Sleepy Dragon

Maybe this is where it all goes bad. Maybe you’d believe it, if you hadn’t spent years wishing someone, anyone, would help dig you out of your skin.

-

It’s been raining for about an hour when you make it home. Your hair is plastered to your head, hoodie and jeans soaked, all damp discomfort and cold. There’s a steadiness to it that almost feels good, like the ache you used to get in your legs from walking for so long.

Just…wandering, no real destination in mind. Finish up at school and see where you get to this time, before circling back here.

You toe your sneakers off with a wet squelch, and hang up your jacket. The lights on in the living room clues you in on Mom still being awake.

A few years ago, you might’ve coaxed her away from the photo albums and bottles of wine. She used to hug you back then, so you’d let her until she’d cried herself out, and the apologies finally stopped, and she’d go to bed.

You don’t do that anymore. Just clean up the mess in the morning, and move the fuck on.

Pretend you don’t hear her call your name as you walk up the staircase to your room. You stopped owing her the day she said you weren’t her son.

-

Dad explains everything when you’re eight years old. He takes you out away from the city - away from the GDA’s surveillance - and you learn he’s Omni-Man. Then, you learn why he really came to Earth, and his plans for you once you gain your powers.

It…You think it should’ve surprised you more than it does? Instead of this sense of, duh, obviously, and you chew at your thumbnail even though Dad doesn’t like you doing that, and Mom is trying to help you break the habit. But you just go for your knuckles instead if you stop, so. Isn’t it better when you only bleed this way if you go too far?

Dad doesn’t say anything about it now.

“Do you understand, son?” His hands are on your shoulders, and he looks serious a lot, but he’s extra serious now. “You’re now part of my mission. When the time comes, we will do our duty.”

“…When I get my powers?” you ask slowly, looking down the side of the canyon instead of at him. Powers. Omni-Man can fly, and he has superstrength, and he’s the most powerful hero on the planet. Will you be like him, one day?

Duh. Of course you will. You’ll have a cape too, like him. Maybe a different colour though. People will get confused if you look the exact same, and you don’t want anyone to mistake you for Dad. That’d be lame.

“Exactly. We’ll begin your training today. As behind as you are, you’ll need a solid foundation.”

Looking back, maybe you could say this is when it goes bad. But that feels like giving Dad too much credit.

-

You don’t play baseball (why would you?). You don’t have friends (not even just the one, and definitely not the boy with ash brown hair who sits near you in the cafeteria). Mom worries, and you hear her arguing with Dad, once. It’s the day you came home with bruises you couldn’t hide under a long-sleeved shirt.

It’s dumb; she should know better than to question Dad. He’s gonna make you a hero. You don’t really get why you need to be a hero first, before you help him take over Earth, but heroes are pretty cool so you don’t mind.

You’re looking forward to that part way more than the planet-conquering bit. Viltrum sounds sort of boring, whenever he talks about it. They don’t even have comics there, because they hate fun or whatever. If Dad didn’t say you two would be in charge of Earth for like, centuries before his bosses show up, you’d be hoping your powers never arrive.

They’re gonna arrive any day now. Dad says so. Mom says it doesn’t matter, that you don’t need your powers, but what does she know? She’s just human. She’s-

A pet, and your fingers fumble the game controller. A zombie takes your character out, and you scowl at the TV as you shake off the weird, echo-y feeling. It keeps happening and it’s super annoying. Like a stronger kind of deja vu, but freakier, because that sounded like Dad’s voice calling Mom a pet but he isn’t home right now.

You don’t think he’s ever called her that? Mom probably wouldn’t like it if he did, but you guess it makes sense. You and Dad are gonna live a really, really long time, if no one kills you. So it’s kinda like dog years, right? For humans. Or a bug, the ones that only live for a few months. It’s-

Your head hurts. Clenching your teeth, you don’t make any noise because Dad might hear, and he says you need to be stronger, so you will be. You just- It hurts, and you feel sick, and you dig your fingers into your arms until it goes away in shuddering bursts.

Ugh. You got blood on your shirt again, and you already scrubbed out the stains on your training shirt so Mom would be less weird about it. Today’s the worst.

-

You do get your powers. A few months after, Invincible enters the stage.

It’s a lot harder not to kill people than you realised. You don’t get why heroes never talk about that whenever they do interviews and stuff. Yeah, it’s fine when you’re up against a tough villain (a brute type- what’s that? Self-explanatory, c’mon) - but a lot of criminals aren’t even half as sturdy as you are.

It makes it even dumber that they keep escaping. If humans suck at locking up the bad guys, why don’t they just kill them? It isn’t like it’d be hard. Plus it’d save on taxes, and people are always complaining about taxes, and-

A prison breakout, not here? But, he has your face, and-

Wait, why would you-

You flinch back, barely dodging Dad’s punch. Shit, pay attention. You have your powers now, so Dad doesn’t hold back like he used to, and you hate when he breaks your jaw. It always ends up clicking for like, a whole day, and the noise drives you insane. Everything’s so fucking loud now.

Yeah, it’s super useful when tracking down a bad guy, or finding someone who needs saving, but you also have to deal with all the other shit distracting you. School was already a nightmare. Now?

God, you hope Dad lets you destroy the place when it’s time to take over.

-

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You hear it all the time now, but can’t find it. Doesn’t matter if you’re miles above the ground or deep under the ocean. Doesn’t matter if you pop your own eardrums and curl up against the floor because you feel sick, so fucking sick, and your stomach hurts, your head hurts, and-

The press of your teeth against your wrist almost, almost makes it cut out. Makes your pulse throb louder instead. If you could just peel it out, hide beneath it, if you could just get the noise out of your head-

“I’m sorry.”

Shut up.

-

Another day, another villain whose head you don’t tear off. Honestly, it’s insane that people are saying Invincible is too brutal. Like, what the fuck? So you break a few bones here and there - it isn’t like you’re taking limbs, Christ.

“They’re right to fear us,” Dad says to your grumbling. He’s in an indulgent mood today, you guess.

You did do a pretty good job recently when he had you test yourself against the Guardians. War Woman seemed impressed when you blocked all her hits without flinching, and Red Rush was fun to fight since he was even faster than you (if you didn’t, y’know, feel like burning up the atmosphere. Then you’d be faster, duh).

The Immortal was a stuck-up prick, though. It’d be ace if Dad lets you test his dumb hero name later, but you think Dad wants to be the one to off the Guardians, since they’re his buddies and all. Or they act like they are? Whatever.

If you took Immortal’s head off, you’d need to crush it too, or he’ll come back. You don’t know how you know that, but-

You catch yourself before your gloved finger reaches your mouth, and force your fist back to your side. Not in front of Dad. You’re not a kid anymore; you’re fifteen, and Dad said it shouldn’t be long before you’re ready. When you can finally be done with pretending to be the good guy when you’re both obviously the villains - being from a race of genocidal, world-conquering aliens kinda gives the game away.

Dad doesn’t see it like that, but he’s all indoctrinated and shit (the Scourge, he was barely an adult when that happened - yeah? How the fuck do you know that?), thinks Earth belongs to the empire just ’cause their defenders won’t be able to fight you and Dad off.

You guess it should be fun. You’ve been a hero for a few years now, and no one outside the Guardians can really put up a fight. Teen Team were such a disappointment; you’re still pissed at Dad for saying you have to team up with them for major disasters.

He’s way too concerned with maintaining cover. Dad has the Guardians, so you’re meant to hit up Teen Team, but they fucking suck. And you don’t- being around them fucks with your head. Makes your ears ring, but it isn’t them, it’s whatever is wrong with you.

Atom Eve is the worst. Every time you see her, your gums ache, and you have to grit your teeth until the hot pulse gets trapped in your jaw. Force a smile like you often do in costume, because it’s all a big fat joke, right? It was-

It was supposed to be something else, but no one ever told you what.

-

You’ve always had fucked up dreams. Since you were a little kid, you figured nightmares every night were the norm. Didn’t get why Mom acted worried, but she can be fussy over dumb stuff.

(Could be. She stopped that after Dad scolded you for killing a criminal the first time.

It was an accident - it isn’t your fault the guy’s neck broke when you shoved him off the building, he could’ve grabbed onto the ledge if his reflexes weren’t shit - and Dad was just annoyed because Cecil asked you two to come in for a meeting after. You said you were sorry, you didn’t mean to, and that should’ve been the end of it.)

They get worse once you have your powers. More…confusing. Instead of dying in alleyway, or folding up tight in the dark, or endless corridors and losing yourself over and over, you feel like-

It’s like there’s someone with you. Like he’s supposed to be with you, but he isn’t. He abandoned you here. He’s the reason you’re so screwed up. He did this to you, and he didn’t, and it’s your fault and his, and you can’t ever go home.

You wake up shaking and sweating and wanting to rip open your skin so you can finally find him. It pushes you to the bathroom, lights too bright and your own feverish eyes and it isn’t right, it isn’t, but it’s close. It’s the closest you’ll get.

Blood on your fingers, and the taste is almost what you need. Almost his hurt, not just yours. You think- if you do this, if you- you need to do something else? Something to fix it all. Then you’ll be okay again, and it’ll all make sense, and you’ll be able to sleep more than an hour at a time, and you won’t feel like you’re bleeding out every time you put the suit on.

One day, you’ll fix everything. It’ll be…beautiful.

-

You’re so tired. The cowl is good for hiding it.

Nothing to see behind the black lenses, dimming the world until it doesn’t sear your eyes anymore. Wish you could wear your headphones too. The GDA gave you special earbuds to shut out the noise, but Dad doesn’t like you wearing them. He says you can’t be dependent on it. The first year was okay, but after? No fucking chance.

So you have to hear them; humanity. Does it blend into background noise? Fuck no. You just get better and better at picking out specifics, half-registering them until they’re relevant, instead of having you attention yanked to one thing or another.

Laughter and arguments and crying and moaning and screaming and praying and-

God, you want to shut all of them up. You fantasise about it; the day the world goes silent. The day you don’t have to weaken yourself just to get some peace. The day you can kill anyone who breathes too loudly in your presence - won’t that be nice?

It isn’t like Viltrum needs all these extras. They’re just here to fill background scenery. If the world could get away with it, they’d be faded out and faceless. Ha, or stilted CGI batted around during a villain attack, all using the same models until they’re turned to gore.

Kinda feels fake, right? Seeing their bodies fall apart, burn, get crushed - and you’d be just fine if you were in their place. A building falling on your head would barely hurt lately. You wouldn’t be pulped and smeared, crying out for help, forcing a fake like Invincible to intercede.

Well. You don’t always involve yourself once the action is over. It’s pretty funny to watch heroes shift rubble without realising they’ve just crushed an innocent civilian trapped in the mess. Whoopsie, haha. Add that one to the trauma log, if the debrief catches it.

-

You’re sixteen when you see your reflection, and catch sight of a wasteland’s starvation in the line of your jaw.

You start eating more, after that. Does wonders for your appetite.

-

You’re seventeen when Mom kills herself. Right on your birthday, too. What a shitty move. And here you were, thinking she had decent survival instincts to shut up about your training and never do anything to protect you from Dad.

The funeral is small, private. She didn’t have a lot of friends, but the Guardians show up in their civvie gear, along with their partners like it’s all one big get-together. Break out the barbecue and fry up some burgers, stat.

You tug at the cuffs of your blazer, play at shell-shocked because it looks better than indifference. Not much variation in practice. It isn’t like this is a big deal; she probably would’ve died during the takeover, right? It’d be a pain to try to keep her safe when she’d be obvious leverage if you or Dad cared enough.

You were thinking you’d kill her right before, if Dad didn’t object. It’d basically be a mercy - keeping her from learning everything Dad had planned. She wasn’t completely dumb, so you figure she probably guessed some of it.

“You were s’posed to be more than this,” you mutter to the gravestone, later. Alone. You sit down on the dirt, pick at the laces of your shoes. It’s raining again, but when you pour out a splash of wine before taking a swig yourself, the gross smell overwhelms the damp.

You pull a face at the taste and squint at the label. “God, how did you drink so much of this? If boozing it up was all you were after, there’s gotta be better options. I used to-”

Fuck. You didn’t used to do- anything. None of that happened to you, it didn’t, you’re just crazy. Making shit up to fill the emptiness, or whatever the fuck. Tin soldier fresh out of oil, but you’ve gotta keep moving somehow, can’t afford to be picky.

It catches like rust, sometimes. Flakes of it between your teeth, stuck in your throat. Too…heavy for rawness, but not calcified yet. Still rotting, for the most part. Always bleeding. Always, always, always.

“Could’ve at least let me hate you,” you mumble against the cold rim of the bottle. Trace Loving Mother with your fingertip, and barely resist a strikethrough. It just isn’t funny enough right now.

Maybe later. You’ll decide then whether you’ll destroy the grave, or preserve it while the rest of the world burns.

-

It was a story.

The dead girl was human.

It was a story.

She was human.

Once, you almost ask Dad if he knows what’s happening to you. If he can fix it.

When you kill him, it feels so almost-right that you laugh, and cry, and it all-

Is this it? Is this what you need? Follow the steps and- and look, hold tight to the cape, the bright yellow of it - the proof. You’re here, you’re here, and that must mean you need to kill everyone. You’re like this because you have to be the bad guy. Easy-peasy, right?

Where’s Angstrom, huh? Got an appointment to keep if you want to-

Will that happen here? Is it- maybe, it’s in the lineup. Or not. But it could be, so it isn’t like you’re going far out of your way. Isn’t any more than what you’ve already done, and-

The Empire might come one day, but it’s totally cool, because you’re Argall’s bloodline. Handy. And who knows when they’ll check in, so you’ll just pick up where Dad left off. He’d be proud of you if he, y’know, was alive and stuff.

Maybe you were too hasty but it was, it was gonna happen, it needed to, and you wanted to do it right. No distractions. No risk of someone else taking him out before you, like that one loser variant and his blown-up daddy. It had to be you because you’ll say it is, won’t you? If the story is real.

The story has to be real. He has to be real.

He’s you. He isn’t you. He’s supposed to be here and he isn’t, and you hate him, you need him. It isn’t fair.

A green portal opens up beneath this world’s powerless Angstrom’s feet after you kill his son, and you beam as it swallows him up.

“Catch you on the flipside!” you call even though he probably can’t hear you, being in another dimension and all. Guess that’s all the confirmation you need, ha.

Then you hear panicked voices a few blocks away, and your head tilts toward them.

Jeez, you’d think people would figure out that speaking is dumb when you have superhearing. The GDA broadcast a whole bunch of warnings about what you can do, early on when you and Dad were ramping up. You’ve let them keep a few satellites so the resistance can continue broadcasting and chattering to each other from bunkers, too. Not everyone’s up for depending on radio and you like to be accommodating.

But if they’re gonna have a whole damn argument after you very visibly ripped through the road and subway, you can’t imagine them doing anything cool with their puny lives.

Humans are so fucking stupid. How they’ve survived until now, you’ve no clue.

-

Time passes. You remember more. You break more. It’s a, uh, whole vicious cycle.

Then, Angstrom comes back - new and improved, and suddenly, you aren’t the biggest lunatic in the room. Invite extended and you accept, of course you accept, obviously you-

A whole new world. Make them hate Invincible. Make them fear Invincible. And you should, you know how to. Everything is clearer now, and you’ve almost reached the finale. The curtain fall is in sight.

But you see Mark Grayson on those screens, and you can’t look away. The dripping stops. The ringing stops. Your head hurts, but it feels different now. It feels…

Saliva pools in your mouth. You swallow it down. Your heart is racing, and you-

You don’t need to follow the story.