Daz' Consequences

Summary: Daz grew up with a Hero in the family. That's probably why she's the furthest thing from one.

Tagged with: Violence, ghosts, light gore, family trauma

The lip isn’t split so badly that she needs stitches, so Daz sorts through the kit on the counter for a thin bandage. She gingerly presses it over the wound and studies the results. If she can get the swelling to go down, she’ll be able to tell her work that it’s a cold sore. Embarrassing, but safe.

Ha.

Safe.

She sweeps the last of the blood-soaked pads of gauze into the bathroom trash before limping back out into the bedroom. Lumps of shredded fabric litter the carpet, blood-soaked and already dry and flaking. Her mask is torn nearly in half down the ridge of the nose piece. Not salvageable. This costume will need to go in the trash too. Once her cracked ribs let her bend over anyway.

Daz’ stomach growls just as she’s trying to figure out how she’s going to climb into bed with her hip freshly popped back into socket. Maybe if she sort of flops over onto the duvet and rolls…? Her stomach growls again and she scowls down at it. Between sleeping and eating, she knows which she’d prefer. But she’s hardly going to heal running on fumes. “Fine.” She leaves her room to go to the kitchen and stops in her tracks.

There’s a ghost sitting at the kitchen table.

“Not tonight,” Daz says. She reaches out for the doorframe blindly, unable to take her eyes off the man in front of her. It’s the same damn shirt as that day, the same dress pants--! “Please, please not today.”

Her father doesn’t hear her. He carefully flips a page of the binder in front of him, head moving as he slowly reads each line. It’s dark in her apartment, too dark to read, but her father isn’t squinting. It was sunny the day he read that paper and he wasn’t here at her table. He was at his own table, her mother next to him, waiting for Daz to come down for breakfast.

Daz squeezes her eyes shut. She doesn’t need this today. She’d hoped her powers were too exhausted from the fight to do this. Usually, she can control them so that the past whispers answers to her, locations and dates and witnesses, bits of information that she can process and use. This is…it’s cruel.

And she’s doing it to herself.

Her dad looks up as if hearing someone above him. She watches his eyes track the ceiling, following someone’s steps. His hand flexes on the table and opens. Her mother had taken his hand in comfort as they waited for her to come down. Daz imagines her sitting there, mouth pressed thin but eyes warm. It’s not fair Daz’ powers only conjure him.

When he follows her footsteps down the stairs, her father’s eyes meets both past Daz’ eyes and current Daz’ chin at the same time.

Daz can’t resist. “Morning.”

“Morning,” her father says at the same time. He reaches up as if to run a hand through his dark hair only to stop with a wince. His head is wrapped in white bandages and bruises like oil stains peak out by his hairline. “Sleep well, sweetheart?”

No, past Daz says. You think I could sleep well after—after that?

“You should have gone to the doctor,” Daz says. She limps to the table and claims the seat across from her father. As a kid, she didn’t see the strain around his eyes or the way he clutches her mother’s hand for support.  She just saw her father bandaged and weak and too stupid to back down from a fight he wasn’t supposed to win.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually,” he says. He looks to his left at where her mother was. He clears his throat and focuses back on Daz. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you’d, uh, gone to bed.”

You dripped blood all over the house, past Daz says. Even if I was asleep, I would have known.

“Not a good excuse,” Daz murmurs. She rubs at her temple. She should just get something to eat and go to bed. “An apology would’ve been better.”

“Right,” her dad says. He tries to smile. “You’re just like your mom, you know. Too observant.”

I’ve got school. What did you wanna say?

Daz wishes she hadn’t been so angry. She can’t blame herself for it either. She reaches across the table and rests her hand next to where her parents’ hands are clasped. Back then, it’d seemed cruel for him to pretend everything was okay after coming home half-dead. And to compare her to her too observant mother, a civilian who uncovered the identity of the great Mr. Rescue…

Her mother signed up to marry a Hero. Daz never wanted her father to be anything more than a dad.

“I got hurt,” her dad says. He’s not smiling now. His eyes are level with current Daz’ chin, past Daz’ eyes. He sighs. “I got hurt. It sucks but it happens. I didn’t want you to see it, but you did. That happens too. But remember, yesterday I came home. That’s what you gotta remember, okay? I came home.”

The silence stretches. Neither of her parents had twitched as they waited for past Daz to speak. Past Daz was waiting for her father to say more. To apologize for frightening her by coming in through the door like one of the ghosts that haunted her.

Daz almost didn’t make it home today. Her body aches even sitting here, back screaming at her to lay down. She thinks about what she’d say to her own child (if she had one) and they found her drenched in blood at 3am. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I put you through this.”

Something like that.

…is that it? Mom, are you serious? You don’t see the problem here?

“It’s his decision, Daz,” Daz says, echoing her mother. It seems unfair that her dad gets to say all these things again while her mother’s voice fades from her memory with every passing day. “He’s a Hero and that comes with consequences.”

“Yes, it does.”  Her dad nods to the binder in front of him. She can’t make out the pictures in the dark. She doesn’t need to. It’s always them, the boy and girl her father rescued from the Supervillain’s lair. Her age, but not her. His eyes trace their faces like they’re the ones he’s supposed to love. “The job I do is important, kiddo. They’re hard consequences, but I would accept them again every day if I could save one more life.”

I know.

“We’ve talked about what that means for us, right?”

Yeah.

Her father raises his eyebrows. “You said a lot of stuff last night that made it sound like you forgot.”

God, past Dazeah says. I wonder why I didn’t react well to you collapsing in the living room?

“I told you that I need support,” her father says. Only now is his voice getting a little louder, a little harder. “Because my work is hard enough as it is. Your words last night upset me.”

I do support you, Dad, but last night was—

“A consequence.”

You act like I’m the weird one here. It’s not normal that I have to wonder if you’re gonna be dead when I come home. It is normal for me to upset about it!

“You had a family,” Daz tells her father’s ghost. “You were the selfish one. Not me.”

“It’s not your issue to be upset about.” He frowns at her, square jaw jutting forward. Do you think those kids are upset I rescued them? Do you think I should have stayed out of it?”

Of course not, I know they wanted to be rescued. But I’m not talking about them--

“They were going to die. It was about them. How do you think their parents felt?”

Dad, I’m not trying to say—

“No. No, you’re being selfish, Dazeah. I was called in, so I went.”

He was an S-Class villain—

“I’m a hero. No matter the odds, that’s my job.”

“You were always looking to leave,” Daz says. She can see it now in his defensiveness. The way his hand is white-knuckled around her mother’s. He yelled until he got his way because that’s all he ever wanted. He loved them and he wanted to leave them. Being a hero let him do both.

You scared me, past Daz says. She says, like a confession, I thought you were a ghost. She’d thought that the reminder of her new powers would get him to soften. She just wanted him to love her enough to apologize for almost dying in her arms.

Little Dazeah was naïve.

“You fear can’t hold me back,” her father says. It’s a line he used to say to her mother again and again. “I was made to do what I do.”

Then maybe I should--

“Dazeah, your powers are growing,” Daz says in her mother’s voice. “We understand how scary that is. I’m sure that’s why you’re overreacting, right?”

Her mother’s voice had been gentle. Kind. Now, Daz snarls the words. Overreacting. She was always overreacting, her fear unreasonable in the face of all the good her father did.

Past Dazeah couldn’t say no to Mom. Mom who cried harder than Dazeah every time one of her father’s fights got televised or went on too long.

Maybe, Dazeah says in a small voice. I-I guess that could be it.

And the tension in her father’s shoulders melts away. He smiles at her, his dark eyes glitter as he leans back in his chair. “I knew it had to be something like that. My Dazzy is the real hero, right? Nothing can scare us from doing the right thing.”

The right thing tore her family apart.

You’re right. Sorry. I just…I love you.

“I know you’re just worried. Let’s be better support next time, okay?”

…yeah.

“That’s my girl. Hurry up and eat, you’re going to be late for school.”

“You were such an asshole,” Daz says. She leans back in her chair and watches him. Back then she’d not eaten at all. Just gotten up from the table and walked out the door. It’s only because of her power that she can see how her parents sat in silence after she left. “You couldn’t handle the real consequence; your actions and their effects on me. On mom. You were weak in ways I can’t forgive.”

“She’ll come around,” her father says. He releases her mother’s hand and pats the air where it would have been. “She’s like you.”

Daz isn’t like either of her parents. She stands painfully, rounds the table to walk towards the fridge. She pauses at his side and stares at the top of his head. He’d always seemed larger than life when he was alive. It’s strange to look down on his ghost. Even stranger to be so cold inside where she once only felt a sick combination of love and guilt.

“I won’t die like you,” she tells him.

“My little sidekick,” her father says fondly. She doesn’t know what her mother must’ve said to prompt the words.

“Sorry, Dad,” Daz says and turns her back on him completely. “No sidekicks here. Only villains.”

---------.

Daz is planning to lay low for a few weeks until her wounds heal, but the universe always has other plans. Her split lip has barely closed and her ribs are still protesting when the Super fight happening in downtown starts drifting their way.

“Maybe it won’t hit us,” Andrea says, biting her lip. She’s leaning against the snack table with the remote clutched in the fist pressed to her chest. She looks over her shoulder at the rows of sleeping toddlers. “We’re not on the main road.”

“The bus is still at the mechanics,” Mel says. Unlike Andrea, there’s no panic in her voice. The older woman tends to go monotone when the situation is really bad. The last time Daz heard that tone of voice, they couldn’t find two of the children in their care.

The situation is much worse now. Stormchaser, a Hero with the ability to manipulate the weather, throws the villains with wind. They hit  one of the news helicopters circling above the fight and Daz hears the crash outside before it echoes on TV.

For any other villain, the fight would be over after a fight like that. Daz doesn’t need to see the shaky footage of Crusher smashing his way out of a building to know he’s going to get up.

Daz starts taking off her apron. “Andrea, you take the kids to the basement. Mel, call the Nathan’s mom and have her get the phone tree started. Pickups will be delayed until the fight is done.”

“We’re registered,” Andrea says desperately. Already twenty and still convinced that heroes always save the day. “We’re a school zone, they can’t come here!”

“Mel, help Andrea,” Daz says. She grabs the keys to the building and heads for the door. “Check the news before you come out.”

“Wait, Ms. Daz, you can’t go out there—”

Daz closes and locks the door behind her. Mel is the most capable woman Daz has ever hired. She’ll get Andrea and the kids into the basement. It’ll take time to wake 12 toddlers and shepherd them down the stairs, however.

It’s Daz’ job is to buy them that time.

Her car is parked in front of the preschool. A large SUV that’s big enough to hold a body or two if she needs it. Daz climbs in, slamming the door and starting it in the same motion. The clouds overhead make it hard to pick out the dust clouds coming off of Crusher’s rampage. Her heart sinks when she hears the sound of asphalt meeting metal.

He’s coming this way.

Daz pulls a spare mask out of the glove box. The black leather feels good against her flushed face. It won’t do her much good when she’s driving a car registered in her real name, but  it’s like putting on armor or a uniform.

“Ms. Demise, reporting for duty,” she murmurs. She thinks of her father always shouting his name before ever fight. Mr. Rescue, here to save the day! Funny.

When Crusher appears, it’s like a bomb went off. He lunges throughthe bakery on the corner, charging through the brick and glass like they were made of paper. When the dust clears, he’s scowling up at the sky, a beefy hand pressed over his mask-less face.

Villains who don’t wear masks never have anything to lose.

“COME DOWN HERE,” Crusher bellows at the sky. He stomps and the asphalt cracks under his foot. “FIGHT ME. FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN.”

Stormchaser descends from the clouds with his arms spread wide. “You’ve lost Crusher! Your minions are in Hero Force custody. Surrender!”

Daz shifts into drive.

Crusher growls and chucks a hunk of asphalt. Stormchaser is a beat too slow, like always. The asphalt clips his ankle and he’s sent spiral into the display window of the dry cleaners only a block away from Daz.

Crusher throws back and laughs.

Daz hits him going 80 miles per hour. Her car pushes him because he’s too big to fly over her car and it’s like she’s caught in an earthquake. The car shudders and bucks as she floors it. Her hood caves around his body with the sickening sound of bending metal and crunching bones. She slams on her brakes before she hits anything and he pops out like a ragdoll, eyes rolled to the back of his head.

Daz stares out her front windshield and desperately tries to catch her breath. He’s not flipping her car over and seeking bloody vengeance. That means he’s out.

For now.

Daz closes her eyes and reaches for her power. She needs to know how to contain Crusher. A man like him is too dangerous to be near her preschool and her children.

When she opens her eyes, the street is filled with ghosts.

Men and women walk down the sidewalks dressed in clothing from the late 80s. Blood runs from them until it floods the street. They died when the villain Leviathan flattened this neighborhood. There’s a woman standing on the roof of one building. As Daz watches, she falls backwards as if she were pushed. A man walks towards a manhole and falls through the lid like it isn’t there. During his time, it wasn’t.

Daz isn’t interested in any of them. She’s interested in the ghosts that are standing in a ring around Crusher, staring through her windshield. Daz falls out of her car and faces them.

“Tell me what I need,” she orders. The dead that she calls can’t disobey her. Even her father has to listen unless her subconscious is holding the reins. “Quickly.”

“Knife,” a man in a striped shirt tells her. The villain known as Robber, Crusher’s first partner. His chest is caved in on one side. He sneers down at Crusher. “Slice him ear to ear.”

“He killed me,” one person says. They pat at their head. A quarter of it is missing as if it never was. Their lone, blue eye wells with tears. “I was on my way to school—”

“Enough.” Daz wants to throw up. This is why she hates her powers. She turns to a woman dressed in a singed evening gown. There are the tattered remains of a mask hung around her neck and blood dribbling from the side of her ruby red lips. “You’re Lady Justice.”

Lady Justice nods once, brown eyes glittering with interest as she looks down at Crusher.

“Tell me how to restrain him,” Daz says. Lady Justice stares at her silently. Daz frowns and pours more power into her command. “Now.”

“Power suppressors,” Lady Justice whispers. Blood pours from her mouth and Daz knows why she didn’t speak. Crusher broke her jaw before she died. “On the hero.”

Daz runs for the dry cleaners, throwing open the door without care of the glass littering the ground. Stormchaser is lying in front of the reception’s desk, barely waking up. His ankle is a twisted mess and, as he returns to consciousness, his breath speeds up.

“What…happened…?” He manages to wheeze as Daz approaches. His eyes widen as he recognizes her mask. “Ms. Demise--!”

Daz lunges for the cuffs pinned to his utility belt. Alarmed, he swats at her arms. His wind rattles the hangers hanging on the racks behind them, but he’s too weak. She snags the cuffs and races outside.

Lady Justice is kneeling by Crusher’s side when Daz races back. Her hand is hovering over his neck, red nails curved into claws.

“You can’t touch him,” Daz says, dropping to her knees beside the dead hero. She fumbles with the cuffs, struggling to adjust them to Crusher’s huge wrist size.  The dead are only part of Daz’ power. They don’t exist in the real world. “Not now.”

Lady Justice sighs and points to a button on the side of the cuffs. When Daz presses it, the metal clicks and separates, new links sliding out until they’re easy to slip around Crusher’s wrist. She heaves his other arm onto his chest. It flops grotesquely and then snaps into place.

Daz swears when Crusher groans. She hates villains with super healing. It’s just not fair.

She slips the other cuff on and frantically clicks the button Lady Justice points to. The cuffs tighten, clicking and clicking until they’re snug against his wrists.

“Better cover your ears,” Robber says glumly. “Those things hurt like a—”

Crusher’s entire body arches as if electrified when the cuffs activate. Blue races through his veins, the suppressors poisoning his system with the special compound that will restrict his powers.  It only takes about thirty seconds, but it seems to go on forever. Crusher goes limp the moment the cuffs start glowing green.

“Ouch,” Robber says.

Lady Justice looks on with a tight-lipped smile.

Daz slumps back. The preschool is barely two blocks behind her. Too close. Too damn close.

“You used the power suppressors on him?”

Daz leaps to her feet. Stormchaser is standing behind her, hands hanging limply at his sides. He’s staring between Daz and Crusher as if unable to comprehend what he’s seeing.

“I wouldn’t work with Crusher,” Daz says. She’s never worked with any villains before, but that’s always the heroes’ fear. Team-ups. “You’re out of bounds, Hero.”

“I was pursuing Crusher,” Stormchaser says. His eyes narrow. “You can’t be in this zone, Ms. Demise. It’s a school zone.”

She barks a disbelieving laugh. “You flattened streets. Your wind sent debris into the windows of apartment buildings.”

“Crusher needed to be stopped,” Stormchaser says. He steps forward and then winces as he puts weight on his hurt ankle. “I…don’t have time for another fight. If you leave now, I won’t add violation of a protected zone to your list of crimes.”

Daz stares. She’s so focused on his face that she only peripherally sees the tide of ghosts on the street beyond start to shift. “You violated a protected zone. You almost destroyed—” she bites her lip “—there are kids here.”

“I’m glad I saved them then.” Stormchaser calls wind to his hands. “Not that you care. I’m ordering you to leave, Ms. Demise.”

The ghosts are marching closer. Daz is distantly aware that she’s shaking. “You didn’t save the day. You’re the reason it needed to be saved. You came to a protected zone.” She repeats the words again, hoping that he’ll be able to understand her if she says it more clearly. “You. Threw a villain. Into. A protected zone.”

“There are always costs to a Super fight,” Stormchaser says. He sends a blast of wind at her, but it’s too weak from the blow to his head. A flash of fear crosses his face before he firms his jaw. “I’ll tell you one last time.”

“Costs?” The word claws its way out of Daz’ mouth like an animal. It sounds too much like what her dad would say. There are consequences. She’s in Stormchaser’s space before he can yelp, both hands on the side of his face like claws. “Cost?!”

Her nails dig into his skin and draw blood.

Stormchaser’s eyes cloud over with a thin white film. “What—What did you do to me?!” He staggers away from her, tearing his face from her grip. His hands push at his eyes. “I can hardly see! I can barely—” He freezes in place.

The dead are drawn forward like moths to fire. They come stumbling and crawling, dragging and hopping, clawing and stumbling. The dead of the fight come like the ocean tide, rolling toward their origin.

Stormchaser staggers back and falls over Crusher’s prone body.

“You see what you need to see,” Daz says. She watches the dead dispassionately. Her power will fade from Stormchaser sooner or later. But he’ll remember this moment. He’ll remember his cost. She turns to go. “Memorize their faces. It’s the least you can do since you killed them.”

Stormchaser struggles to get up. “It wasn’t my fault! I was only doing what needed to be done! I was only--!”

“And that’s why you’re on my list, Stormchaser,” Daz calls over her shoulder. Like Stormchaser, she still needs time to heal from her last hunt. Unlike Stormchaser, her wounds are already a month old. “I’ll be seeing you.”

“Your—your list? You can’t come after me, I’m a B-rank! You can’t—”

She tunes him out. Heroes, after all, take on the job no matter the consequence.

Her dad taught her that.