away from the club lets Virgil breathe a little more. The heat of the fire dies as they round a corner and with it, some of the lingering anxiety that Smoke might just walk out of there and continue his assault.

He can still smell the smoke.

Virgil wonders when that will go away.

They walk in silence, but Nikita leans on Ariadne for support and Abidan keeps brushing against Virgil, as if to prove he’s okay. Virgil himself lets his shoulder rub against Nikita every now and then, using that as his own form of proof.

“This fucking sucks,” Nikita says.

Nobody contradicts her.

“We’re okay,” Ariadne offers. She smiles as she says it, but it’s a sad kind of smile. All love and no joy.

Abidan looks up towards the sky and their hands clench in fists. “I hope Yuna’s okay.”

“Logan said she would be,” Ariadne replies. “I believe him.”

“Genius boy,” Nikita mumbles and everyone laughs.

It’s a painful kind of laugh, one that hurts Virgil’s chest and brings tears to his eyes. The walk is made easier because of it yet each stride feels longer with each sound he makes.

He wishes Logan were here.

It had been painful to be apart from him during the attack. Virgil had spent the entire time searching for brown hair and dark blue eyes and come up with nothing but fire and smoke. It had taken three pulls from Ariadne to pull him out of the club without Logan and even though it was the right decision, he still kind of regrets it.

“How did he know?” Abidan asks Ariadne. “How did he know Smoke was coming?”

Virgil glances over.

“I don’t know. We just… we went to the bar to get a drink and he just froze. Then he went running back to you guys.”

They go back to silence.

“What happened to you two?” Virgil asks. His voice sounds foreign to him, almost like he’s hearing someone else say it. “Did Yuna get you out?”

“We found her before anything happened,” Nikita says. Her voice is still loud with alcohol. “She teleported us out, the door exploded, then she just teleported back in.”

They round a corner.

“I called the superhero hotline right before the door exploded,” Abidan says. “Then we waited. Somebody shot Smoke’s henchmen, the ones guarding the entrance and people came running out of the club. We looked for you but… you know, obviously we found you later.”

“I found them,” Nikita retorts. There’s no real power behind her words but everyone laughs anyway.

“What about you?” Abidan says. “What happened in there?”

Virgil can suddenly feel it. The heat on his skin, the shortness of breath. The henchmen struggling under the force of his quirk. Screaming. The never-ending screaming.

“Logan made an announcement,” Ariadne says. Her eyes fade slightly as she says it and she balls up the remnants of her dress. “And then the doors exploded and… people were getting hurt. Virgil and I held on to make sure we didn’t lose each other and we just kinda… hid.” She laughs, dry and painful. “It wasn’t very heroic.”

Virgil watches the ground.

He doesn’t mention the four henchmen he sent screaming to the floor. For one, Virgil’s not quite sure he’s proud of it yet. It certainly saved some people—those gunshots had faded rather quickly after Virgil had taken them out—but he remembers the way his parents looked at him when he manifested. He knows how people talk about it: a quirk made for a villain.

Patton talks like that sometimes.

Virgil wonders if Patton would be against him using his quirk in that circumstance.

They arrive at the hospital.

Abidan takes the lead. Normally Nikita would do the talking but Nikita’s trying to hide how very drunk she is and stumbling up to the hospital secretaries is not the best way to make an impression.

“Hi. Um. My name is Abidan Zeidman. This is Nikita Longmoon, Virgil Casey, and Ariadne… um—”

“Zikos,” Ariadne says.

“Ariadne Zikos,” Abidan finishes. “We’re here for Yuna Heartloft and Logan Berry.” Their voice wavers but they throw their shoulders back. “They were in the attack at Dancing Jack and just came here in an ambulance.”

The secretary tapes something. “Alright kids. I assume none of you are family?”

Abidan blinks. “N-no.”

“Are any of you healthcare proxies? That means you’re authorized to make decisions for the patients you’re looking for.”

“No. But we were with them and we saw them get into the ambulance.” Abidan grabs the countertop. “We just want to make sure they’re alright, you know?”

The secretary looks at them sadly. “I understand kid but…”

Virgil hadn’t even considered the fact that he wouldn’t be allowed to know what was going on. His heart beats a mile a minute and he rubs his hands together frantically. When Virgil checks his pocket for his fidget cube, he finds it lost, probably to the fire.

He can’t do this. He needs to know they’re okay. He needs, he needs, he can’t—

“Virgil!” The voice is wrong. Virgil can’t quite figure out why. “Virgil, breathe!”

Virgil can’t. Virgil can’t breathe, he can’t… his fingers are numb, and shaking and he can’t think. He needs to know what’s going on, he needs to know if Yuna’s okay, if Logan’s being treated.

“Is he okay?” The secretary’s voice floats over them and one of his friends waves her off. He can feel himself be moved off to the side and placed in some chair but he’s not aware enough to know what’s happening.

“It’s alright, Virgil.” That voice is softer than the other one. Still wrong. The voice talking should be deeper, should be older, should be… Janus.

The word sends a tear down Virgil’s cheek.

Janus.

“What do you need?”

“I want my Dad. Please.” Virgil's voice breaks.

“Okay, that’s okay, I’m going to call him. I’ll, um, need your phone password. Do you know it?”

Virgil can’t think. He doesn’t know it. He doesn’t know anything.

“2861,” Virgil says.

He wonders if he’s right.

“Alright, I’m calling now.”

He can hear the ringing of the phone as it’s placed up against his ear. It helps to center him back in his body but his hands still don’t truly feel like his own.

It rings once.

“Just call Logan. He might know what to hell to do.” Nikita’s voice floats above his head, far away.

“He can’t hear anything,” Abidan mumbles. So quiet.

“He’ll be able to feel buzzing. Then we can text him. Fuck, I am going to throw up.”

“Please don’t.”

It rings again.

“Hello?” Janus’s tired voice answers and tears slide down Virgil’s face. He calls Janus a lot—about once every other day—but it’s still so different from being at home with him.

He misses living with his Dad.

“Dad?” His voice cracks and Virgil curls in on himself. “Dad? I want you.”

“I’m here.” Janus has already sounded forcibly calm when first picking up the phone; now, he could’ve just come from the spa. “Are you okay?”

“N-no. I can’t breathe.”

“Alright. I’m going to have you breathe in for five and then out for five. Are you ready?”

“Y-yes.”

“In, two three four five. Out, two three four five.”

Virgil breathes. He can feel his fingers again.

“In, two three four five. Out, two three four five.”

It’s odd coming back to his body. Ariadne is crouched in front of him, holding the phone up to his ear. She’s watching him, lips pursed but eyes soft and when Virgil meets her gaze, she smiles.

“In, two three four five. Out, two three four five.”

He’s been placed on the closest chair available. Abidan stands above him, with a phone against their ear. They bite the nails on one hand and keep glancing over at the secretary.

“In, two three four five. Out, two three four five.”

Nikita has clearly decided being drunk is no excuse to not yell at someone, because she is still at the secretary, holding up a line of soot-covered people to try and get any information out of her. Virgil’s pretty sure she’s fighting a losing battle.

“Dad, it was awful,” Virgil whispers. “It was so awful.”

“What was? What happened?”

“We were at a club and Smoke attacked and now they won’t let me see my friends at the hospital because we’re not family.”

“I—what?” Janus interrupts himself. “Are you okay?”

“They won’t let me see Logan! Or Yuna! And they were hurt Dad, they were hurt so badly.” Virgil remembers Logan’s shoulders and the blood streaming down either side of his face. He remembers Yuna’s crumpled form and her completely black arm. “I want to see them.”

“Okay. Okay, I’m getting the picture here. Are you okay? Should you check yourself into the hospital?”

Virgil glances down at the burns on his arm. There’s one blister on his hand but the rest of it looks to be 1st degree. “I’m fine. I have a burn but it’s—I can deal with it later. It’s a minor one.”

Janus heaves a sigh but doesn’t argue. “Have any of you contacted your friends’ families?”

Virgil blinks. “I don’t know their numbers.”

“The hospital isn’t gonna tell you anything, it’ll violate HIPAA. If you want to know anything, you’ll have to reach their families.”

Virgil repeats that to Ariadne and takes the phone from her hand. She turns to talk to Abidan, remaining on her knees.

“Virgil,” Janus begins “I need to know—”

“You can hear?!”

Virgil looks up, his father’s words forgotten in a moment of pure yearning. It’s a different kind of need than when he had wanted his Dad but no less strong. “Logan?”

Abidan kneels beside the two of them and presses the speaker phone button. They wave Nikita over.

Nikita gives the secretary one last glare and calls out “we’re not finished” before skipping her way over and not so dainty dropping to the floor in a drunken heap.

“There was a healer waiting by the ambulance entrance.” Logan begins. “I believe they were attempting to keep the number of non-life-threatening medical procedures to a minimum because they healed both my ears and treated my burns enough that they were no longer 3rd degree. I’m currently outside the hospital. I must’ve just missed you.”

His voice sounds odd but Virgil assumes it must be due to the attack.

“What happened to Yuna?” Abidan asks. Their voice is high, wavering. “Is she okay?”

“The ambulance treated her a little bit but they’re worried about her head, neck and spine. The best case scenario is likely a severe concussion, which can be treated by a healer with minimal effort. The worst case scenario is a brain bleed. She’ll need surgery and may lose brain tissue if that’s the case.”

Everyone is quiet.

“What do you think it is?” Nikita asks softly. Her eyes are down, hands fidgeting with air.

Virgil holds his breath.

“I am unsure. The doctors have likely taken her for scanning by now, especially given the nature of a brain bleed. If it is one, the longer they take, the more brain cells lost. Has the hospital called Yuna’s family? Her mother should be listed as her emergency contact.”

“We don’t know,” Nikita glowers. “Miss BITCH OVER HERE won’t tell us anything!”

The secretary doesn’t spare her a glance.

“Well, that would violate HIPAA.”

Janus makes a quiet affirming noise in Virgil’s ear. Virgil jumps at the noise; he had forgotten his father was still on the line, likely able to hear everything Logan’s saying.

“HIPAA shmickpa,” Nikita grumbles. “I want to know if my girl is okay!”

“I know,” Logan says softly. “As do I.”

Silence. One that cradles each of them in a warm blanket of hope, anxiety, and foreboding.

“We’re in the lobby.” Ariadne leans against Nikita’s shaking frame. “Come join us, Logan.”

“I…” Logan stutters and Virgil’s immediately on alert. “I…I’m sorry. I cannot.”

“L?” Virgil asks. Logan makes a soft noise, a very quiet sort of keening that makes Virgil’s chest warm and his hair stand on end. “Are you okay?”

“I… yes. I should be.”

All of them look at each other, completely lost.

Janus is the one who figures it out. “This kid doesn’t like hospitals.”

It seems like such a random anxiety for Logan to have: the boy who faced the initiation exam with no fear, who had stared down every test with cool resolve so scared of hospitals he can’t even be in the waiting rooms. Yet Virgil remembers the way Logan shivered with Virgil’s touch and wonders how much of that quiet resolve of the exam was simply because Virgil didn’t know him well enough to see the fear.

“Are you… nervous around hospitals?” Virgil asks Logan gently.

Understanding dawns on all his friends' faces. Nikita's face is slightly darker than the rest of them, a combination of furious and sympathetic. He offers her a questioning look and she waves him off with a gesture to the phone.

“We’ll come outside to you?” Ariadne glances at the rest of them and they all nod. “We can find a bench outside and wait for Yuna’s parents to arrive. I know what they look like from all her pictures.”

“I’ll make sure the hospital has called,” Abidan says. They glance at the line of ashy people at the desk and throw their shoulders back. “I can do it.”

Nikita looks slightly bemused but nods at them anyway. Clearly yelling at the secretary before had taken a lot of her; her skin has taken on a greenish tint and she keeps glancing at the nearby trash can.

“Virge,” Janus says. “It sounds like you have a plan so I won’t pressure you too much to go back to school but I do want you to know that going back to school is absolutely the correct decision.”

“But Yuna—!”

“There is nothing you can do for Yuna right now.”

Virgil knows that. But to leave would feel like he was abandoning her.

“I understand,” Virgil mutters. “I’ll go back soon, I just—”

“It’s okay, Virge. I get it too. Call me if you need me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be calling you tomorrow to get more of a run-down. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Virgil whispers.

The phone clicks off.

“We’re coming outside now, Logan,” Ariadne says. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Affirmative.”

Abidan takes their cell phone back before promptly cutting the entire line to tell the secretary to call Yuna’s parents.

“You looked funny when Logan mentioned his problems with hospitals,” Virgil mutters to Nikita.

Ariadne glances over but stays quiet.

“I have a quirkless sister,” Nikita murmurs back. Virgil nods both his acknowledgement and to make sure she knows he was already aware of this. “There was about a month where my parents tried to fix her. Needles and experiments and stuff. It’s moderately common for quirkless kids.” Nikita stares off into space. “Vera—my sister—she doesn’t like hospitals very much either.”

“Your parents tried to fix her?” Virgil can’t keep the horror out of his voice.

“Yeah. But it’s not… they thought they were helping.” Nikita rubs her eyes with one hand. “It’s what the doctor told them to do. They were just following the recommended procedure. They stopped and everything when they saw it was hurting Vera.” She blinks a couple of times and her voice goes up a pitch, falsely lighter. “Things happen.”

Virgil doesn’t respond, mostly because he’s not quite sure he knows what he’s thinking.

He doesn’t think Logan’s parents would’ve stopped when they realized it was hurting him.

“Anyway. I—fuck. Excuse me!” Nikita runs a few steps forward, makes it to the trash can, and promptly throws up her stomach lining. Ariadne is there immediately to rub her back.

Virgil remembers the way Logan’s body had shook when Virgil first touched him. He thinks about the way Logan speaks about his homelife and a storm thunders deep in Virgil’s chest. It burns and his hands tighten into fists, yet the feeling also feels…right.

“She called Yuna’s parents when Yuna got here,” Abidan pulled up next to Virgil. They look a little pale. “That secretary does not like us very much. Mainly Nikita. I think she’s planning on killing Nikita.”

Nikita grimaces. “Right now, she’s welcome to.”

The four of them head out. It’s relatively easy to spot Logan and Virgil’s shocked they didn’t see him before; he’s sitting to the right of the front door, butt on the pavement, leaning back against the building brick wall. His eyes are closed, face pointed up at the sky and his breaths come in deep steady motion that make his body look like a continuous wave. The wounds on his shoulders have been bandaged and his torn ashy shirt does nothing to cover them.

“L?”

Logan opens his eyes and looks over. “Virgil.”

And Virgil breaks into a run.

Before he can think about it, he throws himself at Logan, landing halfway between his lap and the spot next to him. It’s not comfortable, but it allows him to wrap both arms around the boy and squeeze his head into his chest.

“You can hear,” Virgil whispers.

It takes half a second but Logan’s arms slowly come up around Virgil’s mid section. His elbow scraps against the brick of the hospital as Logan pulls him close.

“Affirmative,” Logan says simply. “I can hear.”

“You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m okay. You saw me earlier.” There’s a question in Logan’s voice.
“I wasn’t really there,” Virgil responds. “I knew you were alive but… it’s different, knowing you’re okay.”

Logan’s arms tighten. “Understood.”

There’s a cough from behind them and Virgil slides off of Logan;s lap fully, butt hitting the concrete. His arm remains trapped behind Logan’s back, right hand gradually losing all feeling, but Virgil does nothing to remove it. He presses himself up against Logan’s side and lets his back hit the brick hospital wall.

“Glad to see you’re doing better, L,” Nikita says. “Heard Virgil call you that. Is that a him thing or can I take it too?”

Logan glances at Virgil.

“You can use it?” Virgil asks. He’s looking at Logan as he says it.

“If you wish to.” Logan nods his affirmative. “You don’t look very good, Nikita.”

“That would’ve fucking happened anyway.” Nikita throws herself against Logan’s other side and drops her head on his shoulder. For a moment, Logan stiffens. He closes his eyes.

Then he relaxes all at once.

“I did tell you seven shots were excessive.”

“Bully on you.”

Ariadne drops herself next to Virgil. She’s careful to maintain a thin line of space between the two of them and fidgets with the hem of her sweatshirt.

Virgil reaches out and offers his hand.

Ariadne takes it and the motion brings her closer to him. Their sides press together and she leans against him, curling and uncurling the fingers on his hand.

It’s a nice feeling, Virgil thinks. The pressure on both sides is warm and he can almost breathe a little easier. When Abidan drops next to Ariadne, wrapping an arm around her and letting their pinky finger barely brush against Virgil’s bare arm, everything feels complete, somehow. Connected.

“We’re okay,” Ariadne murmurs. Her voice is raspy with smoke inhalation, soft with anxiety, and warm with the same light in Virgil’s own chest.

“Yeah,” Virgil replies. “We’re okay.”

And despite the soot on his clothes, the friend in the hospital, and the bandages on Logan’s arms, at this moment, Virgil feels safer than he ever has before.

Chapter 28: Patton's Inquiries (Now with Depression!)

Chapter Text

When Yuna walks into the classroom, Professor Tente very quickly pulls her aside and starts to tell her about the work she had missed. It had only been about a week since her hospitalization, but during that time the class had gone through two chapters of their ethics textbook, trained with weights, and worked on a handful of other physical skills, including endurance, agility and more. Had Patton been in her shoes, he certainly would be feeling very behind.

He’s not though. He wasn’t there during the attack.

“Logan read me the chapters and told me how he analyzed them,” Yuna tells Professor Tente cheerfully. “So I’m much better than I could’ve been! I know I was supposed to think about it myself but—”

“Given the circumstances, relying on your friends for help is perfectly fine,” Professor Tente responds. She smiles softly. “I am glad you were able to depend on them.”

Patton’s fingers tighten around his pencil.

He had not seen Yuna during her time in recovery. The group made a plan in the group chat to help her with work and other things but everything they said reminded Patton that he had chosen to skip going out that night. Seeing Yuna in recovery, knowing he might’ve prevented it… he didn’t want to go.

So he didn’t.

The ache that came every time he ignored those messages is with him now. It’s an odd sort of churning in his stomach, a painful pull in his chest.

There’s something much more permanent about it now that Yuna’s standing in front of him. Recovered.

There’s no way to help her anymore.

“Have the doctors cleared you for physical activity?” Professor Tente asks.

“As long as I don’t use my arm, I should be all set! Leg stuff, running, all good!” Yuna beams. “I’m ready to go, Professor!”

Yuna’s right arm is wrapped in a light pink cast with signatures from more people than Patton can count (not him). The healer that had tended to her concussion—apparently one of the worst they had ever seen but simultaneously the luckiest—had not worked on her arm, choosing instead to let that heal the natural way. Abidan had been furious about this decision over text but Yuna claimed it was better to let it heal naturally. Apparently, healing it comes with a high risk of weakening it as well.

She’s always so… happy. Kind.

Patton thinks he should be better friends with her then he is.

She looks good, despite her cast. Radiant almost; her hair comes down in glossy blonde waves, skin pearly white with not a blemish on it. There aren’t even scars from the attack.

Patton looks down. His light blue notebook, covered in smiling stickers, puffed puppy dogs, and bumpy cats stares up at him. It’s a similar color to the shield his quirk is able to produce.

His shield can block fire. Smoke too, if Patton tries hard enough. It’s difficult sometimes to separate the other particles from air but he’s done it in training on a handful of occasions.

It certainly would’ve been useful.

Yuna slides into the spot next to him and offers a bright smile.

“Hey Pat! Long time no see! How’re you doing?”

“Alright!” Patton mirrors her chipper tone almost instinctively. It’s easy to make his voice bend up but it feels odd. Like his tongue doesn’t want to move in that direction. “I should be asking you that! Are you feeling alright?”

He does genuinely want to know the answer. Something in him craves it and he’s not sure if he wants her to say yes or no. Clearly, it would be better for her if she were back up to top-notch shape, but Patton wants to help.

If she’s better, there’s nothing to help anymore.

Yuna leans down to remove her own notebook—a light green one with pink star stickers adorned with smiling faces arching from either corner—and brushes her long blonde hair out of her face.

Patton looked at those stickers. He very nearly bought them for his own notebook.

“I’m better now! Long couple of hospital days, I’ll say that. My mom was very worried but she’s so thankful to everyone!” Yuna glances back behind her. “Hey guys!”

Logan looks up from whatever book he’s reading to nod curtly. Beside him, Virgil waves.

“Hi Yuna. I’m glad you’re back,” Virgil says almost cheerfully. Which is good, of course, because Patton likes it when Virgil’s cheerful.

But something in Patton’s chest growls at the sight of his friend's smile and his hands tighten into fists. That part of him—that quiet part, that Patton has done his best to carve out and ignore—wishes Virgil was miserable.

Virgil just went through something traumatic. Something terrible and life changing. Surely he would need to talk with him about such an experience before he’s able to smile like that again.

The monster in his chest preens at the thought and Patton immediately shoves it away.

It’s good that Virgil's happy.

That’s all Patton thinks.

That’s it.

“Me too!” Yuna places her pencil next to her notebook. “Although, I will miss you reading to me! I know it’s only because I couldn’t do anything but I enjoyed our us time!”

Virgil smiles at her.

Patton looks back down at his desk. He traces the edges of his notebook.

He didn’t know Virgil read to Yuna.

Virgil’s never read to him before.

Nikita and Ariadne enter together. They slide into their respective seats—Nikita next to Logan and Ariadne beside her—and immediately start up a conversation with Yuna about her recovery.

They had moved seats a little while ago and displaced some of the kids that Patton had been sitting with. Virgil was delighted. Patton’s likes to think he’s happy about it too but he’s not always sure how he feels anymore.

“I’m just glad to put it behind me,” Yuna says. “Get back to tip-top speed.” She smiles over at Patton. “You were lucky not to have been in the mood for clubbing that night!”

Everyone nods their agreement. Everyone but Logan, who glances up at Patton and purses his lips slightly.

Lucky.

Lucky.

He’s expected to say something here. Something that agrees with Yuna’s statement, likely in a light comedic way.

There have been 15 confirmed deaths coming out of that club and he doesn’t think anyone came out completely uninjured. So of course he’s lucky!

Of course.

But.

Patton’s been imagining what it would’ve been like if he had gone with them all week.

He would’ve been dancing with them, sober because he doesn’t drink so when Smoke came in, he would’ve been able to react. Everyone else would’ve been drunk—based on the texts, Nikita was completely gone—but Patton would’ve been ready. He could’ve reacted fast enough to protect everyone.

His shield would be made large enough to surround everyone in the club. Fire could lick the sides, smoke could brush against it, but Patton would’ve kept everything at bay.

He knows it’s a pipe dream.

He knows it’s a narcissistic story.

But at the very least, had Patton gone, he would’ve been with them. Would have faced it with them.

With Virgil.

He knows he could’ve protected Virgil. The burn on Virgil’s hand is almost gone but Patton remembers that blister. It certainly didn't look good.

Patton wonders if Virgil was forced to use his quirk. He could’ve kept that from being necessary.

Patton blinks.

He’s been quiet for too long. They need a response.

“I guess so!” Patton says. His voice fluctuates and he coughs as a cover. “I don’t know if anyone will be in the mood for clubbing for a while.”

Everyone agrees with that. Yuna swallows as she nods and Virgil looks a slightly lighter brown than normal.

As he’s been doing all week, Patton shoves his fantasy away. He knows he’s being ridiculous. It’s much better that he was safe, at home in his bed, then facing the trauma his friends had to deal with. He should be grateful. He should be concentrating on helping them.

But Virgil hasn’t talked to him about it.

Patton’s monster growls and he smacks it down.

He hates that thing.

He wants it gone.

Abidan rushes in just as the bell rings and slides into the spot next to Virgil. They huff slightly, clearly having run to make it in time and hastily take out their notebook under Professor Tente’s amused smile.

“Alright class! Today is our first day with the politics of superheros. The readings were due today, but for anyone who hasn’t done them, they're all online and you can browse them while I talk.” Professor Tente's sharp gaze searches the crowd. “Can anyone tell me the difference between a vigilante, a villain, and a superhero? Colloquially first.”

A couple of hands shoot up. Patton’s debates sticking his own hand in the air; he had dragged himself through the articles and in high school, his hand had always been the first to rise.

But he doesn’t fully understand what he read.

There had been things in those readings Patton had never seen on any online forum, or any of the news articles he read. Ideas that had made Patton’s skin crawl and given him a faint need to hide.

He flicks through his notebook to find his notes.

Villain: May have message, don’t care about death

Vigilante: Message, do care about death

Superhero: Saves people

Patton blinks a couple of times. It’s too bland; it betrays none of the confusion and out of body feeling he had experienced while going through the articles.

Actually, it doesn’t even say what was in them. It’s just what he was taught in high school, what he picked up on from his life at home.

He must’ve been tired, Patton thinks. The thought feels odd; edged, comforting, guilt-ridden. He ignores all of that in favor of believing it.

“Mr. Royalty, go ahead.”

“Superheros work with the government to keep citizens safe,” Roman says, nose up in the air and shoulders thrown back. “Vigilantes and villains both break laws in order to disrupt society and hurt people. Villains do it for fun and vigilantes do it for some social message.”

It’s very similar to what Patton has written down.

He thinks about Roman’s laugh during the initiation exam, the nose Roman turns up at the sight of a quirkless like Logan.

He shifts in his chair.

A broken clock can be right twice a day?

His skin crawls with the thought. Is he really making excuses for thinking the same thing as a bully like Roman?

Professor Tente writes what he’s saying on the board as he talks. “Excellent, thank you Mr. Royalty. Anyone else?”

Roman nods at his success, a cocky self-loving nod that Patton wants to scoff at. Roman clearly believes he’s right, believes that all the definition needed was in that one sentence.

Patton watches him.

He knows Roman is wrong. Roman has to be, because everything Roman has done or said since Patton has met him has been cartoonishly evil. Hurting him and Virgil in the maze just for the sake of it, making rude comments towards Logan during lunch when he learned of his quirkless status. There was no good in Roman, no kindness.

But Patton’s notes say the same thing Roman did.

Somebody in class says something, a response that sounds longer than Roman’s answer but Patton doesn’t hear it. He just stares at his notes, unblinking.

He believes that Roman could become good. Perhaps this is the beginning? This path into superherohood could teach Roman how to be kind, how to treat everyone equally.

The thought sounds hollow even before he starts to think it.

“Thank you Mx. Westhaul. I don’t believe police is typically tied into colloquial definitions but that’ll depend on your population, certainly.”

Patton blinks. He needs to pay attention.

Quickly, Patton flips through his notebook and writes Class at the top of the cleanest page and draws a table with the three vocab words.

He tries to put Roman out of his mind.

Surely, it doesn’t matter if both he and Roman are coming at it in the same way. Just because Roman’s cruel doesn’t mean he doesn’t know definitions.

But.

That completely ignores the fact that Patton knows the definitions he wrote down weren’t the ones from the readings. He purposely removed the nuance.

Just like Roman.

Patton sinks lower in his chair.

“So generally, superheroes good, vigilantes not great, villains bad. That’s perfect.” Professor Tente’s eyes gleam. “Now, what are the definitions from the readings? Mr. Sainsbury, go right ahead.”

Lukas, a boy with a shadow-sculpting quirk, orange hair and enough muscle to look at home in a gym, drops his hand onto his pencil and spins it around. “The book defines superheros as trained individuals that work at the behest of the government in a manner of different ways, including villain attacks, but also including spy missions, civilian evacuations and more.” Lukas pauses. “Generally physical assignments.”

“Perfect.” Professor Tente erases the whole board. “How is that different? Ms. Pensure?”

Patton doesn’t want to hear Eudalia’s answer. He draws a little smiley face in the corner of his page and frowns at it.

He came here because he wants to help people. He wants to see a villain coming and know that he can stop it; that he can keep others from hurting.

Eudalia says something. Her voice is clean and calm. She doesn’t sound like she’s having an existential crisis; she doesn’t sound like the words she says wound her.

Patton wonders if anyone in the room knows the world is crumbling around them.

“That’s right. I believe the government is incredibly emphasized in the readings. What does that tell you?”

Nothing. It tells him nothing.

The thought is too desperate to be true.

Patton remembers the many conversations with Virgil, with his friend ranting about different bills the government was passing, the terrible brutality occurring on the streets indirectly or directly caused by the government. He wonders if the superheroes know about that.

A thought occurs to him.

Patton flips through his notes. Everything is bland and generally hard to understand but there is one line that catches his eye.

Retired superheroes become government.

He blinks at it.

It doesn't have to mean anything.

It doesn’t.

“How do the readings define vigilantism?” Professor Tente says. “Ms. Chaelsha.”

“They define it as a citizen or group of citizens who undertake law enforcement activity without authority, typically because legal agencies are inadequate.” Maeve’s voice is harder than Patton expects.

Does she believe legal agencies are inadequate?

Retired superheroes become government.

Does she believe superheroes are inadequate?

He shuts down that train of thought before it can keep going.

Of course she doesn’t. She wouldn’t be here if she believed that.

He doesn’t like the way his skin prickles as he thinks it. Had Patton been looking at someone, he would’ve dropped eye contact with that question.

“Excellent. Now that’s interesting. Superheroes are obviously not our form of law enforcement but they’re clearly members. And we know them to be good, powerful members that protect us from any threat.” Professor Tente leans back against the blackboard. “I mean, I’m training you to join them!”

Patton’s stomach churns, a storm of butterflies flapping too hard to be pleasant. He taps his notebook repeatedly.

He’s excited.

That’s what this feeling is.

“But if they do their job, how can vigilantes exist?” Professor Tente’s eyes gleam.

Patton’s never given much thought to vigilantes. The comics had always been about heroes and villains and the few times vigilantes came up, it was always about how they got in the way and needed to try something else.

He stares down at his notebook.

“Mr. Royalty,” Professor Tente says, “I’m sure your opinion will be interesting, go right ahead.”

Roman’s arms are crossed over his chest. “The book is wrong.”

“Do tell,” Professor Tente replies. There’s no emotion in her voice; she’s not arguing with him or agreeing. She just waits.

“Vigilantes decide the problems with society can only be fixed by them,” Roman says. “They’re a bunch of narcissists who don’t realize that things are slow or written a certain way for a reason and they end up harming people for whatever agenda they’re working towards.”

Professor Tente nods. “That can certainly be true. Tell me about legal agencies being inadequate.”

Roman growls. “They aren’t! People just have stupid expectations. If they want change, they need to target the government, not law enforcement.”

“Thank you, Mr. Royalty. Mr. Berry, go ahead.”

Patton glances back.

Logan’s notebook is open, the writing tiny, organized, and barely legible. There’s certainly much more on his pages then Patton’s and Patton is pretty sure Logan has a photographic memory. “The government is a legal agency. If vigilantes believe that legal agencies are, as Maeve said, inadequate, they will likely believe both the government and our enforcement system are in disrepair.”

The oddest thing happens.

What Logan says makes sense, even as it makes Patton’s stomach churn. But about half the class starts laughing.

They do it all at once and stop moments after he finishes. Even Roman, who was very clearly involved in whatever classroom argument is currently occurring, laughs with the group.

Patton blinks.

The laughs are too polished, too exact to just be individuals making fun of Logan; it has to be planned. The thought brings bile to the top of Patton's throat and he swallows it back.

He literally can’t imagine getting together as a group and deciding on a way to make fun of another human being. How does it start? A text message? Do they cackle over a brainstorming board and compliment each other on good ideas?

Are these the people that are going to be the next generation of superheroes?

Yuna glares behind her but with so many faces she has to keep changing what direction she faces. Abidan grips his pencil hard enough that their hand goes white and Nikita is halfway out of her seat before Ariadne pulls her back down. Ariadne’s face is pink but she begins to write furiously in her notebook what appears to be like a rather long list of names.

Logan looks more resigned than anything else.

“There are always going to be people that don’t like the government,” Roman responds. “That doesn’t mean they’re right.”

Patton thinks of Virgil’s protests, many of which he attended, and the crowds of people demanding some kind of change. He’d always started up a conversation with whoever was closest to him; it was his favorite part of protesting, hearing everyone’s stories and what brought them to that moment.

Not once had he thought they were exaggerating or wrong for having issues with the government. Yet somehow, despite the fact that he knew superheroes worked for the entity being protested, they had never been connected in his mind.

The government could be cruel and heartless. The superheroes were good and kind.

But the superheroes were part of the government.

His brain hurts.

“There will certainly always be criticism, perhaps unfairly so,” Logan responds. “However, there are a fair number of acts or bills that the government discusses as something they’d like to do that they simply never actually accomplish.”

The laughter picks up again, haughty and loud. It’s only about half the classroom but it makes Patton shiver.

When these students graduate and take to the streets, will they laugh when a quirkless person they need to protect is dying in front of them?

Patton doesn’t know.

He wonders if the superheroes he studied would’ve joined in on this plan. Would Kingdust laugh with them? Would Siren?

Professor Tente isn’t but Professor Tente seems more like an outlier than the norm.

Logan continues on as if the room is silent. He betrays no discomfort, no humiliation even though Patton is sure that’s the goal of the laughter. He wonders if he would be that strong if half the class laughed whenever he spoke.

He thinks he probably wouldn’t be.

“A bill on quirkless rights has been talked about for 15 years. It has not moved beyond that stage once. I believe it’s fair to say that, at the very least, is inadequate beyond opinion.”

The laughter stops with his last word.

A small muscle in Logan’s jaw twitches. It’s small and Patton wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been searching.

There’s another feeling bubbling up in Patton, similar to the monster he hates, but this one he recognizes. This one, Patton thinks, he quite likes.

He’s felt it time and time again, when students would ignore Virgil during group projects, or the first time Patton had gone to a dog shelter and found an abused puppy. It’s hot and growing and doesn’t really have a target until Roman speaks again.

“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Roman snarks.

“That’s enough.”

Professor Tente leans forward, gaze sharp enough to cut. “There will be no disrespect to my students. Is that clear, Mr. Royalty?”

Patton stares at his notebook. There’s nothing written on it but the table, dividing superheroes, vigilantes, and villains.

Roman nods shortly.

“Everyone else.” Her gaze shifts to the rest of the class. “Is that clear?”

A handful of nods. For a moment, Patton debates letting himself believe that they’ve truly learned. It lasts less than a second and ends when Roman nods with them.

He again wonders what current superheroes would make of this.

He decides not to answer his question.

The class continues. Professor Tente brings them through the definition of villainy and who typically becomes a villain. Patton is somewhat surprised to learn that middle class men are much more likely to be a villain than anyone in lower class—until Logan raises his hand.

“I don’t believe that’s fully accurate,” Logan says.

Laughter again. Less loud, but definitely still there.

Not even the scolding is enough to keep them quiet.

Professor Tente pauses. “Go on.”

“There are many people who see an opportunity to take over a town or a district due to the number of quirkless or weak quirked people in that area and subjugate them for money. If that occurred in a middle-income neighborhood, the person would be labelled a villain. In lower-income, it is often called infighting.”

The laughter grows with each word Logan speaks until it’s just as loud as it was before. Patton squeezes his pencil tightly. The hot feeling grows until he’s physically nauseous.

He should be stopping the laughter.

How?

He should be doing something!

What?

“An excellent point, Mr. Berry.” Professor Tente searches the classroom, eyes narrowed. “It is impossible to truly know how many villains there are with different definitions used for different people. What I do want to point out however, is that the rhetoric that ‘lower class people become villains’ is false. Does that make sense?”

Logan nods. “Yes, Professor.”

The class laughs again, short and obnoxious. It ends with his last syllable; had Logan simply nodded, they would’ve been quiet the whole way through.

Patton wonders if Logan knows that. He rolls his eyes at himself as he thinks it.

Of course Logan knows that.

He wonders why Logan spoke anyway.

Professor Tente clears her throat pointedly. “However, you’re right that violence enacted on certain groups is perceived differently. So, let’s give everything a very easy to understand description to make sure everybody here knows what is what.”

Patton writes the word “important” underneath the blank table he made during class.

“Superheros are people who work for the government on intense missions, typically physical. Vigilantes are people who work to protect civilians or their political goals in ways that disrupt social order and the government. Villains are people who harm or kill civilians for any reason but often to push a political message.” Professor Tente leans forward. “Are there any questions about these definitions?”

Patton stares at his paper.

The definition she gave for superheroes is so… simple. There’s nothing about fighting for justice, fighting for kindness, fighting to protect others. It’s just… government officials. Usually with muscles.

Patton touches his arms.

They’re certainly nothing to scoff at. Patton’s been training since he was a kid; he’s ripped from head to toe and can bench press about 200 pounds. He can remember the first time he got his current personal record, the sweat pouring off his body, the grunt he had made as he shoved the bar back up. His trainer had been very proud of him.

He can’t remember how he felt about it.

Does he like muscle training? Does he like physically challenging missions?

He didn’t like the exam.

A student passes by his desk on their way to the bathroom and Patton shakes his head. He needs to snap out of this. Whatever funk he’s landed himself in isn’t important. Of course he likes being a superhero. It’s what he’s been training for his whole life.

He likes it.

He. Likes. It.

The words bang around in his chest, slicing whatever they bump into.

The end of class can’t come soon enough. As soon as Professor Tente says the words “I’ll see you this afternoon” Patton sticks his notebook into his bag, drops in his pencil, and moves to leave. He can picture the blanket he’ll hole himself up under and the comic book he’ll be reading.

Patton stops at the sharp intake of breath behind him. Not because of the strange breathing but because of who made the noise.

Patton has only ever heard Logan sound calm and collected.

“Lo?” Virgil asks. His eyebrows knit together and his voice wavers slightly. “You okay?”

Logan’s jaw snaps into place and removes his hand from his backpack without a word.

Shards of glass dig into his skin about up to his wrist, with a particularly large one hanging from the left side of his right hand. A metallic scent hits the air and red drips down to the tile floor, spreading like water.

Patton watches a particular drop travel towards his abandoned desk. It stops right before his chair and starts a small pool, dark and flickering in the light.

“Oh my god!” Yuna jumps to her feet. “Are you okay? Professor!”

Virgil stares at Logan’s hand, unmoving. His own hands twitch at his side and when Patton gets a glimpse of his face, everything around him seems to slow down.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Virgil look that angry before.

The class is laughing. Not everyone but enough that Patton blinks.

Superheroes are good.

They’re supposed to be.

If it were just Roman and Remus, Patton would’ve been able to breathe. It’s not their laugh that sends cold damning waves crashing over his head; it’s Lukas’s laughter, Elowen’s chuckling, Birdie’s high-pitched giggling that make Patton want to claw at his throat.

It’s almost like a performance, the highs and lows of joy mixing together and forming the backdrop of the steady dripping of blood from Logan’s hand. Patton wants to pretend that he’s just watching a play with his parents and any minute not, the director will get up on the stage and let them know it was all fake.

‘It’s a story,’ they would say, ‘a story of a world where superheroes are just as flawed as anything else. It’s not real.’

Logan’s moved his hand away from his bag. He stands up, chair screeching against the laughter, and lets the blood dribble onto his desk. Virgil hovers over him, dancing foot to foot and eyes dark. His gaze switches from person to person, desperately searching for a target.

“The next person who makes a sound will serve a months long detention with me,” Professor Tente snarls.

The laughter stops abruptly but Patton can see them smiling. Elowen seems to struggle with cutting herself off; she bends over her backpack and pulls a soft green sweater up over her mouth to keep quiet.

Patton remembers having a conversation with her about her cat, Lazy. She had smiled at him so brightly and promised to let him pet Lazy whenever he wanted to.

He’d been planning on going this week.

Patton can feel himself slowly sinking into icy depths of an unyielding ocean with the weight of their grins. At first, Patton struggles to pull himself up to its waves but then a thought occurs to Patton that he really should’ve considered before.

Logan didn’t fill his bag with broken glass.

Someone else did.

The anger articulating every move Virgil makes suddenly makes more sense.

Immediately, Patton tries to blame Roman and Remus but as far as he’s aware neither of them left their chair for the duration of class. It was one of the other kids, one of the other to-be superheroes that deliberately hurt a fellow student.

A fellow person.

Why do so many people in this room not seem to care about others?

Patton stops swimming. He lets himself sink.

“Lo, maybe that’s not—”

Logan ignores Ariadne completely and removes the bigger piece of glass from his hand. It’s slow coming and leaves the wound with a loud squelch, promptly followed by a river of blood that trickles down Logan’s arm and paints across the desk.

Patton’s hand hurts watching him.

The class’s hesitation in leaving ends when Professor Tente reaches Logan’s desk; students begin to flow out, slow at first, then without even a glance at the boy.

Patton lets them pass him, unmoving.

Logan removes another piece of glass from his hand and drops it with an echoing clatter against the table. Nikita watches it, eyes narrowed. Her gaze shifts over to the list of names Ariadne had written down when the laughter began.

“Lo,” Virgil whispers, “can I help you?”

“Not yet.”

Roman and Remus walk out of the classroom, hip hitting the back of Logan’s chair as they do so. The seat of it juts forward, smacking the back of Logan’s knees and sending him into the desk with a painful sounding smack.

Logan closes his eyes. He takes a breath.

Patton doesn’t know if it’s luck that Logan wasn’t removing a piece of glass at the time or Logan’s own brilliance.

“What the fuck was that?” Virgil’s steps forward and Patton’s heart stops.

The anger that has been brimming in Virgil finally has a target.

“What was what?” Remus sings. “We were just walking! Not our fault your little quirkless likes to play with shiny things!”

Logan doesn’t even look over. He stays glued to his desk and stonily removes another piece of glass without so much of a twitch.

Virgil’s eyes begin to glow dark purple and a shiver runs down Patton’s spine.

“Wait—” Patton starts.

Both Remus and Roman flinch.

Remus seems to recover rather quickly, though it is clear that whatever he’s seeing isn’t the classroom. His hand comes out and finds the desk next to him, using it as a stabilizer.

“Darling Virgey, there’s no need for all this! Would it help if I apologized to the little quirkless?”

Virgil’s hands curl into fists but to Patton’s horror, he’s smiling.

“You might want to worry about your brother instead,” Virgil responds smoothly.

Remus pauses.

Roman is still standing, although Patton’s not quite sure how he’s managing it. Both legs have buckled and his shoulders curve inwards. One arm hugs around himself; the other reaches out at nothing.

“Mother,” Roman whispers. “Mother, please!”

Professor Tente watches the whole exchange but she doesn’t step forward. She doesn’t do anything to stop it.

“Virgil! That’s enough!” Patton steps forward. “You can’t use your quirk like that! It’s not right!”

His friend group glance at him. Abidan has moved to grab cleaning supplies, Ariadne is fretting beside Logan, Nikita looks ready to back Virgil up—none of them, therefore, are doing anything to stop Virgil.

They’re just letting him use his quirk.

“It’s not right,” Virgil hisses and Patton blinks. “It’s not right? No, Patton.” He spits the word like it’s a curse. “What’s not right is that my best friend is in pain and these motherfuckers are laughing about it!”

Patton takes a step back. He tries to pretend the words ‘best friend’ don’t bounce around in his skull, an unending echo of ’he’s not talking about me.’

Logan stares at Virgil, mouth agape.

“I know.” Patton says. His voice wavers slightly. “But you’re hurting them.” His heart pounds and his body pounds with it.

“They hurt Logan,” Virgil growls. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck.”

Roman whimpers and Virgil doesn’t even blink.

Future superhero right there.

Patton starts to say something then stops abruptly. He’s not quite sure what would’ve tumbled out of his mouth but he’s sure it wouldn’t have been very kind.

Logan steps forward. Out from behind his desk, from the circle of the friend group, to place his unharmed hand on Virgil’s shoulder and slowly turn the boy towards him.

“Will you help me remove what is left of the glass?” Logan asks gently. “The pieces are too small for me to accomplish on my own.”

Virgil’s eyes shutter back to their normal brown. Roman gasps as the illusion leaves him and promptly crumbles to the floor. He goes to bury his head into his knees but Remus grabs him and pulls him up to his feet.

“I can’t, Remus, I—”

Remus whispers something that Patton can’t hear. Whatever it is pulls Roman back together long enough for the twins to make their way out the door and disappear down the hall.

The only ones left in the room are Professor Tente, Patton, and his friends.

“Well.” Professor Tente says. “Mr. Berry, I should like to see you during office hours tonight.”

Logan nods in her direction. If Patton didn’t know better, he’d say Logan looked a bit resigned to the idea.

“You should be heading to the nurses office—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Logan interrupts. “I—”

“—but I can see that won’t be happening,” Professor Tente finishes. “I shall send Mr. Gilbert here in about 10 minutes. Would that work for you?”

Patton has no idea who Mr. Gilbert is. Neither, it seems does anyone besides Logan; there’s a lot of confused looks passed around while Logan simply nods his affirmative.

“That will be fine. Abidan seems to have cleaned up most of it but please apologize to him for me.”

Nikita’s expression is the first to clear. “Mr. Gilbert’s the janitor?” Nikita asks but it’s more an announcement.

“Yes,” Logan responds. “Harold Gilbert is in charge of cleaning this room today.”

Everything he says is calm. The only sign of distress is the slight shaking of his hands and Patton can’t tell if that’s from pain or emotion.

He’s not quite sure what to do; should he go to Logan? Ask to help? Normally Patton would look to Virgil but Virgil’s turned his back on Patton and the rest of them don’t seem particularly keen to start up a conversation with him either.

Hurting people is wrong. Is he truly the only one in his class that can understand it doesn’t matter who it is?

There’s an uneasy truth forming inside of him. He can’t quite grasp the thought, only semblances of a feeling. It started with that initiation exam ages ago and seems near complete now.

Patton’s almost ready to let it form.

“I’ll clean out your bag for you,” Ariadne says. “And I can bring it to your room when you’re done? If that’s okay?”

Logan smiles at her, a tight, thin lipped smile that offers only gratitude and no joy. “That would be very helpful, Ariadne but please, don’t make yourself.”

“I’m not!” Ariadne picks up his bag as she says it and begins to move towards the door. “I want to help you!”

Logan nods after her and Ariadne leaves the room to begin the rather tedious process of removing all the glass leftover.

Nikita picks up the list of names on Ariadne’s desk.

“Call if you need, yeah?” Nikita says.

Logan agrees. His eyes flicker to the sheet of paper briefly but he says nothing as she leaves the room too.

Abidan has almost finished cleaning the blood on the floor and Virgil has taken Logan’s hand in his, carefully removing each piece of glass with all the tenderness in the world. They’re whispering to each other; quiet, calming things that Patton can’t hear and is not a part of.

There’s nobody facing him. Nobody looking.

With a heavy heart and a very brief glance back, Patton also leaves the room.

Chapter 29: Overhealing (A budding friendship)

Chapter Text

Darius and Logan tend to meet in Darius’s room for simple ease, but Darius’s roommate Nalthis is sick today, making the room inoperable. So instead, Logan finds himself in the basement of Darius’s building, in a usually abandoned community space with the curtains drawn over the windows and a sign on the door asking people to go somewhere else.

Training in progress; please try the communal area upstairs

It’s not a great space.

The walls are gray, cracked and crumbling with a sort of musty smell that most basements at least attempt to cover up. There’s a foosball table in the corner missing the red team's front line of offense and the blue goalies head, a whirring refrigerator on the opposite side, dusty cabinets and countertops, and one tiny oven that takes at least 30 minutes to start getting hot.

In some ways, the setup is very comforting.

Darius and Logan currently crouch over the one kitchen table in the space; a square with four gray plastic seats that Logan has neatly placed against the wall. Bones lay across the fake wood, some mouse, some squirrel, and at least one raccoon. Half have a nick in it, carved carefully with a pocketknife, and the other half are smooth and pristine, ready for use.

“Try this one.” Logan purposely picks a nicked larger bone, probably one of the raccoon’s. Darius is used to working with people, so he’s hoping the smaller change in size will make things easier for him. “Focus on the cut and close it.”

Darius reaches out a hand. The space in between him and the bones lights up and a very familiar warm golden color fills the room. Logan ignores it, focusing solely on the bone and that little groove he had carved into it.

Within seconds, the edges of it begin to reach out for each other. The space between them closes and the line of the cut glows a bright gold as it heals.

Logan wonders how many times that process happened inside his own body.

“It’s almost healed,” Darius says. His voice is tighter than normal but Logan wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been expecting it. It’s well-beyond Darius’ skill level to fix that bone, even if it’s no longer in a living being.

“Keep going,” Logan responds. He thinks back to the book he read on over-healing and the following articles he explored. “Plusser suggests ignoring the push to stop.”

“Oh does he,” Darius grumbles.

Logan resists the urge to smile.

The light dies and Darius takes a step back from the table. The bone sits there, perfectly healed.

“I can’t ignore the push to stop,” Darius says. “I’ve been using it to control my quirk my whole life. You’re asking me to change everything about my quirk.”

“Technically, Plusser is.”

Darius leans against the table in front of him, rattling the bones back and forth. There’s a smile in his eyes, a short of sharp grin that Logan doesn’t get to see very often. “Who the hell is Plusser?”

Rather mildly, Logan picks up the bone Darius just healed and places it on the side of the table, as far away from the rest of the bones as possible.

“Plusser is a very well renowned Healer who is best known for exploding the Bomber from inside out when he attacked his hospital. He attributed this to over-healing; by healing the already perfectly fine bones within the Bomber’s body, Plusser was able to cause very large growths all over them and essentially make them too big for his body.”

Darius blinks. “Damn. Why is that not public knowledge?”

Logan places the nicked skull of a chipmunk in front of Darius. “I believe it is.”

Darius’s eyebrows raise and this time, the smile is able to step out from behind his eyes and the very tip of his mouth goes up. “Just me, huh?”

Logan meets his eyes and looks at him. He lets his mouth quirk up slightly, just enough to let Darius know he’s teasing.

“Alright,” Darius grumbles, voice light and still with that tiny smile. “You know, you come to me in pieces every other day—”

Logan can’t really argue with that.

“—you hardly have the higher ground here.”

The ending, however, is very easy to respond to.

“I don’t believe a lack of research is comparable to consistent discrimination but if you have another point of view I’d be happy to be enlightened.”

Darius glares at him, all play and no bite. “You think you’re so smart.”

“I do believe I have a higher than average intelligence.”

At that, Darius finally breaks into a full grin and shakes his head at Logan. “Considering you’re teaching me, I probably have to give you that.” He turns his attention back to the bone pile, focusing in on the skull Logan placed in front of him. “Plusser says just not to think about the stopping point?”

“That is correct, yes.”

Again, Darius' hand raises up. Light illuminates the room around them, revealing spider webs in the left hand corner and an odd discoloration across the floor. The skull begins to knit itself back together and just when it’s about to close, Darius’s eyes fall shut.

His hand shakes and the light slowly begins to die. For a very brief moment, the light glows bright enough for the spider web to whisper back into view, and then it’s gone.

Darius glares at the beautifully healed bone. “That’s not working.”

Logan picks up the skull and places it over with the raccoon bone. The answer could simply be that Darius needs to keep practicing. They’d only had about two lessons where Darius had actually been using his power; everything before that had been about over-healing and what the strengths and limitations were. He could just assign Darius homework and be done with it.

But Logan’s pretty sure practice alone is not the limiting factor.

“Plusser developed the concept of over-healing far before the Bomber, but it wasn’t until he was directly in danger that he was actually able to use it.” Logan looks up at Darius, meeting his brown eyes. “Do you have a moment of genuine terror?”

Darius blinks twice, then crosses his arms over his chest. “Not that I can recall.”

The room seems to darken as he says it and any semblance of a remaining grin from earlier is back to being locked within him.

Liar.

“You reacted very strongly to Virgil’s quirk being used against you,” Logan offers.

“It’s not a very pleasant quirk.”

Technically, Darius isn’t wrong but Logan still has to bite his tongue to keep from swinging at his friend’s defense. Virgil has certainly made progress in accepting himself and his quirk but had he heard that sentence, it would likely sit with him for a long time.

“You don’t need to tell me what you saw,” Logan says. He keeps his voice calm. “However, whatever sparked your decision to assist with Patton would likely help you here as well.”

Darius’s arms stay crossed. Logan looks him up and down.

“It has nothing to do with whether or not your choice was the stronger one,” Logan responds to the tightness of the frown, the stubbornness in the lines on his face. “Perhaps it would’ve been stronger to stand against Virgil’s use of power. Perhaps it was stronger to choose to help a competitor. The point is that the use of your power was fueled by your fear.”

“I stopped when he was healed.”

Logan almost sighs. “You were trying to heal him, not over-heal him. The question is not what you did but what you could’ve done.”

They stand still together, neither moving.

Darius uncrosses his arms. Logan places a single bone out, another one of the nicked ones from the raccoon, and watches as Darius shuts his eyes.

Five minutes pass without a word, the whirring of the refrigerator buzzing between them.

“Can I assist you in your recalling?” Logan asks quietly.

Darius huffs, a soft painful sort of sound that stops just as soon as it starts. “I don’t need your help.”

At first, the sentence sounds directed but Darius doesn’t emphasize the “your”—if anything, it’s made softer, blunting whatever edge the sentence holds. The true message behind the statement is quieter, softer, perhaps accidental.

It’s also much sadder.

Logan wonders what it is, exactly, that Darius saw when Virgil used his quirk against him because apparently it never leaves him.

Golden light glows throughout the room. Logan watches the bone begin to knit back together. The crack glows when the edges meet, just as it had before, and again, the light begins to die.

Then it glows bright.

A small bump forms on the bone and whatever Darius did to push himself through that block must fall away because it very quickly grows until the bone has more than doubled.

When the light dies, it’s clearly a choice.

Darius’s eyes are wet but he smiles at the sight of the bone, and picks it up to inspect it.

“I did it,” Darius whispers and Logan smiles at him.

“Excellent work,” Logan responds. He doesn’t mention the hand that comes up to wipe at Darius’s face and vows to bring a box of tissues next time they practice together. “You learned it at a far faster rate than I was expecting.”

“Well,” Darius looked up at him, oddly shy. “I did have a teacher with above average intelligence.”

Whatever tension that had existed earlier dissipates and Logan finds that his shoulders, which he hadn’t even realized had tightened, are able to relax.

Still, Logan’s not quite sure what to do with the compliment, so he just nods at him.

“Is that it then?” Darius turns the bone in his hand, enraptured. “Is that over-healing?”

“Essentially yes,” Logan says. “You’ll need to continue practicing in order to get a better handle on it and hopefully you won’t need to use whatever situation helped to push you. Once it becomes more second nature you can learn to throw it—”

“Throw it?” Darius’s voice is soft, and dark. Logan blinks against the sudden blizzard that enters the room and it takes him a second to realize none of the chill is directed toward him.

Logan nods slowly. “Yes. Like you can throw your normal healing?”

Darius goes completely still.

Oddly still.

His arms cross over his chest, tighter than before.

“I…I apologize. You’re incredibly deft with your abilities and I had assumed—”

“Can many healers throw their power?” Darius’s voice is curt, as tight as the arms wrapping around him.

There’s a picture beginning to form here. Loose strings—a traumatic event Darius can’t stand to see but can never forget, a tenseness tied to a healing quirk, a deep seated pain at the mention of being able to throw it—that when weaved together form a fuzzy sort of tapestry.

“It tends to be less powerful,” he responds carefully, softly. “But yes, typically healers can throw it.”

He wants to ask about Darius’s family. Clearly, none of them are healers, Logan came to that conclusion long ago but Darius’s clothes and other belongings firmly situate him in upper middle class, so he has to assume that their quirks are well-respected enough to get by. Why did none of them look into healing at all?

“I can throw it.”

The words are daggers, sharp and beautifully designed to carve out Darius’s own heart. One keeps moving, spinning around to stab into Logan’s chest as well.

“I imagine it will take a moment to learn but it is considered a rudimentary healing skill.” He watches him as he says it. Logan’s hands fall to the table very lightly and he gently pets it with a single finger. “I can teach you, if you like.”

All of the blood drains out of Darius’s face. He stares at Logan, an unmoving solid mass that for all its height and muscles, looks like it would break with a single touch.

Or perhaps shatter without one.

“Darius,” Logan says gently. His finger keeps moving, soft, kind circles on the plastic table. “You are not responsible for not knowing a skill you were not taught and you are not responsible for whatever consequences occurred due to this lack of knowledge.”

Darius doesn’t move.

“It’s not your—”

“You know?” Darius interrupts, horrified. “Do you know?”

“I— no.” Logan is quick to realize his sentence sounds remarkably like “I know” and he’s not quite sure Darius is in the headspace to tell the difference. “No, I don’t know what’s distressing you. I’m only guessing at the concept of a situation based on what I’ve just observed in your behavior.”

Darius’s eyes flutter shut, which surprises Logan almost more than his reaction to throwing his power did. If Logan had been in the amount of distress Darius is currently feeling, he certainly would not lower his defenses by removing a vital sense.

He wonders if he should offer some sort of physical comfort to Darius.

“Right.” Darius takes a step away from the table. “Right. I’m—I have homework. I have to go.”

Both of them know he’s lying but Logan nods anyway. “That sounds good. I’ll see you later, Darius.” He pauses. “Let me know if you need me. I’m happy to assist you with… with anything.”

Normally, Darius would respond with some sort of quip about how often Logan comes to see him—something about ‘Couldn’t get rid of you if I tried’ or ‘Yeah, see you in a few hours’—but there’s nothing. He moves for the dorm, fists clenched, large muscles pulsating. If he wanted to, Logan is sure he could rip the door off its hinges.

But when Darius glances back at Logan, just before opening the door, he is as small and weak as the day he had been born.

“You’ll teach me how to throw?” Darius says it as if it is an offhand comment, as if he doesn’t shake with the anticipation of Logan’s answer.

“I will,” Logan promises.

“Good. I’ll see you later.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

Chapter 30: My Dreams (are my history)

Chapter Text

It’s dark.

Roman wasn’t told it was going to be dark.

He stops moving but without the spot on the wall he was using to anchor himself, it’s suddenly more difficult to remain steady on the tightrope. It wobbles beneath him and it takes Roman three deep breaths to remain upright.

“Mother?” His voice is high, not yet deepened from puberty. “What’s—”

A shot of red light hits his arm. It burns, hot and bright and Roman’s feet leave the tightrope. He screams as he falls, cursing himself for doing so—his mom was so mad at him last time—and claws desperately at the air. His eyes squeeze shut as he braces for what’s coming.

Roman hits the floor with an audible—

Crack!

When Roman opens his eyes, he’s holding his mother’s hand, head at just about her knee. The sun is bright above them, peaking over skyscraper buildings and illuminating the bright cars all around him. They’re all the same shape—small, two doors on each side and shaded windows—and all the same two colors: red or yellow.

They walk across a very large crosswalk and Roman makes sure to keep his tiny steps stay in stride with her large ones. His back is straight, head up, and he keeps the arm not gripping his mother’s tight by his side.

“Good work, Roman,” his mother, Glenda, says.

His heart blooms.

They make it across the street, and a man walks up to them, holding out his hand to shake Glenda’s hand. He has no face, no features, and wears a typical everyday suit. Momentarily, Roman’s hand is dropped.

He’ll be good. He’ll stand here and wait for his hand to be picked up again.

A car beeps.

Roman likes cars.

Glenda is still in conversation with whatever scary man just approached them, so she doesn’t notice Roman walking back towards the large crosswalk.

Cars shoot past him and then the movement stops. All around him, people begin to cross the street and without thinking, Roman joins them.

He gets to the sidewalk and the cars start to move again. One truck honks—loud enough that tears well in Roman’s eyes. He dashes away from the crosswalk, running down random sidewalks (his mom told him to never go in the street) until he finds himself completely alone.

Skyscrapers loom over him and every few steps, Roman finds himself in the shade of another tree. He doesn’t remember seeing trees near the crosswalk.

He doesn’t know where he is.

“Mom?”

Nobody responds.

“Mom?!”

A couple of people glance over at him. Roman moves away from them, sits down on the side of the sidewalk and waits.

His mother will come. She’s probably just hiding and punishing him for dropping her hand. She’ll come soon.

Five minutes pass and Roman begins to cry.

He wants his mom.

He wishes Remus were here.

“Hey kiddo!” A girl sits next to him. She’s got sparkly dangling earrings, cherry red hair, and wears a black crop top with red and black pants. “You look a little sad! Are you feeling sad?”

“No! I’m not sad!”

“No, of course not.” The girl smiles softly at him. “Do you have a grown-up with you?”

Roman blinks twice. When he opens his eyes the second time, he’s standing back at the busy road, exactly where his mother had dropped his hand.

“Mommy!”

Roman runs from Stephanie’s side to throw himself at his mother. For a brief moment, he wonders how he got back here so quickly and how he knows Stephanie’s name but it washes away when Glenda gently pats his head.

“That’s mother, Roman. Let’s stand up straight please.”

Immediately Roman does so, quietly sniffling.

Stephanie walks over, smiling. “I assume he’s all set then?”

“He is.” Glenda purses her lips. “Did you touch him?”

All of the blood rushes out of Stephanie’s face. “I—what? No! Of course not, I would never—”

Glenda rolls her eyes. “Not like that. Goodness. Did you hold his hand, pat him on the back, simple touches.”

Roman doesn’t like the way Stephanie’s voice sounds. She sounds scared and Roman doesn’t want her to be scared. He wants her to be happy.

“Oh! Yes! Yes, I held his hand while we walked over here!”

“What’s your last name?”

He’s not sure what’s going on here, only that his mom is being mean to Stephanie, who he likes, and Stephanie looks sad, which he doesn’t like.

Why isn’t his mom holding him?

“Tapia. I’m Stepha—”

“Tapia. That’s not a noble name.”

“I—” Stephanie’s face is gradually getting more red and she puts a hand on her hip. “No, it’s not.”

Roman doesn’t want Stephanie to be mad. He takes a step towards her to give her a hug and his mom pushes him away.

“What’s your quirk?”

Stephanie grits her teeth. “What’s it to you?”

“What. Is. It.”

“You know what? Fuck you. I don’t—”

Glenda's eyes flash and she reaches out, snatching Stephanie by the throat. “Answer me.”

Roman cries out. “Mother! Mother, stop it!” Without thinking, he runs up to try and pull Glenda back but the leg but she simply kicks him aside. He hits the pavement, butt scraping against it.

It hurts.

His mother doesn’t even look at him. Instead, her hand tightens around Stephanie’s throat, sharp polished fingernails carving little indents into her smooth skin.

Stephanie gasps. “You’re setting a terrible example for your kid, you know.”

Roman starts sobbing.

None of the pedestrians walking by react. When Roman looks at them for help, he finds them faceless and somehow this makes sense to him. He turns back to the scene in front of him.

“On the contrary,” Glenda snarks. “I’m teaching him how to treat other people properly. Now. Your quirk.”

Stephnie whimpers and Roman watches a gash start to crawl up her stomach, starting from underneath her belly button and working its way up. He shakes his head over and over again.

Why is his mom hurting Stephanie? Stephanie was so nice!

“Mother!” He starts sobbing. “Don’t hurt her! Why are you hurting her?”

“I can make my right index finger glow.” Stephanie claws for air, eyes bulging. “That’s it, that’s all—”

Glenda tightens her grip, cutting off what was left of Stephanie’s air and her voice. “Come here, Roman.”

Roman does so hesitantly. He’s still sobbing and tears flow more freely as he gets closer to Stephanie’s shaking body. Blood drips from her stomach, disappearing into her black and red pants.

“This person has a low quirk. Do you know what that means?” Glenda says it slowly, like she’s lecturing in front of a class and not hurting someone right in front of him.

Roman nods shakily, still crying. “She’s trash?”

“Very good. She’s trash. She’s not worth anything.” Glenda loosens her grip, just long enough for Stephanie to gasp for air then tightens it again. “You’re worth a lot, right Roman?”

The tears trailing down Roman’s face are still steady but much slower. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“You’re worth much more than this piece of trash ever could be. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Say it.”

Stephanie starts clawing at Glenda’s arm and again, Glenda loosens her grip just enough for Stephanie to take in air, then tightens again.

She’s a puppet, dancing just long enough for Roman’s lesson to kick in.

“I’m worth more than her,” Roman says. He’s not quite sure what it means, only that his mother smiles as he says it and he likes his mother’s smile. “She’s trash, I’m… not trash.”

“You’re a god,” Glenda says. “Say that.”

“I’m a god. She’s trash.”

“Good. You’re not to associate with her kind again.”

Roman nods and Glenda throws Stephanie to the ground. Stephanie gasps for air and uncertainly, Roman looks between her and his mother.

Glenda takes up Roman’s hand. “Leave her. And stop crying. She’s not important…”

The scenery changes to his classroom. Roman sits up straight, back against a wooden chair, elbows resting on the desk in front of him and pencil in hand. His dad stands at the front of the room and Remus sits beside him, oddly still. He glances over at Roman and smiles, mouth full of baby teeth.

“...because of their quirkless status,” his father says. “It’s not just a lack of quirk for the squicks; it’s a lack of emotions and intelligence as well.”

Roman raises his hand. “But Father,” he says, “isn’t Layla—”

“We don’t speak that name.”

The room gets colder.

“But she’s good, Father. She’s not—”

“If you are quirkless, something has gone wrong from the very beginning.” His Father stares him down, eyes like a blizzard. “There are no good squicks.”

It feels very wrong.

“Layla’s not—”

“Roman!” His father snaps his fingers and Roman flinches.

He wants to keep arguing but fear overcomes him. A maid from the back of the room takes his hand and leads him to the door. Just before Roman exits his father calls out.

“20 lashes should do. Make sure to heal them properly this time, Ms. Daniel. I’m not interested in scars on my son.”

“Of course, Mr. Royalty,” Ms. Daniel responds.

Her grip is bruising. She leads him out the door and down a long dark hallway that gradually becomes white. They stop outside a door Roman recognizes and he begins shaking. Very slowly, he turns his head to see Ms. Daniel.

Instead, he’s greeted with his brother, Remus, younger than he had been in the classroom and wearing a little green suit.

“We have to save Layla,” Remus tells him.

“Yeah!”

They stand outside the door and neither move to open it.

“Will mom be mad?” Remus asks.

Roman wants to say no but he’s not sure. Mom gets mad for really weird reasons sometimes.

And mom is really scary when she’s mad.

“We’re gonna be superheroes,” Roman decides. “We have to help all the people.”

“Daddy says there are really gross people though. He says we shouldn’t save gross people.”

Roman shakes his head. “We save all the people. Even gross people that have no powers.” His chest is warm, thrown out in childhood confidence. “All the people are good.”

Remus looks at the door. “Do you think Layla’s a gross person?”

“Daddy and Mommy think so.”

They stare at the door and finally, Roman moves to open it.

It’s a small room, with white walls, no windows. A wooden table is across from a white hospital bed with a desktop computer on it and a plastic cup of water. The floor is bare; there are no toys, no games, no stuffed animals. Just smooth tile.

Layla lays on the hospital bed and Roman’s breath catches.

She’s just as he remembers.

Brown hair touches the tops of her shoulders and her blue eyes are clenched shut. She makes tiny little whimpers and it’s then that Roman notices the strange bag above her, attached to a mental pole with a tube going down into her arm and secured with tape. Some green liquid fills the bag and travels down that tube; Roman can only guess it’s going into her body.

She whimpers again. Her body convulses on top of the sheets, pink dress fluttering with the movement. Sweat beads on her forehead and Roman jumps into action, running to remove the evil tube from her body.

When he rips it out, blood flows freely from her arm. He panics.

“Sorry! Layla! Sorry! You okay?”

Layla opens her eyes and immediately begins to cry.

Remus jumps up onto her hospital bed and throws his little body over hers. “I miss you! Don’t be sad!”

She says nothing, just sobs. Roman wraps both her and his brother up in a hug, not sure what to do about the blood getting on her bed and his clothes and the tears travelling down everyone’s face.

“Boys!”

His mother steps into the room. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

Roman stares her in the face and the scene changes.

He’s in his training room, older now. Puberty has fully started but he can tell he’s a long way from being done. Remus stands next to him, the beginnings of a mustache poking its way through, breathing in the same rhythm Roman currently breathes in.

“I have your first mission,” his mother tells them both. “There is a low-quirked individual who is attempting to make his way into Watson Private School. Your job is to remove them.”

Remus dances on his feet. Roman wants to mimic him but he sees the way Glenda’s eyes snap to Remus and with a flick of her wrist, Remus is on the floor, blood dripping down his face. She didn’t need to move—Roman is well aware his mother can use her quirk without extra flourishes, which means the only reason she did so was to make a point.

“Still, Remus. You’re not a child anymore.”

Roman raises his hand and tries to ignore the painful gasps in Remus’s and his own chest. “Mother?”

“Yes, Roman?”

“How are we supposed to remove them?”

He knows the answer but for some reason, he wants her to say something else.

“Destroy them. Physically, emotionally, what have you.”

Roman licks his lips and Glenda marks it.

“What Roman?”

“Aren’t… as superheroes, aren’t we supposed to help others?”

Glenda rolls her eyes. “There is no point in helping trash.”

Roman nods. “Of course.”

Trash.

He’s above most people, Roman knows this. That means he can treat them as he wants, do with them as he pleases.

Everyone has their station.

He just needs to remember that.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

At precisely 5:30am, Roman’s and Remus’s alarms go off. Roman sits up, rubbing his face and finding it wet. He pretends not to know why, marking it as odd and nothing else.

“You good?” Remus calls out from across their dorm room, already throwing the blankets from his body.

“Yeah,” Roman mutters. He stretches. “Weird dreams.”

Chapter 31: Anger; Heartbreak (A new emotional home)

Chapter Text

Their dorm room is silent.

Virgil pretends not to notice it; he stays bent over his notebook, pencil hovering over the page with one earbud in his left ear while his right desperately listens. Waiting for Patton to make a sound.

Patton sits upon his light blue duvet, back leaning against tan fluffy throw pillows shaped like hearts and dog heads. Stuffed animals surround him, many of which Virgil had given him in elementary school, middle school and high school. A collage of photos from high school are taped to the wall above his bed and string light outlines the very top, currently the only lights on in the room.

Abruptly, halfway through the room the dorm room changes. Art is plastered on the walls, some of protests, some of different bands, all with black backgrounds, dyed hair and piercings. His bed has black sheets and purple blankets, messy instead of made, not a stuffed animal in sight and his guitar has been dropped on his bed in exchange for the notebook he draws in now. Writing utensils and paintbrushes are thrown across his desk without any true arrangement and he has a handful of pictures above him, some of Patton, some of Janus, and a couple of the friends he made here.

Patton’s scrapbooking, stickers and colored paper thrown out across his bed. He cuts out the shape of a star and, tongue sticking out, presses it into whatever page he’s working on.

It’s too quiet.

“You mind if I play music?” Virgil asks.

He abandons his drawing on the desk without a thought. A half-finished bird stares out at him, likely to never be finished but he hadn’t been that into it anyway. Every line drawn had been to the thought Patton’s being weird, not about the bird itself.

It’s a very sad bird.

“No! Go right ahead!” Patton doesn’t look at him.

Virgil gets up from his desk and makes his way over to his bed. He pauses right before the frame, hands by his side. The neck of the guitar doesn’t call to him like it normally does.

Virgil swallows.

He knows why the pencil isn’t moving properly, why his hands don’t itch for the guitar. Every part of his life is dripping with the unspoken paragraph he’s been practicing in his head for the past week.

It’s hard not to know something is wrong with Patton. At first, Virgil thought he would wait for his friend to come to him but it’s been months since the initial exam. He wants to give Patton space to breathe but he also doesn’t want to leave him drowning.

A resolve tightens in his stomach and Virgil straightens his back.

“Patton,” Virgil starts. He swallows again and his hand finds his fidget cube in his pocket.

Since when has he needed his fidget cube to talk to Patton?

“Yeah, Virge?”

“Are you okay?” Once started, the words tumble out of his mouth like a waterfall. “You’ve been acting rather distant lately and I can’t tell if I’ve done something wrong or if you’re just generally upset, or if it’s all in my head, or… or if I’m the one who’s upset and I’m putting it on you and I…are you okay?”

His hands move a mile a minute and his breaths come out, hot and unsteady. It’s not the dainty paragraph he’s been practicing but it’s out there now. Virgil decides to be proud of that.

Patton just blinks at him.

“I’m sorry you’ve been feeling upset!” Patton responds. He smiles, big and wide and incredibly unlike Patton yet Virgil knows he’s seen this smile on his friend’s face many times recently. “Of course we’re okay! You’re my bestest friend!”

Virgil nods but his stomach sinks as he does it. “I know. But uh, Patton, I don’t want… if I’ve done something wrong, I want to know.”

“You haven’t,” Patton says, voice light and easy. “I promise. We’re okay!”

The feeling won’t go away. It’s like the air has turned to syrup between them and when Virgil tries to breathe, it fills his lungs and clings to them, refusing to come back out.

Patton has a never ending smile, so confident in what he’s saying, but Virgil knows him. He knows him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Virgil asks. He presses hard down on the fidget cubes buttons. “I… Being in class with Roman and Remus is hard, especially because they keep making fun of Logan—”

There it is. Something red appears in Patton’s eyes, something hot that scrunches his face and tightens his shoulders and it’s gone just as soon as it’s there.

But Virgil saw it.

“—and you can get very upset when people are hurting others. And I’m not sure if you’re enjoying every part of being a superhero—”

“I am.” Patton interrupts, voice still light and fun. The room seems to drop a couple of degrees. “It’s my dream. Of course I enjoy learning how to be a superhero.”

“Okay.” Virgil takes a breath. “I could be guessing wrong. But… I can miss a lot of things and I’m not… I’m not saying that you have to be upset or anything but it’s been a month and there have been a lot of moments where you seem… unhappy. And if it’s just typical unhappiness that’s okay. I mean, you can still ask me for help, I like helping you—”

This is going off the rails. He needs to pull it together.

“—but if it’s something bigger, let me help fix it.” Virgil takes two breaths. “You help me a lot. Let me help you too.”

A slow blink. Patton’s smile falls away and for a brief second, Virgil thinks he’s been successful.

Then the smile comes back, softer and quieter. “I’m sorry, Virgil. I think moving around has just disoriented us a little, you know? I’ve been fine. Great, even! We have all these new friends, I’m getting to achieve my dream. I’ve really not been upset at all!”

Virgil can feel himself falling.

“I think it’s just that we’re out of high school so things seem a bit different. Easy to decide the difference means something is wrong instead of just being different!” Patton grins then. It lights up his face and almost seems to reach his eyes.

It doesn’t.

“Plus there was that attack on the club! I mean, that must’ve been really scary and it makes sense that you’d be all thrown out of wack! But really I’ve never been happier!” Patton shakes his head. “I think this is all in your head, Buddy. But thank you for checking!”

And something between them shatters.

The pieces fly off in either direction, slicing into them both. Patton doesn’t seem to blink at it—Virgil’s not sure he even noticed—but the largest chunk goes flying and hits Virgil squarely in the stomach.

“Right.” Virgil’s not sure how he’s supposed to respond. He doesn’t feel fully connected to himself. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“Of course I am, buddy! It’s me!”

Virgil’s not sure what’s going on in his body right now. It’s hot and cold and shivery and tense. He thinks he’s upset but he’s not quite sure in what way.

Is he anxious? Sad? Angry?

He doesn’t really know. The only thing Virgil can think right now is how the conversation had gone exactly the direction he was most fearful of it going.

Virgil swallows.

“I’m gonna take a walk,” he says. His voice sounds outside of himself.

Patton nods at him and makes no move to stop him, which normally would set Virgil’s something wrong with Patton siren blaring. This time however, a different alarm has already been going for a month so the added noise doesn’t impact Virgil the way it should. He pushes past it, ignoring the dark brown eyes that follow him towards the hallway.

Just for a second, a very brief moment while Virgil closes the door behind him, he glances back. Not because he’s expecting anything but because it feels right. He’s supposed to look back at Patton. Patton will wave him in, and they’ll talk, and everything will be correct again.

His heart won’t hurt so much.

But Patton’s looking at his scrapbook, not up. His tongue is poking out, a subconscious thing that happens when he concentrates and Virgil has teased him about more than once.

Virgil shuts the dorm room door.

He stands in the hallway. Unmoving. Quiet.

His heart is pounding in his chest, his body hot and heaving. He thinks back to the conversation with Patton, thinks about everything he said and, at first, Virgil tries to figure out where he went wrong.

Did he go wrong?

He did kind of drop the conversation on him. That could’ve been anxiety-inducing for Patton; maybe he just couldn’t handle everything in the conversation. Maybe Virgil will get a text in a couple hours, asking if they can talk.

Maybe.

The hot feeling grows and a different idea occurs to him.

I think this is all in your head, Buddy.

Why did Patton lie to him?

All he had to do was say he didn’t want to talk about it. Virgil would’ve accepted that; Virgil had used that line on Patton multiple times, in elementary, middle, and high school. They had never lied to each other, never covered the truth in thorns and roses to keep people from looking too closely.

All in his head.

All in his head.

Like fucking hell it is.

The hot feeling is too much at this point, all consuming and pulsating throughout his body. It’s like fingernails on a chalkboard, like rocks smashing together; Virgil has to fight the overwhelming urge to scream. All he can think is how Patton, his best friend for over a decade, lied to his face.

Why?

Is there a reason Virgil would accept?

His hands curl into fists.

Yeah, he might’ve messed up by how he approached the topic. Yeah, Patton is dealing with something. But to tell him it’s nothing? To tell him it’s all in his fucking head?

Virgil moves away from the dorm room and stomps his way down the hallways. There’s no real plan in his movement, just an all powering red that refuses to go away. Quickly and perhaps unsurprising, Virgil finds himself standing in front of Logan’s door.

He knocks on it without hesitation.

“One moment please!”

Logan’s answering call doesn’t remove the powerful pounding happening in Virgil’s body but suddenly, it’s much more bearable. He waits, desperately working to slow his breathing and release his fists.

Logan opens the door. “I—Virgil! Are you quite alright?”

“No.” The answer is given more to show Patton how to respond then it is to answer Logan. “Can I come in and throw a fit on your floor?”

Logan blinks twice. “If you so please.” He opens the door a little wider and takes a step back. “Go right ahead.”

Virgil strides in immediately. He barely glances around the room before he flops right onto the beautifully cleaned fake wood floor, body straight out like a board with his head facing into the plastic. He waits for a half a second, letting all his emotions pull back into one large wave.

Then he lets it crash to shore.

“Urgggggggggg!” Virgil slams his fist to the ground. “Fucking, fuck, bitchass, fucking FUCK!”

The anger smashes into the ground, betrayal flowing across the floor and staining it a dark ugly brown. Virgil’s nose fills with a metallic scent and he punches down again, hard and painful.

“Fucking bitch!”

The ‘itch’ goes up as he yells it and his throat hitches. The knot had started in his stomach and worked its way up—now, it falls out of Virgil’s mouth and sinks into the ground.

“Meh meh meh meh meh. Fuck you.”

His body is strangely lighter now. He feels the way he does after coming down from a panic attack or having a good cry—everything is calm and quiet.

Logan helps with that. Logan’s staying quiet too.

Virgil flips his head so he’s lying on his left cheek and facing his friend, crouched onto the floor beside him, sitting about next to Virgil’s chest with a completely neutral look on his face.

“Fuck,” Virgil says, somewhat halfheartedly. The fury has left his body; the wave won’t come back up. All that’s left are steady ripples. At a particularly larger one, Virgil growls at the air and the sound smooths it out.

“Are you okay?” Logan asks. There’s no judgment to be found in his tone—just casual concern. The words echo around Virgil’s ocean as well, soothing the last of the ripples.

Virgil closes his eyes. “I hate everything,” he grumbles. His body goes loose against the floor.

“What is everything?” Logan asks, somewhat gently.

“Everything.”

“Surely you can’t hate everything. That’s quite a colossal number of items.”

“But I do.” Despite everything, Virgil can feel himself smile. Most of the anger has oozed out of him and while thoughts of Patton feel like poking a wound, it’s so easy to lose himself in the banter with Logan and allow himself an avenue out of this anger. “Everything. Hated.”

“Then I find it quite remarkable you manage to keep it all straight.”

Virgil snorts. “It’s easier when it’s everything. Don’t need a list. Just ‘hey you! I hate you.’”

“You raise an excellent point.” Logan is soft as he says it and he meets Virgil’s eyes with complete calm. He’s never judged Virgil for his anxiety, never painted it as stupid or odd. Even now, as Virgil screams and slams his floor, Logan is simply accepting him.

It’s a sudden realization and all of what’s left of Virgil’s anger smooths in a safe golden warmth.

“I don’t hate you though,” Virgil says jokingly but it feels like a necessary addition.

“That does falsify your previous statements,” Logan responds. It’s said matter of factly but as with all banter with Logan, there’s an edge of wit to it. Quiet enough that Virgil’s not fully sure Logan is aware of it.

Virgil’s grins at him. “It’s an easy thing to keep track of too, though. You’re the one exception.”

Logan takes over a beat to respond and while Virgil’s eyes stay shut, he likes to imagine he made the stoic man blush.

Not because that’s something he was trying to do. He wants Logan to be blushing in like, a friend way.

Friends want other friends to blush all the time.

“If you continue to allow exceptions, it’ll be quite difficult to remember it all,” Logan responds. His voice is slightly different, unsteady in a way that makes Virgil’s heart skip a beat. “You’ll want to be careful.”

“Don’t need more exceptions. Just you.”

Another beat.

“Well, I suppose that will work.”

Virgil opens his eyes and blinks as Logan's whole body comes into focus. First his legs, in a thrifted pair of jeans with a hole on the knee patched over in a similar color of blue, then a white button down shirt missing a button at the very top, and finally up to those blue eyes. The sunlight from his window hits just the very top of them, off to the left hand side and it turns his eyes into an ombre that takes Virgil’s breath away.

“How are you feeling?” Logan asks.

Virgil wants to respond but his mouth won’t move. Even if it did, he has nothing but shades of blue in his head, mind and heart and it’s not like the word ‘beautiful’ is a socially acceptable way to respond right now.

Literally just the thought of saying that word is enough to make his skin crawl. Virgil swallows and very intentionally looks down at Logan’s mouth.

It curves in a way Virgil doesn’t expect. Right now, it’s pursed in concern, and his bottom lip is slightly thicker than his top lip, which kind of makes Virgil want to bite it.

Immediately, Virgil drops his gaze down to Logan’s chest and notices that Logan’s shirt is very, very slightly see through, and decides that he’ll answer Logan’s question while looking at the floor.

Then he can’t remember what the question was.

Welp.

Time to guess.

“Sorry for throwing a fit on your floor,” Virgil says. Logan doesn’t seem to blink too much so clearly it isn’t the worst answer. “I had a conversation with Patton that was a little upsetting and I… dunno. This is I wanted? I… sorry.”

He can feel his face heating up and hopes desperately that Logan can’t tell.

“You’re always welcome to have a moment in my dorm room,” Logan responds. “There’s no reason to feel embarrassed. I’m quite… I consider it a compliment that you would choose to come here during a time of distress.”

Virgil’s face is not getting any colder.

“Are you alright? Would you like to discuss your and Patton’s conversation?”

Virgil thinks for a moment.

His chest is still tender but in a way where Virgil doesn’t have to feel it if he doesn’t push against it. When he sees Patton again, he’s sure his heart will ache and his muscles will tighten but he thinks he’ll still be able to smile and laugh with his friend.

Whatever shattered between them isn’t coming back. Virgil knows that and the thought almost makes him bury his face back into Logan’s floor.

But he doesn’t have to think about it right now.

“I’m okay.” Virgil pauses. “I know I just died on your floor but is it okay if we don’t talk about it? Just for right now.”

“Of course it’s alright. If you’d like to talk, I’m here, but never feel like you must.” Logan pauses. “Although you didn’t die on my floor. You merely collapsed.”

Virgil meets those stupid eyes, just to see if Logan is fucking with him. His friend’s typical poker face is in place but Virgil has gotten better at reading it and a slight twitch upwards in the corner is enough to let him know Logan’s teasing him.

So, obviously, Virgil dramatically gasps as if he’s having a heart attack (he decides that if he were to have a heart attack he would dramatically gasp) and flops limp. “Dead,” he says.

“You’re speaking.”

Virgil, naturally, doesn’t respond.

“Okay,” Logan sighs but it’s in a way that makes Virgil’s smile grow. “I can see you breathing.”

An excellent point. Virgil holds his breath and mentally tries to calculate how long he’ll be able to keep it up.

“Your foot is currently moving.”

Fuck, Virgil didn’t even realize. He holds it still immediately.

“Your muscles are too loose.”

He tightens.

“Now they’re too tight.”

He loosens. His eyebrows knit together as he does so.

“You haven’t pooped.”

Virgil looks up at Logan, incredulous. Logan's expression is completely serious and it makes Virgil’s chest glow.

“Dead people tend to expel their fecal matter after they die.”

Virgil blinks twice. It’s not until Logan gestures at him with one hand—a clear challenge of ‘get to it’—that Virgil falls into laughter. He gasps in between, body desperately trying to pull in breath after his moment of holding it.

“You’re funny, L.”

“I am? I—Thank you.” Logan smiles then, tentatively, unsure and Virgil’s heart melts into a puddle.

He really needs to get a handle on this friend thing.

“Bitchass,” Virgil says, mostly to keep the smile on Logan's face. “Fucker.”

He rolls onto his back and sits up, spinning around so he’s facing Logan and pointing one finger at him.

“You’re very profane.”

“You’re very un-profane.”

Logan raises his eyebrows and Virgil sighs dramatically.

“Yeah, not my best work.”

He shifts on the floor. “Thank you,” Virgil swallows. His eyes find his hands in his lap. “I know it’s a bit odd to just come in here and start screaming. And I know you said it was fine but—”

“I said that because it is true,” Logan interrupts. Virgil risks a glance at his friend and nearly tears up at the quiet and complete kindness in his eyes. Logan holds that gaze, soft and gentle and so very blue. “My floor is yours to throw a fit on.”

Virgil smiles, heart thumping out of his chest and whole body warm. “Okay.”

They sit in silence. Virgil pauses for the very briefest of seconds, then reaches out and grabs Logan’s hand. Logan lets him, watching as Virgil begins to fiddle with the fingers, wrapping them around each other and squishing the tips.

“You’ve gotten better at touch,” Virgil says. His voice is quieter than he means it to be. Deeper too.

“I have,” Logan responds. His voice is soft too. “Your help with that has been very useful.”

“I’m glad.” It takes great effort to put Logan’s hand down, and even then he places it so it rests on his legs, right at the cross of his criss-cross applesauce. “I like helping you.”

Logan smiles at him.

He does it a lot more now, Virgil thinks. And more when they’re alone than in the larger group.

Virgil likes that.

“Would you like to partake in a game,” Logan asks. “I have a deck of cards and while I don’t know of any card games, I’m sure—”

“You don’t know any card games?”

Virgil’s voice is normal now, back to being loud, back to his normal pitch.

“No. I…” Logan looks down at the hand resting on Virgil’s legs. “No, I don’t.”

“Why do you have a deck of cards then?” Virgil asks. It sounds rather accusatory and he trips over himself to fix it. “Not that it’s bad, I just was, like, interested. You can have a deck of cards. You can have ten decks of cards! Do you want another deck of cards, I can get you one—”

Likely out of pity, Logan cuts him off. “I raided the recycling bin in the back of a Poker place on the way here. I had figured that a setting like this, which would require socialization, games are often a manner of connection.” He pauses. “Also, I’ve been told they’re fun.”

Virgil grins. “Okay cool. I’ll teach you!”

“Excellent.”

Logan gets to his feet and makes his way over to his desk. He passes his bed on the way—as always, neatly made and still with the same paper thin sheets he had at the beginning of the semester.

There’s a few pictures on the wall now: the one of everyone at Clay and Color, one of everyone but Patton at an escape room (Patton had claimed to have too much homework) and one of just Virgil and Logan. They’re arranged in frameless 6 by 4, neatly on top of one another beside his desk.

The picture of him and Logan is at the bottom, where it would be the most easily seen while sitting to do work.

Virgil likes that a lot.

Logan opens a drawer on his desk and walks his way back over. It’s odd to watch Logan sit criss-cross on the floor; he seems to be proper for it, to adult to do such childish things.

“Right.” Logan pulls out the deck and passes it to Virgil. “What game will you be teaching me?”

“The greatest game of all,” Virgil responds. He flips the deck over in his hands, tapping the box against his palm so the well-used cards fall into it. “Spit.”

Chapter 32: Harriet Putter (Trauma-bonding)

Chapter Text

”It’s strange.”

“Strange?”

“You hear voices nobody else can hear, and then Mr. Borris shows up dead. It’s just…strange.”

Logan’s eyes are glued to the screen. He can see how Harriet Putter became the global phenomenon it is—there’s something quite exciting about a world with a completely different quirk system to their own, living right alongside them—though he does feel like missed the chance to become truly connected with it. Yuna’s love comes mainly from childhood nostalgia, not from the frankly rather problematic story. Additionally, the author revealing herself as a politically minded bigot did nothing to encourage a want to engage. Still, Logan’s reveal that he had never read or watched Harriet Putter had led to a weekly group piracy party (at least for the last two weeks).

The seven of them have sufficiently conquered a dorm room common space: a nice secluded one in the basement with a kitchen, a TV and enough couches and chairs to fit all seven of them.

Yuna and Nikita snuggle together on one large armchair, one of Nikita’s hands brushing through Yuna’s shining golden curls and the other fishing popcorn out of a blue plastic bowl. Abidan sits on the floor next to them, left touching the side of their chair and back hitting the couch Logan, Virgil and Ariadne sit upon. One of Ariadne’s legs brushes his shoulder and the other curls under her body, allowing her to take up less space.

Virgil sits upon the middle cushion, in his designated spot beside Logan. He wears the most adorable skeleton onesie, a Slytheroon scarf (colors purple and green) and leans towards Logan, though not enough to do anything more than brush against him. Logan knows this was done on purpose—likely out of concern of overwhelming him with touch—but instead, all Logan can focus upon are the few instances Virgil does come up against him. The faint touches alone are enough to capture his mind and set off little fireworks sparking down his spine.

Strangely though, Logan craves more of it.

“Putter’s an idiot,” Abidan grumbles. “How can she not know it’s strange to hear voices in walls, you know?”

“She’s new to this world!” Yuna replies. She looks over at Abidan as she says it, ensuring their friend sees the gentle smile on her face. “She doesn’t know what’s normal and what isn’t!”

Also, Logan thinks, there was quite a lot of commotion happening in that particular scene. Harriet could be wondering whether Hermes was referring to the cat, the voices, Snickle’s reaction, Smartlewall’s demeanor—frankly, it made more sense for Harriet to be confused by Hermes than not.

“She should assume hearing voices isn’t normal.” Nikita tugs on Yuna’s princess curls gently. “We don’t hear voices here.”

Logan doesn’t even think Hermes was referring to the voices. More the event as a whole.

“We don’t do magic in our world either though!” Yuna responds.

At that, Logan raises his eyebrows.

“You know, I guess that’s fair,” Abidan says.

For a brief instant, Logan debates teasing his friends—the teleporter, pyromaniac, quirk-copier, buglingualist, barrier-creationalist, and whatever the fuck Virgil is—just to let them know how magical they quiet frankly were. He catches Ariadne smiling knowingly in his direction, very aware of what he’s thinking. She shrugs at him, an open invitation.

Go for it. It’ll be funny.

But no. Logan decides to let it go, slightly worried everyone might take it too seriously and decide he was scolding them.

Well.

Not “everyone.”

He thinks Patton might take it seriously.

The boy sits by himself on the armchair on the other side of the couch. He wears a onesie, just like Virgil, though his is a gray cat with little ears poking from the tops of his head. Yuna actually wears the same one in pink, hood pulled down by Nikita ages ago so the girl could play with her hair. He watches the TV silently, grinning his typical wide smile with eyes colder than the oldest iceberg.

“We literally can do part of their magic system,” Virgil says. “Mx. ‘I can copy anyone's quirk’ and Ms. ‘I can teleport miles away.’ That’s just apparition.”

His words warm Logan up like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter day. Logan looks over at Virgil and feels himself melt.

Virgil’s not even looking at him. He’s not arguing that Quirks are magic out of some special obligation to Logan. He just… he’s just expressing what he’s thinking.

There’s something magnetic about him at this moment. Something that pulls Logan's eyes to the wavy black of his hair and the beautiful brown of his skin.

To those eyes.

Those perfect hazel eyes.

“Fuck,” Abidan says. “You right.”

“If you think about it, electricity is magic too, in a way,” Ariadne jumps in. “Think of how much we can do with that that they can’t do at all.”

“O-M-G!” Yuna merges each letter into each other as she speaks, clapping her hands together. “Imagine how many problems would be fixed with google! They could’ve literally just looked up ‘who is Nicolas Flamel!’”

“Might’ve ruined the story,” Nikita says.

“That part of the story was just them searching things up in the library anyway,” Abidan says. “I vote we give the wizards phones.”

“Your vote is inconsequential,” Logan finally speaks up, unable to help himself. “The movies were filmed over 20 years ago.”

“Every vote counts,” Nikita responds immediately, grinning. “I’ll cast mine as well. But I’ll be anti-phone.”

“You’ve already won,” Virgil tells her.

“Yes!”

“Your vote is also insignificant,” Logan says, mostly because it gives Nikita a stage to act offended and Logan can always appreciate his friend’s antics.

Predictably, Nikita guffaws and flips him off. Everyone laughs, then switches to loud shushing as Professor McDonadall turns a bird into a water goblet.

“One. Two. Three. Vera Verto.”

Logan has to wonder if the professor just murdered that bird.

The movie continues. Harriet plans to sneak into Slytheroon’s dormitory and question Malcoy about the petrified students (as if a 2nd year would possibly be able to pull off that kind of magic), wins a Quidditch match, and promptly threatens to strangle a house elf named Robby. Then Harriet goes to a sort of dueling club that Logan is sure will only exist for as long as it is on the screen.

Sometimes, he gets surprised by how popular Harriet Putter became. The writing can be truly atrocious.

Serpensortia!”

A king cobra drops onto the stage and Logan’s eyebrows shoot up. He pulls out his phone immediately and looks up how animal care was handled, starting with what organization was in charge. He further plans to work out the cost and whether or not the creature received breaks from filming stimulation.

“It’s like when my classmates discovered my quirk,” Virgil says conversationally.

Slowly, Logan looks up at the scene and the objective horror on every one of those students' faces. A response to Harriet trying to protect them.

An unfathomable amount of rage pulses through his body, even as he tells himself that he already knew.

Virgil has told everyone that Patton was his only friend, coupled with Virgil’s hatred of his own quirk and it doesn’t take many more hints to figure out what his school life had been like. It certainly wasn’t Janus who taught Virgil that his powers had to remain dormant.

Ariadne also doesn’t look that surprised, and she lays a quiet hand on Virgil's knee. The smile the two share is one of soft understanding and appreciation.

Yuna, Nikita, and Abidan blink. Not in shock—maybe not even in surprise at the comment. But Logan watches Nikita and Abidan share a glance, a quiet one that communicates more in a second than a conversation ever could.

“He's talking about this with you for the first time too?”

“Yeah.”

“Should I ask more questions?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

Logan lets the tips of his fingers delicately settle on the couch.

“You always had me!”

Patton's voice breaks through the vague tension and everyone turns toward him. He’s smiling at Virgil, and this time his eyes shine with it. His body’s shifted, as if he expects Virgil might want to stand up and join him in the chair.

Virgil smiles back but this time, the light doesn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah,” Virgil says. “I did.”

Virgil sinks deeper into the couch.

Nobody moves until Patton slowly shifts back and fills the entire cushion.

“People are cruel,” Abidan says, breaking the tension with a blunt hammer. There’s an edge of bitterness in their own voice that suggests they’re not only thinking about Virgil. “You just got to remember it’s not you, you know?”

“Kids especially,” Yuna murmurs. She smiles at Virgil, a smile that meets her eyes and is sadder for it. “But we know that Harriet was just trying to protect Jacky when she used parseltongue! She wasn’t doing anything wrong! They were mistaken.” Yuna’s voice attempts to hug Virgil from the other side of the room, soft and gentle. “They were mistaken about you too, Virgil.”

Virgil doesn’t speak. He’s tight now, buried by well-meaning words and no way of digging himself out of them. Logan starts to reach for his hand, then pauses.

No.

There’s too much stillness in him; Virgil’s doesn’t want to be touched right now, Logan thinks. Instead, Logan lets his hand hover on the couch cushion, well-within reach but without the skin-to-skin contact.

“My quirk is designed to hurt people.” Virgil stares at the movie, not really seeing it. He doesn’t reach for Logan’s hand. “They were at least a little bit right.”

It takes Logan a second to respond—a second to cool the heat rising in his chest, the tumbling red hot poker igniting every protective neuron in his body.

“Do you remember…,” Logan starts calmly. He’s not completely sure the anger is removed from his voice until nobody reacts to it. “...when I informed you that a quirk does not make us. That my lack of quirk does not equate to my lack of power.”

Virgil meets his eyes and something changes. He’s still tense—if anything he’s more so—but the fear has changed. It’s startlingly more vulnerable now, perhaps because Virgil actually wants Logan to be able to say something of value.

Logan certainly hopes he can.

“That was perhaps not a perfect metaphor for your own quirk. While I do think it’s important to remember that the supposed moral quality of your quirk does not extend to who you are, it does not address your concerns in a satisfying manner because you are not only worried about yourself. You also fear for the morality of the quirk itself.”

Virgil nods. The group itself has fallen silent. Out of the corner of his eyes, Logan watches Yuna lower the volume of the movie and give Virgil center stage.

“I just…” Virgil’s voice trails off. “I spent my whole childhood afraid of it. I… my parents—my birth parents—they threw me out over it. And so many teachers just refused to teach me. At all. They were so worried about… about helping the next big villain.”

Ariadne reaches out for Virgil then pauses as Logan meets her eyes and shakes his head.

He won’t like it. Not yet.

“And so many people just… just left me. I would be nice to people, and we would be friends and then… my quirk would come up and they’d just leave.”

Yuna makes a noise.

“I don’t want to be evil.” Virgil’s voice rises with each word. He himself rises with it, eyes leaving Logan’s face to glare at the ceiling. “I don’t want to be like Smoke and…and burn people for the fun of it, or take people’s heads off. I don’t want to be a villain. I don’t want to be… I don’t want to be broken!”

The word slaps Logan across the face and he doesn’t let himself blink.

“Virgil—” Patton starts.

“You’re not broken, Virgil!” Yuna begins at the same time, and her movement over to the couch is what allows her to keep going. She kneels in front him, tears streaming from her soft green eyes. “There’s nothing broken about you!”

Virgil stares at her, as if just now realizing that his words could have an effect on them.

“You are so kind, so funny, so snarky! You make comments about things before I’ve even gotten my head around understanding them! And… you’re just so kind, Virgil! You got my salad fixed with the waiter that one time—”

“You were upset at me about that,” Virgil interrupts shakily.

“Because you’d never do it for yourself!”

“Because that’s rude.”

Yuna laughs and Virgil laughs too and somehow, that’s what triggers the tears on Virgil’s own face.

“And you’re the most protective person I’ve ever met,” Yuna says. “I’ve watched you stand up for Logan and Patton over and over again against Roman and Remus and you use your quirk to do it! And I wouldn’t have it any other way!”

With one large breath, Virgil reaches out and grabs Logan’s outstretched hand. Immediately, Logan makes eye contact with Ariadne and very slowly, she threads an arm over Virgil's shoulder and tucks herself against his side.

“Your quirk isn’t evil,” Nikita says from the chair. She holds up her hand and a ball of fire appears in it, flickering its way higher and higher until it’s brushing with the ceiling. “Smoke murdered people with explosions. If I wanted to, I could set fire to this dorm room right now. Maybe I’d kill someone.” Nikita extinguishes the fire with a single movement. “I don’t think I’m evil, Virgil.”

Virgil shakes his head. “You’re not. You’re… but—”

“No buts,” Abidan interrupts. “Just let yourself believe that you’re good. That your quirk is good. For one moment, you know? Then you can go back to being a hater.”

Virgil laughs again. He glances over at Logan, searching. For what, Logan isn’t sure but he does his best to give it to him anyway.

“There’s no such thing as evil or good,” Logan tells him. “Only consequences and how it makes ourselves and others feel. I can understand why you believe your quirk is evil—it comes with the ability to make others feel what is considered a negative emotion.”

Virgil’s silent. Unmoving.

“However, you scared Smoke’s accomplices and were able to use your quirk to keep many more citizens alive. You used your quirk to keep Roman and Remus away from me in Professor Tente’s classroom, which I personally appreciate. These are not evil acts and they are not acts that ended in suffering only.”

Logan threads their fingers together and brings it up to his chest. He’s not quite sure why. Only that it feels right.

“It is not wrong, Virgil. You are not wrong.”

Tears stream down Virgil’s cheeks. Before Logan can blink Virgil buries his head in Logan’s chest and lets out a loud sob.

Without thinking, Logan wraps his arms around him. Ariadne falls back and Virgil tumbles into Logan’s lap, head shoving up to his shoulder but face still hidden. Loud broken sobs echo around the room and Logan can rapidly feel his shirt getting damp. He ignores it in favor of bringing Virgil closer.

Patton flinches.

For a moment, Logan doesn’t know what to say. He tries to think back—to come up with an instance in his own life where such would be applicable. He finds nothing.

“It’s alright,” Ariadne murmurs. “We got you. Logan has you. We love you.”

Virgil reaches up and grabs Logan’s shirt collar.

“I don’t want to be stared at like that,” he whispers.

“I know,” Logan says. He tries to copy the gentle tone Yuna used earlier. “It’s… alright.” He glances at Ariadne, who nods encouragingly. “Nobody here will stare at you like that.”

“They wouldn’t stop doing it.”

Logan shuts his eyes. He takes a breath.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I couldn’t stop it!”

It’s hard to breathe. Logan’s eyes are burning. His hand finds the back of Virgil’s head and he gently—gently, like Yuna’s voice, like Ariadne’s gaze, like Abidan’s words, like Nikita’s fire—strokes the very ends.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I tried… I tried… L, I—I…” Virgil tries to take a breath but it’s interrupted by a second one. “It was too much, L. Too much. I couldn’t do it.”

Logan's eyes open.

And the pieces fall into place.

Logan can’t stop the tear from falling down his cheek, and he hopes desperately that Virgil’s head will stay down and he won’t look up and notice Logan’s blunder. Nobody else has figured it out—Logan can tell by the silent open-mouthed stares that only Ariadne has the decency to try and pretend isn't about him crying.

For a moment, Logan’s brain is only full of hypotheticals that bring him closer and closer to panic. Then he grabs it with one hand and informs the stupid muscle that it does what he says, not the other way around.

“They were—” Logan cuts himself before a sob can force its way out. “—ignorant fools. You shouldn’t have been treated that way. It’s okay—” his voice breaks off.

Pull it together.

“When the world rejects you, it is alright to struggle. It is human.” Logan takes a breath. A quiet one. “It is not you who is broken. It is the world.”

Virgil drops Logan’s collar and throws both arms around Logan's neck.

“I tried to kill myself,” Virgil says, muffled against the cloth.

Another traitorous tear drips its way down Logan’s face. He turns his head up to the sky and works to blink the crack in his heart out of sight.

Ariadne's hand flies to her mouth, but she quickly tries to compose herself. It’s clear she understands that Virgil is worried about reactions and her immediate goal is to ensure his comfortability.

Nikita’s face goes as still as a rock. Beside her, Abidan is just as still, though their hands twitch every now and then.

Patton reacts less. It’s clear he already knew; Logan is sure he visited Virgil afterwards as often as possible, with more presents and love every time. So Patton just shifts, quiet and… surprised, based on the way his eyes dart over.

Yuna gasps aloud and it’s only after that she tries to quiet herself. Her tears, like Logan's, are silent. Unlike Logan’s, they don’t stop.

“I’m…glad you’re here, Virge,” Yuna says softly. Acrylic nails dig into her skin. “Thank you for trusting us with… with everything.”

Virgil stays hidden.

“I did too,” Abidan says and Virgil peeks out, just enough to ensure that Abidan knows he’s paying complete attention. “After they found us, you know? Gillian, and everyone and me. I knew they were going to try and send me here and I really didn’t want to come.”

Yuna reaches out and grabs Abidan’s hand. Her fingers curl over the scar they’d carved themself with Gillian years ago as a promise that they would be friends forever. Abidan looks down at it, then back up to meet the one eye Virgil offered them.

“You’re not alone, you know.” Abidan says. It’s hard to say anything that they say is ever said gently, but it is the softest Logan has heard them. “And for the record, I’m glad you failed. I’m glad I failed too, most of the time.”

“Me too,” Virgil whispers.

Out of the very corner of his eye, Logan gets another glimpse of Patton. The boy sits stock-still, staring at the floor. Every now and then, Patton glances over at Logan and Virgil, then back at the ground. Silent.

Nikita coughs. “Good movie, huh?”

Everyone laughs, much louder and with much more gusto than the joke itself deserved. Virgil shifts, keeping himself firmly in Logan’s lap but spinning so he sits in between the boy’s legs instead on top of them and falls to let his back hit against Logan’s chest. Without much thought, Logan wraps his arms around him, settling his hands on Virgil’s stomach and pulling him closer.

Virgil meets the gazes of the people around them and smiles wryly.

“Sorry?” he says. It’s clearly meant to be a joke but it’s met with sincerity.

“Don’t be,” Nikita responds. “It sucks to have people look at you like that. My sister would get it all the time. I used to try and coax her out of the house and all I’d accomplish is friends asking her stupid questions about whether or not being quirkless meant her brain stopped working.”

Logan was suddenly incredibly glad he had never been asked this question. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d respond.

“And then I’d have to stop being friends with them,” Nikita complained, “and set their house on fire. It was a real drag.”

Everyone laughs again but more timidly this time, like they can’t tell if she’s joking.

Logan is pretty sure she’s not.

“Now!” Nikita points at the movie. “Any other trauma to get through before I turn up the volume?

“I have social anxiety?” Ariadne offers. Nikita glances at her—a quick check in to ensure there’s a grin on Ariadne’s face—then turns the volume up.

“And we are very sorry for you,” Nikita says, both joking and genuinely. “Now! Back to Harriet!”

Virgil doesn’t move from Logan’s lap for the rest of the movie.

Logan isn’t uncomfortable once.

Chapter 33: Dining Hall Pasta (glass and blood)

Chapter Text

The cafeteria food is worse than average.

At least, that’s what Patton has decided. It’s an easy way to convince himself that the overpowering bland taste in his mouth comes from the kitchen’s lack of seasoning, not from the ever-growing hole in his chest.

He takes another bite of his pasta. Most of it’s overdone and turns to mush the moment it hits his tongue; what isn’t cracks as he bites down and he spends more than a minute chewing up uncooked rigatoni.

Before his mouth is fully empty, Patton takes another bite.

Beside him, Yuna gasps aloud. “No he did not! He really tried to touch it?”

“Would I lie to you?” Nikita responds.

Virgil mutters something to Logan quietly—something Patton can’t hear—and the man smiles and murmurs a response. They sit at the opposite end of the corner from him, perfectly in line of sight and far enough away that communication between them would be… difficult.

More pasta.

He finds a bite that’s only mush and it goes down without him even needing to chew.

“Finley says Lior says a lot of things like that,” Abidan says, empty fork waving back and in their hand as they speak.

Abidan hadn’t taken much food to begin with and yet their plate is fuller than anyone else in the group. Patton watches as Ariadne reaches across the table and drops a meatball on their plate, an obvious and pointed message that Abidan completely ignores.

Patton tries to remember who Finley is and is able to conjure up an outline of one of few nonbinary people in their class. After a minute of trying, Patton is forced to admit that he can’t even come up with their quirk, much less a face.

How does Abidan know them? And enough to talk to them about other people?

Slowly, it dawns on Patton that he doesn’t know who Lior is either.

“Lior tries to be nice,” Ariadne says. “He’s just… he told me I should watch this show called The Agents for it’s um, representation of women and… they were all hot, sexy, high heels, like, badass type. Which I can enjoy from an entertainment level but not like…”

“Not a representation level,” Nikita finishes. “Nah, I took the compliment when he was just looking at my hair but reaching out to touch it was crazy.”

Patton probably should be saying something.

He takes another bite of pasta.

During the first week, Patton had tried to get to know everybody. Then Virgil had found this friend group and… everything had just fallen to the wayside. It didn’t help that so many of them were just cruel. And it was worse when he thought they were kind and learned later what kind of person they really were.

Patton blinks back the burning in his eyes.

He’s fine.

It’s okay that other people… know people. It’s okay…

It’s okay…

...that he doesn’t.

Not for the first time today, let alone this week, Patton imagines the walls of his high school. The simple kindnesses of the waves he would receive from everyone in his grade, the beautiful innocence of the posters on the walls.

Patton had known everybody’s name, everybody’s face. He hadn’t been so…

so alone.

Logan stands up. The conversation around the table lapses and everyone turns to look at him.

“Lo?” Ariadne asks. “You okay?”

Without saying anything, Logan turns and walks towards the cafeteria windows.

The cafeteria is located on the first floor of the Superhero building, in the left corner. East Bridge’s campus is large enough to host businesses, woods, and both Superhero curriculum and others (Patton’s not sure what) but small enough that a thin road is able to circle the entire area and loop to the same entrance it had started at. It’s this thin road that Logan looks out at, cramming himself between two small tables in order to get a better look.

“What the hell?” Nikita mutters. She turns to Virgil. “You know what he’s doing?”

Patton tries not to grimace at the question and who it’s directed at. What it means is that when it comes to information on Logan, Virgil is deemed the authority.

The memory of Harriet Putter comes full force. Virgil’s arms around Logan. Logan holding Patton’s best friend.

They didn’t even talk about it when they got back to their dorm room.

Virgil is allowed to have other friends. You’re being toxic.

Rigatoni crunches under Patton’s molars.

“No.” Virgil stands slowly. “I…Maybe I’ll go check on him?”

Ariadne’s warm brown hand curls around Virgil’s darker one before he can take a step. “He’s heading back over.”

Logan walks briskly back and stops beside Virgil. Patton hands tighten around his fork as he watches Virgil reach out and brush imaginary dust from Logan’s shoulder.

“What was that?” Virgil demands, with none of the softness his touch communicated.

“Five extra bushes have been placed in front of the trees,” Logan says calmly. “They’re rather strategically placed, I don’t think you could plant much closer to the road without drawing at least a few questions.”

Patton doesn’t know what any of that means. He glares at his near empty plate and wonders if anyone would notice if he went to get more pasta.

“I believe we should pull the fire alarm,” Logan finishes curtly. “Patton, please put a shield up around us.”

Patton blinks.

“What?” he croaks out.

The rest however, stand up immediately. Patton stares at all of them, butt firmly planted in his seat and eyes wide.

“What does that mean? Fire alarm? Shield?” He forces himself to laugh. To smile. “Did we find the Burning Bush?”

“Shield now, Patton,” Logan responds quickly, words blending together. “I’ll explain once you’ve done so.”

For a moment, Patton just sits there. Then, slowly, he raises up his right arm and creates a bright blue dome over the seven of them.

“Thank you.” Logan nods at him and Patton smiles back, unsure why his instinct was to bristle. “The bushes are odd because it is highly unlikely that the school is the one who planted them. When I asked the gardners about any new projects last week, none of them brought it up. So if the school didn’t plant them, who did? Why?”

Yuna’s face has gone an ashy white. Her hands curl into fists.

Patton’s eyes dart around, desperately trying to understand everyone’s reactions. They’re all tense and shaking. Nikita actually appears to be searching the walls for a fire alarm while Ariadne has summoned a pet spider out of her dress to stand alert on her shoulder.

It’s just bushes.

“The fire alarm is over there.” Nikita points across the room. “Yuna—”

Before she can finish her sentence, Nikita is cut off by the windows exploding in.

The glass flies across the room at record speed and Patton screams with the several others around the dining room. Several crash against his shield and break into glistening snow.

Most people don’t have a shield up.

Bodies are ripped from chairs from the combined force of the glass and the explosion. The people closest to the windows aren’t moving, skin turned to ribbons.

Patton's heart leaps into his throat.

What’s…

Iron hits the air, followed by the burning smell of chemicals and smoke. Patton winces, bringing his hands up to cover his face.

...going on?

His dome flickers.

“Everyone down!” Logan yells.

All of his friends listen without pause. Patton still just sits there, shaking, blinking. Unmoving

His hand trembles and the shield falls away.

Kids hit the ground.The cries of shock have quickly turned to ones of pain and Patton can hear someone screaming the name ‘Daisy’ over and over.

Behind him, somebody vomits. Bile burns the back of Patton’s own throat, and he swallows against it.

He’s a hero, right?

That’s what he’s been training for.

Patton tries to get to his feet but his legs shake so much that he slips to the ground. His knee touches something wet, and when Patton looks down he notices the pool of red he’d fallen into.

It takes one glance behind him to figure out who it came from. A girl with long straight blonde hair, more a dirty yellow color than Yuna’s golden, screams behind him. She has good reason to; a very large chunk of glass has embedded itself into her left shin.

One hand grabs at it, not touching the wound but holding the leg as still as she can. The girl’s left hand is between her teeth and she screams around it for all she’s worth.

“Are you… are…um…”

“If your table is a rectangle, place it on the ground so the flat top of it faces the windows!” Logan yells across the room. “Now!”

As Logan screams it, Ariadne and Abidan rotate their own table so the top of it faces the window and the legs gut out, towards Patton and the girl. He scoots up against it and wraps his arms around himself.

He can’t think. He can’t breathe. The girl is screaming. She’s screaming so loudly and yet he can barely hear it around the calls and yells of everyone else.

Patton tries to stand, slipping in blood as tables slam around him. He flinches, shaking too hard to move.

Patton tries to stand up again. This time, he manages it.

Five people stand in front of the windows and years of comic book readings and watching Superhero news lets Patton recognize them instantly.

One of the most infamous villain groups in Ghora.

The Dark Sides.

To the far left is Tranquess, a man with soft brown eyes, fluffy brown hair, and wearing what looks to be summer pajamas and a dark blue medical mask. He waves as his feet—dressed in a comfortable pair of sneakers—crunches over the glass.

Patton watches him smile at a girl running at him with a crowbar. She stops midway and her arm lowers, eyelids drooping. With one hand, Tranquess reaches out and caresses the young girl’s cheek.

Then he snaps the girl’s neck and lets her body hit the floor. Glass cuts into her corpse the soles of Tranquess’s shoes stain red as he continues his march forward.

Patton leans over and vomits into the pool of blood he’s been standing in.

“Virgil,” Logan murmurs, “your quirk might be able to undo Tranquess’s. Next time he uses it, try using yours on the same person.”

Virgil holds one of the dining hall metal forks in his left hand. He clenches it tightly, eyes hard and unmoving from the five villains.

“Right. Do you have a plan?”

“I’m working on that.”

Virgil and Logan both look the opposite of how Patton feels. They’re tense, but guarded. Shaking but their breaths come slow and strong.

Actually, all of his friends look like that.

All six of them stand in front of the table Patton cowers behind, quirks at the ready. Both Abidan and Nikita have twin flames dancing in the palms of their hands, their eyes watching the Dark Sides every move.

Ariadne helps the group beside them flip their table over, while Yuna gently places a boy with jet black hair and glass embedded in his stomach behind it, laying him outside the villains' line of sight.

“Plan, Logan?” Nikita half-asks, half-demands. Her voice is hard. Ready.

Logan’s expression is as cold as the very first day Patton met him. “We need to get everyone to the left wall.”

Intrusivity, a woman wearing a purple sports bra and purple tights, pauses to observe the scene in front of her. She strokes her stomach with one hand and eight tentacles shoot out and reach for one of the tables next to the window.

Logan’s command worked well—it’s been flipped over—but that doesn’t stop Intrusivity from lifting it out of the way and inspecting the scene behind it.

The blast has completely incapacitated a number of the students close to it and Patton sucks in a breath as two broken kids are exposed to Intrusivity. Glass is embedded in their legs, shoulders and one of them has a particularly large piece gutting out from their chest.

“Well, that’s unfortunate.” Intrusivity picks up one of them, raining blood down on the whimpering other. “These are our future Superheroes? Stopped by a bit of glass.” With one smooth motion, she discards the kid, sending them flying against the wall. They hit with a crack that sends their arm in an odd direction, then thud against the ground.

Patton can’t take his eyes off the student’s body.

They don’t move.

Tangle stands at the far right, with a yellow medical mask, and varying shades of green making up a complex outfit. The horrendous fit’s cherry on top is the bright brown rope Tangle swings from side to side.

“Aw, don’t worry ickle Intrusivity! They’ll be fun to break!” The villain drapes an arm over her shoulder. “Then we can come back and see if the next batch of them are any better!”

Beside them is Marrow, a younger woman with dark red hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her mask is dark green and matches both her outfit and her smiling eyes.

“Don’t discount glass, Intrusivity darling.” Marrow’s green eyes flash. “There’s something quite unnerving about being stabbed by something so… sharp.”

The middle one’s laugh sends shivers down Patton’s spine.

Sightline, the most famous and deadly of them all, wears a very simple black skin-tight tank-top and long black kickboxing pants. A black medical mask covers their mouth and nose and dark gray eyes peer out at them. A single blonde eyebrow is raised, not matching the short green hair that sits on his head.

“The left wall?” Yuna asks. “Shouldn’t I just teleport people out?”

“No, that’s not possible. You would only end up harming yourself.” Logan opens his mouth to explain, then clearly changes his mind halfway through. “Teleport to the left wall with Nikita and secure the area. Abidan, copy Yuna’s quirk and start teleporting injured people behind tables on the left side.”

Without questioning him further, Yuna grabs Nikita’s arm and disappears, Abidan following right after.

“Ariadne, you can help move people over to the wall and use your bugs to distract the Dark Sides. Virgil—”

“I’m with you,” Virgil says immediately.

For a moment their eyes meet. Then Logan nods. “We’re going to try and engage with them.”

Patton should be with them. He can create a bubble over the left side of the wall—he can create a bubble over the whole room. And yet, when Patton raises his hands all he can hear is scream. All he can smell is blood.

He sinks behind the table, into the puddle of the blonde girl’s blood, and sobs.

Chapter 34: Fighting for Honor (where's my brother)

Chapter Text

Roman peeks out from behind a table, breathing steady, heart pumping in his ears. Quietly, he curses Remus for deciding to go get a second plate, as well as himself for not doing anything to stop it. His mother, Roman’s sure, would’ve mentioned that he was eating over the expected number of calories.

That Remus’s rule-breaking was rewarded by being closer to the villains when they broke the windows open felt like what Glenda, his mother, would call poetic justice.

Someone appears behind him. Roman doesn’t need to turn to access the situation; a kid from his class, Abidan—friends with Virgil and that quirkless—has clearly copied a teleportation quirk.

Why they haven’t used it to leave the dining hall, Roman isn’t sure.

“I’m getting you to the left wall,” Abidan says. He kneels next to one of the kids that had been sitting at the table next to Roman.

“I can’t—” The voice is near hysterical.

“I know.”

The kid disappears with the injured kid that had been lying next to him.

Then, Abidan reappears.

Their face drips with sweat and every breath they take comes as a little gasp. Blood stains their clothes and skin but they move fluidly. Uninjured.

The villains take a step forward and kids scatter. Roman contains his wince as one of the less injured kids trips over themselves, landing in a pool of glass and is unable to get back up.

Where is he?

Roman’s hands clench into fists. He turns towards Abidan, who is currently scouting out the next table, and growls softly.

“What are you doing?” Roman snarls.

Abidan promptly ignores him and Roman can’t resist the urge to make an affronted sort of noise. They walk past without so much as a word and kneel next to another injured kid.

“I’m bringing you to the left wall.”

“Is Cohlin okay? Have you seen him?” The kid gasps.

“I don’t know who that is.”

They vanish again.

This time, when Abidan reappears, Roman reaches out and grabs them.

“Answer my question.”

And Abidan fixes them with a stare so akin to his mother’s that Roman nearly takes a step back.

“Have you bothered to look around?” Abidan asks. “Everyone in this room is hurt and there are five major villains wreaking havoc at the front of the room. Can you try, for five seconds, not to make this about you?”

Roman’s hands drops from Abidan’s shoulder’s.

He purses his lips and summons whatever hot feeling he can find within himself. Annoyingly but perhaps unsurprisingly, desperation is the first to surge up and take command of the situation.

“Have you seen my brother?”

Abidan shakes their head. “No.”

Before Roman can ask another question, the kid teleports away.

“Fuck!” Roman crouches down behind one of the flipped tables—which he begrudgingly admits was a pretty good idea—and peeks over at the villains.

His table was located in a good spot. He’s as far right as he can get, and the windows stop about three feet before his table begins; when the glass exploded, not very much came raining on this side. It’s actually a bit odd that Abidan is bringing everyone to the left instead of the more secluded right.

“Remus, where are you?” Roman mutters. He imagines a pair of binoculars and peeks out from behind the table again.

There’s too much happening. With all the tables set up like forts, chairs thrown around like glitter, and bodies twitching on the plastic wooden floor, the binoculars offer nothing.

Roman discards them.

It’s fine. Both he and Remus have been training for precisely this kind of situation. He knows what to do.

Scout out the area. Memorize and understand your surroundings.

Roman already knows what the dining hall looks like. Sure, it’s in disarray but nothing beyond the chairs have moved enough that he might need to recalibrate how to move within the space.

He pokes his head out to ensure he’s correct and can’t help but start examining some of the bodies. His eyes catch on one with brown hair and Roman can feel his breath quicken.

Too lanky.

Roman moves on. Three bodies are categorized as distinctly not Remus before he realizes he’s supposed to be checking out the room, not finding his brother.

He’s acting like an imbecile. Roman can just imagine the look on Glenda’s face as she watches this scene: her more competent son, listening to a quirkless and cowering behind a table instead of standing against the attacking villains.

Still, Roman can’t help but search the bodies again.

Too blonde.

Too muscled.

Not muscled enough.

He grits his teeth. He should be better than this. There’s an obvious threat at hand and besides the fact that he’s easily the best fighter this school has, not fighting would look bad upon his family. Roman can feel his mother’s eagle-eyed gaze on his back, the cross of her arms and the curt frown in his direction.

You’re a Royalty. You’re going to fight. You’re going to win. And you can deal with your idiot twin after.

Roman closes his eyes.

He wants his brother.

For a second, the briefest of seconds, Roman teeters between the two options.

Find Remus.

Fight.

It’s a struggle Roman is very familiar with, and one he has lost many times. Sure enough, in the same way he bites his tongue when Glenda punishes Remus for his fidgeting or his strange thoughts, Roman feels himself bending under her imaginary stare.

The child that fought for the ability to protect his siblings has long since died.

Roman gets to his feet. Just for a moment, his eyes catch on another body. Another potential Remus.

The moment ends as he steps forward, placing himself in front of the Dark Sides.

He expects to be the only one making a stand; instead, Roman finds himself beside the quirkless and Virgil. The latter looks shocked to see him, the former, not so much.

“Where’s Remus?” Logan says as a greeting. “I was expecting you both.”

Expecting them? Expecting them? If Roman’s mother ever heard somebody as low in their station as Logan saying something like that to him, there would be hell to pay.

“Never you mind,” Roman growls. “What the hell are you doing up here anyway. You can’t seriously expect some Squick is going to be able—”

Virgil turns to look at him and Roman cuts himself off. Blood drains from his face.

Somehow, despite all the carnage around him, Virgil is still the most terrifying thing in this room.

“That makes things difficult,” Logan mutters. He eyes the Dark Sides. “I was planning on both of your assistance during my attempt to stall.”

Roman’s hands curl into fists. “Our assistance?”

“Yes.” Logan sighs. “Perhaps Sightline will want to talk for longer than I expect.”

Logan continues his march up to the villains, flanked by Virgil and now—rather annoying—by Roman as well. The villain’s assault on the front of the dining room pauses as they approach and for a moment, the entire dining hall seems to stand still.

Behind him, Roman watches the girl that was injured against Smoke, Yuna, teleport away with another screaming body.

“There you are, Sightline darling!” Marrow drapes herself over her boss's shoulders, and smiles a sharp sort of grin. “I did tell you the brave ones wouldn’t be able to help themselves.”

Sightline sighs but it seems almost affectionate. “I saw them coming long before they did, Marrow dear.”

Roman feels a cold shiver run down his spine. He portrays nothing, of course; Roman is far too well trained to allow anyone to see how the idea of Sightline’s quirk makes his skin crawl. But still, he tightens up his fighting stance.

What can you do against someone who knows your every next move?

Roman shrugs his shoulders back.

It doesn’t matter. He’s been trained since birth by the most powerful people Ghora has to offer. Roman is sure he can stand his own against the Dark sides.

They’re only very practiced villains who have beat full-fledged superheroes multiple times.

And he doesn’t have Remus.

Breathing suddenly becomes much more difficult.

“Salutations,” Logan greets them and Roman turns to look at him, unbelieving.

He had known that quirkless tended to be a little looney but talking? To the enemy? An enemy that has already started their attack and is responsible for the many fallen bodies stacking up across the dining room floor?

Bodies that Remus might be part of.

Apparently, quirkless are even more crazy than Roman thought.

The black medical mask covering Sightline’s face shifts slightly as the man raises an eyebrow. Roman has to assume that he, like Roman, is made aghast at Logan’s fighting etiquette.

“Hello there,” Sightline responds. He sounds amused. “I assume you’re talking to distract us and have allies get everyone out of the room.”

Right. That would make sense. The quirkless might be ridiculous, but Roman could see the logic—

“Of course not.” Logan blinks, as if the very idea befuddles him. “Most people are far too injured to make their way up the stairs and I have to assume that if you were clever enough to plant grenades in the bushes outside the building, you were also smart enough to make use of the forcefield set up around the room.”

Roman turns to stare at him.

Bushes?

Grenades?

Roman guesses the windows exploded with far more reach then they would have if Sightline has merely punched them but he still doesn’t know what the hell bushes Logan is talking about.

Not to mention this forcefield. Roman is aware East Bridge has placed a electric wall around many rooms to ensure safety—the building is afterall, still a government building—but around the dining hall?

Had the villains hacked it?

He wishes Remus was here. The idea of his brother standing too close to the window was terrifying enough; now he also has to wonder if the power behind a grenade explosion could have—

Stop it.

Concentrate.

“Clever one, aren’t you darling?” Marrow leans against Sightline and her green eyes darken dangerously. “You reveal it so quickly. I would keep that quiet if I were you.”

Logan glances in her direction. He seems to genuinely be contemplating her statement.

“I believe that would be quite difficult for me.”

Marrow’s eyes light up. “It’s alright, darling. Clearly, you’re not too clever if you think the three of you could challenge the five of us.”

Logan nods, almost begrudgingly. “I was planning on there being four of us.”

Marrow goes to respond and Sightline raises a hand. Instantly, she falls silent, and takes a step back from him. The rest of the Dark Sides, who had been watching their approach without much interest, fall still.

“If you’re not here to distract,” Sightline says, “why are you here? I can see that you aren’t planning to fight.” His eyes flicker to Roman, then back.

Just the mention of Sightline’s quirk sends another shiver down Roman’s spine. It’s not the power to see the future; Roman has fought a few different Seers and their quirk doesn’t allow them to predict anything useful about the fight at hand. They might know it’s ending, but knowing one’s going to lose isn’t enough to stop one from losing.

No, Sightline’s quirk is rare enough that Roman has never heard of another person with it. It’s not the distant future he sees; it’s the next second. He can see the punch coming and block it before his opponent has fully lifted up his hand. Extra reaction time, coupled with knowing his opponent’s next move before his opponent does leads to victory almost every single time.

The fact that Sightline said that they weren’t planning to fight meant that at least for the next few seconds, they weren’t going to.

The seconds tick by.

“I live here,” Logan says calmly. “A question with a less obvious answer would be ‘why are you here, Sightline?’”

God, Roman hates him.

“Will you just stop?!” Roman interrupts Sightline before the man can ever start to whirl around and face Logan. “This is ridiculous! If you’re not going to distract him and get everyone out, we should just be hitting him.”

Logan glances at Roman. For a brief second, Roman thinks he sees something like fear flash in the boy’s eyes. It’s gone a second after, suffocated in apathy and Roman is left to wonder if it had ever really existed.

“Roman,” Logan says. His voice is steady but Virgil glances over at his friend and takes a sidestep closer. “I am trying to have a conversation.”

Roman flushes. He’s tired of standing here. He came up to fight; he came up because he knew Glenda would want him to win, not stand around and listen to some quirkless try and talk a villain to goddamn sleep.

He is a Royalty.

And he needs these bitches gone…

...so he can concentrate on finding Remus.

…so he can save everyone. As a superhero is supposed to.

As a legacy hero is supposed to.

And so Roman swings into action.

He doesn’t attack Sightline. Roman is well-trained, and while he’s acting on impulse here, he knows that any direct attack on that man is going to end poorly for him.

So instead, Roman throws a punch at Marrow.

She laughs in delight as he does so and within moments, the rest of the five have started wreaking havoc again. Logan curses behind him and says something to Virgil that has the boy engaging with Intrusivity. Logan himself steps up to Tranquess, wielding a butter knife.

Quietly, begrudgingly, Roman can see the logic behind who Logan chose. They’re not the most dangerous but they are certainly the ones who have been enjoying killing the most people. Keeping them distracted might be able to save another body from the morgue.

Marrow blocks the punch with one arm. Roman is already throwing another one, letting his instincts take over. It is almost easy; his body moves through steps Roman has taken 100 times. Marrow, unlike many of his opponents, is able to block each one. She’s slowing down and for a brief moment, Roman thinks he’s going to knock her out without even engaging his quirk.

Then she snaps twice.

Sewing needles rise from her outfit, out of pockets and seams Roman didn’t even know exist. All glint silver and a few have sewing thread fitted into the eye of the needle.

She winks at him, and all of them go flying towards him.

It’s his training that saves him.

Imagination has always been Roman’s strong suit. Within seconds, he’s created armour from nothing that the needles clink into. He keeps moving, summoning a longsword in his right hand and spinning it toward his opponent.

Marrow ducks under it smoothly and snaps again.

Needles begin to fly around him, swarming his body for any entrance. They’re like a hoard of flies: small, harmless, yet he can barely see out the helmet to attack her.

Roman’s sword turns into a mesh metal net and he sweeps a quarter up, then drops it to the floor and summons another sword. He swings it, purposely higher than it should be.

Marrow ducks, and Roman grins.

Too easy.

A chair appears underneath her, blocking her movement. She moves into it and Roman tilts his sword down, ready to slice the bitch in half.

A chair leg stops him.

Roman turns immediately, facing his second opponent. At the sight of them however, Roman blood runs cold.

Sightline’s holds the chair awkwardly, yet somehow manages to send convince Roman into a defensive position with one look. He falls still, sword up and ready.

Sightline just shakes his head. “Marrow, how many times have I told you to stop playing?”

Marrow sighs. “I would’ve had him!”

Sightline shakes his head again. “He’s not untrained, Marrow.”

Marrow kicks the chair away as she stands. “You’re no fun darling. Go find someone else to bother.”

This time, Marrow doesn’t bother to snap her fingers. The needles under the net rise, removing themselves from capture, and join the storm around him.

More fly from her body. They too join the storm, whirling in circles around his body and clinking into his armour at speeds fast enough to mar it.

Roman changes his sword to another net, desperately hoping to catch them. He can’t see anything other than glinting metal, can’t hear anything besides the needles tapping, slamming against his helmet, his torso.

Pull. It. Together.

The net swings around, hysterically, and Roman can feel himself catching some. For a moment, he allows himself to believe that he’s going to get out of this.

Then, thread—thread he forgot existed in the storm of needles—spins around the hand holding the net, forcing it in place. Roman tries to swing it, but the thread pulls his hand back, so his arm is pulled out straight and to the right.

The net vanishes. Roman summons a sword into his left hand and turns, preparing to cut the thread but needles block its path. The sword dings against it, joining the sounds of metal clinking in his head. Roman curses and forces the sword to disappear.

He’s struggling to breathe, and it takes several seconds to calm his heart rate. All his work is for naught; thread grips his left ankle and Roman chest is suddenly too thick, his blood too hot.Too late, Roman tries to pull it away and only succeeds on dropping to his left knee a second earlier then he would have been forced to. His right hand is left in the air, so he looks like he’s waving at someone from a half-kneeling position.

“Fight me!” Roman yells, desperate for the assault to end. “Coward!”

Marrow tuts. “I am fighting you, darling. You’re simply losing.”

A needle finds a gap in his armour, right around his right elbow. Roman grits his teeth as it slides into him, quickly imagining a metal plate over the area before more can join it.

He forgets that Marrow can control needles without seeing them. That one needle continues its journey up his arm, ripping a gash from elbow to back until Roman is able to imagine a pocket in his armour and close the door behind it.

The pain is easy to ignore. Roman pulls at his left leg, working to get up to his feet.

Another needle finds its way in. This time through his right leg knee area.

He is able to create a pocket faster this time, but creating the metal plate over the joint area limits his movement even more. Roman’s breath is unsteady; he knows he’s in a bad place. Had he been training with his mother, Glenda would’ve paused the scenario to yell at him, then started up from the same place he was in now and let him get pummelled.

This time, Roman just gets pummelled.

More needles find their way in. There are two many joints Roman accounted for when creating his armour and the needles are too small to be blocked by anything other than a solid sheet of metal. Several work their way into his ankles, fingers, wrists and armpits. One even manages to stab Roman’s throat before Roman can properly put a stop to it and he thanks his stars it wasn’t an important part.

His body burns. Thread finds its way around his left arm, pulling that straight above his head and allowing more needles into more hidden joints.

The storm of needles swirl around and around him, blocking his sight and any chance of summoning things to drop on Marrow.

He can’t help but cry out when the needles remove his right glove.

Roman summons it back immediately, but the damage is done. He screams out as a small cyclone of metal works its way down his arm. Pockets aren’t enough to stop their descent; Roman places a wall between the top half of his forearm and his bottom. Slowly, painstakingly, he catches each individual one until the massacre of his right arm finally comes to an end.

The only thing Roman can feel is pain. He tries to move his right hand, experimentally, and screams.

Fuck.

The needles remove his left shoe and again, Roman has to imagine the armour back in place. Again, they work their way down his body, fast enough that up to his knee is completely ripped apart.

Roman can’t help but to sob. He can’t move, can barely breathe. The needles captured in his armour bang against their enclosures, until all he can hear is those fucking needles.

His right leg is demolished next.

Then his left arm.

Then his right arm again.

Marrow’s laughing. It’s hard to hear over the sound of metal on metal, but Roman can hear it.

It’s so hard to remember his training.

It’s so hard to keep trying.

Roman closes his eyes.

Another needle works its way in, managing to get to his chest before Roman can catch it.

Marrow’s gotten better at dodging his pockets.

“Roman!”

Another needle. Another pocket.

It hurts so much.

Roman is pretty sure he’s going to die.

“Roman!” The quirkless is yelling, from far away. So far away.

“Roman, transform your armour to wood!”

Roman wants to snap that it doesn’t work like that, only it does. He can’t think of anything that would be gained from making his armour wooden, only that it would protect him less and he'd have a harder time moving in it.

Not that he’s moving much now.

His brother would know what to do.

Another needle finds its way in.

Roman turns his armour to wood.

The needle in his pockets aren’t expecting it; they sink into it, far too deep to be able to pull themselves out. Many in the storm around him slam into his wooden armour, too fast and too deep. They stick into the wood, unable to remove themselves and therefore unable to continue their assault on his body.

Roman opens his eyes.

He hates that fucking quirkless.

Before Marrow can completely react, Roman creates two large wooden planks both behind and in front of him. The storm of needles slam into them and are forced still. Boards hit the ground and for the first time in a while, Roman is able to see.

Unfortunately, he’s still not able to move.

Marrow does not look happy. She turns toward Logan and several needles go flying towards the quirkless.

At the exact same time, Logan chucks a chair at her.

Needles sink into Logan’s body as the chair hits Marrow in the face. Logan doesn’t even react to them, darting forward to Marrow’s now prone body. She starts to sit up, just in time for Logan to lift the chair and slam it into the side of her head.

She slumps over.

Needles scatter all around Roman, hitting the ground with satisfying little thuds. Relief hits him and the gashes in his body take advantage of the feeling to escalate their attack. He cries out, letting the armour drop from around him and tumbling onto the needle and glass filled floor.

“Roman?”

Hands find him. They’re shaking, which doesn’t make much sense because Roman has beaten Logan up almost every day for months and the boy has never been scared once. He certainly shouldn’t be scared of him now, defenseless and bleeding.

Roman can’t hurt him.

“Roman, I need you to breathe, alright?” The words tumble from the quirkless.

From Logan.

“Don’t touch me,” Roman says.

“Roman, please.”

He sounds so small. Roman can picture the boy, broken and bleeding on the ground. He can see bile tumbling from Logan’s mouth, the laughter that came from Roman’s own twisted lips.

Logan never sounded small then.

“Don’t—don’t—get away—”

Roman cuts himself off with a quiet gasp.

Remus lays on the ground just like Roman, only closer to the windows. His head is turned so Roman can’t see his face, only the blood in his hair and dripping from his body. Glass shards litter him, creating gashes larger than Roman has ever seen.

He’s not moving.

“No. No, no no—”

“Roman—”

Is Remus’ head at an odd angle? Roman can’t tell.

How much blood is someone able to lose before they die? Is it larger than the amount under Remus? Is it larger than the amount still coming from Remus, joining the lake of dark red his brother creates?

“Rem—” Roman tries to get up and trip over the gashes on his legs. Logan grabs him and Roman is too weak to tear himself away.

Why did he fight? Why did he fight?! He should have been out, looking for his brother! He could have saved him! Now…

Roman doesn’t know what’s going to happen to his brother.

If the worst already had.

A strange sort of awfulness is taking over Roman’s body. He tries to blink against it, but his vision gets darker every time he opens his eyes.

He wonders what Glenda would think, if she saw the two of them.

The next time Roman closes his eyes, he doesn’t reopen them.

Chapter 35: Logan's Battles (Oh. [Oh.])

Chapter Text

Logan’s hands are shaking, fast enough that he struggles to unbutton Roman’s shirt. He manages to rip a strip off of it and wraps it around the worst of the wounds—Roman’s right hand—but there are just so many.

With Yuna's teleportation quirk, Logan would’ve at least been able to get Roman out of danger. Instead, he sits in the middle of the battlefield, hoping that the Dark Sides don’t take advantage of his knelt state and kill both him and Roman.

Superstrength might have allowed him to lift Roman, pull him out of the wreckage and toward the left side. Superspeed meant Logan could finish this up faster and get back to helping Virgil.

Right now, the only reason Virgil is still alive is because other students joined the fight.

His plan’s not shot yet but Roman severely hurt it by both fighting early (stupid, Logan should have expected that) and by then losing. A healing quirk might allow Logan to fix Roman enough to save both him and what’s left of his plan but…

He’s got nothing.

He’s not a teleporter. He’s not strong, not fast. He has no summoning ability, no healing. He’s just… just Logan.

Just quirkless.

Logan can’t rip another strip in this shirt. His hands are shaking too much.

He tries again, desperately, and the stupid thing won’t budge. The shaking crawls up his forearms, and Logan can’t breathe.

Focus.

He can’t. He can’t do this. Roman is going to die, Virgil is going to die, and all Logan will have accomplished is moving all the students to one area of the room.

Dark black hands grab his own.

Logan looks up.

Darius stares back at him. For a moment, the two boys just study each other, unmoving.

“Are you hurt?” Darius asks urgently.

“Obviously.” The eight needles Marrow has sent his way are still in his body. “However, not so much that I can’t handle it.”

His voice is trembling. Logan uses Darius’s presence, uses those kind brown eyes and that softly spoken question, to pull the pieces of himself back together.

It’s tedious work. Logan is very used to holding them, to tapping them down with duck tape and glue but it’s strange to have to gather so many pieces at the same time.

He needs a few seconds to stack them all up.

“Alright. Who’s this?” Darius drops Logan’s hands and holds his over Roman’s left leg. Golden seeps into Roman and the cuts heal, just enough to stop bleeding. “Your friend?”

“That’s Roman actually.”

Darius blinks twice. He glances up at Logan, then back at the right leg that he’s currently healing.

“The one who beats you up every other day?”

“Affirmative.”

Slowly, Logan is able to place a lock around his panic. He breathes, deliberately and deeply, then reaches down and grabs one of the needles on the floor around them.

He stabs Roman’s shirt, draws a quick steady line with the tiny blade, then uses his hand to finish ripping the strip.

“Save your quirk for wounds that are more life endangering then Roman’s or, if you’re able to, over-healing. Had I not… had I been able to wrap him, he would not have needed your intervention.” Logan glances up, licking his lips. “I appreciate your help, especially since such assistance does not fall under the deal concocted at the beginning of the year.”

Darius gives him an odd look. Another one actually, but this time Logan’s not quite sure why Darius is confused.

Logan wraps Roman’s left arm.

He grits his teeth.

He might not have teleportation, superstrength, superspeed, but as Logan has told many people, many times before neither does anyone else. Darius might have healed Roman, however, without Yuna’s teleportation they remain in the battlefield. One quirk does not mean power. It means one extra skill in a situation where it may or may not be applicable.

Logan will have to work with his own skills.

“You were panicking,” Darius says, voice hesitant. “Over the asshole who hurts you?”

“Affirmative. Although I believe ‘were’ is important in that sentence.” Logan gets to his feet and Darius copies him. “Would you be willing to move him to the left side? You should also find a number of different wounded over there in need of assistance. Any you can heal would be greatly appreciated.”

“I’ve never even seen you nervous.”

“Likely you have, I typically am quite skilled at working through such emotion.”

“You didn’t work through that.”

Logan pauses. “No. I didn’t. I appreciate your assistance.” He glances down.

Roman is quite muscled and likely very heavy.

“If you need help, call for Yuna. She’ll be able to teleport you over to the left side, although she’ll likely need to take you and Roman one at a time. I imagine she’s exhausted at this point.”

“Who is he?”

Logan swallows. It takes him a second to respond. “Somebody important.”

“Did you know him before you got to school?”

“Yes.” An old wound, one Logan has more practice ignoring than any other, resurfaces. Logan clenches his teeth, working to push it down and away from himself. “A very long time ago.”

Darius watches him. Quiet. ”Does he still know you?”

Logan doesn’t think Darius knows the way that question cuts into him. His hands curl into fits and Logan forces himself to pull the rest of himself back together.

“I don’t believe so. This doesn’t matter right now. I need to help Virgil, and I would appreciate it if you could follow the instructions I provided earlier.”

Darius nods quietly. Logan waits until Roman is in Darius’s arms before turning and fully re-entering the chaos.

Tranquess holds his own against three people from Logan’s class, Eudalia, Saskia and Soren. The three are losing, but slowly enough that Logan is able to move on, looking to Intrusivity where—a jolt of panic runs down his spine—Virgil stands alone.

Immediately, Logan takes a step forward. He has to work to stop, reminding himself that Virgil is a fully capable person and that the entire picture needs to be handled. Logan can’t just do what he wants to do.

Still, Virgil narrowly dodges one of Intrusivity’s tentacles and Logan has to remind himself to breathe.

Tangle is being handled by several people from Jupiter’s class and similarly to Tranquess, they’re losing, but at a slow enough rate that Logan can concentrate on the true problem.

Sightline.

Every person who approaches Sightline is able to attack once before being knocked out. The only thing keeping the man from killing everyone here is dumb luck and the man’s own plans.

Logan watches him knock out a girl named Serenity from Jupiter’s class and steps up to him.

Sightline turns, and Logan is sure that without the mask, the man would be smiling. “Saw you coming. Still interested in talking?”

“Would you and your crew be amenable to that?” Logan responds lightly. He drops into a defensive position, waiting.

Sightline doesn’t bother to respond.

They both already know the answer.

The punch comes toward Logan’s head. Immediately, Logan moves to defend himself and at the last second, Sightline turns his arm and slams into the side of Logan's body.

Hard.

But not extraordinarily.

It’s not enough to break a rib and Logan is able to remain standing. Aching echoes from the spot and Logan ignores it, holding his defensive stance and waiting again.

This time, Sightline goes to punch Logan’s ribs.

Logan chooses to protect his head.

The punch hits near the same spot as last time and Logan gasps with the hit. It’s nearly twice as painful as last time and Logan has to take a step back to remain standing.

Sightline raises a single eyebrow. “Not bothering to protect yourself?”

Logan chooses that second to attack.

He aims for the same area he did months ago, when he attacked Jupiter during the exam. He knows that if his hand hits, Logan will land on the vagus nerve hard enough to buy him a full second of time.

In a fight against someone multiple seconds ahead, that’s more than enough to inflict further damage.

Sightline blocks it easily, and responds with his own punch right into Logan’s stomach.

Saliva explodes out of Logan’s mouth with the hit. He prances away, and it takes him two full seconds to get back into that defensive position. For a moment, Logan’s body has to remind itself how to breathe.

Sightline doesn't bother to wait, fist high, coming right for Logan’s head.

Logan lets his mind take over.

Sightline already knows where Logan is going to protect. He’ll have a second attack—a stronger attack—prepared for the open area and use the soft one as a feint. It’s why the attack on Logan’s ribs hurt more the second time; planning one fake attack and one real one will result in both being weaker than a single real attack.

Logan protects his head and takes the punch that breaks the first rib. The ache turns sharp and Logan forces himself to remain present.

What does that mean?

It suggests it would be better to block every time and take the lesser blows but it offers nothing towards fighting Sightline. Not to mention, the lesser blows are more than enough to win against an average fighter. The many kids that fought Sightline before this and didn’t protect their head in the second round are more than enough evidence of that.

Logan swallows.

“Figured out how fucked you are yet?” Sightline laughs, a low grumbly noise that sets Logan on edge. “Come now! You haven’t even used your quirk yet!”

Offense had bought Logan the most amount of pain. With Logan on the offensive, Sightline doesn’t need to feint in order to get the future he’s seeing; he simply has to wait. Defense, at least, forces Sightline to adapt somewhat to him. In both cases however, Logan is still completely unable to adapt to Sightline.

Logan pauses.

Another punch bashes into Logan’s ribcage and this time, Logan can’t help but to cry out. Months of being struck by Roman and Remus preceded by years of dealing with pain on his own keeps him on his feet but he can feel his mind searching for a soft familiar headspace. Desperate for any escape.

He keeps his focus.

Defense offers no avenue of adaptation; Sightline simply knows more then Logan ever could. The combination of Sightline’s own plan and Logan’s future is more than Logan could hope to counter and unless Logan becomes a much better fighter very quickly, he can’t guard against two attacks.

But the future offers them the same amount of information. Both only know Logan’s future movements.

So Logan should be able to adapt to where Sightline defends.

Logan punches at Sightline again. This time, he has no plan as to where and his eyes don’t focus on any one nerve but on Sightline’s left arm.

It moves to defend his jawline.

And Logan drops his punch to Sightline’s shoulder, the best he can do on such short notice.

The punch hits.

Sightline staggers back and it’s immediately clear that it’s shock, not pain, keeping the man from responding. Even in a completely fair fight, Sightline’s age and years of training would knock Logan out fairly easily.

Despite this, Sightline freezes in place, one hand coming up to grip the shoulder Logan had managed to connect with. His stares wide with eyebrows raised, completely dumbfounded.

Logan is in far too much pain to feel much of anything but he can’t deny the slight touch of pride that calls out from a deep place within him.

On pure instinct, Logan glances over at Virgil. He’s not quite sure what compels him, only that this moment is important to him and so, for some strange reason, Virgil needs to be a part of it.

What Logan sees turns his blood to ice.

While it’s clear that Intrusivity is not seeing the world around him—Virgil’s quirk is doing its job—the villain has managed to get a single tentacle around one of Virgil’s legs. She hangs the boy upside down and uses most of her remaining tentacles to attack him while the bottom one works to find and curl around his torso.

Logan knows the attack Intrusivity is trying well. If she is able to grasp Virgil as she wishes, the next thing she’ll do is rip his friend apart.

Rage like Logan has never felt before pours into his veins like hot bubbling lava. The heat mixes with a second emotion, harder to spot but just as blinding as the first.

Complete and utter panic.

For the first time in Logan’s life, he doesn’t need to think about his next action. There’s no pros or cons list to be made, no deducing necessary.

When he interfered with Roman’s fight, he had waited until Marrow would be completely focused on her victim, giving both himself and Roman the best shot of beating her.

This time, Logan starts moving before he fully knows he’s doing it.

Sightline makes no move to stop him. During any other instance, Logan would’ve tried to figure out why—during any other instance, Logan would not have been able to stop his brain from figuring it out even without directly concentrating on the question.

But in this moment, at this instance, there is only one word on Logan’s mind. Only one thing that matters.

Virgil.

Intrusivity’s tentacle wraps around his friend’s torso and Logan’s fury backs down, handing blinding white panic center stage. Virgil screams in pain as Intrusivity pulls.

Logan barrels right into the villain, one hand grabbing onto the tentacle holding Virgil’s torso and clenching down.

Then he backs his head up and slams it into Intrusivity’s as hard as he can.

His body rings with the connection and he cries out as his brain bashes into the front of his skull. Still, it’s more than worth it as Intrusivity drops Virgil and yells out herself. Her tentacles whirl away from Virgil and latch their way onto Logan instead.

Virgil lands on the ground in a heap with a groan. Logan pays no attention to the tentacles gripping each of his limbs; he cranes his neck out, desperate for any kind of look at his friend.

Virgil’s okay.

He’s okay.

Tension drains out of Logan's body as Virgil gets to his feet slowly, gripping a metal fork and eyes glowing purple. He winces as he stands but his lack of impeded movements suggests not only a lack of long-term damage but a lack of short-term as well.

Logan should be dealing with the fact that Intrusivity has him well and truly captured; instead, he drinks Virgil in. There are bruises forming on his forearms, likely from blocking attacks, scratches under his left eye and around the ankle Intrusivity got a hold of. But what Logan watches is his friend’s chest—specficially the way it rises and falls.

“How dare you?!” Intrusivity’s tentacles tighten around each ankle and wrist. She holds him out like a starfish, about a foot off the ground and an arms length away from herself. “How…fuck, that hurt!”

She reaches up and grabs her head with her left arm. “I better not have a concussion, you goddamn piece of… URG!”

The tentacles tighten further. One wraps its way around his middle, grasping the same spot Sightline had punched during Logan's brief fight with him.

When it curls around his broken robs, Logan can’t stop himself from screaming.

“Logan!” Virgil’s eyes are wild. He holds the fork up, hands shaking.

He’s still breathing.

Despite Logan’s rather precarious position, it’s the only thing Logan finds himself thinking about.

Then the tentacles tighten further. Veins pop under every one of her octopus limbs but it’s the moment his left wrist fractures that forces Logan’s attention onto her. Waves of agony echo through him and nausea is very quick to follow.

Logan gags.

He closes his eyes.

He’s pretty sure there’s no way out of this.

Logan is clever. He’s always been clever. But he knows what a situation looks like when it doesn’t quite matter how smart one is; there is no way to stop the pain.

His ribcage cracks in a second location. Searing agony spreads from the spot, mixing with the rest of the tapestry of pain that makes up Logan’s body.

One tentacle comes up and punches him in the face.

“Stop it!” Virgil’s voice sounds so far away. Strangely, it still brings him a little bit of relief to hear it. “Don’t touch him!”

Tears prick at Logan’s eyes. Another tentacle smashes his face. Distantly, Logan categorizes the breaking of his jaw.

He wonders if Intrusivity is hitting him in the face because Logan first attack was to slam hers.

“Don’t fucking touch him!”

Virgil’s voice washes over him and Logan bathes himself in it. He’s used to the pain, to the helplessness of waiting for it to end, of wondering if this would be the time he doesn’t wake up. What’s strange isn’t blood pouring down his face, or the cracking of his ribcage below him.

What’s strange is the brief moments of comfort Logan gets whenever his friend speaks.

His friend.

His best friend.

Logan touches an emotion deep within him, one that started a long time ago, the first day he met Virgil during the exam. It’s a sort of obsessive joy, a desire to help and protect, a need to be around a person. It’s the sound of laughter, of talking over coffee, of tantrums thrown on his floor and tears shared together.

He’d thought it was a desire to be friends with Virgil; then he’d thought it was simply what friendship feels like.

“Logan! Hang on!”

But the emotion doesn’t exist in the same way for Patton, or Yuna, or Nikita, or anyone else in his friend group. It’s only there for Virgil.

Oh.

Oh.

It’s not just friendship, is it?

Logan opens his eyes, and stares at Virgil, the boy he apparently loves, just in time to watch a tentacle slam him in the face and knock Logan out.

Chapter 36: Fear (do you feel it?)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Virgil screams the moment Logan goes limp. He trembles from head to foot, breath coming out hot and heavy and for the first time in ages it’s not just panic making his blood hot.

It’s rage.

Intrusivity’s been stuck in her worst nightmare for almost Virgil’s entire fight; he stopped briefly when the woman dropped him, and restarted almost as soon as she managed to take hold of Logan.

The problem is that it’s not fucking working.

Virgil hisses furiously, then begins to drop and throw Intrusivity into her worst nightmare rapidly. The disorientation works enough that she stops moving but Logan still hangs in her tentacles, limp. Bleeding.

Dying.

His heart beats in his ears, faster than Virgil has ever heard it before. He pushes at his quirk blindly, for some reason hoping that more fear would end with Logan safe and with him.

Obviously, it doesn’t work.

Virgil snarls. He looks down at his fork, then back up at Intrusivity. Maybe, while she’s distracted—

No. Virgil’s anxiety is enough to remind him how well that went the last time, with him dangling up in the air and Logan having to come save him.

“Your quirk is a fucking treat, isn’t it?” Intrusivity snarls at him. She jerks Logan around and his head flops from side to side. Blood drips from around his wrists and ankles and Virgil watches it, completely silent.

Drip.

Drop.

“Why don’t you let me go or I’ll show you what it looks like when the human body is popped?”

Her tentacles tighten around Logan and Virgil watches his right ankle bend oddly, then twist with a resounding pop!

“You have five seconds. One.”

Virgil’s body feels as tense as one of his guitar strings. He can hardly breathe through the screaming ball in chest, a screaming that demands he personally turn Intrusivity into dust.

“Two.”

His quirk responds to this. Throughout his whole life, Virgil has barely used it, and yet over the past few months he’s pulled it out time and time again. It hurts who he uses it against, that’s very true, but Virgil thinks suddenly about why he’s used it.

Every time, regardless of when or who, Virgil has only ever used his quirk to protect.

That’s all Virgil has ever wanted to do.

“Three.”

And what is the use of protecting others, if Virgil can’t protect the person he trusts more than anyone?

The person he loves more than anyone?

“Four.”

Virgil reaches into his power and lets his instincts take over. Immediately, he knows where he went wrong in using it against Intrusivity; he doesn’t need her to be afraid of something that isn’t actually there—he doesn’t need her to see things that don’t exist.

He needs her to be afraid of something specific.

He needs her to be afraid of holding onto Logan.

“Five.”

And so Virgil reaches into her brain and makes her terrified.

Logan was half right, which is odd for him but Virgil admits that his friend didn’t have much data to work with. It’s not that Virgil can control the whole mind. It’s that Virgil can control the parts of the mind that are related to fear.

And he can make them do whatever he wants.

The frontal lobe? A place of thoughts, movement, language, planning, and more? That’s not Virgil’s domain.

But the amygdala? The hypothalamus? The Pituitary gland? All are in part responsible for fear as an emotion, for the hormones that trigger it.

So Virgil seizes them.

Adrenaline courses through Intrusivity’s veins. He directs it, pointing it at the tentacles wrapped around Logan. There’s no way to offer a solution; had Virgil been able to, he would’ve made the only way to get rid of the fear by nicely depositing Logan beside him.

But he ensures Intrusivity knows that continuing to hold Logan is petrifying.

Intrusivity’s scream is like nothing Virgil has ever heard before. Logan goes tumbling out of her tentacles and she backs away from the boy, shaking from head to foot.

“What… what… what is this?”

The villains turn towards them, searching for whatever could make their partner in crime sound like that. They watch as Virgil takes three steps forward, planting himself firmly over Logan, and raises his fork in the air.

“I said don’t fucking touch him.”

And then Virgil turns her terror away from Logan and onto himself.

She screeches over the sounds of combat and multiple people halt in their fight to stare. Before anyone can react—before the Dark Sides can come to help her—Intrusivity turns and barrels out of the broken windows. She keeps going, down into the woods of the school and likely out of campus the very way she entered.

And Virgil turns his gaze onto the others.

The anger hasn’t left him. He can still visualize Logan in Intrusivity’s grasp, a second from death. Now that Logan is officially with him, Virgil notices the odd angles of his wrist and ankles, the bruises littering his face and body. At several points, glints of metal stare up at Virgil. Needles embedded in his friend’s skin.

In his person’s skin.

In Logan’s skin.

Virgil hisses. The screaming in his chest had not quieted with Intrusivity’s defeat; if anything, it’s enraging that she left Logan in such a state and was able to escape without pain. He turns his eye onto the others: onto Sightline, Tranquess, and Tangle.

The floor is silent. Then, Sightline steps up towards Virgil. The man’s eyes are narrowed in a way Virgil hasn’t seen for this whole fight and he approaches cautiously, with a calm determination.

“I’m going to kill you both,” Sightline says pragmatically.

The screaming in his chest smiles.

Virgil’s hand closes into a fist. “Try to touch him, I fucking dare you.”

Sightline takes a step forward.

Virgil takes a sharp breath in, and pulls from the same place he had pulled from before. It’s a natural as lifting his arm, though he can tell the instinct is unused. Adrenaline courses through Virgil’s body but even while his heart pounds, he’s never been so sure of what to do in his life.

He’s going to protect Logan.

Sightline is the only one to step to him but Virgil watches Tranquess fall behind him, soft brown eyes narrowed. They don’t know what he did to Intrusivity; they only know they need to watch him.

Virgil smiles, a crazed angry smile and reaches for their minds.

Boom!

The right wall of the dining room explodes.

And the room goes completely dark.

Immediately, Virgil drops, covering Logan’s body with his own. He knows enough about where Sightline and Tranquess stand to throw them both into his worst fear, deciding that the more practiced use of his quirk is more than enough to distract at this particular instant.

“S-Sides!” Sightline stutters over himself, voice higher than it was a second ago. “Clear out!”

Virgil wonders what the man is seeing.

About ten seconds later, the dining hall comes back into sight. Professor Tente stands at the windows, daggers in both hands, eyes dark and fierce. She doesn’t move from the window, even as Siren and Jupiter both peel away to interact with the students

Siren immediately runs to the left side of the room. Yuna steps up to her before anyone else can give her the chance, likely giving her a rundown of what students needed medical attention first.

Jupiter heads over to Virgil. He stops nonchalantly but Virgil watches the man survey the scene, likely categorizing more than Virgil is currently noticing.

“We could see the fight on the cameras,” Jupiter says gruffly. “But the psychopaths hacked our forcefield up around the area. It took me longer than I’d like to fry it.”

He shakes his head. “You did good, kid. You and your boy.” He passes Logan an impressed sort of look. “Getting everyone to the left side was a stroke of genius.”

Virgil swallows. Some of the pounding in his blood is beginning to slow, and he allows himself to pull off of Logan and sit on the floor next to him. “Left side?”

“Oh yes. Two things with that. I was trying to break the force field and the electrical weak point was a spot on the right. The only way I was going to do it was by caving that wall in.” Jupiter glances over at it and scowls. “What a mess. Also, there’s a room over there. If you had managed to break down the wall, you could have passed through the forcefield—thing was one way—and we could’ve gotten there to help you.”

Virgil carefully lifts Logan’s head and places the boy against his chest. Logan’s head fit neatly under his chin, back soft and more importantly, safe, against Virgil’s stomach.

They fit together perfectly.

“And he took out Marrow.” Jupiter shakes his head. “And you managed to scare off Intrusivity!”

“Will there be healers coming?” Virgil interrupts.

Virgil can’t tear his eyes away from Logan. His pale skin easily reveals every bruise, with the darkest around his wrists and ankles. Dried blood clings to his face and his chin is at a slightly off angle. The presence the boy normally carries with him is gone, leaving a thin injured 18-year-old in it’s wake.

The heat in Virgil’s chest is almost unbearable. He tucks a hair behind Logan’s ear because it’s the only way he can get Logan closer.

Jupiter glances down and the man’s expression softens. “Yeah, kid. Don’t worry. You and the quirkless are going to be fine.”

“Logan,” Virgil snaps.

“Sorry?”

“His name is Logan.”

Jupiter pauses for just an instant, then nods quietly. “I reckon you have a point there. Logan then. You know, when he got to school, I thought he was going to be a burden.” Jupiter sighs. “Now I think he’s the one of two reasons all you kids are still alive.”

Virgil looks up. “What’s the second?”

The laugh that comes from Jupiter is quick and a little dry. “You and the rest of the fighters, kid.”

And Jupiter leaves him for Professor Tente’s quiet conversation.

Notes:

OP protective Virgil my beloved

Chapter 37: Home (safe and together)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Logan wakes up in his dorm room and the first thing he notices is that he is not alone.

There’s a sleeping bag thrown across his otherwise perfectly neat floor, black with a purple blanket on top and a stuffed black cat beside it. Virgil sits at Logan’s desk, humming softly to himself and drawing in a third notebook.

Yuna is on the sleeping bag, scrolling on her phone with one hand and petting Abidan’s hair back with the other. Both she and Abidan, who currently lounges across the sleeping bag, look completely unhurt.

One of the books on Logan’s desk is not his and Logan is just able to make out the title well enough to know it’s about bugs, which means Ariadne has also been here. The fact that it’s still there means she’s probably just stepped out for a moment, maybe to get food, drinks, or some kind of activity.

Nikita likely went with her. Logan can’t imagine any of his friends would be willing to leave a member of their group on their own after an attack on East Bridge Campus.

The amount of people here is already perplexing, but it’s the fact that his body is only mildly groaning, not crying out, that truly confuses Logan. Most hospitals try not to heal people with a quirk unless they’re dealing with an immediate emergency and need to send away the extras (as they had done with Logan after the altercation with Smoke) or without immediate usage the person would die. While Logan might use Darius’s healing for extreme but not life-threatening injuries, it’s generally frowned upon. The chances a healer messes up is much higher than the body's natural processes and healing magic tends to leave the body weaker.

So the fact that Logan can move the many bones he had broken means Darius had visited him as well.

Logan stares at Virgil.

The feelings are overwhelming. He wonders who tucked him into the bed, who fluffed the pillow underneath him. Darius doesn’t know where Logan’s room is; that means the man would have had to seek out one of Logan’s other friends and convince them to let him heal him.

Then there’s the fact that he’s in his room at all. Logan is sure the school would have wanted him in the hospital wing, where Logan would have woken up and embarrassingly, immediately been sent into panic. Not only did his friends remember that he didn’t like hospitals, they also took this into account and provided as much comfort to him as possible.

The feeling builds. It’s a tightness in his chest but in a way that feels like people are hugging him. His body is warm, soft and as Logan looks out at all these people, people he cares about more than anything, the warmth grows to an almost unbearable level.

He never wants it to go away.

A golf ball juts its way into his throat and Logan blinks against a sudden and unbearable sting.

He remembers, briefly, the last time he had been knocked unconscious. It had been before Logan arrived at East Bridge University, in a rundown poor neighborhood of a large city, when somebody had wanted the bread Logan was gripping. Logan had woken alone, in the same spot he’d been in when the attack ended. It had taken him over an hour to pick himself up and start the trudge to the alleyway spot he’d been using as a base. Without his bread, he’d gone to bed hungry.

There’s a knock on his door. Virgil gets up and lets in Nikita and Ariadne, returning with two large pizza boxes.

“They wouldn’t let us pay for it,” Ariadne says. “We said we were getting it while waiting for our friend to wake up after the fight and they said it was in the house then. I tried to convince them—”

“And I said, okay!” Nikita drops the pizza boxes into the corner. “L wake up yet?”

“No,” Virgil responds and Logan can hear some of the desperation in his friend’s voice. “He’s still just as asleep as he was yesterday. I know he doesn’t like hospitals, but I was thinking we could get Nurse Tracey to come here—”

“His healer friend said he was going to be fine,” Ariadne soothes. “I don’t know if Logan will like so many people coming in and out of the place.”

“But—”

“Virgil.”

Logan interrupts the conversation, unable to bear watching Virgil’s chest rise and fall so rapidly anymore. Immediately, all of his friends whirl on him, and Logan pushes himself up to a sitting position.

“Salutations,” Logan says. He’s not sure what to do with so many worried and relieved eyes on him. “I’m glad everyone is relatively uninjured.”

Virgil makes a strangled sort of noise. Before Logan can blink, his friend charges across the room and throws his arms around Logan’s torso.

Logan eyebrows knit together. Slowly, he reaches up and hugs his friend back.

He can feel Virgil’s breathing.

For a moment, Logan is back in the dining hall, watching Virgil hang upside down from a tentacle, another wrapped around his torso and ready to rip him in half. His grip around his friend tightens and Virgil nuzzles into his shoulder.

“I’m quite alright, I assure you,” Logan says, as if the only reason he clings to his friend is Virgil’s own benefit.

“She told me she was going to pop you open.”

That explains why Logan’s chest feels newly put together. He’ll really have to thank Darius when he gets the chance.

“She failed. I assume thanks to your own actions.”

Virgil clings tighter and Logan decides he’s rather okay with that. It’s far better than Virgil letting him go.

Now that Logan knows what the warm gushy feeling he gets whenever he’s around Virgil is, he’s absolutely shocked he didn’t recognize it sooner. Just looking at his friend is enough to increase his heart rate; touching him, as he’s doing right now, sends shivers down his spine that Logan is sure he’s felt on many occasions.

How he could have possibly thought this was simply friendship is beyond him.

“Here,” Nikita’s voice appears next to the bed and Logan knows what she’s going to do a split second before she does it. He moves himself back against the wall, just in time for Nikita to lift Virgil up and place him on Logan’s lap. “Might as well get comfortable up there.”

Virgil hisses at her, then curls himself into Logan’s lap and keeps both of his arms wrapped around him. It’s maybe slightly awkward positioning but the concept of anything else is suddenly greatly upsetting.

Nikita grins at the two of them but the smile doesn’t fully reach her eyes. Logan meets her eyes, gaze steady.

“I’m glad you’re alright, L,” Nikita says. “You worried me.”

Logan blinks twice. It takes him a second to figure out how to speak around the lump in his throat.

“I appreciate your concern,” Logan swallows. “I am quite glad you’re physically fine as well, Nikita.”

Yuna sniffs from behind her and gets up to her feet. She doesn’t hug Logan, but it’s very clear she wants to.

“I was so scared, Lo!” Yuna grabs his bed, then consciously flattens her hands out and fixes his blanket. “You and Virgil were hurt and I was just… Don’t get hurt again, okay?”

Logan is not quite sure how to respond to that. He doesn’t think it’s possible to not get hurt again; he’s still in pain now.

“He can’t control it,” Abidan says wryly from the blanket. “We’re training to be fucking superheros.”

“I know.” Yuna wipes her eyes. “I’m just really really glad you’re okay, Logan. I’m glad everyone is okay!”

Logan nods, unsure how else to respond.

Virgil shifts in his lap. His face is warmer than normal, and he won’t quite look at Logan.

“You’re in the news,” Ariadne says. She walks over with a slice of pizza and offers it to Logan. He takes it gratefully, not fully aware of how hungry he is until he smells the cheese. “Actually, both you and Virgil are.”

Logan raises his eyebrows. “I don’t believe I’ve stopped being in the news since I entered East Bridge University.”

Ariadne can’t pass Logan her phone, since one of his hands is preoccupied with pizza and the other one with Virgil, but she holds it out for him to read.

East Bridge Quirkless Saves Countless Lives In Villain Attack

Logan stares. “I’m… not quite sure what to make of this.”

“You got everyone to the left side of the room,” Ariadne replies. “Did you know that the villains had placed a force field around us?”

That’s not what happened. “In a sense.”

“Jupiter has an interview in the article where he says if people hadn’t cleared the right side, he wouldn’t have been able to blow it up and come help.” Nikita hunts for her own slice of pizza. “How did you figure that out?”

“The forcefield already exists,” Logan clarifies, mostly because of Ariadne’s comment earlier. “The Dark Sides simply hacked it and changed how it was functioning. I already knew how to bring down the forcefield, so I adapted my plan around the weaknesses that already existed.” Logan pauses. “Jupiter… told the media that?”

Logan remembers the way Jupiter frowned at him during his meeting after the invitation exam.

“Hell yeah he did,” Nikita says. She takes a bite of her pizza. “Professor Tente also released some footage of you saving Roman and landing a hit on Sightline, which is making the rounds.”

Logan's body doesn’t quite feel like his own. Rather than his typical way however, it doesn’t feel like he’s desperately trying to escape from something terrible.

Instead, it feels like he’s trying to deal with something good.

He’s not sure what to make of it.

“Virgil is also making the rounds,” Abidan says from the sleeping bag. They sound a bit more teasing than either Nikita or Ariadne did, and sure enough, Virgil lets out a low groan.

“Don’t remind me,” Virgil grumbles. “I’m never recovering from ‘Is Fear the New Fashion?’”

Abidan snorts.

Logan glances around. He wasn’t aware his heart could feel so… big. So full, perhaps. Virgil shifts on him, and the feeling nearly doubles.

“I will watch the footage later,” Logan mutters to him. For some reason, this feels like something he should be keeping to just the two of them. “However, I… am very thankful you were there to save me.”

Virgil needs his eyes and Logan suddenly can’t breathe.

The word ‘hazel’ isn’t enough to describe the beauty in his friend’s gaze. The outside of his iris’s circle is gray-green, like the water of a life-filled pond, or the feeling one gets right before dusk. The color allows the warm brown, a spark of light spreading like the flares of the sun to stand out and glow against its more shadowy backdrop.

Logan's throat tightens.

“You saved me first,” Virgil says. His face darkens. “I won’t let anyone hurt you like that again.”

Logan can’t imagine the boy knows about the fluttering of his stomach but it takes Logan a second to push down the heat threatening to turn his cheeks a warm pink. He hopes nobody notices.

Abidan coughs and Logan uses the sound to break eye contact.

“Eat your pizza,” they say, somewhat dryly. “You’ve been out for two days, you need it, you know.”

Ariadne brings the box into the middle of the room, making it more accessible for everyone. “Do you think they’re gonna put in new safety measures?” Ariadne asks. It’s posed to the group but everyone glances at Logan, waiting.

And well.

Logan does have a few guesses.

Notes:

This is the end of part 1! Yay! We got through the start of the year and like, character development part 1 (sorry Patton).
That is also the end of what I had prewritten before uploading. I already have about 25,000 words of part 2 written as well as the entire thing planned out so I can assure you that this story will absolutely get finished. However, I am not capable of writing as much as I've been uploading so chapters will slow to around once every other week instead of every other day.
Hope you enjoyed part 1! It was about 50,000 words longer than I expected it to be but I love my boys so. Slow burn, slow build I guess.

Chapter 38: Glenda's Family Drama (please, is my brother okay?)

Chapter Text

Roman wakes up in the school’s hospital bed.

It takes him a moment to remember why—to remember the battle in the dining hall, Marrow’s needles, Logan’s voice—and when he fully puts the picture together he jumps up. Ignoring the cries of distress coming from both ankles, he runs past several beds full of varying kids, towards the nurses office and throws open the door.

“Remus!” he shouts. “Where’s Remus!?”

His voice trails off.

One of the nurses sits behind her desk, his mother across from him. She turns slowly towards him, eyebrows raised. Face sharp.

“Roman,” Glenda says. “You seem to be doing much better. How was your nap?”

Roman blinks twice. He tries to pull himself up to attention but his shoulders scream with the movement and eventually, Roman is forced to allow a slight slump to his posture.

Glenda marks it.

“I—grand?” Roman swallows. “Do you know if Remus is okay? I saw him—”

“Your brother was taken out of the fight almost immediately,” Glenda says curtly. “I believe the glass from the window injured him.”

“Yes, I know, I mean—”

“You did an excellent job trying to fight without him,” Glenda interrupts. “You were, however, rather badly injured. This school is refusing to use a healing quirk on you because of potential side effects but hopefully now that you’re awake I can get Ms. Daniel—”

Roman hands clench into fists. “Mother!”

He can’t stop picturing his brother, face turned away, blood pooling underneath him. “I know Remus wasn’t able to fight! I was there! And I don’t care about some losers with a healing quirk. Where is my brother?!”

The room goes still.

Glenda purses her lips. “Perhaps I’m being hasty in believing you well enough to leave the hospital,” she concedes darkly. “I’m sure that if you were in your right mind, you’d have known better than to have spoken in such a manner.”

Her tone is a slap across the face and he nearly winces back. She would never hurt him—not while the Nurse is in the room—but the way her dark blue eyes stare at him now tells him what’s coming.

Inside, his body shakes. On instinct, Roman forms an apology on his lips, body curving to make himself smaller and less of a target. He pauses midway through.

He just wants to know if his brother is alive.

“Please, Mom,” Roman whispers. “Where is he?”

Glenda stares at him.

The nurse gets to her feet. She’s short, old, and she walks over to him like each step causes her pain, but Roman has never seen more kindness than he does when he looks into her eyes.

She lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Your brother is going to be fine, toots. That’s what your ma and I were just discussing. Why don’t you take a seat? Get some weight off those ankles of yours before you pop a stitch.”

Roman sinks into the chair beside his mother. The nurse walks right back over to her desk chair, sighing in relief as she takes her seat. She opens her drawer, takes out a lollipop, and hands it to Roman.

“Now, Remus is at the East Bridge city hospital.” She clearly says it for Roman’s benefit; Roman is sure his mother already knows. “Poor thing wasn’t in great shape when he got there and that hospital don’t like using healers on anything too big. Most cases, you’re better off healing the natural way.” At this, the nurse levels a look at Glenda, eyes sharp.

“But he’s okay?” Roman can’t help but ask and the Nurse smiles at him. At the same time, Glenda places a hand on his knee. To most, it would look like motherly compassion.

Roman knows what it actually is.

“Yeah, toots, he’s okay. They needed to use a healer at the beginning to close some of his veins up but now he’s stable and doing it all on his own. He’s still unconscious but doctors tell me he’ll be getting up soon.”

All at once, Roman’s body relaxes.

It doesn’t look like the way a typical person would relax. Roman doesn’t let his shoulder slump anymore then they already are and he doesn’t change the rate of his breathing. But something softens in his face and the knot Roman woke up with unravels all at once.

“Good.” Roman nods.

“Now, as I was telling your ma here—”

Glenda visibly bristles at the word ma and Roman is almost astounded by her loss of control. Only almost though, because Glenda has never been the biggest on controlling her own reactions.

Just other people’s.

“Remus will need to be out of training for at least the next few weeks. You’re already on the line.” The Nurse points a pen sharply in his direction. “But your ma convinced me you’d be able to get back to classes. Remus will need more time. I ain’t sending a child to go get hurt his first day waking up.”

The hand on Roman’s knee tightens. “My son,” Glenda says darkly, “was knocked out immediately. He clearly needs more practice—”

“He’s a first year.” The nurse waves her concern away. “They all need more practice. Shouldn’t have been in that fight to begin with, my word.”

“Yes, and I will be discussing the school’s lack of security with the Director as soon as you work with me.” Glenda purses her lips. “As well as their complete disregard for the students' privacy.”

Roman has no idea what that last part could possibly mean, but the Nurse doesn’t blink at it so he keeps his mouth shut.

Instead, the Nurse nods at her, completely patronizing and unserious. “I hope that goes well for you honey. I still ain’t clearing your son till he’s awake and moving like I want him to.”

Glenda gets to her feet. Immediately, Roman copies the motion.

“I’ll be in touch,” Glenda says.

“So will I!” The Nurse winks at Roman before turning back to the paperwork. “Got your babies in my wing! I’ll let you know when Remus gets here.

Roman’s mother doesn’t bother to respond before leaving the room. On instinct, Roman goes to follow her. That’s what she would want, for one, and it’s what he’s been trained to do.

A second instinct, one he hasn’t paid attention to for many years, has Roman glancing back.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Roman says. His eyes widen as he says it, completely unsure why he’s speaking. Glenda certainly hadn’t been pleased with her—why should Roman be?

She’s helping Remus.

“Course toots,” the Nurse replies. “It’s my job.”

And Roman leaves the room.

His mother stands waiting for him, surrounded by beds of unconscious or wincing children, and promptly grabs his shoulders and forces them back. Roman cries out with the motion and is able to hold them there for about twenty seconds, before the pain becomes unbearable and he slides back into a slight slump.

“I apologize, Mother, I just—”

“You ‘just’ a lot of things in there.” Glenda says sharply.

Roman can’t stop the panic as her ire turns on him.

“You lost your brother, lost the fight with Marrow, were saved by the quirkless—” the word ‘Squick’ forms on her lips before Glenda remembers where they are and pushes it down— “of all people, and when you wake up, you speak to me as if we’re equals?”

“Mother—”

“I expect this kind of behavior from Remus, Roman. I certainly don’t expect it from you.”

Roman looks down. He can feel his failure in his stomach, swirling into nausea and pain.

“I’m sorry, mother.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough.”

Glenda opens the doors to the hospital wing and starts her way down the school hallway. This time, there’s no deliberation; Roman starts after her immediately.

“Had you just failed, it would be simple enough. But Roman, to be saved by a quirkless?” She glances around. “A Squick? They can’t do anything!”

Roman thinks about Logan screaming at him in battle. He thinks of the quirkless catching him before he fell. He thinks of Logan’s sharp words against Sightline and the determined look Roman is used to receiving every time he beats Logan into the ground.

They’re worthless. All of them. You are above them.

“I’m sorry mother.”

“And then the school has the audacity to publish the videos!” Glenda comes to a stop and it’s only Roman’s training that keeps him from barrelling into her. “I have been asked by five families if I went easy on training you as a child because of your sister.”

Roman’s blood runs cold. He opens his mouth, then finds he doesn’t quite know what to say.

He can’t go back in time and ensure victory over Marrow. He wouldn’t know how to fight her even if he could.

Glenda starts walking again, rounding a corner. Again, Roman follows, desperately trying to come up with a way to make everything better.

What should he say?

What should he do?

He had fought to make her proud. He had sacrificed looking for his brother to make her proud.

Glenda scowls as they walk. They round another corner and Roman realizes they’re heading towards the Director’s office.

Should he be with her for this meeting?

The next corner they round has two people walking in their direction. At the sight of them, Glenda comes to a complete halt.

Roman spies them as well and all his blood rushes to his head. His heart pounds in his ears and he glances from his mother to the two kids.

To Virgil and the quirkless.

Virgil is staring at Logan like he’s never seen him before, which is odd because Logan’s expression is as blank as always. The quirkless himself looks up at Roman’s mother impassively, dark blue eyes sharp and unblinking.

Glenda’s dark blue eyes stare back. She takes a step—not towards the boys, but away—and swallows three times in a row.

Roman blinks at her.

He’s never seen his mother like this. So…off-kilter. Was the sight of the quirkless really enough to shock her?

“Layla,” Glenda breathes.

And Roman feels the floor drop out from underneath him.

Actions

Kudos

Zonkingoff, MoltoMulti, The_Writer_Ghost, LifeMaySuck_ButSmileAnyway, AFictionalCharacter, stubbythumbs1219, echobrainrots, Probably_So, LiveandLove_andthatsEnough30, Arandompasserby, mothageddon, Analogicalmidnight, SilverChickens, Lunaleil, Compass_Rose, Nevermoonshadow, clarachlorine, Yeeeet805, and Aya_Pluto as well as 42 guests left kudos on this work!

Comments

Sorry, this work doesn't allow non-Archive users to comment. You can however still leave Kudos!

Pages Navigation

(Previous comment deleted.)
1. F00PY on Chapter 1 Thu 11 Sep 2025 03:18PM UTC
  
  I'm glad you're enjoying it! Making a comic adaptation sounds amazing but I unfortunately don't have the funds to pay you for your work. Best of luck with other projects
  
  Comment Actions
  - Thread
  - Parent Thread
Lilbell on Chapter 5 Mon 04 Aug 2025 02:20AM UTC

I'm so intrigued. Why is Logan so desperate to prove himself?

Comment Actions
- Thread
Zonkingoff on Chapter 5 Thu 02 Oct 2025 03:01PM UTC

GOOOD CHAPTER!!! Logan is so intriguing. Im assuming that his quirk involves maps, but I wonder what is the specifications? Really cool so far!

Comment Actions
- Thread
1. F00PY on Chapter 5 Thu 02 Oct 2025 07:29PM UTC
  
  I'm glad you enjoying everything! Logan's chapter's are among my favorite to write so it's good to hear he's fun to read too :)
  
  Comment Actions
  - Thread
  - Parent Thread
2. 1. Zonkingoff on Chapter 5 Sun 05 Oct 2025 05:40AM UTC
    
    Super fun!! Oh my god, hes kinda a writers dream with the way he thinks. Also can I say I love the way you lightly put clues to why hes like the way he is. Like nervousness to touch, being kinda sickly. We havent gotten all the details but Im very fascinated with how it is going! I got my theories
    
    Comment Actions
    - Thread
    - Parent Thread
Zonkingoff on Chapter 6 Fri 03 Oct 2025 05:46AM UTC

Checks for Remus. I hope to see more of him and Remus. Perhaps a little bit of character improvement at least for Roman. I hope for Remus to get even more unhinged

Comment Actions
- Thread
Compass_Rose on Chapter 7 Sun 20 Jul 2025 11:42AM UTC

I've been following a long for a bit now and I love this story! Virgil is my favorite character, and I really really like how powerful you made him and how *willing* he is to use that power to protect himself and the ones he loves. I also immensely enjoy how you've made him (and all the mc's really) capable of a wide range of personality traits and emotions. Virgil, for example, does have anxiety and concerns about his future (as we see in the first chapter) but he doesn't let that stop him from preforming in the tests and here he proves that he's more than willing to not only leverage his power to get what he wants, but is also self-assured enough to not be intimidated by healer-dude's attempts to wring a favor out of him. We love to see self-confident Virgil, but we love it even more when its paired with a Virgil that can show fear because contrary to semi-popular belief, these two emotions are not mutually exclusive! You can be afraid of something and still have confidence in another area (in fact most people do! And regardless, everyone's afraid of something; it's just how they show that fear and react to it that differs).
Also, just to make sure I'm tracking, since it hasn't been outright stated anywhere, the quirks: Virgil appears to be able to trap people in whatever they fear most (which, thank you for representing that as a genuinely powerful ability--it's usually just treated as a middle-of-the-road power at best, but if you think about it, it's really OP as hell because again, everyone fears *something* and fear, by it's very nature, robs you of your ability to think logically or plan, and access to a powerful enough fear can even change a person's behavior or cause trauma [PTSD is called PTSD for a reason, friends] so...yeah, just thank you for that--very refreshing :)
Patton can make shields? I think? I'm a little foggy on him, tbh.
The twins can obviously create, though I'm not sure what if any limitations they have on that ability yet or if they can/choose to only create certain things between them?
And Logan...I have no theories for him. Super-intelligence? He seems really smart, but he's Logan. I don't think I've ever seen anyone write him dumb ;) so I'm not sure if he has something else that I might have missed?
Anyway, awesome story and I will be subscribing so I don't miss an update.

Comment Actions
- Thread
1. F00PY on Chapter 7 Sun 20 Jul 2025 06:07PM UTC
  
  Thank you so much for your comment! You're right about Virgil's quirk, although I'm planning to explore how he does that later and potentially add something to it. Patton can make force fields and typically uses them as shields but he can get a creative with what the force field does. Roman and Remus can both create anything; larger stuff is harder and they can't make anything living but any other limitation is just based on their imagination. Logan will have to come later but I will say that he does not have super-intelligence :)
  I'm glad you're enjoying the story and I hope you enjoy what I have planned!
  
  Comment Actions
  - Thread
  - Parent Thread
Zonkingoff on Chapter 7 Fri 03 Oct 2025 06:01AM UTC

SO INTRESTING. Logan’s quirk is so very intresting to me. I cant wait to see how hes going to get through this trial 😬😬 I can see it for the rest of them but him? We will see

Comment Actions
- Thread
Zonkingoff on Chapter 9 Fri 03 Oct 2025 02:41PM UTC

I cant wait to see the last trail!! Super exciting. I also like Logan's little crush on Virgil hes developed so fast. He talks about it like some supernatural force. I adore it.

Comment Actions
- Thread
ThePunmaster on Chapter 10 Thu 11 Sep 2025 02:35AM UTC

mm.... patton, you okay there buddy? (he is not)

Comment Actions
- Thread
Zonkingoff on Chapter 10 Sat 04 Oct 2025 04:08AM UTC

Oh poor Patton. I want him to make it, but omg I also want him to like... consider anything else

Comment Actions
- Thread
Zonkingoff on Chapter 11 Sat 04 Oct 2025 04:21AM UTC

OH THE END OF THIS CHAPTER IS ADORABLE. I LOVE THAT. I crave Logan's thought process during this oh my god

Comment Actions
- Thread
Zonkingoff on Chapter 12 Sat 04 Oct 2025 04:26AM UTC

I promise Im not going to comment on like EVERY single Chapter! But omg Patton, its breaking my heart

Comment Actions
- Thread
1. F00PY on Chapter 12 Sun 05 Oct 2025 12:56AM UTC
  
  Don't worry! I love seeing your thoughts on each chapter! I'm so glad you're enjoying everything! Patton might keep breaking your heart
  
  Comment Actions
  - Thread
  - Parent Thread
2. 1. Zonkingoff on Chapter 12 Sun 05 Oct 2025 05:38AM UTC
    
    He certainly continues to do so! The way you write his internal struggles is so relatable. Like hes fully capable of the understanding what hes doing is hurting him. Not talking to Virgil, letting resentment build up. And all while going through thoughts of poor self esteem, not understanding his feelings. Like that major hurts, because it feels like if hed say something it could all be fixed. But Virgil and him have been functioning that way so long, it feels impossible to change. The concept that their bond has this familial aspect, where they both have this resentment to eachother now. With Virgil for feeling like he had to hide apart of himself, and Patton inherently can't recognize his possessiveness over Virgil mixed with the fact je doesn't feel like he belong in his dream. But Virgil seems to be excelling. Super good!! Also Logan and Virgil's dynamic makes me so happy.
    
    Comment Actions
    - Thread
    - Parent Thread
Zonkingoff on Chapter 13 Sat 04 Oct 2025 04:41AM UTC

OH MY GOD- I was SO unprepared for the quirkless reveal! I thought his quirk was going to be like... a mind palace or something! Thats so rad

Comment Actions
- Thread
ThePunmaster on Chapter 14 Thu 11 Sep 2025 02:54AM UTC

interesting.......

Comment Actions
- Thread
Compass_Rose on Chapter 17 Sun 10 Aug 2025 03:32PM UTC

I just got caught up on everything you've written since chapter 8 and holy cow FooPY things are happening! I especially like how Patton and Virgil seem to be heading in opposite directions than what either of them expected. Patton, who always wanted to be a hero, is starting to second guess himself, and Virgil who has been told his whole life that his power is bad and who was sure he wouldn't even pass the trials, is starting to learn that he actually *likes* using his power to protect people (and ok, confident, protective Virgil is my favorite Virgil. Honestly, you had me suckered in the moment you decided to write him that way, even if you didn't know it ;)
I also really like how Patton and Virgil are slowly strating to drift a part, even though neither of them want to. How Patton's jealous of Logan's friendship with Virgil (and I mean, isn't that something you don't see every day? Usually Patton's the one bringing the group together in these types of stories--he's almost never depicted as jealous of his friends getting more friends. *And* you're not writing him as antagonistic or "unsympathetic" with it. Like, it's something he's clearly struggling with and we the audience know it's not a healthy mindset for Patton or others, but he doesn't come across as outrageous or evil for feeling this way. Quite the opposite, he feels relatable and messy and real (all these characters do...10/10!) Although, Patton constantly thinking of Virgil 'having to' or 'being forced' to use his power (subtly showing that even though he accepts *Virgil* he doesn't accept his power as a part of him or believe he can do good with it) is making me wonder. There was a line about how the two use to play superheros when they were kids and how Virgil was always the victim and Patton was always the hero. And obviously, Patton was the hero because being a hero was his dream and like any kid, he was trying to live it the only way he could back then. But Virgil could have just as easily also been a hero with Patton and they could have worked together to save a stuffed animal or something (clearly Patton could have his choice of victims from there). Why make Virgil always the dude in distress? Did he not want to confront the notion of Virgil's power, even in a pretend game?
And Logan! Logan is powerless? I would have never guessed! I love how he's still so smart and confident despite that, though. Like, he's got his big brain (and eventually his friends), what more does he need? Weakest link? Never! We love to see it!
Roman and Remus. Ugh, I just have so many thoughts on these two. First, Roman is very clearly the favorite child, but you subverted the common trope of making him look down on Remus or making Remus seem overtly jealous of Roman. They still come across a ride or die bros (literally!), in spite of the unequal family dynamic, which yeeees! Again, love to see it! Mom seems like a jerk, though. She is putting way two much pressure on the twins and they are very clearly afraid of disappointing her, even Remus (and that's saying something). I don't know yet if her abuse is more physical or emotional or maybe both but either way it sucks and want to see the twins (along with Virge-Pat-Lo take her *down*. And then we get Janus in here to get her thrown in jail for...for something. I don't know, she's probably either doing something illeagal or she's going to...she gives off too much entitled controlling uppercrust vibes. I can totally see her doing something illeagal to try and stop Logan from being a hero or prove that Virgil's evil cause of his quirk or even just to try manipulate Ro-Re into doing whatever she wants after they get 'un-jerk-ified' later in the story. For the record, I don't like Dad, either. Dude didn't even show up to see his sons off to college. Not cool, guy. Not cool at all.
Other awesome moments are: Logan covering for Virgil wanting to move away from Ro-Re. Roman being *afraid* of Virgil instead of only aggressive. Virgil being threatening and not letting Remus downplay his power as just 'luck'. Remus hesitating, but not completely cowed by the threat (and just being Remus, of course). All the implications of the knife scene.
I am wholly invested! Can't wait to see what happens next.

Comment Actions
- Thread
1. F00PY on Chapter 17 Sun 10 Aug 2025 07:40PM UTC
  
  Thank you so much! I'm so glad you're enjoying everything! Making the characters feel real and messy was very important to me so I'm really glad that's coming through!
  Patton in this story is really fun to write because he loves and tries so hard and he's struggling anyway. He's got plenty to learn but he's 18 and doing the best he can and I really tried to emphasize that part, even as he gets jealous and makes decisions based on that emotion that he doesn't understand.
  Protective overpowered Virgil is very dear to me so I can fully and wholeheartedly promise that this will continue. It's one of my favorite things to write in this piece.
  I'm glad Roman and Remus starting off as antagonistic wasn't completely off-putting; I am planning on putting them through the character development wringer, but the boys have a lot to get through before they can get there.
  Anyway, I'm really glad you're enjoying what I have written! Thank you so much for your comments, they completely make my day, and I hope you enjoy what's coming next!
  
  Comment Actions
  - Thread
  - Parent Thread
ThePunmaster on Chapter 20 Thu 11 Sep 2025 03:57AM UTC

i just. i. good soup

Comment Actions
- Thread
1. F00PY on Chapter 20 Thu 11 Sep 2025 03:03PM UTC
  
  <3
  
  Comment Actions
  - Thread
  - Parent Thread
Zonkingoff on Chapter 22 Sun 05 Oct 2025 05:30AM UTC

UGH ROMAN NOOOO! Oh my goodness is that quickness boy Logan? On my knees praying For Roman to light up a little.

Comment Actions
- Thread
LiveandLove_andthatsEnough30 on Chapter 23 Sat 23 Aug 2025 11:26PM UTC

Woah.

Comment Actions
- Thread
Zonkingoff on Chapter 23 Sun 05 Oct 2025 05:54AM UTC

Okay I dont Roman is going to get that redemption arch I was hoping for. I hope Logan tells a someone to get a little extra defense. Terrifying

Comment Actions
- Thread
Zonkingoff on Chapter 24 Sun 05 Oct 2025 06:20AM UTC

Oooo owwww my heart. I really hope Patton talks to someone at least. What a way ro represent how Patton is feeling, I really like it. I also live Virgil trying to reason his feelings for Logan. What a dweeb

Comment Actions
- Thread
1. F00PY on Chapter 24 Mon 06 Oct 2025 04:38PM UTC
  
  I'm really glad you liked the symbolism, my poor friends had to listen to me plan it all out for like a week
  
  Comment Actions
  - Thread
  - Parent Thread
Zonkingoff on Chapter 25 Sun 05 Oct 2025 06:38AM UTC

UGH THIS WAS SO CUTE AND SWEET! Frothing at the mouth rn! They are the cutest!!! Omg Virgil is being such a good normal platonic friend! Everything has been soooo platonic!

Comment Actions
- Thread