You think you have a plan by the time your parents come back down into the living room.
You and Ellie have already finished cleaning up breakfast, and you've gone over the same points in your head at least half a dozen times. It's not perfect, but it's coherent.
Mostly.
It's a lot of if–then statements strung together like bad code, but hey, this isn't a video game. It'll work.
Hopefully.
Everyone gathers around the kitchen table again, the air thick with fatigue and quiet worry. The sound of the coffee pot dripping feels loud. You pull Ellie close, giving her a reassuring squeeze before finally breaking the silence.
"I have a plan," you announce, trying to sound confident. "Or… at least a series of connected ideas that resemble a plan."
That earns a low chuckle from your dad, he's always appreciated your particular brand of humor, but your mom just rubs her temples, already bracing for whatever's about to come out of your mouth next.
"I don't think we should go to the PRT," you continue. "At least not yet. Not until we've exhausted every other option first."
Your mom and dad exchange one of those looks that parents have, whole conversations in a single raised eyebrow. Your mom sighs and turns back partially facing you, her voice tight but patient.
"If we're not going to the PRT," she asks, "then what are we doing"
Your dad leans back in his chair, arms folded, giving you the floor. He's probably curious on where you are going with all this..
"I think," you begin slowly, "we should give her a proper room inside her ship. Figure out a way for me to make money as a hero." You glance at Ellie, who's perched on the edge of her chair, swinging her legs happily. "And… I think we should try to reach out to Carol Dallon, Brandish. She's a lawyer and a hero. If anyone can help us sort this out the right way, it's her."
Your mom's expression softens a little at that. The mention of involving an established hero seems to ease some of her tension. "That's… actually not a terrible idea," she admits. "She might know how to handle this discreetly."
"Exactly," you say, relieved that at least one part of your wild plan didn't immediately get shot down. "I mean, she's a lawyer and a hero. That's, like, double the legitimacy, right?"
"Or double the paperwork," your dad mutters, earning a faint smile from your mom.
You exhale slowly, the tiniest flicker of hope warming your chest. It's not much, but it's something, an actual plan, or at least the skeleton of one.
Your mom still looks uneasy, but there's a spark of pride beneath it. Maybe she doesn't trust the situation, but she does trust you. At least enough to let you try.
Ellie's voice goes small. "Does that mean I have to stay on my ship… alone?"
You hug her tighter. "No. That's… actually the other thing I want to talk about." You clear your throat. "So, in my cape identity, I kinda made friends with a church?"
Your dad squints. "Why did that sound like a question?"
"Because they're… weird," you admit. "Nice, but weird. They helped me, well, they owe me, and I think they could help fix parts of Eleanor. Maybe even keep her company when I can't be there."
"I don't know about this, Madison…" your dad says slowly.
"We need help, Dad. Real help. And I think they can give it. I can reach out to Father Bryant, he's the leader there."
Your mom folds her arms, thinking. "And you trust him?"
You hesitate. "Yes, I can't imagine him ever trying to hurt me or Ellie."
Himself on the other hand…
Mom nods, still cautious. "Could we meet them? This… Father Bryant?"
"Maybe," you say. "I could probably get you in touch with him. I just- They don't know my civilian identity."
Your parents trade a look. Then your mom meets your eyes. "If you trust them with Eleanor, shouldn't you be able to trust them with you?"
You open your mouth, close it again. "…Huh." A beat. "Yeah. That's… fair."
Ellie relaxes a fraction against you, hopeful. "So I won't be alone?"
"Not if I can help it," you murmur, smoothing her hair.
Your mother's voice is soft but heavy. "There's something else we need to talk about."
Your stomach drops. You already know what's coming.
"Madison…" She leans forward, hands clasped. "Why are you putting yourself in such danger? You don't have to do this. You can stay home, stay safe."
"Please, baby."
You'd been waiting for this moment all morning. Dad sits quietly beside her, his brow furrowed, torn between wanting to support you and wanting you nowhere near a fight. You know exactly what he's thinking.
But you can't do it. You can't go back to pretending to be the old Madison. Not after everything. Not now.
"I-" you start, but the words stick. You breathe in, then out, steadying yourself. A familiar flicker of confidence rises up, just enough to speak clearly.
"I won't stop." Your voice deepens a little, steadier. "I just started, and there's too much left to do…I like being a hero, but more than that…"
"I refuse to be that person anymore, Mom." Your voice warbles a bit as your emotions overwhelm you. "I took the easy way out so many times… I almost stopped being me. But ever since I got these powers, my life's been changing. I feel like myself again. I have purpose. I'm just starting to not hate myself anymore."
Tears sting your eyes before you can stop them. You clutch Eleanor tighter, feeling like a failure of a mother for breaking down in front of her. She doesn't seem to care. She wiggles in your arms and hugs you back, small hands squeezing your shirt.
"I never told you everything," you continue, voice low. "At school I was… I was a little monster. I hurt people in petty ways. I helped others do worse. All so I wouldn't be next. And I hated myself for it, but I just kept digging deeper and deeper. I only stopped when they were planning to do something unforgivable. That's when I finally said no."
You carefully don't mention Taylor. You won't drag her into this, won't risk your parents looking at her differently, like she's broken or something to pity.You're only just seeing her bloom again, and you won't let anything stop that.
Not even your own conscience.
Eleanor tilts her head up, eyes worried. "Mama?" she whispers.You manage a shaky smile for her, stroking her hair. "It's okay, sweetie. I'm just telling Grandma and Grandpa what I should have from the beginning."
"Maddie…" Your mother's voice is soft, tremulous.
You look up, throat tight. "I'm sorr-"
But she shakes her head sharply. "No, I'm sorry, Madison." Her voice wavers just a little, but her gaze doesn't. "I saw how withdrawn you were. How quiet. You'd lost your spark, and I noticed. I should've talked to you."
"I would've just lied back then! I-"
"Madison."
You blink. "Huh?"
Before you can react, your mom stands and crosses the distance between you. Then her arms are around you, around you and Eleanor, pulling both of you in tight.
"I don't think you were ever as bad as you think you were," she says against your hair. "You've always had a soft heart. You would've folded like a wet paper towel if I'd just pushed you on what was wrong. And I'm sorry for not asking."
You open your mouth to argue, but before you can get a word out, a pair of large arms joins the pile.
"Yay! Group hug!" Ellie shouts from somewhere near your ribs, voice muffled by all the fabric.
"That's not fair," you mumble, trying and failing to sound grumpy. "I did something awful, and you're hugging me for it…"
Your dad snorts. "Life isn't fair."
Mom laughs softly, brushing your hair from your face. "And when you're ready to tell us everything, we'll be right here, Maddie."
Your parents are too good to you.
You can't even see for a second, the tears are back, but you manage a choked, "I love you guys."
"Love you too, kiddo," your dad murmurs, squeezing your shoulder.
"And I love you most!" Ellie declares triumphantly, instantly shattering what little solemnity was left.
You laugh through the tears, and so does everyone else.
How can someone be happy and heartbroken at the same time?
Marissa knows now.
She's devastated, because now there's no denying it. Her daughter was hurt by this city. Hurt badly enough that the only way to survive it was to change, to become something different.
To trigger.
And that means she failed.
She should've seen the signs sooner. Should've acted when Madison started coming home quieter, smaller, when her spark dimmed and her smiles got thin around the edges. She should never have sent her to that miserable school.
She'll be having words with Jeff about that, oh, they'll be having words.
But still… despite the guilt, despite the ache in her chest, there's something else blooming beneath it.
Relief.
Because her little girl didn't become someone unrecognizable. She didn't turn cruel or bitter or lost, she pulled herself back. Found something bright to hold onto. Maybe even became herself again, in a way Marissa hadn't seen in she doesn't know how long.
If only she wasn't so determined to throw herself into danger while doing it.
Later. She'll worry later. Right now, there's too much to do, too much love in this house to waste it on fear and worry.
Marissa pulls back from the hug, giving both Madison and little Eleanor one last squeeze before straightening. Her heart does a strange, giddy flutter when she looks at the pale, smiling child and realizes again that granddaughter is no longer a word that belongs to dreams.
"Okay, Maddie, Ellie," she says with mock sternness. "You girls go get ready, we've got a lot to do today."
"Okay…" comes Madison's meek little reply.
"Yes, ma'am!" chirps Ellie, snapping off something that might generously be called a salute before tugging Maddie up the stairs.
Marissa can't help the soft laugh that escapes her. Adorable. Absolutely adorable.
This house has been a bit too heavy with tears and worry for her liking
And she knows exactly what this family needs to chase those clouds away.
She rolls up her sleeves, sets her hands on the counter, and starts her work in the kitchen, her domain, her therapy, her way of saying everything's going to be alright.
As you enter your room with Ellie in tow, you feel… strange.
Not bad strange, a bit awkward, a bit lighter. Untethered. Like a knot somewhere deep inside finally loosened just a bit.
It hadn't been how you wanted to tell your parents about… well, everything. Not even close.
And you definitely hadn't told them everything there was to tell.
Your eyes drift down to your sleeves, to where the faint shimmer of those golden-red veins hides beneath the fabric. Right. That. Another crisis for another time.
You sigh. One thing at a time. For now, you've got more immediate business.
You turn to Ellie, who's standing there barefoot, still smiling up at you with the bright, trusting expression of someone who has absolutely no idea what's coming.
"Bath time, Ellie."
The smile dies an instant, dramatic death.
"Nooo! I'll sink! I'll sink!" Ellie protests, clutching the bathroom doorframe like a sailor clinging to a mast in a storm.
"You will not sink," you counter, hands on hips. "You're a big girl, and big girls take baths."
Ellie shakes her head furiously, eyes wide. "Ships don't bathe! Ships are not meant to submerge!"
"Ellie-"
"No!" she declares, stamping a foot. "Mutiny!"
You pinch the bridge of your nose. "You can't mutiny, there's only two of us!"
She turns to you and crosses her arms, chin jutting out. "Then it's a fifty-fifty split!"
You stare at her. She stares back.
"…Get in the tub."
"No."
"Ellie, stop running!"
"Never! You'll drown me!" she shrieks, sprinting down the hallway in a blur of pale hair and flailing limbs.
"You can't drown in six inches of water!" you shout, narrowly dodging as she slides between your legs and bolts the other way.
"That's what they want you to think!"
You make a grab for her-miss. She jukes left, then right, giggling like a maniac.
"Ellie, this isn't a chase scene!"
"It is now!" she crows, diving under the table.
You sigh, already planning your next move. "Fine. But the more you run, the longer the bath gets."
A horrified squeak. "Nooo, that's against the rules!"
So there were rules now, huh?
"Enough running!" you declare, grabbing Ellie mid-sprint like a wriggling cat.
"Nooo! Mercy! Mercy, Mama!" she squeals, kicking her little legs in protest.
"You had your chance!" you grunt, hauling her bodily toward the bathroom as she flails and makes dramatic drowning noises.
"I'll rust! I'll sink! I'll-!"
Toss.
She lands in the tub, only for your jaw to drop as water doesn't splash back. Ellie's standing on the water, wobbling slightly but very much not submerged.
Both of you just… stare.
Then Ellie's shock melts into triumph. She throws her arms up like she's conquered the world. "Ha! I told you, Mama! No baths! No sinking!"
You blink, pointing dumbly at her feet. "You're standing on it."
"Yes! Victory is mine!" she crows, striking a pose as if she's leading an invisible fleet.
You pinch the bridge of your nose again. "…I'm never getting her clean, am I?"
Ellie beams. "Nope!"
Jeff leans against the doorway, coffee in hand, as an echoing splash followed by a shriek and a triumphant "No baths for me!" filters down from upstairs.
Marissa sighs, sliding a tray of cookies from the oven. "They've been at it for ten minutes."
He raises an eyebrow. "Sounds like they're having fun."
"Fun," she repeats flatly, setting the tray down. "That's one word for it."
A thud, then Madison's exasperated shout-"Ellie, get back here!"-is followed by a peal of childish laughter.
Jeff takes a slow sip of his coffee. "Remember when our biggest problem was her staying up too late playing video games?"
Marissa gives him a look over her shoulder. "I still remember you sneaking her extra playtime when I said lights out."
He shrugs. "She turned out fine."
Another crash. A delighted "Victory!" echoes from above.
Marissa exhales, pinching the bridge of her nose. "…Define fine."
Jeff just grins. "At least she's bonding with the kid."
"She's losing to the kid," Marissa mutters, plating cookies with practiced calm. "And that's our daughter, so I suppose it's genetic."
Jeff chuckles. "Should we intervene?"
"Not unless we hear plumbing explode."
A beat passes, then a loud splash.
"…That," Jeff says, "sounded expensive."
"Ellie," You say slowly, a twitch in your left eye, "this isn't a battle you can win."
"Yes, it is! Mama can't make me sink! I am the unsinkable!" Ellie crows, arms crossed, chin tilted like a conquering hero.
You open your mouth to retort, but then you sniff.
Cookies. Sweet, buttery, warm-from-the-oven cookies wafting up from downstairs.
Your salvation.
A plan forms. A terrible, brilliant, evil plan.
You straighten up, wipe water from your face, and smile sweetly, too sweetly. "Okay, Ellie. You don't have to get in."
Ellie blinks, suspicious. "I... don't?"
"Nope. But you should know, Grandma made cookies." You let the word linger like bait on a hook. "And little girls who don't take baths don't get cookies."
The effect is instant.
Ellie freezes, eyes going wide, mouth forming a perfect 'O.' "...No cookies?"
You fold your arms. "No cookies."
The little warship stares at you, visibly torn between pride and pastry. Then, with a tragic groan, she slowly lowers herself into the tub, arms outstretched like a martyr. "For cookies... I will endure the waters."
You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing. "Good girl."
Ellie glares up at you, soaking wet and scowling. "This is only an armistice."
"Of course it is," You say dryly yet smugly victorious.
Not long after a little warship's first bath, you and Ellie pad into the kitchen, steam still curling from her hair after your quick rinse. Ellie is practically swallowed by the oversized shirt you found for her, she kinda looks like a marshmallow pretending to be human. Utterly adorable.
She climbs into a chair, legs swinging, eyes sparkling at the smell of fresh cookies.
"Morning, girls," your dad greets with a sleepy smile from his seat at the table.
"Feeling cleaner, Ellie?" your mom teases lightly, pulling another tray from the oven.
Ellie puffs out her cheeks. "I was already clean. Mama just didn't believe me."
You snort. "Sure you were."
Mom starts plating cookies, one each for Dad, you, and herself.
All except for Ellie.
For a second, the little ship-girl just blinks, confused. Then realization dawns, and she looks crushed. Her red eyes dart between the three of you, betrayal writ large on her face.
"You said I'd get cookies if I took a bath!" she cries, pointing an accusing little finger your way.
"Don't look at me," you reply, deadpan. "I don't control the cookies."
Ellie gasps, scandalized, and swivels toward the true power in the room. "Please, Grandma!"
Mom raises a brow. "I don't know… have you been a good girl?"
"Yes, I-"
"Hmm," you interrupt, crossing your arms. "Good girls don't flood the bathroom so bad it takes twenty minutes to clean up."
Ellie freezes. Her gaze flicks from you, to Mom, to Dad, each face unreadable. Her lip trembles. "I-I'm sorry…" she murmurs, head drooping.
A plate slides in front of her.
Her head snaps up, eyes wide and glimmering hope, only for Mom to gently stop her reaching hand. "Not yet, sweetheart."
Ellie goes still again, listening intently as Mom crouches beside her. "It's okay to play and be silly," she says softly. "But it's not okay to make messes and ignore your mother. If you're really scared, you talk to her. You don't run away, alright?"
Your eyes meet your mom's for a heartbeat, the unspoken message clear: this lesson's meant for you too.
Dad clears his throat. "Also, maybe try not to sink the house next time. We only have the one so we have to take care of it."
Ellie looks so small, so miserably contrite, you almost cave right there.
"What do we say, Ellie?" you prompt gently.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't mean to make a mess. I was just scared… at first. Then I was having fun, and I forgot…"
Mom's sternness softens instantly. "All is forgiven. Just don't make a habit of it, okay? Now, have some cookies. I want to see that first bite."
Ellie doesn't need to be told twice. She snatches up a cookie with both hands and takes a huge bite.
Her eyes go wide. "It's… warm! And sweet! And crumbly!" she says with such awe you half expect a choir to start singing.
Your dad chuckles. "First cookie ever, huh?"
Ellie nods vigorously, cheeks puffed out. "Best thing I've ever eaten!"
You can't help but smile as she devours another. "Yeah," you murmur. "They really are."
Sherrel was dead to the world.
Not the "sleeping in" kind of asleep. More like the "comatose after a week-long bender, withdrawal, and a reality-shattering metaphysical rebirth" kind.
The couch had claimed her as tribute, and she was perfectly fine with that arrangement.
At least until-
"Sherrel! Sherrel-wake-now! There are cookies! I can smell them, I can taste-smell! WAKE!"
A groan escapes her throat. She rolls over, face buried in the pillow. "No... not real… go back to not talking…"
"They are real! Warm and round and, sweet-crunch-chewy! We require to devour-consume them!"
Sherrel grumbles something incoherent about annoying voices and bender fueled hallucinations and pulls the blanket over her head.
"Sherrel! Sherrel! Wake-fast! The warm-sweetness will vanish!"
"Go away," she mumbles. "Let me die in peace."
There's a pause. Then-
"No dying! Only cookies!"
Sherrel twitches. "You're kidding me. You're waking me up-" she lifts her head an inch off the pillow, eyes half-lidded, glaring at the ceiling, "-because you want cookies?"
"Affirmative-yes! I have never-tasted but smell-known and I must have!"
She stares blankly for several seconds before faceplanting back into the cushion. "This can't be my life…"
"Your life is shared! Now rise-get up before they are all devoured!"
A muffled scream echoes into the couch fabric.
Then, finally, she sits up, hair a wreck, eyes bloodshot, looking like she crawled out of a junkyard. "Fine! Fine! You win, you whiny bitch!"
"Yay!"
Sherrel drags herself upright, blanket still half around her shoulders like a cape. The smell of warm cookies hits her nose and, oh god, it's good.
"See-smell-know! I am never wrong!" chirps the voice, smug and utterly delighted.
"Yeah, well…" she mutters, trudging forward, "if you're gonna hijack my brain for snacks, you're buying next time."
"We share currency-money now too? Excellent plan!"
"...I hate my life."
You can hear it-
the faintest, most dreadful sound imaginable.
The stirring of the unwilling.
You freeze mid-sentence, a cookie halfway to your mouth.
A groan follows.
Oh no.
You still haven't gotten around to telling Dad about her yet.
Mom's sitting in smug satisfaction at Ellie, Ellie's at the table swinging her legs and humming through a cookie-crumb smile, and your father is still blissfully unaware of the mess that is waking in the living room.
If only you had had more time to explain!
You take a deep breath. "So, Dad, about the, uh, guest-"
It's too late.
"COOKIES!"
Sherrel bursts into the kitchen like a hurricane, hair a disaster, eyes wide and sparkling.
You flinch back on instinct. "Oh, god, she's up."
"I smell-sense sugar-butter! Sweet-baked-rounds!" Sherrel blurts in a voice two octaves higher than normal, then, in her regular rasp, "Stop making me talk like that!"
"But we need them! Warm! Crunch-chewy!" the other voice insists through her mouth, the words tripping over each other.
Dad just stares. "...Madison."
"Y-yeah, Dad?"
"Why is the homeless woman demanding pastries like a small child… And arguing with herself?"
"Complicated story," you mutter.
Sherrel's body marches straight to the cookie plate on the counter, hands outstretched, while her own voice hisses, "No! Stop it! You're embarrassing us!"
"I am not embarrassing! I am joyous! cookie-taste devour!"
"Sherrel, sit down before you fall over," your mom orders automatically, maternal reflex on full display even while confusion paints her face.
"I can't control my legs!" Sherrel protests, knees wobbling as her passenger practically puppets her toward the counter. "She's doing it again!"
Ellie, ever the little gremlin, is nearly falling out of her chair laughing.
Dad, still processing, looks between everyone like he's walked into a sitcom halfway through the season finale. "Am I having a stroke?"
You pinch the bridge of your nose. "No, Dad. That's… Sherrel. And the voice in her head."
He blinks. "Uh?"
"Two but one! Shared vessel, cooperative friendship! Cookies now please?"
Sherrel groans and slaps both hands over her mouth. "Can you stop being yourself for like five minutes… Please."
Mom hesitates, then sighs and slides a cookie toward her. "If I give you one, will you both calm down?"
"Yes!" says the passenger instantly.
"Make her stop!" says Sherrel at the same time.
They wrestle with themselves for the plate. Crumbs fly.
Dad just looks at you helplessly. "Madison… explain. Now."
You give the most defeated sigh imaginable. "Dad… remember when we said there were complications?"
He gestures toward the chaotic, cookie-devouring tinker arguing with herself at the table. "I'm starting to see that."
Yeah…
"…and that's everything," you finish quietly, rubbing the back of your neck. "I didn't mean for it to happen, any of it, but I think… somehow, I caused her to become what she is now."
The room is still for a long moment, the only sound the faint hum of the fridge. Jeff's face is unreadable; Mom's fingers tap absently against her mug. Ellie looks between everyone with wide, uncertain eyes.
Sherrel shifts in her chair, her hair is a wreck, but her eyes are steady, clear in a way they hadn't been before.
"Y'know," she starts slowly, "before last night… I was gone. Strung out, angry, stuck in a loop I couldn't crawl out of. I hated myself, hated everything. Then… something pulled me."
She hesitates, glancing toward you. "Like… a hand on my shoulder, dragging me to the Boat Graveyard. A part of me thought I was going there to die. Instead, I built something."
Her fingers worry at the edge of the table. "A syringe. I don't even know how I did it, hands moving on their own. But it worked. It burned like hell, but… the cravings stopped. The shakes. The fog." She gives a small, almost embarrassed laugh. "I'm me again. And yeah, maybe I didn't expect to wake up with a roommate in my skull, but… it's better than before."
"And I am very good roommate!" chimes the other voice brightly, cutting through the somber tone like a child announcing herself. "I am medical-specialist! Chemistry-master! I make all good for you medicines now, safe, clean, no hurt! Promise!"
Sherrel grimaces. "Yeah, she's… chatty."
"I like talking!"
"Yeah, I noticed," she mutters, but there's no heat behind it.
You don't know what to say. There's guilt twisting in your chest, guilt and a weird, sort of relief. You changed her, accidentally, yes, but she's alive, happier, and clean.
In more ways than one.
You glance at your parents. Mom's expression is gentle but cautious; Dad looks like a man torn between confusion and reluctant admiration.
Then your eyes fall on Sherrel again, on the fragile calm she's managed to build around herself.
She's your mistake.
Your responsibility.
And maybe, just maybe, she could be something more.
You cross your arms, deep in thought as Ellie leans against your side.
What exactly do you want from Sherrel?
A partner?
An ally?
A friend?
And what are you going to do with her? You don't think she can stay here forever, maybe she can stay with Eleanor? But you would need to get a room ready and you really don't have the time to do that today.
Whatever your plan is, the next words out of your mouth will decide it.
And you're not exactly sure which direction to take.
Not sure how I feel about this one, a lot of the dialogue in places feels rough to me.
The next immediate part will be talking about what to do with Sherrel, and what you as a cape will be doing with her. This is the part where you will talk to her about your money making scheme, among other things.
You will also be talking more about your powers, and how they have been changing, as well as talking about Danny Hebert and the DWA.
Finally, uh guys how are you supposed to call Taylor that you are staying home today when she only has a home phone and is on her way to school?
Also here's a freebie, Sherrel wants out of the cape life, at least in the short term. She just wants to get her act together and try to figure out who Sherrel is once again.
Let me know your thoughts!
[ ] Write-in what is your plan for Sherrel, and what do you want your cooperation to look like?