Chapter Text
Working on homework while able to hear the TV in the living room rehashing the Guardians of the Globe’s murderisation, you add another mental tally to the more like cartoon-verse list. It’s as comforting as it is…You don’t know. Some mix of hysteria, intrigue, and schadenfreude.
Maybe less of the latter; you’re not so much of a psychopath as to find enjoyment in the announcement of the Guardians’ deaths. Just in the sense that it’s, y’know, a Canon Event which pings off in your brain the same way easter eggs in movies and games do.
Or something. You’re entitled to as many poor coping mechanisms as you like after been murdered and shoved into a comic/cartoon, alright? Smoking only gets you so far, and doesn’t count when it’s an already existing bad habit.
The homework part really doesn’t help you take any of this more seriously. You half-ass most of it, but History tends to be interesting enough thanks to a few changes mixed in. Most big events are similar, especially the overall trends of history, but there are…nudges, here and there, thanks to the existence of supes.
Little variations yanked back into place, so the line of events only really starts varying more - in terms of world leaders you can name off the top of your head, stuff like pop culture and recent inventions - over the past few decades. Maybe some entity is behind it. Smoothing over the rough edges so the timeline doesn’t veer off more than desired.
If so, they’re doing a shit job if glitches like you are getting dropped in.
Not that you’ve done much. Ha, maybe if you do, you’ll get erased. Timeline snipped. Whatever the fuck mechanism at play so chaos doesn’t rule. Maybe you slipped the net, if you aren’t here for a reason. Accidents happen, no matter the cosmic scale - possibly more of them on such a massive reach.
Existential dread doesn’t have chance to settle more than skin-deep before someone knocks on your window.
Ah, who are you kidding? It’s Mark. Obviously.
“Local superhero Invincible?” You mock gasp as you slide open the window - it catches halfway up, but a stronger shove gets it moving - and step back, pulling one green curtain aside. Thanks to the early evenings it’s dark out, so you aren’t too concerned about someone catching sight of the visit. “What brings you here? Is there a crime occurring?”
“A crime?” he says with an uncertain smile, then seems to catch on as he glides in. Not a single wire in sight. It’s almost cool enough to make up for the dorky reality of him. “Oh, yeah, totally. I’m, uh…investigating. On the case. The trail of…crime.”
“Uh huh.” Very casually, you shut your bedroom door to muffle the sound of the TV. No need to poke at that particular sore spot. “And it led you here? I swear, I’ve never committed a misdeed in my entire life,” you lie, watching him settle on his feet on the fluffy purple rug.
“I don’t know if I believe that.” He pulls his mask off and looks around with blatant curiosity.
Your room isn’t anything impressive, especially to a middle class teen’s standards. The few touches of personality weirded you out when you showed up, but you guess complete blandness would’ve been freakier. Like pre-loaded assets which were dropped in just to fill the space for when a non-NPC came along.
“You got me.” Lifting your hands in surrender, you lean against the side of your desk as he wanders over to one of the motorbike posters. It was an addition of your own, nicked along with a magazine at a corner store. A simple spreads of a few classics, with the weirdass swap of a couple big names for knock-offs. “I’m a serial jaywalker. It’s a habit I just can’t kick.”
“Now you’ve told me, I have to bring you in.” He manages to make it sound regretful even while grinning.
“Wouldn’t be much of a superhero if you didn’t.” You sigh forlornly. “Guess I’ll blackmail you with your secret identity now.”
“Damn, should’ve seen that coming.” With a shake of his head, the grin abruptly dims. Ah, distraction failed. Can’t blame you for trying. “Sorry about today. I was…There were these portals, and aliens-”
“I saw the news. Your dad’s okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine. Came back a couple hours ago.” Mark ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck. It’s an awkwardness that wavers on the edge of guilt, and what you’re betting is a heaping of…well, all the other shit he’s dealing with. Lot of pressure for a teenager to handle, even pre-dad near murdering him.
You nudge the chair further out from the desk. It’s the rolling type, one wheel with a hefty duct tape bandaid keeping it together. Likely sourced from some office clearout when a business went under. But hey, it hasn’t collapsed yet. “Sit down, Mark. You’re too tall.”
“Sorry?” With a soft laugh, he sits and drops his cowl on the desk next to you. Then sends a nervous glance behind him at the closed door. “Your dad isn’t back yet, is he?”
“Nah, I just keep the TV on sometimes. Background noise.” For an hour or two, anyway, before you start getting leery of the electricity bill. “What’s with the costume?”
“Someone mentioned I was at risk of doxxing myself flying in civvies.”
You nod slowly. “They sound smart. You should listen to them more often.”
“I’ll try.” He smiles, forearms on his knees and stuck looking up at your higher perch, hair windblown from the short flight over.
The suit is really skintight. Feels odd to see up close. It should definitely be just like seeing a cosplayer, right? Just…pushed a step further by the whole, flying up to your apartment thing. And the fitness level on display. Viltrumite genes are something else.
“Do you get self conscious in that?” You tap his shoulder, where the suit clings to the curve of it like its been suctioned on. Ready for the freezer. Or deep storage. “It isn’t much like your usual sweaters.”
“It’s iconic,” he says proudly, slightly negated by the shrug he gives after and the tilt of his smile. “It’s, y’know, aerodynamic. And the material’s super tough.”
The amount of times it gets ripped in the show would say otherwise. Well. Or says more for how often threats strong enough to tear super-fabric go after Invincible.
“Would it survive lava?”
“What?”
“If you had to go into a volcano. Extreme temperatures, is it good with that?” You pick up the discarded mask, thumbing at the material near the lenses, but it just feels smooth and flexible. Nothing special there. No density or scale-like folds. “Force is one thing, heat is another. Steel melts even if it won’t bend easy.”
“Iiiiii have no idea. I’ll get back to you on it.” His smile has widened again, making him look less like he’s dealing with…well, anything to do with Invincible. Instead more like the kind of guy who grandmas always call a ‘nice young man’, and who’d be the least insufferable college guy to chat up at a party.
“If I hadn’t watched the news, I wouldn’t know you got the shit beaten out of you.”
The flicker to a grimace would make you feel bad if you were a better person. “Healing fast has its perks. Did…they really get a lot of the attack?”
Well, no. Just a few shots shown in the brief break from going on about the Guardians. But you have a good memory of the show and- c’mon, in almost every early fight Invincible has, that regeneration gets put through its paces.
So you shrug. “Nah. It was mostly a guess.”
“You guessed I had the shit beaten out of me?” He scoffs with offence, but it’s the overdramatic kind William pulls off better. Mark just looks like he wants to smile again, and is trying hard not to. “Wow, thanks for the faith.”
“My faith is hard-earned. Level up and I’ll re-consider.” Idly tossing the mask and catching it in your other hand like the lamest juggler to steal a superhero’s mask, you ask, “Was the visit just for the apology, or did you wanna explain why you didn’t tell me the Guardians were dead?”
His eyes widen in such an obvious ‘oh shit’ expression it’s a wonder if he can ever tell lies. “I-I didn’t? I mean, I was gonna but- I, uh…forgot?”
You scrutinise him a moment, then nod. “That tracks. It’s how your dad was injured, then?”
“Yeah, I guess I never…explained…” He winces.
Damn, you’re really putting elbow grease into dumping cement into the various holes he keeps opening up in the fabric of reality. Technically, he never outright said his dad is Omni-Man, but he fully gave it away - and started talking like you already knew, so you had to adapt.
It’s probably unnecessary. This, the whole…box-ticking.
But Cecil and the GDA will be monitoring the Graysons now, which puts you on their shitlist. If anyone will notice discrepancies it’s them, and the last thing you want is to disappear into a government bunker under the guise of ‘asking a few questions’ (if they even bother with the rigmarole when they can easily manufacture whatever clause they need to kidnap you).
It’d be nice to think Mark would look into your disappearance, but come on. It’s super easy to fake a person’s death in a world like this.
“Relax. You’re too high strung.”
“If I am, it’s ’cause you make me high strung.” He starts off confident, but loses it halfway through as if only realising his words while they’re coming out of his mouth. “As in, nervous? Uh. Not in a bad way.”
You…make him nervous?
Hmm.
Is this a ‘nervous around girls’ thing? Yeah. You’re gonna go with that. Anything further is…dangerous territory. Though overall harmless, you guess, considering Eve’s existence.
“Cool.” Feeling about behind you, you find the astronaut plushie and toss it to him (catching the downfall of the mask in your other hand). “You forgot this guy while you were off saving the world, after all the trouble I went to winning it for you.”
“Since when was it for me?” Despite saying that, Mark looks pretty pleased as he holds the astronaut to his chest. Dork.
You don’t toss him out even after not getting much of an explanation for the why behind his visit.
The TV gets switched over to one the dramas William introduced to you, and you fill Mark in on the relevant details as they come up. The show is juggling five different storylines with a cast way too fucking big, even if the plots themselves weren’t endlessly convoluted, but that’s half the fun.
The other half is guessing which insane plot twist will get tossed in next. Personally, you’re hoping for an unrealistic but entertaining death; there hasn’t been one of those in a dozen episodes, so it seems likely.
Two episodes in, Mark falls asleep on your shoulder. You leave him to it until you get hungry enough to want dinner, and wave off his embarrassment like it never happened. Hey, he doesn’t drool or snore, so as far as you’re concerned it’s no biggie. Other than obviously, the sheer offence of him falling asleep during such prime television.
Helping with dinner and spending it debating the merits of TV vs comics vs Saturday morning cartoons (it’s an argument that goes in a lot of circles and loops) is compensation enough.
It carries that ever-amusing mix of normality and the absurd, with Mark still in his costume in your shitty apartment. Apparently, the suit is pretty damn comfortable despite its appearance. Which kinda makes sense, given how many hours heroes often get stuck suited up. Even days and weeks on special occasions.
There’s one coming up, isn’t there? The Mars mission. Not your favourite plotline, mostly due to the recurring parts later on. The only relevant part is Mark being gone for up to two weeks (maybe less? Since it’s cut short). How he manages to get into college with all the school he’ll be missing is anyone’s guess (cough GDA interference cough).
So when he asks you over to his house to study, you kind of…forget it’s also a plot point. Ish.
Look, you’re occupied with entering the Grayson household while knowing Omni-Man could arrive at any moment. Yeah, he isn’t in murder mode yet, but that’s a flimsier layer of protection than a decade-old condom.
Dying and being spawned into this world has really given you a simultaneous sense of vulnerability and. Hmm. Not quite nihilism, not quite apathy. Some mishmash variant (ha, speaking of plot points - if you survive long enough for that one, you’re very curious if this still counts as the canonverse and if you’re a unique aberration).
“Mark, your friend is here!” Debbie calls up the stairs, and the tone reminds you of her misunderstanding. Awkward. And a letdown when Amber-
Uh. Should’ve been called by now, probably?
Shit. Did you butterfly wing Mark out of getting a girlfriend? Oops.
Amber is pretty cool, too; you’re in a group project with her in Econ, and it’d be tempting to leave such a go-getter to do all the work considering you lack of interest in, y’know, getting more than a high school diploma. But she very effectively guilted the three of you into doing your parts despite both Sophie and Tyler looking equally tempted to skimp out. Quite the skill. She’ll do amazing in politics or anything charity related.
It’s…probably better for her to not get involved? Yeah. The whole, ‘life threatened by a Viltrumite’ event seems traumatic. ‘I dated a superhero and all I got was PTSD for life’ is the kind of shirt a girl can do without.
Friendships can fill the human connection quota, can’t they?
Well, most media would disagree, but this is…real…life?
Eh. He’ll end up with Eve soon anyway. Maybe they’ll even get together faster, without feelings being pulled in different directions like dual-wielded slinkies.
Correcting Debbie outright would reek of denial and be a real drag, so you make smalltalk instead while burying the urge to ask if she’s found the bloody suit yet. Burying it deep (shovel in hand and a shallow grave already prepped for expansion).
It has to be soon - the Guardians’ funeral was last weekend, televised in 4K to the entire world. It was even on the TV at Burger Mart despite Mr Sawyer usually insisting it stay off on pain of death.
One guy in an oversized hoodie and skinny jeans started crying, while two teen girls saluted in perfect tandem. You liked the sparkly green nails the blonde had and mourned your own inability to keep nails from breaking - and how awful your attempts at painting your own always turn out.
Would it be offensive if you asked William if he’s any good at it?
Should be fine. He called you a bi-hazard and started cackling like a hyena the other day. It evens out.
“You’re here!” Mark hurries down the stairs (at human speeds) as if expecting you to make a run for it now you’ve been spotted.
It’s too late for that. You’ve surrendered your sneakers at the door, and you don’t fancy your striped socks’ chances on pavement, especially when one heel is already wearing thin.
“As promised. I even used the front door this time.” Huh, that kinda makes it sound like you broke in previously. You smile at Debbie, who’s hovering (non-literally). “It’s a great front door. Very…secure.”
Not better, but oh well. She’s already used to William’s antics. It’s not like you said out loud that you were wondering on her doorstep if they’ve ever been burgled, and how unlucky said hypothetical burgler would have to be.
“Thanks for letting her in, Mom,” Mark says quickly and ushers you upstairs.
The first thing you notice about the room is how clean it is. Which is immediately, obviously, suspicious. You’ve seen William’s room and by most standards, he keeps his place neat - and even he had a half-full trashcan and a few jackets draped over the back of the sofa squeezed into the corner of his room (perfect for a marathon of My Doctor is from Jupiter!).
Actually-
“Did William lend you this?” The boxset is perched on the edge of Mark’s desk, and you pick it up in amused accusation. Come on, William knows better than to pull this shit with you.
Then you spot the stack of brand new motorbike magazines and come to the realise he really, really doesn’t. Or he’s fucking with Mark. If it’s the latter, you may be willing to support the endeavour.
“Uh, yeah.” Mark folds his arms and shifts his weight, looking distinctly sheepish. “He said you guys binged it and…maybe it’s not my usual thing, but I’ll give it a shot?”
“And these?” You steal one of the magazines, flipping through to see if it’s half-decent. RIIDE proclaims the bold red font, and one of the first big spreads goes into the TOP 10 NEW BIKES OF THE YEAR - a little early, given it isn’t the end of the year yet. And blatantly missing one you’ve been daydreaming about since you saw it at the shop (a Tamaha, and yeah, Yamaha also exists). The fools.
“You have those…posters.”
“I do.” Backing off, you snort at his- entire deal, honestly. The button-up and sweater combo is doing him no favours there. “Hey, I approve of you expanding your hobbies. Just can’t imagine you on a motorbike.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His brow furrows, but he’s smiling a little. Total failure at holding onto offence even when warranted.
“You’re more of a Volvo type-” You tilt your head, considering him “-or a Mini.” Honestly, you’re surprised his parents haven’t already bought him a car. It seems an oversight in the middle-class American dream.
“I invite you here to study, and you’re insulting me instead? I feel like you’re insulting me.”
You shrug. “You’re preppy. It’s more a fact than an insult-”
The phone rings. Mark pulls it out his pocket, face twisting apologetically, and his confused expression acts as a reminder.
Guess Cecil got bored of the witty teenage banter. Or, well, happened to get notified of the threat right about now. Your back itches with the urge to look out the window and over at the house across the street. It was bad enough on the doorstep, wondering how many eyes were on you. It’s worse inside the house, knowing there’s infrared and some sort of microphones recording.
Shit, that’s invasive.
Even if it’s fully in line with how the GDA operates…Christ. Also, wow, they really are happy to risk alienating (ha) Mark quite a lot even before the torturous tinnitus.
“You should answer,” you say when the phone starts ringing for the second time. “Might be an emergency.”
He shakes his head. “It isn’t like anyone knows Invincible’s phone number.”
The ringing stops abruptly.
Ah. Fuck.
For a moment, you consider laughing it off. Somehow. Pretend you have no clue what he’s on about, it’s some weird in-joke, who the fuck knows. But there’s no real reason you would, unless you already knew Mark’s house was under surveillance, which would be more suspicious.
So with a sigh, you sit on the edge of the bed - right in time for Cecil Stedman to zap into the room.
“You told your girlfriend your secret identity?” He sounds both wildly unimpressed and like he’s still been let down despite never having much faith to begin with. “What the hell is wrong with kids these days.”
Huh. That seems impulsive. With a spin of the dial, it clicks along before landing on a potential reason: hasn’t slept since the Guardians were slaughtered and their murderer flying free with no surefire way to put him down.
“What- how-?” Bless him, Mark darts around to stand near the foot of the bed like you’re in need of defending. Which, uh, you might be if there’s a van waiting out on the road now. “Were you spying on us?!”
“You want to be a superhero, don’t you? Then the whole concept of personal privacy is out the goddamn window.” It’s pretty wild to see this universe’s answer to Nick Fury glaring down at you. He’s super recognisable, too; he’d be an easy Where’s Wally to pick out of a crowd.
(Not that Wally. God, you miss your world’s comics. Not even the CW shows made it through. What you’d give to hear “you are not the Flash, Barry. We are” one last time…Even a low-resolution Youtube clip - nay, a worse quality slideshow on a ranking site made of seventy percent ads.)
Maybe you should put some effort into looking shocked, or unnerved, but you’re distracted wondering why he’d risk giving away to Omni-Man that he’s under surveillance (after the initial longing for other fictional superheroes distraction, that is).
Does…Mark not say anything in canon? Omni-Man’s gotta know he’s being watched, right, but there’s a canyon of justification between surveillance for his family’s safety against an apparent threat, and listening in on bedroom convo’s like Alexa on steroids.
The scar is gnarly. Doesn’t even give away that he got, like, most of his face melted off. The wonders of plastic surgery.
“That’s pretty awful logic,” you say, deciding you may as well earn the derision you’ve been dunked in. “‘If you use your crazy ass powers to help people, fuck you and your human rights’ is a terrible incentive.” You sigh. “The government these days…A surveillance state is all we need.”
“The last thing I need is the opinions of a teenage girl.”
Good thing you’re not really one. But you doubt he’d appreciate your opinion any more if he knew you were-
How…old are you?
Huh.
That can’t be good.
“Hey.” Now, Mark does actually move to stand directly in front of you. Out of respect, you don’t look at his ass (not after the first glance).
“Don’t talk to her like that.” Aww. He legit sounds angry, protective, and it’s nice to know he cares enough for it. Makes it much less likely your disappearance wouldn’t cause a ripple. “And it’s my identity. I’ll tell who I want, no matter what you or anyone else thinks.”
The last part sounds a little rehearsed, or maybe someone else’s words. Debbie might’ve spoken to him about it all, after the night you ruined her kitchen.
Cecil evidently decides this isn’t a battle worth the effort, because when you lean over to look past Mark’s hip, Cecil has stepped back and loosened out of the aggressive stance. His hand, you notice, is in his pants pocket. Oh ho, not so fearless when it comes to the teenage superhero’s temper, is he?
…You’re maybe too trusting of Mark’s better nature, actually. Especially given later seasons. Ah, well. Not your circus, not your planet (technically).
“Cat’s already out the bag now anyway,” Cecil says like a man who hasn’t known REM sleep in half a century. Possibly regretting bouncing in and revealing the GDA exists, too? Or is he betting on Mark being just as loose lipped with this truth, so curbing you both with a flair of intimidation is his best recourse?
“Try not to make it a habit. And you.” His eyes narrow back on you, and you wriggle your fingers in a wave. His scowl deepens. “If you tell anyone - and I mean, anyone - we’ll know.”
Like they haven’t already run a full background check in the space of this conversation. Or previously, actually. Yeah, probably previously - you’d bet they keep tabs on anyone Mark regularly interacts with, and did a deeper search once you graduated from co-workers to friends. That sorta shit seems high priority for catching shocking betrayals ahead of time. And hostage situations, you wouldn’t be surprised by one or two of those before Mark drops out of college.
So you pop a salute (a sloppier mimic of the Burger Mart blonde) and wonder if this is-
Y’know. The call to action.
Cecil Stedman, director of the GDA, is right here. You could tell him everything that’s coming up. Every danger, every twist and turn, and all about the Viltrum Empire.
Maybe it’d save lives. All the people in Chicago in just a few months’ time, then…who knows how many more die because of Angstrom Levy, and Conquest in the shadow of that massacre. Events become vaguer after that, but you remember enough from the comic that it’s still useful info. Info a man like Cecil could use effectively.
Using it wisely? That’s a whole other matter.
Wow, bit of a late-stage powertrip, huh?
Might mean nothing. Might be viewed more like a Cassandra. Or worse, a threat, working for the enemy - which enemy? Who knows. Might be better off locked up safe, a faked death to clear the board, investigated and experimented on - it’d be fully in line with the tropes, and boy, you know those tropes well.
It might fuck everything up worse if a man like Cecil uses your faulty omniscience to chart a course. Just look at the multiverse, all those Marks veering their own grimdark paths. So many events going just right in this timeline so in the end, hardly any named characters die forever. Mark doesn’t die, and neither do Debbie or William. The good guys win, more or less.
It’d be nice to think of it like looking at the board from on high. Untouchable.
But you’re very human and ultimately, not a very good one. So when Cecil goes on to brief Mark on Doc Seismic and pretends you aren’t even in the room-
You let him.
After all, you’re nobody important.