#deityintraining

He’d called the night before, speaking with his mother and telling her he’d planned on being home. This had been after ‘missing’ about four of her calls the week before, something he felt intensively guilty for. But, this was Mrs. Kaplan, and of course she had planned on him for Hanukkah, and of course she had made up his old bed. Saying goodbye to Doctor Strange, he had gathered a bag and his cane, and stepped outside of the Sanctum. Of course, there was no way he was quite ready to navigate New York City alone, even if it was a grid system, so instead, he simply teleported himself. His parents knew about the magic, though the process of telling them had been a hilarious ordeal. One morning, while he sat at the breakfast table (something he was notoriously bad at doing, and constantly getting chastised by his mother for), he had taken a deep breath, looked between the two, and told them that he had something to tell them. It might be hard to accept, he had said, and then his mother had chimed in. Of course they knew he was gay, she’d replied softly, smiling. His father hadn’t known until his mother told him. They were warm, accepting, and... happy for him. It had taken him three months after that to tell them that he was a reality-warping magic user with lightning powers. He chuckled as he recalled it, shaking his head and ringing the doorbell. He had a set of keys somewhere, but the idea of fumbling with all of that on the front step was not very appealing. So instead he waited nervously, wondering how exactly to tell his parents that he hadn’t given them the whole truth. They’d have plenty of time for that... maybe after his brothers had gone to bed. In the end, it was still mostly the same - something weird was going on, and he was going to try to find an explanation. Maybe even a way to turn everything around. But Teddy had been right about that - he needed to tell them everything. As his mother opened the door, he could almost sense her smile, soft but slightly concerned, that face she always made when he came home from school a little roughed up, or when he seemed down. “Billy,” she said softly, and after only another moment, he was enveloped in a gentle but firm hug, pulling him close. The warm familiarity of the embrace made him sigh softly in relief, relaxing tension he didn’t realize he’d been gathering in his shoulders, stiff from nerves. She pulled away, placing a delicate hand on his cheek, pausing to look at him, probably. His mother was a psychologist, and Billy knew that there were things going on in her head that she would not say to him. But after a moment, she took his hand, leading him in. “Boys! Your brother is here!” she called up the stairs. The door had barely closed and he’d only had a moment to set his things down before the sound of someone barreling down the stairs at full speed echoed through the room, and a small boy of about chest height was there, hugging him around his middle. He laughed, running a hand over his hair before pulling him in with one hand on the kid’s back, a small smile on his face. “Asher, your hair’s getting long,” he said as the kid finally pulled back. He looked down to where his brother was definitely standing, even though he couldn’t see him. “How did you know?” the boy asked quizzically, and Billy laughed. “I felt it, you goof,” he poked his shoulder, and the boy laughed too, swatting him away. “Come sit down, Billy,” His mother, Rebecca, offered. “We’ve rearranging the living room a bit. Asher, help your brother,” she instructed. The young boy took Billy by the arm, pulling him over to the couch as he began talking, a build up of things he must have wanted to tell Billy for a very long time. “I got into the school play. It’s called The Mitten. We’re gonna be animals hiding in a Mitten. I don’t know how we’re all going to fit in a Mitten, it’s probably a really big Mitten-” he started, pausing to take a breath. “We’re here. That’s the couch, you’re standing in front of it, so if you sit down-” “Ash, I still know how to sit,” he chastised softly. The boy sat down beside him, and kept talking. “Oh, yeah. Duh. Okay. Well, anyway. I got a new menorah this year because you know how the other one got ruined last year because I knocked it over?” “And set the placemat on fire? How could I forget?” “Yeah, okay, well, listen. I got one that looks like a T-Rex. It’s really awesome. It’s basically the best menorah ever, Ben’s jealous-” “I am not, dweeb,” came the less interested voice from the staircase, the affectation of a newly teenage boy who was a little too cool for being excited about dinosaur menorahs. Still, he came down the stairs and sat on the opposite couch. “Hey, Billy,” “Hey Ben,” Billy called, throwing an arm around his littlest brother’s shoulders. The sound of footsteps from the kitchen announced the arrival of the final Kaplan. His father had a tendency to do most of the cooking, though his mother (when she found the time) was exceptional at baking. He could sense his presence almost immediately. It was at once gentle and warm, and the feeling of his family all in one room was enough to make him hug his brother just a little more tightly, smiling sadly. “Hi Dad,” he called, wondering if he had taken the man by surprise at all. It sounded like only a little bit in his answer, pausing just a moment to understand that Billy had probably heard his footsteps. “Hello, Son. Happy Hanukkah,” he said. “Dad, it’s not dark yet,” Asher called from his position on the couch. “Oh, my mistake,” he laughed. “Happy Almost Hanukkah,” Billy laughed too, shaking his head. “Are you making latkes? Do I smell latkes?” he asked. Even if he hadn’t smelled them, he knew that it was a tradition for the family. Dad made latkes right before the sun was about to go down, and then after they lit the hanukiah, they’d eat latkes and play dreidel and his mother would tell the story of the Maccabean Revolt. “Yes- I’m trying a new recipe this year-” he spoke over Ben, who was telling Asher in a flat tone that you could still wish someone a Happy Hanukkah when it was light out, the younger replying with a ‘How would you know, you stopped going to temple after your bar mitzvah-’ “Ben, be nice to your brother,” Rebecca started. “Asher, you too. Ben is a big boy and can make his own choices,” she chastised, the sound of her footsteps signalling that she’d made her way over to the end table by the window to set up for the candle lighting. The five of them talked like nothing had changed, filling each other in on the more trivial areas of their lives, enjoying each other’s company, just as the first day of Hanukkah always was for them. After the candles were lit and latkes were eaten - this time without applesauce, because Jeff had put some sort of cheese and herbs in them tonight - they played dreidel, which involved Ben and Asher getting into an argument when Asher had tried to cheat against Billy. The three of them ended up laughing anyway, and the boys were sent up to bed with a small handful of chocolate coins. It was then that Rebecca, Jeff, and Billy sat down at the kitchen table with hot cocoa (though Billy smelled coffee, and suspected that was what his mother was drinking), a more solemn air filling the room. “Billy, sweetheart. How have you been?” Rebecca finally broke the silence, and Billy knew this was why they were sitting there, full of latkes and chocolate, and yet the feeling between them was somber. “I’m all right, Mom. I actually... wanted to talk to you two, tonight,” he started nervously, wrapping his hands around the warm mug in front of him, offering a mild tactile comfort as he took a deep breath. “You can always talk to us, son,” Jeff responded, shifting slightly in his chair. He did that when he was nervous, just like Billy did. He could hear it. “I... haven’t told you everything that happened. I’m sorry. I know I’ve been vague, maybe even misleading. And... it wasn’t... I shouldn’t have. I just... didn’t want you two to worry about me,” he said, trying to keep his voice strong despite not feeling very confident at all. “William. We’re always going to worry about you, whether you’re all right or not. That’s a parent’s responsibility,” Rebecca said with a sigh, reaching over to pry one of Billy’s hands away from the mug, squeezing it. “You can tell us anything.” “I know,” Billy took a deep breath. “I know. Mom... Dad, I... don’t remember what happened to me. Not exactly,” he began, the two going quiet in order to give him time to speak. “I went on a mission. I don’t... remember the mission. I don’t remember anything, except waking up blind. And something is weird, you know? About the whole thing. So when I told you it was temporary, I sort of meant... that I think it could be,” he cringed, knowing that was the worst news right there. “There are a lot of unanswered questions, and this... could be permanent, but... I have this... this feeling it’s not. I have to figure it out. I... I’m working on it, now. I wasn’t for a while, but I am, now.” There was a solemn silence from his parents, heavy, but Billy did not sense surprise or shock. Finally, his father spoke. “Thank you for telling us, son. We had already discussed the possibility... It’s not like you to avoid us,” he spoke. “Though it is like you to ignore my calls, William Jacob Kaplan,” Rebecca added. There it was. He cringed. “Sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have,” he mumbled, lifting his hot chocolate up to take a sip. “You’re right, you shouldn’t have, we were worried about you,” she added. “I know, I know. I -” he couldn’t say he wouldn’t do it again, because he knew he would. But... “I’ll keep you updated. Better. I promise. Oh! That reminds me,” he added, changing the subject. “I was wondering... if I could invite someone over tomorrow night. For Dad’s famous latkes, and your sufganiyot, mom?” The feeling in the air changed immediately, and he could hear a smile in his mother’s voice. “Someone?” “Uh, yeah. My.. friend. His name is Teddy,” he said, and he could practically feel his parents look at each other. “He... helped me a lot. He’s the one that... helped me realize I should tell you everything that’s going on,” he admitted the last part a little reluctantly. “He’s not Jewish, but.. I thought it would be neat to... share it with him.” “Well, Billy, we’d be honored to have him,” his father said, without hesitation. “I’ll plan for one extra for dinner tomorrow,” he added. “Yes, I’d love to meet this Teddy, especially if he can convince you to call your mother,” Rebecca half joked, standing up and taking Billy’s empty mug. “Your bedroom is just the way you left it, if you’re tired,” she added, giving him an easy out. “Yeah, you know, I think I am. It’s been a long day,” he stood, grabbing his cane and pushing in his chair. “Thanks, Mom. Dad. I’m... glad I’m here,” he added. “We’re glad you’re here too, dear,” his mother put a hand on his shoulder, leaning in to kiss his forehead. “Goodnight, Billy.” “Goodnight,” he smiled, stepping carefully around her and making his way up to his room without much issue, so that he could text Teddy about the next day. The reality warper slept better than he had in a long time, slipping quickly to sleep after he’d used voice recognition to text the shapeshifter, not wanting to call him too late at night. He awoke in the morning to his phone alerting him that he had a message, listening as the robotic voice came through in Teddy’s vernacular. The blond was coming over for dinner. This filled him with all kinds of thoughts, and for a moment, he simply held his phone, smiling up at the ceiling.

He wondered idly how many of those millions of people had felt the same way. Perhaps all of them, he thought, sitting up slowly as the heavy blankets of his too-large bed pooled around his waist, and he rubbed absently at his sightless eyes, then covered a yawn. Of all the things to come to terms with, he imagined that the darkness might have been a major challenge in most of these other people’s adjustment periods. And yet, the fact that he was not alone only consoled him so much. Even at his best, Billy was prone to bouts of depression, though few had been so severe as this. The first two weeks after his return from medical had barely seen him leave bed, shower, or eat. As time wore on, he began slowly resuming day to day behaviors, though more often than not with a significant amount of prompting. There was something that nagged at the back of his mind, telling him to push forward. If there was one thing he knew, it was that the impossible had been done many times before he had ever wanted to do it. Whether or not a doctor had said he would never regain his sight meant very little. It all depended on how he lost his sight in the first place, something he could... simply not remember. He remembered very little about that entire mission, and anyone who had any way of knowing likewise had not divulged any theories or information. It all struck him as very... uncertain, and there was almost something comforting about that. Even so, on his more optimistic days, he would tell himself that it didn’t matter. There were blind superheroes. He could be one. He was a magic user. He was a reality warper. He really didn’t need his sight, did he? Here he was, feeling depressed, and he already had so many things going for him. So many positives in such a terrible situation. And worse than that, he knew how much his colleagues and friends worried. Even if they had mostly left him to convalesce, keeping their distance due to obligations and missions and concern, he knew that if he didn’t show some sort of improvement, eventually... well. Actually, he didn’t know much, because depression was a tricky thing that met his reason with negativity and lies. But he knew that he had to do something, now. He stood cautiously, but with practiced and determined confidence. He really felt very little determination or confidence, but in times like these, sometimes the behaviors came before the feelings. That was all right, he reasoned. These things took time. He moved to his closet where he chose a pair of comfortable trousers, and a soft shirt made of a light, soothing material that realistically speaking, he could sleep in. He was getting dressed today, yes, and that was an improvement - but he wasn’t exactly dressing to the nines. The fact that he wasn’t wearing pajamas was, in his mind, triumph enough already. Washing his face and readying himself for the day, he pushed his hair in the general direction of his part and hoped for the best, groping around near the doorway of his room for his cane. His room was set up neatly and in a surprisingly organized fashion in direct opposition to his mental state, making it relatively seamless for him to navigate all of his necessary amenities. The same, of course, for the bathroom, where his toothbrush was placed to the right of the sink, his washcloths on the rack and his face wash on the left. He recognized a thin bottle near his face-wash as his hairspray, and had thought on several occasions that it was odd that someone had put it there, since he couldn’t see the hair he was spraying and probably had better hope of it looking decent without the aid of something to hold it in what potentially could be the wrong place. Still, if someone had put it there for him and it hadn’t been leftover from the last time he used it, he supposed it was kind at the very least. His hair was unruly at best, but on good hair days at least it all flipped the same way. Feeling at least remotely presentable - this was an outfit that he’d go to the supermarket in, perhaps, but not out to dinner - he started down the hall, using his cane to make sure there was nothing in his walking range. He actually had to smile the smallest half-quirk of his lips as he thought about going out to dinner - that was something he hadn’t even entertained the thought of in weeks. Getting better was a slow process, in every sense, but as he made his way to the main area of the Sanctum, he couldn’t help but feel the smallest bit of hope growing deep in his chest.