"Homecoming is the wonderful feeling that after all you have suffered, there is nothing you need fear anymore," Unknown
Mark floated there, suspended in the air above the warehouse district, his black spacesuit gleaming under the harsh lights the GDA had set up. The Milano hovered behind him like a silent sentinel, its engines humming softly.
For a moment, nobody moved. Nobody spoke.
Then Eve launched herself at him.
She flew so fast she was almost a blur of pink energy, crossing the distance between them in less than a second. Her arms wrapped around him in a crushing hug, her face buried against his chest.
"You idiot," she sobbed, her voice muffled. "You complete and utter idiot. We thought you were dead. We thought—"
"I'm sorry," Mark said softly, returning the hug carefully. He was so much stronger now than when he'd left. Had to be careful not to hurt her. "I'm sorry, Eve. I didn't mean to worry you."
"Didn't mean to—" She pulled back just enough to look at him, and Mark saw tears streaming down her face. "You disappeared into an alien dimension! For over a day! We had no idea if you were alive or dead or—" Her voice broke.
"I know. I'm sorry."
Rex and Dupli-Kate approached more cautiously, but Mark could see the relief on their faces.
"Man," Rex said, and his voice was shaky. "You look... different."
"Yeah," Dupli-Kate added, studying his face. "You look older. Like, a lot older."
"It's a long story," Mark said.
"How long?" Rex asked. "Like, how much time passed for you?"
Before Mark could answer, Cecil and Robot approached. Cecil's expression was carefully neutral—the face of someone who'd learned to never show surprise—but his eyes were calculating, assessing.
Robot's mechanical form was as inscrutable as always, green eyes glowing steadily.
"Invincible," Cecil said. "Welcome back."
"Director Stedman. Robot." Mark nodded to both of them. "Good to see you again."
"How long has it been?" Robot asked, his voice carrying its usual clinical precision. "From your temporal perspective."
Mark looked at him, then at the assembled group. "What's the date? How much time has passed here?"
"One day and approximately fourteen hours since you entered the dimensional portal," Robot replied immediately.
Mark felt something twist in his chest. A day and a half. Barely any time at all.
"Damn," he muttered. "Only a day."
Cecil's eyes narrowed. "Which means for you, it was longer. How much longer, Mark? How old are you now?"
Mark met his gaze steadily. "Thirteen years. I spent thirteen years in the Flaxan dimension."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Eve's hands flew to her mouth. Rex's jaw dropped. Dupli-Kate stared at him like he'd just spoken an alien language. Even the GDA agents nearby looked shocked.
Cecil's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. Understanding. "So that's why you look older."
Mark gave him a small smile. "Yeah. Time moves differently there. Three Earth days equals roughly thirty Earth years in their dimension. I stayed for thirteen years subjectively."
"Thirteen years?" Eve's voice was strangled. "You were alone for thirteen years?"
"Why?" Dupli-Kate asked. "Why would you stay that long? Why didn't you just—"
"Wait," Rex interrupted, pointing at the Milano. "Before we get into all that—what's with the spaceship? Where did you get that?"
Mark looked at his ship, grateful for the subject change, and couldn't help but smirk. "Oh, that? I made it."
That got everyone's attention.
Even Robot's mechanical head tilted slightly—his version of a surprised reaction.
"You... made a spaceship," Cecil said slowly. "In thirteen years. In an alien dimension. With no support. No team. No infrastructure."
"I had their technology to work with," Mark said with a shrug. "And a lot of time. The Flaxans are technologically advanced in ways Earth isn't. I learned from them. Improved on their designs. Built something better."
He gestured at the Milano with genuine pride. "She's called the Milano. Gravitational propulsion. Energy shields. Weapons systems. Life support. Faster-than-light capability—theoretically, haven't tested that yet. And a temporal dilation drive to prevent degradation."
Robot's eyes flickered brighter. "Impressive. I would very much like to examine the technical specifications."
"But Mark," Eve said, her voice still shaky, "why did you—"
A GDA agent's radio crackled loudly, cutting her off. "Director, we've got confirmation on civilian evacuation. Area is secure."
Cecil nodded, then turned back to Mark. "We need to debrief. Full report on everything that happened. What you saw, what you learned—"
"Tomorrow," Mark said firmly. "Right now, I need to go home. Need to see my parents." He paused, his expression vulnerable for the first time since arriving. "Cecil, how are they? How are my parents?"
Cecil's expression softened slightly. "Your father woke up yesterday. He's recovering. And your mother..." He paused. "She's been worried sick about you, Mark. When we told her you'd disappeared into another dimension, she..." He trailed off.
"I need to see them," Mark said immediately.
"Of course. But Mark, we still need to know why you stayed so long. What were you—"
"Director," one of the GDA agents called out. "We've got movement on the perimeter. Need you to authorize—"
Cecil sighed in frustration. "We'll continue this conversation tomorrow. Go. Be with your family."
Mark nodded gratefully.
The Teen Team started to disperse. Rex and Dupli-Kate headed toward robots flying bike, throwing one last look at Mark and his ship. Eve lingered, floating nearby, clearly not ready to let him out of her sight.
"Mark," she said quietly. "We need to talk. Later. About everything. About why you—"
"Tomorrow," Mark said gently. "After I've settled in. I promise I'll explain."
"You better," she said, though her voice was thick with emotion. She flew off, glancing back at him twice before disappearing into the night.
Robot remained behind, hovering in place as the others left.
Mark looked at him, and understanding passed between them. "I remember my part of the deal," Mark said quietly. "The translator. And more. I'll hand over everything after I've gotten settled. Technology, data, everything you wanted to know about the Flaxans."
Robot's mechanical head tilted. "You went there with a purpose."
"I did."
"And did you accomplish it?"
Mark's expression was unreadable. "Yes. I did."
"Then I look forward to our conversation." Robot turned to leave, then paused. "Welcome home, Invincible."
"Thanks, Robot."
Mark flew home slowly, the Milano following him on autopilot—he'd programmed it to shadow his movements, maintaining a safe distance and staying cloaked.
He could have flown fast. Could have been there in seconds.
But he didn't.
Instead, he took his time, drinking in the sights, sounds, and smells of Earth. His Earth.
The night air was cool and fresh, carrying scents he'd almost forgotten—exhaust fumes, salt from the ocean, fresh-cut grass, life. The Flaxan dimension had smelled wrong, metallic and sharp. This was home.
He flew over the ocean, looking down at the dark water reflecting moonlight. Normal sea water. Not the acidic slurry that passed for oceans on the Flaxan planet. Just regular, beautiful, Earth ocean water.
He descended closer, letting his hand trail through the surface, feeling the spray on his face.
God, I missed this.
Mark climbed back into the sky and continued toward his childhood home. The suburbs. Tree-lined streets. Houses with lights in the windows. Normal, mundane, perfect.
He landed on his front lawn, and the Milano settled silently beside him, cloaked but present.
Mark stood there for a moment, just staring at the house.
It looked exactly the same. Same color. Same porch. Same mailbox with "GRAYSON" painted on the side. Like time had frozen while he was gone.
Because it basically did. A day and a half. That's all it's been for them.
But for me...
Mark took a breath and walked to the front door. Raised his hand. Knocked.
He heard movement inside. Footsteps approaching.
A voice—his mother's voice, and God, he'd missed that voice—called out, "Coming!"
The door opened.
Debbie Grayson stood there in her pajamas, looking tired and worn but still beautiful. Her hair was a mess. She had bags under her eyes. She looked like she'd been crying recently.
She stared at Mark for a long moment, confusion crossing her face.
"Can I help you?" she asked carefully, clearly not recognizing the tall man in the strange black suit standing on her porch.
Mark's throat tightened. He stepped closer, letting her see his face clearly in the porch light.
"Mom," he said softly. "I'm home."
Debbie's eyes went wide. Her hand flew to her mouth.
"Mark?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
Then she tackled him.
Her arms wrapped around him, and she started sobbing—deep, heaving sobs that shook her whole body. "Oh my God. Oh my God. Mark. My baby. You're back. You're home."
"I'm sorry, Mom," Mark said, holding her carefully. "I'm so sorry I worried you."
"Debbie?" Nolan's voice came from inside the house. "Who's at the door?"
Mark heard footsteps, and then Nolan appeared in the doorway. He was still moving a bit stiffly, clearly not fully recovered, wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants.
He saw Debbie hugging a tall man in a black suit, and from his angle in the darkened doorway, he couldn't see who it was.
"Debbie? Who is that?"
Mark looked over Debbie's shoulder and met his father's eyes.
"Damn, Dad," he said, and despite everything, he managed a small smile. "Don't recognize your own son?"
Nolan's eyes went wide. "Mark? Is that you?"
"In the flesh."
Nolan crossed the distance in two strides and pulled both Mark and Debbie into a crushing hug. Mark felt his father's arms—still strong despite the injuries—wrap around him, and something in his chest broke.
He was home.
He was home.
They moved inside, and Debbie refused to let go of Mark for a solid ten minutes. She just held onto him, crying, touching his face like she needed to confirm he was real.
When she finally calmed down enough to speak, the questions came in a flood.
"Where were you? What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Why do you look older? What's with the suit? Did they hurt you? Did—"
"Mom," Mark said gently. "I'm okay. I promise. I'm not hurt. I'm healthy. I'm here."
"But you look so different," Debbie said, touching his face. "You're... older. How is that possible? It's only been a day."
"Time moves differently in the Flaxan dimension," Mark explained. "Much faster. For every day here, roughly ten years pass there. I was there for thirteen years."
"Thirteen years?" Debbie's voice cracked. "You were alone for thirteen years?"
"I survived, Mom. I'm okay."
Nolan sat down heavily on the couch, his sharp eyes studying Mark intently. "The Flaxans. Are they still a threat? Do we need to prepare for another invasion?"
Mark met his father's gaze steadily. "No. They won't be coming back."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I made sure." Mark's expression was unreadable. "Trust me, Dad. The Flaxan Empire is no longer a concern."
Something flickered in Nolan's eyes—understanding, maybe, or recognition. He nodded slowly. "Good."
Debbie looked between them, clearly sensing there was more to the story. "Mark, honey, why did you stay so long? Why didn't you try to come back sooner? What were you—"
"Wait." She sniffed. "Do you smell that?"
Mark looked confused. "Smell what?"
"You smell like... smoke and metal and..." She wrinkled her nose. "When's the last time you showered?"
Mark thought about it. "Uh... probably about eight days ago? Flaxan time. So... three minutes ago, Earth time?"
"That's not the point! You smell terrible! Upstairs! Shower! Now!" Debbie started physically pushing him toward the stairs.
"Mom, I—"
"No arguments! You're not sitting on my furniture smelling like whatever alien dimension you've been gallivanting through! Go!"
Mark couldn't help but laugh—a real, genuine laugh that he hadn't managed in years. "Okay, okay! I'm going!"
He started up the stairs, then paused as the TV in the living room caught his attention.
A news report was playing.
"—confirmed tonight that the Guardians of the Globe are officially declared deceased. The memorial service will be held—"
Mark saw his father's face twist into a frown. A complex expression—grief, maybe, mixed with something darker.
"Mark?" Debbie's voice pulled him back. "You okay?"
"Yeah, Mom. Just... processing. Still getting used to being back."
"Well, process in the shower. You really do smell terrible."
Mark grinned and headed upstairs.
The shower was heaven.
Mark stood under the hot water for what felt like forever, just letting it wash over him. Real water. From Earth. Hot and clean and perfect.
He'd had water in the Flaxan dimension, obviously. But it wasn't the same. It was recycled, filtered, always tasted faintly metallic. This was real.
He washed away thirteen years of grime, sweat, and blood. Watched the water run dark as it circled the drain. Used his mother's shampoo because it smelled like home.
When he finally got out, he found a towel and some of his old clothes waiting outside the bathroom door. Debbie had clearly gone through his room while he was showering.
The clothes didn't fit quite right anymore—he was taller now, more muscular—but they were comfortable in a way his stolen Flaxan uniform had never been.
Mark walked down the stairs, still drying his hair, and found his parents waiting for him in the living room.
Debbie had made hot chocolate. Three cups sat on the coffee table.
It was such a normal, mundane, Mom thing to do that Mark felt his throat tighten again.
"Sit," Debbie ordered. "Drink. Talk."
Mark sat and took a cup, the warmth seeping into his hands. He took a sip and closed his eyes.
Hot chocolate. Actual hot chocolate. Not synthesized nutrients. Not Flaxan rations. Real chocolate.
"Tell us everything," Debbie said. "What happened? Where did you go? What did you do?"
So Mark told them.
Not everything. He left out the brutal parts, the lonely parts, the parts where he'd almost died. He glossed over the violence, the destruction, the fact that he'd systematically dismantled an entire civilization.
But he told them about the dimension. About the time differential. About learning their language and technology. About building his hideout and his ship. About training, studying, preparing.
"And now I'm back," he finished. "Stronger. Smarter. Ready."
"Ready for what?" Nolan asked.
Mark opened his mouth to answer, but Debbie cut him off.
"I don't care about any of that right now," she said firmly, reaching over to take his hand. "I don't care about threats or dangers or preparing for anything. I'm just glad you're home. I'm just glad you're safe."
"Me too, Mom." Mark squeezed her hand. "Me too."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, just being together. Just being a family.
Finally, Mark asked, "Can I stay here tonight? I need to head back to school tomorrow, but... can I just stay here? In my old room? Just for tonight?"
"Of course you can," Debbie said, and her voice was thick with emotion. "This is your home, Mark. You can stay here whenever you want. For as long as you want."
"We're just glad you're back, son," Nolan added. "Whatever you need."
Mark nodded, feeling exhaustion starting to creep in. Real exhaustion, not just physical fatigue. The emotional weight of everything finally catching up to him.
"I'm going to bed," he announced. "I'm... I'm really tired."
"Of course," Debbie said. "Go. Sleep. We'll talk more in the morning."
Mark stood and hugged them both—his mother tightly, his father carefully—and headed upstairs.
His room looked exactly how he'd left it. Posters on the walls. Books on the shelves. His old laptop sitting on his desk.
Like he'd never left.
Mark collapsed onto his bed—his bed, soft and comfortable and smelling like home—and closed his eyes.
For the first time in thirteen years, he felt safe.
For the first time in thirteen years, he let himself relax completely.
And within minutes, he was asleep.
Downstairs, Debbie and Nolan sat in silence.
"He's different," Debbie said quietly.
"He's older," Nolan replied. "Thirteen years older. That changes a person."
"It's more than that." Debbie stared at the ceiling, in the direction of Mark's room. "He seems... harder. More serious. Like he's seen things. Done things."
Nolan was quiet for a long moment. "He survived thirteen years alone in a hostile dimension. That would change anyone."
"Do you think he's okay? Really okay?"
"I don't know." Nolan's expression was troubled. "But he's strong. Stronger than I expected. And he's home. That's what matters."
Debbie nodded, but she couldn't shake the feeling that her son had come back different. Not broken, exactly. But changed in fundamental ways she didn't fully understand.
He said the Flaxans won't be a threat anymore, she thought. How can he be so sure? What did he do in that dimension?
But she didn't ask. Didn't push.
Because right now, having her son home and safe was enough.
Everything else could wait until morning.