"The best way to catch up is to start now," Unknown.
Mark woke to someone gently shaking his shoulder.
"Mark. Mark, honey. Wake up."
His eyes snapped open, and his body reacted on pure instinct—sitting up fast, defensive, ready for—
He nearly headbutted his mother.
"Whoa!" Debbie jerked back, barely avoiding his forehead. "Easy there!"
"Mom!" Mark blinked rapidly, his heart pounding, awareness slowly flooding back. "I'm sorry, I—"
He looked around frantically, taking in his surroundings. His childhood bedroom. Posters on the walls. One sun—just one sun—streaming through the window, not three. Earth. Home. Not the Flaxan dimension.
I'm home. I'm safe.
His breathing slowed. His muscles relaxed.
"It's okay, honey," Debbie said softly, sitting on the edge of his bed. "You were just sleeping pretty deeply. I've been calling your name for a few minutes."
Mark ran a hand through his hair, still disoriented. "How long was I out?"
"Three days."
"What?" Mark stared at her. "Three days? I slept for three days?"
"Your body needed it, apparently." Debbie smiled gently. "Eve came by to talk to you yesterday. And Cecil called twice. I turned them all away. Told them you needed rest."
"Thanks, Mom." Mark stretched, feeling the tension in his muscles release. For the first time in years—years—he'd slept without being on alert. Without one ear listening for threats. Without the constant vigilance that had kept him alive in the Flaxan dimension.
It felt incredible.
"I brought you some food," Debbie said, gesturing to a tray on his desk. "Figured you'd be hungry."
Mark's eyes landed on the tray, and his mouth immediately started watering.
Pancakes. Bacon. Eggs. Toast. Orange juice. Real Earth food, not the synthesized protein bars or hunted alien meat he'd been living on.
His stomach rumbled—a sound so loud it echoed through the room.
Debbie laughed. "There's more downstairs too."
But Mark wasn't listening anymore. He was already moving toward the tray, his mind barely registering anything except food.
He started eating like a man starving—which, in a way, he was. Not physically, but emotionally. He'd forgotten what real Earth food tasted like. The sweetness of syrup on pancakes. The saltiness of bacon. The richness of butter on toast.
It was heaven.
Debbie watched him for a moment; her expression caught between amusement and mild disgust at the way he was practically inhaling the food.
"Okay," she said slowly. "I'm going to... leave you to it. Just... chew, Mark. Please chew."
Mark nodded, his mouth too full to respond properly.
Debbie shook her head fondly and left the room, closing the door behind her.
After demolishing everything on the tray, Mark headed to the bathroom for another shower.
Even after three days, he still couldn't get over the simple luxury of hot, clean water. He stood under the spray for a long time, just savoring it.
When he finally got out and toweled off, he found his black spacesuit hanging on a hook behind the door, freshly washed. A small note was pinned to it in his mother's handwriting:
Washed your suit. Whatever alien material this is made of, it's fascinating. Also, nearly indestructible—I tested it. Don't ask. - Mom
Mark smiled fondly, touching the note. Even in the middle of everything, his mom was still being Mom. Curious, practical, taking care of him.
He pulled on the suit—the form-fitting black material conforming perfectly to his body—and headed downstairs.
The living room was peaceful. Morning sunlight streamed through the windows. The TV was on, playing some morning show at low volume.
And Nolan sat on the couch, a notebook in his lap, pen in hand, clearly working on one of his books.
Mark had almost forgotten that his father was a bestselling author when he wasn't out saving the world. It was such a normal thing—writing books, meeting deadlines, dealing with publishers.
Nolan looked up when he heard Mark on the stairs, and his face broke into a genuine smile.
"There he is!" Nolan called out across the room. "Sleeping Beauty finally awakens. Three days, son. You were out for three days. I was starting to think you'd gone into hibernation."
"Yeah, yeah," Mark replied, descending the stairs with a small grin. "At least I didn't spend weeks in a coma after getting beat up by mysterious attackers."
Nolan's smile widened. "Touché."
Debbie's laugh came from the kitchen. "Boys, play nice."
She emerged carrying another plate of food—somehow even more than the tray upstairs—and set it on the dining table. "Mark, sit. Eat. You still look too skinny."
"Mom, I'm like two hundred pounds of muscle."
"Too skinny," she repeated firmly. "Sit."
Mark couldn't help but grin as he gathered the dishes from upstairs, carrying them to the sink before heading to the table. He started eating again, this time taking his time to actually taste the food instead of inhaling it.
Nolan joined him at the table, notebook still in hand. Debbie sat down with her coffee.
For a few minutes, they just enjoyed the comfortable silence—a family having breakfast together. Normal. Mundane. Perfect.
Finally, Debbie spoke. "So... the suit." She gestured at Mark's black spacesuit. "Are you going out?"
Mark swallowed his bite of eggs and nodded. "Yeah. I have a lot of work to do. A lot of stuff to catch up on."
Debbie's expression grew sad. "Right. It's been thirteen years for you, hasn't it? Even though it's only been a day here."
"Yeah." Mark's voice was quiet. "Thirteen years. It's... weird being back. Everything's the same here, but I'm different."
Nolan set down his pen, his expression serious. "Mark, we need to talk. When you're less busy. About everything. About what happened."
Mark met his father's eyes and nodded. "I know. Soon. I promise."
He finished his food and stood, gathering his dishes. Debbie immediately moved to take them from him.
"Mom, I got it."
"Mark, honey, I can—"
"Mom." Mark held onto the plates gently but firmly. "I haven't done dishes in forever. Let me do this. Please."
Debbie looked like she wanted to argue, but Nolan spoke up from the table. "Let the man do some dishes, Debbie. He'll survive."
She sighed but relented, watching as Mark carefully washed each dish, dried it, and put it away. Such a simple, domestic task. But after thirteen years in a hostile dimension, it felt meaningful.
When he finished, he dried his hands and turned to his parents.
"I'll be back later to visit. I promise."
Debbie stood and pulled him into a tight hug. "Be safe. Please be safe."
"I will." Mark hugged her back, then moved to his father, who gripped his shoulder firmly.
"We'll talk soon," Nolan said.
"Soon," Mark agreed.
Mark walked to the back of the house and launched himself into the air, flying up and over the roof.
The Milano was still there, cloaked and invisible, exactly where he'd left it. Mark climbed inside and settled into the pilot's seat.
He pulled up a holographic checklist and started thinking through his priorities.
First things first: find a secure location for the Milano.
He couldn't keep it parked at his parents' house or his college dorm. It needed somewhere isolated, secure, where he could access it easily but where it wouldn't draw attention.
Mark thought for a moment, then smiled. Perfect.
He activated the engines and flew the ship—still cloaked—toward the mountains. The same area where he and his father used to train. Remote. Inaccessible by road. No civilian traffic.
Mark pushed the Milano as fast as he dared while maintaining the cloak and staying within reasonable speed limits to avoid detection. The ship handled beautifully, responding to his every command with precision.
He found a good spot—a natural clearing surrounded by dense forest, with rocky outcroppings that would hide the ship even further. Mark landed the Milano, activated all its security systems, and set the cloaking to maximum.
There. Safe and hidden.
He made a mental note to come back later and potentially dig out a hangar, but for now, this would do.
"Stay here, baby," he said, patting the console affectionately. "I'll be back soon."
Next on his list: Art Rosenbaum.
Mark flew to the tailor's shop, this time taking his time and actually enjoying the flight. No hostile forces shooting at him. No need to constantly scan for threats. Just flying through clear blue sky above his city.
It felt good.
He touched down in the alley behind Art's shop just as the "OPEN" sign flickered on. Mark walked around to the front and pushed open the door, the little bell chiming cheerfully.
Art looked up from behind the counter, adjusting his glasses. He studied Mark for a long moment, his brow furrowing.
"Can I help you?"
"Hey, Art," Mark said with a smile. "It's me. Mark."
Art's eyes widened. "Mark? Mark Grayson?" He stood up, walking closer, staring at Mark's face. "But you... you look completely different. You're taller. Older. What happened?"
Mark gave him the abbreviated version—the dimensional portal, the time differential, thirteen years passing while barely two days went by on Earth.
Art listened, his expression shifting from disbelief to understanding to something like awe.
"Thirteen years," he said quietly when Mark finished. "You spent thirteen years in another dimension."
"Yeah."
Art took a moment to process that, then seemed to shake himself. "So why are you here? Don't tell me you just wanted to catch up with your old tailor."
Mark winced. "Actually... remember those suits you made me? The black and red one, and the blue and yellow one?"
"Of course."
"They, uh... they got destroyed. Both of them. Over the years. Combat damage. Environmental wear. I tried to patch them, but..." Mark trailed off sheepishly.
Art raised an eyebrow. "You destroyed both of the suits I made you. The nearly indestructible, Superhero-compatible suits."
"In my defense, it was over thirteen years."
"Thirteen years, one and a half days, same difference," Art said dryly. But his eyes were twinkling with amusement. "You know, the first two were on the house. These new ones? You're paying."
"Fair," Mark agreed immediately. "Whatever it costs, I'll pay you back. I was actually hoping you could make me a few more. Taking into account my new body size."
"A few more?" Art pulled out his measuring tape. "How many are we talking?"
"Two of each design? So, I can have backups. And maybe one more in a different style if you have time."
"Ambitious." Art started taking Mark's measurements with practiced efficiency. "You've grown. A lot. Two inches taller, broader shoulders, more muscle mass. You're built like a tank now, kid."
"Thirteen years of Growth will do that."
"I bet." Art finished measuring and jotted down notes. "Alright. Give me a week for the first two suits. Maybe two weeks for the full set. Sound good?"
"Perfect. Thanks, Art."
"Don't thank me yet. You're going to see the bill."
Mark grinned. "I can handle it."
He left the shop and launched back into the air, heading toward Upstate University.
Mark's dorm room looked exactly how he'd left it. Bags still partially unpacked. Textbooks stacked in the corner. Everything frozen in time.
He grabbed his phone from the desk where he'd left it charging and turned it on.
Immediately, notifications started flooding in.
Missed calls from Mom: 47
Missed calls from Dad: 23
Missed calls from Eve: 156
Voicemails: 89
Text messages: 200+
Mark winced. Eve really was worried.
He scrolled through some of the texts, his chest tightening at the progression:
Eve:Mark, where are you?
Eve:Please call me back.
Eve:I'm worried. Just let me know you're okay.
Eve:Mark, it's been a two days. Please.
Eve:If you're reading this, CALL ME.
Mark took a breath and hit her contact. The phone barely rang once before she picked up.
"MARK?!" Eve's voice was loud enough that he had to hold the phone away from his ear. "Where have you been?! I came by your house, and your mom said you were sleeping! For THREE DAYS! Do you have any idea how worried I've been?! I thought maybe something happened, maybe you were hurt, maybe—"
"Eve," Mark interrupted gently. "Breathe. I'm okay. I'm sorry I didn't call sooner. I genuinely needed the sleep."
"Three days, Mark. Three days."
"I know. I'm sorry." Mark grabbed his black mask from the bed, sniffing it to confirm it was clean—it was—and pulled it on. "Listen, can you meet me at the Teen Team hideout? Like, now?"
"Now?"
"Yeah. I owe you guys an explanation. A real one. And I have some things to show you, I'll be there in five minutes."
"I'll be there in three," Eve said, and hung up.
Mark smiled, pocketed his phone, and flew out the window.
Mark reached the bridge that housed the Teen Team's headquarters and descended through the hidden hatch.
Robot, Rex, and Dupli-Kate were already there, gathered in the common area.
"Invincible," Robot greeted him with a nod. "Welcome back."
"Robot." Mark nodded in return, then grinned at the others. "Rex. Kate."
Rex immediately pulled him into a bro-hug, slapping his back. "Man, it's good to see you. You look jacked. What were you eating in that dimension?"
"Mostly things that tried to eat me first," Mark replied with a smirk.
Dupli-Kate approached next, giving him a warm hug. "We were worried about you. Really worried."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," she said, pulling back. "Just... next time you jump through a dimensional portal, maybe give us a heads-up first?"
"Deal."
A pink glow announced Eve's arrival before she even touched down. She flew through the entrance at speed, landed hard, and marched straight up to Mark.
Then she hugged him.
Not a gentle hug. A crushing hug, her arms wrapped around him tight enough that a normal human would've had trouble breathing.
"You said you'd talk the next day," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. "And then you proceeded to sleep for three days."
Mark laughed, returning the hug. "Yeah, sorry about that. Turns out thirteen years of constant vigilance makes you really, really tired."
Eve pulled back, and Mark could see tears in her eyes even though she was smiling. "Don't do that to me again. Any of us."
"I'll try not to."
"Good." She wiped her eyes quickly. "Now explain. Everything."
Mark gestured to the table. "Sit down. All of you. This is going to take a while."
They gathered around the table—Mark at the head, Eve on his right, Robot on his left, with Rex and Dupli-Kate across from him.
And then the questions started.
"What was it like in the Flaxan dimension?"
"How did you survive for thirteen years?"
"Where did you get the technology for the ship?"
"Did you run into any other aliens?"
"What did you eat?"
"How did you learn their language?"
"Were you ever in danger?"
Mark answered everything, carefully editing out the most brutal parts but giving them enough detail to satisfy their curiosity. He told them about the time differential, the three suns, the hostile environment. About learning Flaxan, infiltrating their cities, studying their technology. About building the Milano from salvaged parts and stolen schematics.
He told them about the gravity room, the training regimen that had pushed him to his absolute limits and beyond.
He told them about the loneliness—though he downplayed that part, not wanting them to worry.
Three hours passed in what felt like minutes.
Finally, Robot leaned back in his chair, his mechanical eyes studying Mark. "Have you heard the news?"
Mark's expression grew somber. "About the Guardians of the Globe?"
The mood immediately shifted. Everyone went quiet, the earlier energy draining from the room.
"Yeah," Rex said quietly. "It's... it's really messed up. All of them. Dead."
"I still can't believe it," Dupli-Kate added, her voice soft. "They were the best. The strongest. Who could've done that?"
"I knew before it was publicly announced," Mark said. "Cecil told me when I got back. My dad was in the hospital—still recovering from the same attack."
"Wait," Rex said, looking confused. "What does your dad have to do with the Guardians?"
Mark took a breath. Might as well tell them.
"I haven't mentioned this to you guys yet, but... my dad is Omni-Man."
Silence.
Complete, absolute silence.
Rex's jaw dropped. Dupli-Kate's eyes went wide. Eve's hands flew to her mouth.
Robot's mechanical head tilted slightly—his version of surprise.
"What?!" Rex finally exploded, jumping to his feet. "There's no freaking way! Your dad is Omni-Man?! The Omni-Man?!"
Mark just looked at him, his expression unchanged, confirming it without words.
Rex sat back down heavily. "Holy shit."
Robot's eyes flickered as he processed the information. "That... actually makes a lot of sense. You and Omni-Man share numerous power similarities. Flight. Super strength. Invulnerability. And there were videos circulating of you operating as a masked hero before you revealed yourself to us. The timeline aligns."
"Wait," Eve said slowly. "So, when the Guardians were attacked... your dad was there too?"
"Yeah. He was the only survivor." Mark's voice was carefully neutral. "Barely. He's been in the hospital until a few days ago."
"Damn," Rex muttered. "That's... that's heavy, man."
They sat in contemplative silence for a moment.
Then Robot spoke again. "Mark, there's something else you should know. Cecil contacted me two days ago."
Mark looked at him. "About what?"
"He wants to form a new Guardians of the Globe team. He offered me a position as team leader, reporting directly to him. He wants my help building it from the ground up."
"Why you and not my dad?"
"I asked him the same question. Cecil said that after a decade of trying to make Omni-Man an official Guardian—someone who would take orders and work within their structure—your father still refuses to be that person. Cecil needs a team he can rely on. A team that will answer to him."
Robot paused, his green eyes fixed on Mark. "He wants you on the team. I want you on the team. Will you join?"
Everyone looked at Mark, waiting for his answer.
Mark thought about it for a moment. The new Guardians. The team that would eventually face threats beyond imagination. The team he knew would be crucial to everything that was coming.
"Yes," he said finally. "But I'll need to finalize the details with Cecil personally. Make sure we're all on the same page about expectations, rules of engagement, all of that."
Robot's mechanical head nodded. "Understood. I'm glad you're joining. This won't be easy. Building a team to replace the Guardians of the Globe... it's a significant responsibility. But with you on board, I believe we have a chance."
Rex grinned. "Hell yeah! New Guardians! We're gonna be badass!"
"We already are badass," Dupli-Kate corrected.
"More badass, then."
Eve reached over and squeezed Mark's hand. "I'm glad you're doing this. Glad you're staying."
"Me too," Mark said honestly.
He stood up, stretching. "Alright, we'll discuss more details later. But right now, I need to—"
Robot interrupted by tossing something at him. Mark caught it one-handed—a small communicator, more advanced than their old ones.
"An upgraded comm system," Robot explained. "More secure. Better range. Direct link to the new Guardian headquarters once it's operational."
Mark examined it, then smiled. "Thanks, Robot."
Robot's eyes flickered. "Welcome back, Invincible. We've missed you."
"It's good to be back," Mark said, and meant it.
Rex and Dupli-Kate stood, and Rex pulled Mark into another hug. "Seriously, man. Don't disappear on us again."
"I'll do my best."
Eve was the last to approach, and she hugged him once more, this time more gently. "Stay safe," she whispered.
"You too."
Mark pulled on his mask, gave them all one last nod, and flew up through the exit hatch.
He looked at the city spread out before him—his city, his home—and felt something settle in his chest.
He was back.