I don't know how long we stay huddled up under the water, but before long dad and I are both shivering from the cold. Looking over at the towel on the nearby rack, I'm not sure just yet if I'll be able to move without shattering. Apparently I needn't have bothered, because the moment Wilson notices I want the towel, they disentangle themselves fluidly from between dad and I, retrieving the item and presenting it to me with a happy chirp.
"N-no no, just stay there," I tell them when they try to get back in, uncaring of soaking the towel beneath the still running shower. "Thank you, Wilson."
Wiggling a little in his arms to get him to let go, dad sits back in a crouch, looking between me and my little butler. "So. Uh, I don't really know… what…" Wiping his eyes with a sniff, he looks at Wilson wearing a rather worried expression for someone that just spent the last however long hugging them. Placing his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together, Danny glances between us. "Taylor, what is that? What's going on?"
Unsure what to say, I slowly unwrap my arms from around myself, my body creaking. Reaching up to turn the water off, I take the towel, wrapping the big mass around myself and stepping out of the shower while Wilson slithers between my feet. "Um, I don't really know. S-sorry," I finish lamely, cringing.
Lips pursed, Danny observes the little creature acting like a smitten cat, one of their tails wrapped around my ankle. "Well, whatever it is, it certainly seems to be fond of you. Where did it-?"
Wincing, I snap away, hiding from his searching gaze. "I don't want to talk about it," I bite out, lifting the towel up around my head. I hear Danny take a step toward me, his boot squelching from all the water.
"Sweetheart. Please, talk to m-"
"No," I hiss, the memories still jagged. "Please dad, just… not right now." I can't deal with Danny on top of all of this, I don't have the space for all of it. "I'm not in danger. Wilson isn't going to hurt me, I promise. I just need some space, okay?"
Peeking out from the corner of the towel, I catch a glimpse of Dad's face, screwed up tight with discomfort, before he slumps, heaving a weighty sigh. "Alright, if that's what you want. How about you head on down to the living room, I'll grab you some clothes and make some tea?"
"Can I just go lie down, actually?" I ask, taking a step toward the door. "I'm pretty tired and-"
"I'll pull out some blankets and extra pillows for the couch," he counters firmly, already unlacing his boots and reaching for his own towel from the rack. "I'll give you your space, but I want you and… Wilson" he adds hesitantly, a ghost of a frown on his face, "where I can get to you if something happens. Please, Taylor? For me?"
Turning a touch more to get a better look at him, my mouth opening in denial, he seems… tired. The firmness he showed just a moment ago is nowhere to be found. I could just say no, I want to… but the way he reacted when he found me, his response when I couldn't hold it together anymore… he caught me off guard. My biggest fears about telling him I couldn't handle things, that putting my burdens on him would break him, that he wouldn't be able to do anything… his actions, at least for the moment, showed that he can try. It could've been a fluke… but what if it wasn't? God, after feeling the comforting warmth of Wilson's emotions this morning, I crave that possibility more keenly than I ever remember having done before.
"Alright," I agree softly, the drip drip drip **of the water trailing down my legs slowing as I dry myself on my way down the stairs, only realising once I'm partway down that although Wilson is still winding around my feet, they barely register as a tripping hazard at all, sliding smoothly between my legs with each step. Sitting down on the couch wrapped up in my towel, I stare at the bands of yellow and black covering Wilson's body until Danny arrives a minute or so later in a fresh pair of clothes, hair still wet, to pass me my own. Doing as he said, he sets up the couch with pillows and blankets, after which he disappears into the kitchen.
Dried off and freshly clothed, I've settled under the blanket with Wilson on my legs by the time he returns with what smells like a cup of Yorkshire tea. Pulling the small side table over from its usual place next to his chair, Danny places the mug down, opens his mouth to say something, closes it, then just smiles weakly and points at the kitchen. His intent is clear, and I welcome the silence, nodding to him before he disappears around the corner. Propping myself up to take a sip, the tea is pleasantly warm, the rich smell loosening the last of the tension from my limbs.
I can't believe it. Tracing one of the plate-like ridges, invisible beneath the skin of my arm, I marvel at the series of insane events that have resulted in my current situation. If I'm honest with myself, I can't tell which is more fantastical; the fact that I almost certainly have parahuman powers now, or that dad is actually being supportive for once. His eerie calm upon finding me and Wilson, his promise that everything would be alright, and the fact he didn't immediately grill me with questions would make me suspicious of some kind of Master or Stranger if that notion wasn't completely ridiculous. Curious, I crawl Wilson up to the corner of the entryway that leads to the hall and across to the kitchen, but quickly stop before I'm seen when I sense and hear dad leave the kitchen and head upstairs. Nudging Wilson back with a thought, I step out of the driver's seat, as it were, and they slither up onto my chest, wriggling their tail beneath the blanket and around my wrist. A small smile turning up the corner of my mouth, I rest my head against theirs, their thrumming vibration resonating through both body and mind.
If dad comes back down, I miss it. I'm too busy drifting off, barely conscious, the thrum of our connection saturating me until it fills my whole world.
From my position seated on the couch, still wrapped up in a blanket with Wilson laying across my lap like a cat, I watch as Danny Hebert fights a losing battle to keep his temper under control. I came out of my half-nap a little while ago, sending Wilson into the kitchen to find him hunched over the table writing, referencing something. He noticed the movement almost immediately, coming into the living room to find me awake, an old notebook I didn't recognise gripped tight in his hand. That led into him asking about what happened, which led into me having a panic attack, which led into more crying, which led into me telling him everything before I even realised it was happening.
"Those bitches," he hisses, clenching and unclenching his hands around his mug. He picked it up partway through my explanation of everything that's been going on with the Trio, strangling it until his knuckles were the same shade of creamy white. I was worried it might shatter when I made my way haltingly through telling him about the locker and discovering Wilson, but he kept his head, which I'm eternally grateful for. I don't need him blowing up right now and swearing vengeance on Emma, Madison, and Sophia; that won't do any good. No matter how vindicating it would be...
"To think some vapid, vicious little kids would push you into Triggering," he seethes, one hand releasing the death grip on his empty mug to massage his face in an effort to calm down.
Cocking my head, I grasp at the unfamiliar word in an effort to move the conversation somewhere else. "What do you mean, triggering?" Isn't that a trauma thing? Does he think I have PTSD now?
Squeezing his eyes while he takes a deep breath, dad sets his mug down on the floor and picks up the unfamiliar notebook. Looking me in the eye, he leans forward, the unmarked leather-bound book held carefully in his hands like a treasured heirloom. "That's what people call it when a parahuman gets their powers. It's called a Trigger event," he explains, an uncomfortable sadness to his eyes. "It's not all that well known to the general public, but the information is all there for anyone who wants to look." Caressing the cover of the notebook, dad looks off into space. "Your mother and I went looking."
My breath catches in my throat. Wilson stirs in my lap but I barely notice, shocked by the sudden mention of what may as well be taboo in our house. "We were still young, you hadn't been born yet," he explains, eyes closed as if fighting his way through a snowstorm with every word. "An…- Annette and I were talking about having a baby, and part of that conversation involved being prepared for what we would do if our child ever became a parahuman." Opening his eyes, I can see the redness in them from here as he glances through the first few pages. "Annette convinced me that, unlikely as it was, we needed to be prepared in the event you ever exhibited powers." Huffing, he cracks a melancholic smirk. "She likened it to setting money aside in case you needed glasses, or learning how to change a nappy. Something we as parents should be prepared to deal with. I guess she was right, as usual," he grimaces, closing the book with a soft clap.
Unwilling to speak for fear of interrupting even a single morsel of information relating to Mom, dad takes in my wide eyed stare with a shake of his head.
"Whatever happened in that locker probably resulted in your Trigger event. Parahumans get their powers in response to traumatic events; experiences that take them beyond what a person can handle, but just keeps on pushing. It's obvious that Wilson is the product of a parahuman power," Dad says, giving me an opportunity to fill the empty space at the end of his assumption.
"I can feel them. In my mind," I nod minutely, shaking my head when dad's eyes widen in concern. "Not in a bad way! They're a part of me. I can see what they see, feel what they feel. It's not intrusive or anything; they feel natural." Hugging my legs beneath the blanket, a blush rises to my face. "They've been comforting me all day, helping me calm down when everything gets too much."
Looking between my reddened face and Wilson's featureless plane, dad inclines his head to the dozing mass laying across me. "Thank you for looking after my daughter," he says gently. I can't tell whether he's being serious, or just really good at ignoring the blatant oddness of thanking an alien-snake-thing. For their part, Wilson doesn't react except to nuzzle even deeper into my lap. "And thank you, Taylor, for telling me all this. I'm sorry you didn't feel able to do that before something like this happened, and I-" Dad swallows hard, fighting to keep the emotion under control. "I won't ask you to forgive me for abandoning you to deal with this bullying all by yourself. I know I've been distant, that I haven't been here for you-"
My insides twisting, I bite down on my lip. "It's fine," I mumble, unable to look him in the eye. "I know things have been hard for both of us. I didn't want to put even more pressure on you-"
"That's just it Taylor," he croaks, clearing his throat to steady his voice. "Ahem. You shouldn't need to sacrifice your wellbeing to look after me. I'm your father; even if I'm too late, I should at least act like it. You don't have to deal with this alone." Burying my eye sockets in my knees and squeezing Wilson to ignore the haze covering my vision, I hear dad heaving himself up to walk over, a moment passing before he places a gentle hand on the back of my head. "Thank you for talking to me. I have some things I need to catch up on," he says, his words accented by the soft sound of rustled papers, "so I'll leave you to whatever it is you'd like to do, whether that be resting or figuring out how your powers work. If you need me I'll be here, okay sweetheart?"
Very aware of the gentle weight resting on the back of my head, I nod, mustering the strength needed to tilt my head to look up at my father standing over me, care and concern engaged in a battle for dominance over his face. "Okay dad. I think I want to go to my room for a while. Some space would be nice." His suggestion about figuring out my powers is unexpected, the thought sticking in my head. I mean, he suggested it… why not? Isn't this the exact thing I daydreamed about as a kid, holing up in my room after discovering I have superpowers? "I'll let you know if I need anything."
He nods, the picture of understanding. "Sure thing Taylor. Just… be careful, yeah?" He chuckles, but I can still see the genuine concern beneath his attempt at brevity.
"I will… I promise," I add purposefully. He's trying to bridge the gap that has formed between the two of us, it's only right that I give him a little of the same in return. Levering up from the couch, letting the blanket fall around me while Wilson slithers up around my shoulders, I make for the stairs. "See you later. And…" pausing, I turn to look at dad's face but snap my gaze away again, the light burn of a blush colouring my cheeks. "…Thanks. For listening."
"Whenever you need it," he replies, the slightest quaver to his voice echoing in my ears as I make my way up the steps to my room. If Wilson, following behind me, hears something that sounds like soft sobbing coming from the living room, I choose to ignore it. This is an old house, the floorboards can get creaky sometimes.
Well, I guess it's about time I get to figuring out these powers.
Excitement puts a spring in my step as I close the door to my room, one of Wilson's tails slapping against the doorframe as I step inside. That conversation with dad was… weird. It wasn't bad or anything; we haven't spoken like that in, well, ever, but it certainly isn't what I've come to expect from my chronically absent parent. A bitter part of me wants to spit on his attempts to reconnect, throw them back in his face and demand to know why it took me going through something like this for him to poke his head out of his ass and notice me for once. But I stifle those thoughts; they aren't helpful, and I have something I'd much rather distract myself with right now. Today has been… awful doesn't even begin to cover it. My legs still feel weak, I have a roaring headache, and my emotional state could best be described as 'chunky soup', but there's no way in hell I'm letting my mind wander. I need something to occupy myself until I can force myself to crash.
Getting stuck into it by starting small, I use Wilson's sight to look down through the floor, their vision picking up hotspots where I'm pretty sure the hall light is. Oddly, the pool of 'there-ness' seems less… full-bodied than the room around us, like it's missing something? I'll probably need to do some research on thermal imaging to better understand how my little one sees the world. If I'm even right about what they're seeing.
A nervous smile tugging at my cheeks, I walk over to the wardrobe, retrieving one of a collection of spare notebooks I stashed at the bottom to replace those ruined or stolen by the Trio. Continuing to my desk, letting Wilson 'nose' their way around the dark interior, I grab a pencil and start drawing out the beginnings of a journal.
I know I should probably start with determining what my powers actually are, but there's no reason why I shouldn't be methodical about it. If there's one thing Mom taught me over all those long nights spent falling asleep next to her desk while she graded assessments and designed lesson plans, it's that 'effective learning requires effective planning'. The graphite in my hand twitches across the page, messing up a margin. It still hurts to think about her. Taking a breath before reaching for the eraser, I redraw my margin and finish up the final touches on my new power-testing journal.
"Alright," I breathe, placing my pencil on the page and standing up from my desk. "Let's do this."
A part of me is nervous about what I might learn. I have powers, and aside from the connection between me and the little one poking their head into my wardrobe, I have no idea what I can do. I don't even really know where Wilson came from…
Hesitating, I force myself to revise that statement. No, that's not really true, is it? Uncomfortable as all hell, I make my way over to the little fellow, happily nestled amongst the old shoes and spare notebooks at the bottom of my wardrobe. Crouching down so I can reach, I give them a mental nudge, getting them to stretch out to their full length. Happy to oblige, they flick out their black and yellow tail, holding still while I measure them against my left arm. My eyes snap shut tight, my body trembling as Wilson coils up again; they watch the full-bodied glow emanating from my skin increase a tiny bit through their sight, my blood pounding in my ears, my legs shaking beneath me as I rise. I will away the memories crowding my head because they prove what I wish I didn't know, what I think I knew the whole time and just ignored up till now.
Wilson is almost an exact fit, pound for pound, for my left arm.
All of a sudden, power testing doesn't seem all that exciting. "If my power is losing and then animating body parts," I moan, arms wrapped tight around my shoulders, "I swear I'll kick in the teeth of whatever or whoever decides who gets what."
A//N: Edited 21/03/25