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The rooftop was quiet in that wrong sort of way: too still, too sharp, the kind of silence that presses against your ribs until breathing feels like a chore. Phoebe stood at the edge, the city lights smeared into constellations by the tears she hadn’t meant to let fall. Her hands trembled at her sides, fists clenched tight enough to leave crescent moon shaped imprints on her palm.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to anchor herself, but the moment her vision went dark the pressure in her chest surged. You messed up. You messed up. You messed everything up. The thought looped itself tighter, constricting.

Her heart skittered. Breath snagged. The back of her throat burned.

As she tried to recall the breathing exercises she researched and memorized for moments like this, the rooftop door groaned open behind her.

Phoebe didn’t turn. She didn’t have to. No one else pushed a door open like it had personally offended them.

Footsteps crossed the concrete: steady, familiar, careless but precise in the way only a lifelong troublemaker who’d grown into a hero could manage.

Max.

He stopped beside her, leaving just enough space that she didn’t feel crowded, but close enough that she felt… found.

For a moment, he said nothing.

He just breathed in the same air she did, slow, deep, grounding. Letting her borrow the rhythm.

Then, quietly:

“…You ran off before the debrief ended.”

She swallowed. “I needed a minute.”

“I noticed.” His voice was softer than rooftop wind had any right to carry. “And, shocker, I followed you. Because I’m annoying like that.”

She let out a shaky exhale that wasn’t quite a laugh.

Max leaned his elbows on the edge of the roof, glancing sideways at her. His expression was the same look he’d had when they were kids: when he’d watch her carefully in those moments between panic and breath, reading her better than she ever admitted.

“You okay?” he asked. Not demanding. Not dramatic. Just… twin brother/superhero partner/constant thorn in her side-level honest.

Phoebe tried to inhale, but her lungs felt tight again. “I messed up,” she whispered. “Tonight was— I froze, Max. I froze and the villain got away and the team—”

“Hey.” His voice cut through the spiral instantly. Not harsh—just Max. “Look at me.”

She did.

And just like always, everything slowed.

His eyes held that fierce steadiness, the kind he only ever used when she was falling apart. No teasing, not yet anyway. No smugness. Just that unwavering, grounding certainty that made every breath a little easier.

“You didn’t freeze,” he said. “You hesitated for half a second. Because you’re human. Well… superhuman. With pointy elbows. But still human-ish.”

Her throat tightened. “Max—”

“You didn’t mess up the mission,” he continued. “You just didn’t single-handedly save the day in one dramatic Phoebe Thunderman Move™. Newsflash: you don’t have to.”

Her breath trembled. “It felt like too much.”

“I know.” His voice softened further. “And I know you think being perfect is your job, but it’s not. You don’t have to hold up the whole world by yourself. You’ve got me. You’ve always had me.”

Her eyes prickled. “I hate when you’re nice to me.”

He smiled, small, lopsided, stupidly warm. “Yeah, I know. It’s no picnic for me either. So don’t get used to it.”

He nudged her shoulder gently, checking if she was steady again. When she didn’t flinch or wobble, when her breath finally evened, 

Max straightened and smirked. There it was. The transition. The switch. The homecoming.

“Also,” he said, “if you think you messed up tonight, let’s talk about how Billy tripped over a trash can during the chase. A TRASH CAN, Phoebe. A stationary object. I almost died of embarrassment on his behalf. Or perhaps it was laughter at his expense that would’ve been my ultimate downfall.”

She snorted and Max grinned like he’d won a prize.

“See? There she is,” he said, bumping her arm again.

Phoebe wiped the corner of her eye. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re dramatic.” Then, softer, “But you’re good. You’re okay. Right?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Good.” Max clapped his hands once, loud and abrupt. “Now let’s go back before the others think we fell off the roof. Or worse: bonded.”

She elbowed him. “We did not bond.”

“Right, right,” he said, throwing an arm across her shoulders and steering her toward the door. “This was purely me preventing you from having a rooftop existential meltdown. Totally different thing.”

Phoebe leaned into him just a little.

And Max, without making a big deal of it, tightened his arm around her.

———— A thundermans future-fic following Nora Thunderman’s wedding, a villain attack, family-bonding, and a few explosions along the way, but as long as the wedding cake is okay, all is well, right? No ship except Nora/OC

————

Chapter 1: Welcome to Wedding Week

The family was gathered at a luxury lakeside resort that sparkled like it knew it was about to host something important. White tents dotted the lawn, floral arches framed the water, and somewhere in the distance, a flock of doves practiced what could only be described as takeoff drills.

In short: Nora Thunderman’s wedding was about to be a production.

And Phoebe Thunderman was the stage manager.

She stood in the middle of the chaos, clipboard in hand, watching as staff carried bouquets, boxes of candles, and a suspicious number of fire extinguishers. Her phone buzzed every ten seconds with some variation of “We ran out of peonies!” or “The cake decorator fainted!” or “Is your family… normal?”

The last one got a flat, No comment.

“Phoebe!” a voice barked from behind her.

She turned just in time to see Nora,  radiant, terrifying, and wielding a binder thicker than a city phone book , striding toward her. The binder was color-coded, tabbed, and, Phoebe swore, humming with latent energy.

“We told them ivory napkins,” Nora said, flipping open the binder like she was revealing evidence in a courtroom. “Does that look ivory to you?”

Phoebe blinked at the offending table setting. “That’s—uh—technically eggshell?”

“Eggshell,” Nora repeated slowly, eyes narrowing. “I love you, sis, but if one more person says ‘technically,’ I’m going full supernova before dessert.”

“Duly noted,” Phoebe said quickly, tugging the napkin out of sight. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“I know,” Nora said, not missing a beat. “But thanks.”

From behind them came the sound of slow, deliberate clapping.

“Oh, good,” Phoebe muttered. “Because what I needed right now was a dramatic entrance.”

Max sauntered into view, all black suit, dark shades, and a smirk that screamed I’m only here for the open bar. “Wow. You really went all out, Nora. I’m almost impressed. Didn’t think the League let you host weddings this close to a potential supervillain target.”

“They don’t,” Nora said sweetly. “But I told them if anyone tries to ruin my day, I’ll personally turn them into confetti.”

Max grinned. “That’s the Thunderman spirit.”

Phoebe sighed. “Please don’t encourage her.”

“Relax,” Max said, throwing an arm around Phoebe’s shoulders. “I’m just here to play groomsman, not troublemaker.”

“You say that like those are mutually exclusive things,” she muttered, shrugging him off.

He opened his mouth for a comeback, but a soft thud interrupted them, followed by a low groan.

Max and Phoebe turned to see Billy sitting on the edge of the fountain, holding his head in his hands.

“Oh no,” Phoebe murmured. “What now?”

Max tilted his head. “Hangover already? We haven’t even hit the rehearsal dinner.”

Billy looked up, and to everyone’s surprise, he wasn’t smiling. “She’s getting married.”

“Sharp observation, Sherlock,” Max said. “I hear that’s kind of the point of weddings.”

“No, you don’t get it.” Billy’s voice cracked a little. “She’s getting married. Like, she’s gonna have a husband. A house. Maybe kids. And then what? What happens to us?”

Phoebe softened. “Billy—”

“She’s my best friend,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “We used to train together. Watch dumb movies together. Now she’s gonna be busy doing… married people things.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Gross phrasing, bro.”

Billy threw him a look. “You know what I mean!”

“Hey,” Phoebe said gently, sitting beside him. “She’s not leaving you behind. She’s just starting a new chapter. You’ll always be her brother.”

“Yeah,” Max added, crossing his arms. “Besides, you’re like, impossible to get rid of. Trust me, we’ve tried.”

That earned a weak laugh. “You really think it won’t change everything?”

Phoebe hesitated. “It’ll change something, sure. But not the part that matters.”

Before Billy could reply, Nora appeared again, binder in hand, smile sharp enough to slice glass. “Why is nobody arranging the centerpieces?”

“We’re having an emotional sibling moment,” Max said.

“Not on my schedule,” Nora replied. Then, catching Billy’s expression, her tone softened. “Hey. You good?”

Billy forced a smile. “Yeah, totally. Just… thinking.”

Nora looked at him for a long moment, then said, “Good. Because I’m thinking too, specifically about where I put the second set of embroidered napkins.” And with that, she swept away, shouting orders at a passing florist.

Phoebe sighed. “She’s going to incinerate someone before this weekend is over.”

“Place your bets now,” Max said, checking his watch. “My money’s on the DJ.”

Before Phoebe could answer, a familiar voice called from across the courtyard.

“Kids! Group photo in five!”

Hank and Barb stood by the gazebo, both beaming like they’d just won a lifetime achievement award for parenting. Barb waved her phone. “And after the photo, we need to talk to you two about something important!”

Max groaned. “If this is another ‘you’re not getting any younger’ speech, I’m jumping into the lake.”

Phoebe pressed her lips together. “Just… smile and get through it.”

As they walked over, Max muttered, “If they start hinting about grandkids, I’m using my powers.”

Phoebe snorted.

The twins stepped into position beside their siblings as the camera flashed. Behind them, the lake shimmered, birds chirped, and the photographer cooed something about “picture-perfect family moments.”

Nora smiled through clenched teeth. “Everyone look happy, or I’m rescheduling this shoot.”

And for one fleeting moment, the Thundermans did look perfect: Hank and Barb in the center with Nora between them, the twins on the right, Billy and Chloe to the left, all smiles, all love, all chaos waiting to detonate.

Phoebe exhaled, just as Max leaned toward her and whispered, “Bet you twenty bucks this is the calm before the storm.”

She didn’t even glance at him. “Max, we’re Thundermans. There’s always a storm brewing.”

————

Chapter 2: Love, Lies, and League Alerts

The rehearsal dinner was technically over, though nobody had told Max that “over” meant “stop sampling the dessert table.” He was halfway through a second slice of chocolate mousse cake when Phoebe’s phone buzzed with a familiar tone: three quick beeps, one long.

League alert.

She froze mid-sip of a well-earned cocktail. “Oh no.”

Max didn’t look up. “If that’s Mom reminding you about sunscreen again, tell her I burn heroically.”

“It’s the League,” she hissed.

That got his attention. He wiped frosting off his thumb and leaned closer as she opened the message:

Hero League Priority Notice Surveillance ping detected near Hidden Lake Resort. Possible villain reconnaissance. Agents in area advised to stay alert and maintain cover.

Phoebe’s stomach dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me. The wedding is a League-flagged hotspot?”

Max grinned. “I mean, statistically speaking, where we go, explosions follow.”

“Not funny.”

“A little funny.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “We cannot let Nora find out. If she thinks her wedding’s at risk of villain interference, she’ll—”

“—blast the venue off the map,” Max finished cheerfully. “Guess we’re on hero duty.”

Phoebe sighed. “On stealth hero duty. No powers unless absolutely necessary. Blend in. Observe. Report. Got it?”

Max gave a mock salute. “Yes, Captain Buzzkill.”

She elbowed him just as someone cleared their throat behind them.

“Excuse me,” said a voice, smooth as honey.

They turned to see a woman standing by the archway: late twenties, sleek ponytail, crisp white blazer that screamed competent but mysterious. A clipboard rested in one hand; her other was tucked casually into her pocket.

“Hi,” she said. “You must be the bride’s siblings. I’m Lana, the new assistant planner. Mr. Kessler had to step away, so I’ll be taking over coordination for the weekend.”

Phoebe blinked. “We… already have a planner.”

Lana smiled politely. “Of course. I’m just helping out with logistics.” Her eyes flicked to Phoebe’s phone, the League message still half-visible on the screen. “Busy evening?”

Phoebe slid the phone behind her back. “Just, uh… group chat.”

Max, meanwhile, was grinning like someone had just handed him a new toy. “Well, Lana, welcome to the family circus. You sure you know what you’re signing up for?”

“After what I’ve seen tonight?” Lana said smoothly. “I think I can handle it.”

She turned to check the seating chart, and Max mouthed wow behind her back.

Phoebe groaned. “Oh no. Not now.”

“What?” Max whispered. “I’m just being friendly.”

“You’re being you,” she whispered back. “Flirting with potential suspects is not subtle or tactical.”

He shrugged. “Hey, if she’s evil, I’ll charm the intel right out of her.”

Phoebe stared. “That’s not a tactic. That’s a lifestyle problem.”

Lana looked back over her shoulder. “Something wrong?”

Phoebe forced a smile. “Nope! Everything’s great. Just sibling… coordination.”

“Wonderful,” Lana said. “Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll do a quick security check on the ballroom doors.”

She strode off, phone pressed to her ear.

The twins watched her disappear down the corridor.

Phoebe muttered, “Nobody does a ‘security check’ at ten p.m. on a wedding rehearsal night.”

Max tilted his head. “Unless she’s thorough. Or dangerous. Or both.”

“Exactly why you should not be giving her your ‘I like trouble’ face.”

He smirked. “I have more than one ‘I like trouble’ face.”

She swatted him. “Max.”

He held up his hands. “Relax. I’ll keep an eye on her. Discreetly.”

Phoebe narrowed her eyes. “Your version of discreet involves sunglasses indoors.”

“Stylish and subtle.”

Phoebe grabbed his arm before he could follow Lana. “No. You’re not going anywhere near her alone. We investigate together.”

Max grinned. “Team Thundertwins back in action?”

“Team ‘Don’t Ruin Nora’s Wedding,’” she corrected.

He looked genuinely amused. “That’s a terrible team name.”

“Then try not to make it prophetic.”

From across the courtyard, Nora’s voice rang out: “Phoebe! I need you to re-alphabetize the seating chart again! I think the order ‘feels more romantic’ if names flow clockwise!”

Phoebe closed her eyes. “Of course it does.”

Max chuckled. “I’ll start shadowing Lana. You handle Bridezilla.”

“No,” Phoebe said instantly.

He was already walking backward, hands in pockets, grinning. “Relax, sis. What’s the worst that could happen?”

She glared. “You just jinxed it.”

As Max sauntered after the suspiciously competent assistant, Phoebe’s communicator buzzed again. A second League message flashed:

Confirmed: Tech theft cell suspected in area. Motive unknown. Maintain vigilance.

Phoebe glanced at her brother’s retreating figure and muttered under her breath, “Vigilance is going to be impossible.”

From somewhere near the patio came Max’s voice, faint but cocky: “Hey, Lana, so, uh, do you believe in fate?”

Phoebe groaned and buried her face in her hands. “We are so doomed.”

————

Chapter 3: Villains, Vibes, and Very Unwanted Introductions

By the next morning, the resort looked like a Pinterest board had exploded. Ribbons, flowers, and glass lanterns glimmered across the courtyard. It was all picture-perfect, if you ignored the faint hum of Phoebe’s Hero League communicator tucked in her blazer pocket.

She hadn’t slept much. Between keeping an eye on the “assistant planner” and deflecting Nora’s midnight meltdown about the wrong shade of hydrangea, her nerves were frayed.

Max, of course, looked annoyingly rested.

He strolled up, hands in pockets, sunglasses in place, smirk firmly installed. “Morning, sis. Sleep well?”

“Like a hero whose brother didn’t sneak off with the prime suspect,” Phoebe muttered.

Max grinned. “Relax. Lana’s clean, probably. I ran into her at the coffee bar. We talked shop.”

“Shop,” Phoebe echoed. “As in?”

“As in wedding logistics,” he said innocently. “And, you know, hobbies. She likes skydiving. I like things that explode. It’s basically fate.”

Phoebe glared. “Max, she was accessing a locked staff room last night.”

He shrugged. “Maybe she was doing planner stuff.”

“Or maybe she’s a villain scouting her next heist.”

He gave her a sideways look. “You say that about everyone who makes eye contact with me.”

“That’s because you have a type.”

He pointed at her. “That was uncalled for and possibly accurate.”

Before Phoebe could retort, Barb appeared out of nowhere, which was impressive, considering she was wearing heels and carrying a tray of muffins.

“There you are, sweetie!” Barb beamed. “Oh, and Max, you’re here too, wonderful. Now, Phoebe, come meet someone!”

Phoebe’s stomach sank. “Someone…?”

Hank followed behind, ushering along a tall, awkwardly smiling man in a suit. “This is Trevor! He’s Evan’s coworker. Works in tech, just like him. Great guy.”

Trevor extended a hand. “Hey! I heard you’re the maid of honor-slash-superhero. That’s so cool!”

Phoebe blinked. “Um. Thanks. But I’m, um, kind of busy helping my sister right now.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Barb said, gently nudging her forward. “You can take five minutes to chat. It’s good to network!”

Max leaned against a pillar, biting back laughter. “Oh, this is gold.”

Phoebe shot him a look that could melt steel. “Not. A. Word.”

Trevor smiled nervously. “So, uh… what do you do when you’re not saving the world?”

“Mostly prevent him from ending it,” she said, jerking a thumb toward Max.

“Hey,” Max protested. “I haven’t ended anything in at least five years.”

Hank clapped Trevor on the shoulder. “Great sense of humor, this family. Anyway, Phoebe, Trevor’s single, you’re single—”

“Dad!” she hissed, mortified.

Max was openly laughing now. “Please continue. This is the best wedding breakfast I’ve ever attended.”

“Max!” she snapped. “Don’t you have somewhere else to—”

Her communicator buzzed. She turned slightly away, pretending to adjust her hair. The League message glowed faintly against her palm:

Update: Unauthorized transmissions intercepted from resort’s staff network. Possible target confirmed: prototype tech belonging to Evan Kline.

Phoebe froze. Evan? Nora’s fiancé?

Trevor blinked. “You okay?”

“Fine!” she said quickly. “Totally fine. Gotta—uh—check on the cake!”

She hurried off before anyone could question it. Behind her, she heard Max still laughing.

“Trevor, she’s just shy,” Barb said. “You have to give her time.”

“Oh, I don’t think time’s the issue,” Max muttered, grinning.

Phoebe ducked into the service hallway behind the ballroom and activated her wrist comms. “League, this is Thundergirl. Confirm that target is Kline prototype?”

Confirmed. Kline neural-energy converter is registered with the League’s tech division. Intelligence suggests a group called Villain Syndicate plans to acquire it at the wedding. Maintain low profile.

She exhaled sharply. “Low profile. Right. At a wedding with my entire family.”

She rounded a corner, and nearly collided with Max.

“Why are you everywhere I am?” she demanded.

“Because where you go, the drama goes,” he said cheerfully. “Also, I saw you sprint off mid-conversation with Mr. Awkward Tech Guy. I had to know why.”

She held up her comm device. “The villains are after Evan’s prototype. They’re already inside.”

She glared. “Maybe if you actually tailed Lana, instead of flirted all night, we would have some information.”

Max smirked. “Don’t jump to conclusions.”

Before she could stop him, he pulled a small scanner from his jacket, one of his own modifications, judging by the blinking red lights and slightly concerning humming noise.

“Max,” she warned, “if that explodes—”

“It won’t,” he said confidently. Then, after a beat: “Probably.”

The scanner emitted a sharp ping. They both froze.

“Source?” Phoebe whispered.

Max pointed toward the ballroom. “Back corner, near the gift table.”

Phoebe exhaled. “Of course. Right next to the thousand-dollar floral arrangement.”

They crept toward the ballroom doors. Through the small glass window, Phoebe saw Lana speaking to a pair of caterers, only the caterers’ uniforms looked off. Too new. Too stiff. Their nametags were blank.

“Suspicious enough for you now?” she murmured.

Max tilted his head. “Still could be normal catering incompetence.”

One of the “caterers” discreetly slid a small device beneath the tablecloth.

“Or,” he added, “not.”

Before they could intervene, a familiar voice behind them said, “Kids!”

They both jumped. Barb and Hank were standing there, smiling far too widely. Hank was waving a young man in a polo shirt over.

“This is Ryan!” Barb said brightly. “He’s a physical therapist from Metroburg. He’s single!”

Phoebe closed her eyes. “Please, just please stop doing this.”

Max turned around, grinning ear to ear. “Oh, no, please don’t. I’m living for this subplot.”

Phoebe clenched her jaw. “Mom, Dad, I am literally in the middle of—”

Max cut her off smoothly. “A top-secret hero mission,” he said loudly. “That’s code for ‘trying to get a date.’”

Phoebe’s elbow found his ribs. Hard.

“OW—okay, okay! Message received, Ice Queen.”

Ryan blinked. “So… should I come back later?”

“Yes!” Phoebe said. “Or never! Never’s fine too!”

Barb frowned. “Phoebe, sweetheart, we just want you to be happy.”

“I’d be happier if you’d stop setting me up during potential villain attacks.”

Hank laughed like she was joking. “That’s our Phoebe, always the dramatic one.”

They finally walked off, leaving Phoebe glaring daggers at Max.

He grinned. “I’m just saying, if you end up single forever, it won’t be for lack of parental effort.”

“Max,” she said, “you’re insufferable.”

He winked. “And yet you’d be lost without me.”

“Debatable.”

A muffled click came from the ballroom, the sound of metal meeting metal. They both turned.

Phoebe’s expression hardened. “Let’s move.”

Max grinned, flexing his fingers. “Finally.”

And together, the twins slipped into the ballroom, unaware that Lana’s cool gaze was already following them and that beneath the gift table, the device’s red light had just begun to blink.