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Mike barrels out of the truck, stopping only to let Max onto the ground before he heads for his new sister and her new friends. He’d just hit Icicle. He’d just hit Icicle. It’s a thought for another time. Courtney looks okay (and, like, totally awesome in her costume). The others look okay too. There’s blood on Rick’s face but it’s hard to tell if he’s actively bleeding. Yolanda and Beth look fine, and so does Justin, in the back.
Truthfully, Mike just wants to know where his dad is, and it isn’t hard to figure out. Everyone’s looking up, at the clocktower.
He slows down long enough only to let Courtney finish with her group hug, and then she’s hugging him. He’d meant to hug her too, it’s not just her grabbing for him without him wanting it in return. It isn’t like he needs a hug or anything, but it’s nice, reaching her as she finishes hugging her friends, waiting for her, only for her to turn, and see him, and instantly give him a hug, no hesitation.
Like she’s his sister, like she knows him, like they know each other, and there is no need to say anything before they are embracing, relief and joy flooding them both as they pull apart, and grin at each other. She’s alright. They’re all alright. Mike has seen his dad’s silhouette at the top of the tower already, but no more than that, having gone straight for his sister. But Dad is fine. Courtney wouldn’t have been grinning at him like that otherwise.
They separate, and both look upwards towards their parents with grins on their faces. Dad and Barbara are kissing, but Mike doesn’t even care about that. He’d been stuck, in that cabin, Max on his lap, running his fingers through his fur, his mind running in circles, wondering, worrying, rethinking every interaction he’s ever had with his dad.
But they are all alright and, slowly, the sheer relief starts to fade a little. He finds himself glancing over back toward the truck, at the fragments of ice scattered on the pavement in front of it. There’s no one else in the square – not surprising; he’d been driving when he’d seen the mad scramble of adults waking from their mind control, hurrying indoors, probably to their families.
“You alright?” It’s Yolanda’s voice, soft and gentle, and at the sound of it, at the words she’s asking, Mike wrenches his gaze away from the truck with effort, turning back toward the group.
Yolanda is looking worriedly at Rick, who honestly looks the most beat up of all of them. Exhausted too, if the expression on his face is accurate.
Mike fidgets where he stands. What are they supposed to do next? They’d beaten the bad guys, what comes after that?
What would Dad do? he can’t help but think.
Rick’s already shaking off Yolanda’s concern, wiping off some of the grime on his face onto his sleeve.
“Is everyone else okay?” Mike finds himself asking, almost bouncing on his feet, leaning forward with intent but some part of himself still holding himself back. The question is half worry – it’s a question that’s consumed him since his family had left him behind to take on supervillains – and half simply what he thinks his dad would say, if he were here.
“We’re fine,” Courtney says, and it almost sounds like she’s brushing him off.
Treating him like a kid again, even as she and her friends stand around a little aimless. Mike has no idea what they just went through, or how bad the fight was, or how they all ended up here, in the square together, but he doesn’t care.
“We need to get moving, then,” he says, pushing his way forward, projecting his voice so that everyone’s listening to him. Dad isn’t here, and Courtney just seems relieved to be alive.
His strong words seem to jolt some of them out of their relief.
“Huh?” Beth asks, frowning at him.
“Superhero identity 101,” Mike says, because he’s been thinking about this a lot since finding out the truth about Dad. “If anyone sees you, they’ll figure out who you are.” Maybe not all of them, but Beth, especially, isn’t wearing a costume, and Rick’s no longer covers his face.
“Mike’s right,” Courtney says, “we can’t stay here.”
Mike feels a little irritated that everyone seems to be listening to her and not him but he thinks of his dad again and shoves down his retort.
What had they done last night? They’d gotten out of danger, reconnected with Courtney and Barbara, gathered their supplies, and only then had they had a discussion about what had happened. He glances back up at the clocktower. Dad and Barbara aren’t there anymore, which hopefully means they’re on their way down.
“Where did you guys leave your cars?” he asks.
Courtney shakes her head. “Pat and I flew,” she reminds him.
“And the Mustang’s halfway across town,” Rick adds.
“Ms. Whitmore’s car is nearby,” Beth chimes in. “We parked near here.” She glances around, as if trying to remind herself which direction they’d come from.
Okay, so, Mike had taken Justin’s truck, which doesn’t have a backseat. They can fit three people in there, and five in Barbara’s car. He does a mental tally in his head, and there are exactly eight of them, so, that’s lucky. (He supposes Courtney can fly, but still.)
“Soon as Pat and Barbara join us we can head out,” Yolanda suggests. They’re all huddled a bit closer together as a group now, eyes constantly roaming as if worried that someone else will approach them at any moment.
“Good thing you brought the truck,” Courtney says, grinning at him, and alright, Mike can forgive her for taking charge over him. She’s the superhero, after all, and it’s not like she’s ignoring him.
“How do you even know how to drive?” Rick asks incredulously.
“He’s right,” Yolanda cuts in, before Mike can respond. “The cabin isn’t exactly close.”
“Dad taught me,” Mike replies. “In case of emergency.”
Courtney elbows Yolanda, grinning. “You don’t really think he spent all that time around Pat’s classic cars and never asked to drive them, do you?”
“I was careful,” Mike says. “Dad made sure I knew all the rules, and it was an emergency.”
“How long did you even wait to come after us?” Courtney asks.
Some of Mike’s excitement fades at the reminder of everything that had happened. “I waited!” he protests. Dad had told him to, after all, and as much as he had chafed at being left behind, he doesn’t have a cool costume, superpowers, or a giant robot. Or whatever it is Justin has. (Is it just the sword he’s carrying? Is that his thing?) “I just… I was watching Twitter, and when everyone froze in place…” His thoughts had immediately turned to his father. “I mean, I didn’t know…”
Courtney slings an arm over his shoulder. “It was just adults,” she reassures him.
It doesn’t quite do the trick. “Dad?” Mike asks worriedly, glancing back at the clocktower that Dad and Barbara still haven’t emerged from yet.
Courtney grimaces. “He fought it, but he’s okay.”
“Fighting it’s a good thing though, isn’t it?” Right? Of course his dad is cool enough to fight the mind control.
But Courtney still looks unhappy as she shakes her head uncertainly, glancing between her friends.
Mike’s immediate thought is to protest, to try and drill it through their thick skulls that he’s not a kid! They don’t have to keep things from him! But he doesn’t give in to that desire, remembering again everything that had happened last night, how his dad had handled things at the garage. There’ll be time to talk in the car ride, and Courtney had said Dad was okay. He’ll have to take her at her word.
“Justin can drive his car,” he says instead, moving back to his previous topic. “Who wants to go with him?”
Again, the group exchanges glances, and Mike can see what they’re “saying” even if he’s not really a part of the group. They want to stick together.
Movement catches everyone’s attention just then, and Mike’s heart jumps in his chest, but it’s just Dad and Barbara, finally exiting the clocktower. Dad… doesn’t look great, and somehow Mike can tell that the blood on his face isn’t like Rick – most of it’s actually his. But he’s walking, even if he looks like he’s leaning on Barbara a little, and he grins when he sees all of them, standing together.
Courtney rushes into her mom’s arms, and Mike lets Dad scoop him up in his, and then all four of them are bundled together, and even as battered as he is Dad’s hold is strong. Mike can tell that none of them really want to let go, so he forces himself to pull back first.
“Justin can take two in his truck,” he reminds everyone. “The rest of us can take the SUV.”
Dad’s still not really standing straight, and he winces when he tries to, pulling back from the other two as everyone else pulls back from the hug too. One hand goes to his torso, protectively clutching at his ribs, but he raises his head enough to look around the plaza. “Mike’s right,” he says, “we need to get going.” There’s a proud gleam in his eyes when his gaze catches Mike’s. “Is everyone else –?”
“We’re all good,” Courtney reassures him quickly. She glances toward Yolanda. “Turns out cats really do land on their feet.”
Yolanda grins back at her.
Dad nods, then staggers a little, one hand reaching out toward Barbara who’s quick to support him. He winces again.
Mike turns toward his stepmom. “Can you drive?” he asks, because he doesn’t care what Dad says, he’s not fine.
Barbara apparently shares his concerns, if he’s reading the worried look on her face as she steadies Dad correctly. “Yeah,” she agrees, glancing around as well. “The car isn’t far.”
“I’m fine,” Dad says, and there’s a touch of annoyance in his tone, as if he’s irritated at Mike for not finishing his homework, or Courtney for not setting the table, instead of being irritated at them for actually being concerned about him.
But Mike can yell at his dad later. It’s time to go. He glances around at the team again, remembering the way no one had wanted to separate. Barbara’s driving the other car, and she’ll want Dad with her. (So does Mike quite frankly, given Justin’s scatterbrained nature, at times.)
“Rick, Beth,” he decides on a whim, because even if he did want to separate from his dad and Barbara, that would mean one of the four teen superheroes would have to go with Justin too, either that or just him and his dad, “can you go with Justin?” Maybe better that than asking one to leave the other three.
“Good idea,” Dad chimes in, sending a brief smile Mike’s way. “Justin, you can get back to the cabin?”
Justin nods. “It would be my honor.”
“The keys are still in the ignition,” Mike tells him.
The superheroes exchange glances, then pull apart, as Rick and Beth follow Justin to his truck.
“C’mon,” Dad reminds them all, “let’s get moving.”
Mike, oddly enough, is the last to move. His gaze goes to the still frozen chunks of ice in front of the truck he’d driven miles on his own. He doesn’t regret hitting Icicle, but he hadn’t expected…
“Mike.” It’s Courtney’s voice, gentle but firm, and it jolts him out of his trance.
Right. Right. He looks to her, standing tall, staff in hand, costume brilliant in the light of day. His sister is a superhero now. And he’d just saved the day. (Or helped, at least.) Regrets can come later. Now, he needs to make sure everyone stays safe. He studies his dad carefully, but Barbara’s already supporting him. He doesn’t need any more help.
“Coming,” he says, and makes sure Max is following him as they leave the square together.
The road to the cabin after their fight with the ISA is oddly empty, even for the backwoods of Nebraska, but Rick doesn’t blame people for cutting any travel plans for the day short. They hadn’t encountered anyone other than the eight of them who’d fought for the world, but he’d seen Justin standing stock still, knew Beth had seen Barbara doing the same, and had heard the fear in Courtney’s voice when Pat had been made to attack her. He can’t imagine how unsettling it must have been outside of the tunnels, the world freezing in place, only kids able to move.
Anyway, with the roads as empty as they are the small caravan of two is able to go faster than they normally would have. Barbara is driving in front with most of the group; Rick is in Justin’s truck, Beth sandwiched between them. She’s somber for most of the ride, broken googles not leaving her tight grip, and Rick doesn’t force her to speak. It’s strange, for her to be so quiet, but he has his own thoughts to muse on.
Solomon Grundy, for one, and his decision to let the creature go. It feels like a weight off his chest, and his thoughts linger on the look of fear on the beast’s face when he’d been about to pummel him. Despite his initial lack of regret, doubt has already started to creep in. How many more people will Grundy hurt, because Rick couldn’t see anger in the beast’s eyes? Despite the doubt, Rick still feels at peace. He’s finally stopped hurting, and it’s a burden he’d never thought he could let go of.
They pull into the long driveway for the cabin before Rick even realizes they’re close, and he can’t say if that’s because they really drove that much faster, or if he was just that lost in his thoughts. He comes to awareness enough to open the door though, wincing slightly at the tug to his ribs as he hops out of the truck. He holds the door open for Beth, but his gaze goes to the other car.
The other kids are quick to pile out of it, Yolanda and Courtney exiting from behind the driver’s seat, barely in his view, Mike boisterous as he hurries around from the other side, but Pat’s much slower to exit, closer to Rick as Mike dashes around the back of the car. The older man lets himself lean on the car for a moment, hidden from most of the group, now gathered on the driver’s side of the car as they head for the cabin. Some of the blood’s been cleaned off his face, but not much. Like Rick, he probably didn’t have much to wipe it off onto.
Pat catches him looking though, and he straightens, the drawn expression on his face shifting into a small smile. There’s acknowledgement and pride in the tiny nod he gives Rick, and Rick finds himself glancing away at the blatant affection. It’s almost enough to make him stop wondering how much pain Pat is actually in, and how good he is at hiding it. Almost, but not quite. Rick has a bit of experience hiding physical pain, but only here and there from his asshole of an uncle. This isn’t the first time Pat’s gone up against supervillains, and he’d never had STRIPE before now. It shouldn’t be surprising that Pat has his own experience, greater than Rick’s own, but it is, a little.
It’d taken Rick a while to warm up to Pat, but he realizes now he still doesn’t fully understand the other man – hasn’t fully considered what it meant, to have been a sidekick for the JSA. (How many times has Pat encountered Grundy?) Today had been…
Rick doesn’t have the words. Exhausting. Exhilarating. Terrifying. Memorable and forgettable in one instant, because he’ll never forget it, but there are moments even now he can’t quite recall, instances where his mind was perfectly blank, moving on nothing but instinct. Like the fight at the beginning. He knows he’d gone after Sportsmaster, but…
He shuts the door with a hard slam, trailing after Beth, waiting for Pat, and then following their small group up to the cabin, shaking such thoughts from his mind. Inside, everyone lingers near the front door for a moment, uncertain as to where they go from here.
They just beat the ISA. They just stopped supervillains from mind controlling half the country.
Rick just made the choice to let go of his anger over his parents’ fate.
Pat, quietly and efficiently, takes charge. He asks all of them to get settled on the couches, asks after their injuries, and sends Mike to grab the first aid kits – the large one his family had brought with them to the cabin, and the smaller kit that had been there when they’d arrived.
Rick flutters a bit, when Pat tries to get him to sit down – he’s still in his costume, and even apart from the blood, it’s filthy, covered in grime and dust from being slammed around in the tunnels. This isn’t his house. It isn’t, technically, anyone’s house, but it still feels a little bit like Pat and Barbara’s place, and Rick can’t get the couch dirty. He can’t, because, because…
“Rick,” Pat says, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright. Relax. We’re all safe here.” It’s not a firm hand, or it’s firm but not strong, or it’s strong but not firm. No, no, it’s steady – that’s the word Rick’s looking for. Pat doesn’t press down on him, doesn’t crowd him, doesn’t grip his shoulder tightly – he’s just there, resolute and gentle at the same time.
Rick shakes his head, glancing down behind him. “The couch…” he starts to say, and part of him isn’t surprised that he’s at a little bit of a loss for words, mind still processing everything that just happened. Part of him is though, because he hadn’t had this issue when he’d been facing literal supervillains.
Pat’s hand nudges him gently towards the couch, but lets go before the movement turns into anything resembling an actual shove. “Hey,” he says. “It’s alright. Your brain’s just coming down from the adrenaline. Don’t worry about the couch. Are you alright? Does your head hurt?”
Letting his legs collapse onto the sofa, Rick shakes his head. “No, no, I’m…” he glances around to find that the rest of the JSA is looking at him, worried. Barbara’s got a tight grip on one of Courtney’s hands. Courtney’s squeezing back just as hard, Yolanda on her other side, pressed thigh to thigh with her. Yolanda herself looks just as out of it as Rick feels. Beth, who’s sitting on Rick’s couch, though not as close to him as the other three are with each other, looks a bit more put together, but she’s not relaxed yet either.
Justin, who took a seat on his own, doesn’t seem bothered, only idly interested in the goings on. He’s running a cloth over his sword, cleaning it, Rick supposes. The movements are methodical and practiced. Second nature, probably.
Pat though, Pat’s the only one still standing, watching Rick with concern, gaze flickering to the others periodically. The hand that hadn’t touched Rick’s shoulder is held to his stomach, and Rick recognizes the look.
Because he’s been here before. Not here here, but he’s had adrenaline crashes before, pushed through injuries, found himself a little stunned in the aftermath of a fight. Never this badly, never after experiencing something so monumentally life changing, but after the worst fights with his uncle, after learning of how his parents had died, after the first time he’d fought Sportsmaster…
He pulls himself together. He pulls himself together because he’s felt this before so he knows what to do. He pulls himself together because Pat’s hurt, and he’s not hiding it – hiding it would be letting his arm fall to his side, would be standing up straight and smoothing the lines away from his eyes – but he’s pointedly not drawing attention to it either.
Parts of Rick’s memories of the fight with the ISA are blank in his mind, but he can remember the fear that had leapt into his throat upon seeing Grundy tear STRIPE apart as clear as day. Even the lump that had settled there when Courtney had said that Pat was fighting the mind control, and Beth had reminded them all that that could kill him.
“I’m fine,” he says, just as Mike comes back, first aid kit in either hand. “I’m fine. You… you need to sit down too. Grundy…”
“I’m fine,” Pat says, taking the larger kit from Mike. He moves to crouch down in front of Rick, winces, and then drops to one knee instead to keep his chest straight.
In an instant, Rick can see the future stretching out before him. Pat’s going to power through this. He’s going to power through his own injuries and check how much of the blood on Rick’s face is his own, and then he’s going to go to Beth, and to Yolanda, and to Courtney, and he’s going to check over each of them, and bandage their injuries, and he’s going to be gentle, and concerned, and attentive, and everything that Rick’s been missing since his parents died, because that’s Pat. That’s who Pat is – the one who’s there, helping, in any way he can. And he’s going to save his own injuries for last, because he’s the adult, and they’re the kids, and he feels responsible for them, the way a good parent would.
“I’ve got it,” Rick says, before any of that can play out. He grabs the first aid kit from where Pat set it on the floor between them and pops it open on his lap.
“Rick –” Pat starts.
Rick shakes his head. “No, I…” he glances at the others. “You’re the worst of all of us. Take care of yourself first, I’ll handle us.” He can do the basics. He can dress his friends’ – his friends’ – wounds.
“He’s right,” Barbara cuts in, before Pat can say anything.
Pat still looks like he wants to protest.
Barbara stands, reaching out a hand to take the smaller first aid kit from Mike as she moves for them. “You’re not seriously hurt?” she asks, serious, looking down at Rick.
The concern in her eyes is nearly overwhelming, and brings Rick back to the few memories he has of his mom. “I…” he stutters for a moment in the face of it, then pulls himself together. “No, yeah, just a few scrapes.” He looks at the others again. “We’re good, I promise.”
“Yeah, we’ll be fine,” Courtney adds.
“You should take care of yourself, Mr. Dugan,” Beth chimes in.
Pat hesitates, but Barbara places a hand under his elbow and helps him to his feet. “C’mon,” she says. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“I can help Rick,” Mike says, resolute.
“I think, between the five of us,” Courtney cuts in, “we’ve got this.”
Pat gives her a grin, soft and so achingly full of love, and that love doesn’t evaporate as he scans his gaze over the rest of them, ending on Rick. “Thanks,” he says, sincere, and Rick fidgets again under his gaze.
Faced with a fight in front of them, he hadn’t been able to see the value of Pat’s contributions. In the aftermath, it’s all he can see.
He nods. “Anytime,” he promises, and means it. He waits until Barbara leads Pat to the bathroom before he turns his attention to the first aid kit in his lap, and his new friends.
“How are you doing?”
Beth jumps, fingers clenching reflexively over the strap in her hand. For a moment as she stares into Mr. Dugan’s face she forgets where she is, and why she’s there, but it comes flooding back quickly enough at the sight of the bandages on his face.
“Mr. Dugan!” she cries out, as he starts to sit up. She stands to help, but ends up hovering awkwardly, unsure what to do with her hands. “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be asking you that!”
She glances in the direction of the cabin’s kitchen; it’s not visible from where they are in the living room, but she can still hear Ms. Whitmore and Courtney and Mike talking quietly as they ready something that’s either lunch or dinner or some combination of the two, but is mostly just piles of microwaved food and leftover KFC.
“I’m alright,” Pat says, but the grimace on his face as he gets himself into a seated position and the way his right arm hugs his stomach says otherwise.
Beth doesn’t know what to do. He’d done his own first aid, with Ms. Whitmore’s help, claiming he only needed rest, but Rick had said he’d taken some strong hits, and STRIPE had been destroyed, and she knows he hadn’t been in the best shape last night either, after his fight with Sportsmaster. Her hands flutter uncertainly, Chuck’s goggles still tight in her right.
“I’m fine, Beth,” Pat repeats comfortingly, and Beth can’t help but believe him, when he speaks like that, even with all the evidence to the contrary.
She steps back. “I can get Ms. Whitmore, or... or do you need a glass of water? Or...”
“Beth,” Pat says softly, a small smile on his face.
“Sorry. Sorry. I know I talk too much sometimes, I just –” She doesn’t know what to say. The one person who has never minded her babbling is crushed in her hands, and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever speak to him again.
“You’re not talking too much,” Pat reassures her. “You just don’t need to worry. Everyone’s fine, right?”
Beth thinks of the way Yolanda had been silent after the initial elation of winning had died down. She thinks of the blood Mr. Dugan had cleaned out of his ears, and the way Mike had hugged Max the entire time he’d watched them bandage their wounds. She’d seen the way Ms. Whitmore hovered over all of them, and the way Rick had been so hesitant but insistent with the first aid kit, gentle as he’d cleaned the others’ small wounds. And they’d all seen Courtney hovering over Pat once he’d been done taking care of himself, and the way she and Mike had ganged up on him to get him to sleep.
But... yeah. They won. They’re all okay. Everyone except...
She looks down at the googles in her hand, glances back up at Pat’s worn and weary face, and makes a decision. Her hands move behind her back, shifting Chuck out of sight. “Yeah,” she says. “Everyone’s still fine.” She’s not quite chipper, but she thinks a little bit of her usual excitement reenters her voice as she thinks about everyone else – her friends. “Ms. Whitmore asked Courtney and Mike to help her get something to eat for everyone. Yolanda and Rick took the showers first.”
“Justin?” Mr. Dugan asks, because he doesn’t forget about anybody.
Quite honestly, she doesn’t know what he thinks of her rambling – she barely knows him at all – but she knows that he’s yet to stop her, at the very least. They’ve had bigger things to worry about, but he’s yet to cut her out, to get exasperated the way some of her teachers do. Beth likes that about him, the way he listens.
“He said he was going to stand guard,” Beth says, and she chuckles a little, remembering the old-timey way their school janitor – also an actual superhero – had said it. “Does he always talk like that?”
Pat chuckles a little too. “Yeah. When I knew him he was…” he sighs a little, expression shifting into something more melancholy, nostalgic. “Well, he was a bit more put together,” he admits. “But otherwise… You get used to it, after a while, I suppose. It’s been a while since I’ve given it any thought.” He moves to stand.
“Whoa, what are you doing?” Beth says. She’s not confident enough to press him back down again, but she steps in front of him almost without thinking, so he doesn’t get the chance to really move away from the couch.
He frowns at her, and that makes her feel a little guilty, makes her shift a little where she stands, but she doesn’t back down. Her parents are doctors, and it’s clear he’s the most injured of all of them. He needs rest.
“I’m just gonna help with the food, Beth,” he says, calm and comforting, a warm smile on his face.
Beth doesn’t let that sway her. “You need to rest,” she counters.
“I’m fine –”
She can’t believe she’s doing it, but Beth very pointedly interrupts Mr. Dugan from saying anything more. “You need to rest,” she repeats. “Ms. Whitmore said you weren’t allowed to move from this spot. Actually, she told me that you would probably want to help with dinner, if you woke up in time, but that I wasn’t supposed to let you, but that’s more or less the same thing.” Beth had volunteered, to be the one to stay in the living room with Pat, because Yolanda and Rick had actually been in the thick of the fight, so she’d given them the showers first, and Courtney had wanted to stay with her mom. (Mike, she doesn’t know very well, but he’d seemed very helpful, so he’d gone to the kitchen too.)
Pat doesn’t cut through her rambling. He just stands there patiently as he speaks. There’s an amused smile tugging at his lips, but it’s not cruel or exasperated or anything, just gentle, as he listens. In fact, he does more than listen, because he sits back down at the end of her little speech. “I really am fine, Beth,” he tries to tell her. “But I appreciate the concern.”
“They’re just microwaving stuff,” she tries to argue. “They don’t really need your help.” It takes her a second to realize what that might sound like. “Not that you’re not helpful! I just mean that, y’know, it’s just…”
Mr. Dugan raises his hands, an obvious gesture of surrender. “I know what you mean,” he cuts in easily, before she can dig the hole she’s created any deeper. Still, he looks a little uneasy, or maybe just a little on edge, because he can’t stop glancing around, looking toward the kitchen, toward the sound of the downstairs bathroom, where the sound of the water from Rick’s shower is easy enough to hear where they sit. “But I’d still like to –”
On impulse, Beth sits down beside him, and the pointed nature of her movement – and probably the fact that she’s making it clear she doesn’t expect him to go anywhere – interrupts him mid-thought.
“Actually,” she says, coming up with something on the spot. “I wanted to ask you something?” Her statement becomes a question, an unspoken, if that’s okay with you tacked in at the end. She has no idea what she’s going to ask in that moment
But then Pat looks at her and says “Of course,” in his gentle, obvious way, as if it was never in doubt, as if she could ask him anything, at any time, and he’ll listen to her questions and answer them quietly and won’t say something about being too busy or needing to leave for work, and Beth knows instantly what she’s going to ask him.
She’s already asked Chuck, of course. How could she not have? But it’ll be different, to hear Pat’s perspective. (And she doesn’t have Chuck anymore.)
“Can you tell me about Dr. McNider?”
Pat’s face softens, even behind his injuries, and he grins at her. “Of course,” he repeats, and launches into the tale.
Yolanda waits to break until everyone’s patched up their injuries. Until after Courtney and Mike had urged Pat to get some rest, ushering them all out of the living room in the meantime. Until after they’d had a hushed conversation about how to proceed, and Justin had gone outside to stand guard and she and Rick had been given first shot at the two showers.
She waits until the Wildcat costume has been stripped from her body, and the bloody claws lay with the rest of the costume on the floor. She waits until she’s washed the shampoo and conditioner from her hair, and the last of the dirt has been scrubbed clean. (It wasn’t much. The costume protected her fairly well. But she’d still felt dirty.)
And then she collapses in the shower, and the sound of the hot water running over her muffles her quiet sobs.
She doesn’t even know why she’s crying. Or, rather, she does, it just doesn’t make sense just yet. She knows she killed someone, intellectually. She’s even fairly certain she might regret it later. She just doesn’t regret it yet. It hasn’t really hit her, everything that happened in those tunnels.
So, she doesn’t know why she’s crying. Emotional overload, maybe. She’d cried a lot those first few days when she’d become a social outcast.
This is a bit more cathartic than that, and she feels loads better by the time her sobs stop. Distantly, she realizes she’s compartmentalizing. Letting herself be blank and emotionless, the same way she’s been for months, refusing to let anything affect her any more. Distantly, she knows that her sobs don’t mean she’s really processed what happened. She’s okay with that, for now.
She’s okay, for now.
After all, they made it through it, and everyone’s, more or less, fine. Minor injuries all around, except for maybe Pat, and Yolanda rubs the towel over her hair and gets dressed and feels like she’s had a good nap.
She’d needed that shower; it’s given her the energy to smile as she heads down the stairs, and she’s not even faking it. Maybe the worst of it hasn’t hit her yet, but it feels like she’s getting hit with the best of it in that moment: they’d all made it. They’re all here, and together, and she has a team and a family and people who love her, and fought with her. People she’d dive off rooftops for. That’s far from what she’d had a few weeks ago.
Courtney’s not in the kitchen though, when she comes down, just Barbara and Mike and Rick, setting plates of food out onto the table.
“Oh good,” Barbara says when she sees her, smiling, “you’re just in time. We don’t have much but leftovers and some microwaveable meals, but food’s ready in a minute.”
Nobody’s said good at her appearance downstairs for dinner in a long time. A really long time, and Yolanda aches with the reminder of that even as her own grin widens. She looks around at Rick helping with the microwaveable plastic dishes and plates of leftover chicken and Mike scrounging up silverware in a drawer. Rick nods, a small smile on his own face. Mike seems focused on his task.
“Want me to get everyone else?” she offers, and it doesn’t feel remotely like a chore.
“Courtney’s in the shower,” Barbara tells her, “but Beth and Pat are still in the living room.”
Yolanda nods and moves to fetch them, but Barbara stops her before she really leaves the room.
“Oh,” she says, “tell Beth she can shower first, if she wants. It’s no hassle to pop something in the microwave again.”
“Sure thing, Ms. Whitmore,” Yolanda says. She stops for a moment though, at the sight of Pat and Beth talking quietly on the couch. Beth looks untouched, listening raptly, but there are bandages over Pat’s face and the way he’s leaning back points at the injuries to his ribs.
I wonder if Pat’s ever killed anyone?
The thought hits her out of the blue, sudden and unexpected, and Yolanda almost flees at the emotions it stirs up inside her.
No, no, no. She’s not thinking about that now and she’s certainly not going to ask him, especially not when he looks like that.
“Hey,” she says, gently interrupting Beth and Pat in an effort to interrupt her own thoughts, to stop thinking about it. “Dinner’s ready.”
Pat’s eyes, when he glances up, flicker up and down her form, assessing. She’s not sure what he sees in her. She’s not sure what she wants him to see.
“Want any help, Mr. Dugan?” Beth asks.
Pat’s gaze moves back to the girl at his side and he smiles softly. “No, I’m alright Beth,” he says. It takes him an effort to stand, Beth watching anxiously as she gets to her feet much quicker (and Yolanda too, if she’s willing to admit to that), but Yolanda doesn’t think he’s lying.
He might fudge the truth a little, around them, might put them first, but she doesn’t think he’d lie about something like that. It makes her feel all the more guilty, even if she still has no idea what she’s feeling.
“Someone should tell Justin, though,” he continues.
“I’ll do that,” she jumps in, before Pat can offer, or Beth can.
Pat gives her another assessing look. She fights not to squirm under the kindness or the knowledge in that gaze. “It’s alright,” he says, “I can –”
Something in Yolanda settles again. The up and down of it all is driving her crazy, but she relishes the peaceful moments nevertheless, the moments where it feels like she’s finally got a home again and knows who she is – and is okay with who she is. It doesn’t feel like Pat’s offering because she isn’t capable or because he doesn’t trust her. It feels like he’s offering because he wants to. Because he cares about her.
It’s a nice feeling.
“It’s fine,” she cuts in. “Ms. Whitmore said you shouldn’t be walking around too much.” She sends a significant look at Beth, raising her eyebrow, and it simultaneously feels like a minor miracle when Beth reads her look without effort while at the same time it just feels like all is finally right with the world.
“Oh, he’s keeping guard,” Beth tells her. “He’s should just be out on the balcony.”
Yolanda nods, then nods her head at Pat. “Need any help getting him to the table?”
It feels… freeing, to say that. Because she’s joking, but also she isn’t. Because Pat rolls his eyes and huffs a chuckle at her offering to help after he’d already turned down Beth. Because Beth laughs too, and grins, and says “No, I think I’ve got it.” Because Yolanda means it, and that doesn’t feel like a chore either.
She watches them make their way with no small amount of fondness in her gaze, then heads to find Justin. As Beth had said, he’s on the balcony keeping watch, sword still at his side, and Yolanda barely even knows this man, less than Pat, less than Barbara, even, but she still feels that same fondness, watching him watch over the rest of them without falter.
“Hey,” she says, light and easy when he notices her. “Dinner’s ready, if you want to come down with us.”
He chuckles lightly. “I appreciate that lass,” he says, “but if I leave my post, who will fend off any dragons?”
“We slayed the dragon, remember?” Yolanda says, but she’s grinning too. Justin doesn’t seem to really expect trouble, but he’s keeping watch anyway. With all the hidden dangers they’ve encountered in Blue Valley, she can’t blame him for it, but it’s good it’s just simple precaution, not honest fears and worries weighing him down.
“Aye, we slew that one,” he agrees, “but there are others.” His gaze goes a little distant, a little dark, as he glances toward the horizon. “There will always be others.”
There’s a weight of history behind his words, but Yolanda doesn’t let it affect her. “How about I keep watch, for a few minutes?” she offers, thinking of Pat, thinking of Courtney and Beth and Rick and keeping them safe. “That way you can grab a plate, at least get a small bite to eat.”
Justin’s evaluating gaze somehow feels less heavy than Pat’s. Easier to stomach, maybe, but it makes Yolanda feel a tinge of guilt again. With Pat, it feels like he’s seeing all the parts of her, even the parts she doesn’t want him to see. With Justin, damaged, valiant Justin, it feels like she’s deceiving him.
He claps a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, young squire,” he says with a grin. “You’ll make a noble knight someday.”
Yolanda grins back at him, and watches with fondness again as he disappears toward the kitchen.
It feels right, a little bit, in a self-depreciating kind of way, to be left alone on the balcony, working while everyone relaxes, after everything she’s done. But more than that, it just feels right, to be standing here protecting a home filled with people she loves.
Yolanda will do anything to keep that feeling safe. (She already has.)
The stars are bright out, this far from anywhere. They’re brighter in Nebraska than California in general, but they’re especially bright here, at the cabin, even if Courtney can only see a few of them through the trees surrounding them.
She’d never really paid them much mind before, until she’d been up there among them, only the clouds between her and the thin blanket of Earth’s atmosphere. Plus, she Stargirl now. It’s not hard to wonder what the name means, or why Starman chose it. It probably has something to do with the Staff – it certainly glows like a star – but she hasn’t asked Pat that story yet.
It’s not that she doesn’t want to know it’s just that… something in her says she’s not ready for it. There’s a lot of things Courtney’s willing to admit she’s impatient about. She’s not a fan of waiting. But this… it feels right, to wait to hear the story of the Staff’s origins. At least until she’s done creating the story of their origins, together, here on Earth. (She’ll admit though, part of the reason she doesn’t know already is because she’d been adamant that Starman was her father, and Pat had been adamant that he wasn’t, and they’d never gotten over the difference enough to really share detailed stories about the man.)
And speaking of Pat…
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” she asks her step-dad as he approaches.
“I think I’m the one who should be asking that,” he returns.
She raises an eyebrow at him. Really? Maybe normally, but she’s not the one beat half to hell right now.
“Yolanda took a watch earlier,” she reminds him. “And Rick did it after dinner.”
“Justin means well,” Pat says, “but…”
Courtney hums absentmindedly, leaning against the support beam next to her and turning her gaze back to the stars. She knows what Pat means, even if she doesn’t have his wealth of experience behind her own expectations. Even if some of the members of the ISA are still out there, they won’t be coming for them tonight. She’s can’t really say how she knows that, she just does. Instinct, maybe. Maybe she’s just picking it up from Pat and trusting that he knows best. Regardless, she’s not worried.
She’s out here anyway, while everyone else crashes for the night.
Pat lets her settle into the silence of the moment, though he takes a seat on the bench behind her. Good. He needs the rest more than she does. Now, more than ever, she can’t help but think of all the efforts he’d made to protect her over the weeks since she’d discovered the truth – since the Staff had chosen her.
“It’s a lot,” her dad says eventually, after a few moments have passed. “But you handled it well.”
“I know,” Courtney says. She cringes a second later, internally or not, at the unintentional arrogance of the statement, but she means it. She’s not out here because she’s questioning her own skills. It’s not how she handled the fight that has her brain batting away any attempts at sleeping.
Silence settles a moment. Without even looking at him, Courtney knows Pat’s not trying to process her words. He understands what she means. For the first time since she met him, she feels like she understands him fully too.
She knows that’s not the whole truth. She knows they’ll have future arguments and disagreements, that there will be moments where they won’t get along and she’ll sneak out again at night, or he’ll try to ground her for a month. But here and now, in this quiet moment, the people they love safe and snug nearby, a fierce victory behind them, and a limitless future in front of them, Courtney feels like she finally understands who Pat is.
This quiet contentment. This calm certainty. This awful, terrifying, heart-breaking worry. She doesn’t know how he handles it. She understands why he’d spent over a decade fighting for it, until all his friends had died and there’d been no one left to fight for.
“Are they…?” she starts to ask, then stops. She doesn’t know what she’s asking.
Pat does.
“They’ll be okay,” he assures her. “You’ll have to watch Yolanda, I’m not sure she knows what she’s feeling right now. And Beth, she’s still reeling a little from what happened to Dr. McNider’s goggles – Chuck.” He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts or just giving her a moment she’s not sure. “Mike… Mike knows he helped us. That’ll be enough for a while, but it might hit him one day.” He pauses again.
This time, it stretches on a little longer than before.
“And Rick?” Courtney finds herself prompting. She turns back to look at her dad, and Pat meets her gaze unhesitatingly. In that moment, Courtney feels ancient, on equal footing with the weathered hero in front of her. In that moment, Courtney feels like a little kid again, scrutinized by a mentor who knows the world.
“Rick’ll be alright. He’s not sure he did the right thing, but he did. He’s been angry a long time; he’ll need time to come back from that.”
Courtney nods. Pat’s calm assured statements feel like everything she’d already known but hadn’t been able to put into words. The shaky look on Yolanda’s face when she’d joined them for dinner. The death grip Beth’s had on her shattered goggles. Mike flinching away from looking at Justin’s truck when he’d joined her on the balcony before going to bed. Rick quietly watching over the others, cleaning up after them, uncertain and hesitant but still somehow far more settled than he had been before.
“And Justin?” she asks, and this time there’s an entreaty to her words. This time she doesn’t know the answer.
“Justin’s one of the strongest people I know,” Pat answers, words stronger and firmer and a little louder than before – he’s not cautioning her as a leader anymore, just letting her know where an ally stands. “He’ll get through this.”
She nods again, firm and satisfied. If Pat says it’s true, then it is.
She knows that’s not how the world works. She knows Pat can be – has been – wrong. But it’s true now, in this moment of endless possibilities.
She thinks Pat already knows the last question she’s going to ask, because he hauls himself to his feet before she can ask it, moving forward to put a hand on her shoulder, and she doesn’t get the chance to ask if he’s okay too.
“It’s alright to turn it off now, you know,” he says, gentle. “Everyone’s fine. We made it through it. You helped us make it through it.”
She knows. She does. It’s just… that doesn’t change the way she feels, the surge of protectiveness she feels for everyone in the cabin, including Pat. It’s not even threats out there that are keeping her up. It’s not even really the threats inside everyone’s mind. She has faith in them, individually and as a team. After beating the ISA, it feels like they can weather anything the world throws at them.
She’s not worried about if they’ll get through whatever the future holds, she realizes suddenly in that moment, Pat’s hand warm on her shoulder.
She worries how they’ll get through it. Who will she be, in a year’s time? Five years? Ten?
Who will her friends be? Will they be like Pat? Justin? Will they be like Rick, and choose peace? Or like Yolanda, and choose violence?
Courtney worries about the choices they’ll have to make. She worries about the choices she’ll have to make, to keep them safe. Pat’s hand helps her remember she won’t have to make those choices alone.
Provided he looks after himself.
She glances up at him again. “You should really get some rest,” she says again.
“Pot, kettle,” Pat returns. “I’ll be here as long as you need me.”
“I know,” she says, and she doesn’t mean just here and now, tonight. She means what she’d said in that tunnel: Pat is her dad, however reluctant she’d been to admit it before. He’s not going anywhere. “But you won’t be,” she adds, half joking, “if you don’t take care of yourself. I’ll be in in a little bit.” She nudges him gently. “Go.”
Pat studies her for a moment. She can’t help but wonder if he’s going to say something again about how he’s the adult here, or ask her when she got so grown up. He doesn’t though. He smiles softly, a little sadly, and leans forward to kiss her forehead.
Courtney does more than just let him. She leans into it, and hugs him gently, barely holding on in deference to his injured ribs. “I know,” she murmurs, repeats, soft and gentle into his chest. She’s not sure he heard her. It doesn’t matter – the words weren’t for him anyway.
When he pulls back, his gaze is still melancholy, but there’s a fierce pride there too and Courtney realizes how long she’s been waiting for a father figure to look at her that way. Her whole life, really.
“I’ll be in in a little bit,” she says again, nudging him a little more.
“You know, you’ll be alright too,” he says.
Courtney looks back at him. “I know,” she says, a third time, a little firmer, a little stronger, a little louder. With Pat helping her through it, with a team like this at her back, how could she not be?
As she watches her father gently pad inside, it’s no longer fear that has her lingering, looking back at the stars. They’ll be time for worry later. Right now, looking up at the night sky, all she can think about are the promises of the future, and how bright they shine.
She waits a moment, and then follows Pat inside.