My eyes opened and I wept. Not because I'd died, but because I hadn't.

  That wasn't entirely true. Of course I'd died, that had been the whole fucking point. I had been selected by Jack Slash, the literal herald of armageddon, to be his new favourite in the Slaughterhouse Nine. I knew I wasn't a good person, I'd be stupid to think otherwise, but was I seriously that bad?

  I knew the answer now: a resounding 'yes'. Jack saw right through me, into my soul, and knew we were cut from the same cloth. I'd been stupid to think that being a hero would actually erase all the bad shit I'd done, and now I had to live with the consequences.

  Live. Fuck. I sniffled and wiped my eyes, taking a deep and shuddering breath. I had the faintest hope that I'd only been coming back because it was someone else trying to stop me. I figured, if I made the choice to stop it, then that would be that. I'd just...end, never wake up again if I was lucky, or maybe wake up in hell if I wasn't; couldn't be worse than Brockton fucking Bay.

  And why? Because I'd been reminded that, no matter what I did here, no matter whether I lived or died, the end of the world was coming. Scion would go crazy, he'd blow up half the planet, and I'd be stuck reliving that day until the heat death of the fucking universe. The idea of that versus an eternity in a fiery pit...it hadn't been easy by any means. All useless anyway. Of course, why the fuck would I be allowed even a modicum of mercy? All I'd done was reset what little, if any progress I'd made.

  'Progress', no there hadn't been any that life. I'd failed every way possible and it had cost the life of the only person in the Protectorate that actually gave a damn about me. I had made it another day at the cost of someone's life. I'd failed to intervene to help Armsmaster, I'd even fucked my chances of helping Amy.

  I forced myself to throw the covers off and push away my pillow. I wound up curling in on myself as my throat closed and another choked sob escaped me. I wrapped my arms around my shoulders and just cried. Thought became fuzzy, distant, imperceptible. I felt a gentle pressure on my shoulders and squeezed myself tighter.

  It took a while to calm down, a while, because I only managed to pull myself together when a sharp knock sounded on my door. I started, sniffling, and wiped my eyes again. The clock on my table read five-thirty, long, long after my usual time to rise. I took a breath that was closer to a whole-body shiver, only then managing to force myself out of bed.

  “Amaranth,” Miss Militia greeted me when I opened the door. “Are you--”

  She was cut off as I wrapped my arms around her back, gripping her in a tight hug. I couldn't stop the tears that followed. I felt her hands gently press me to her as hysterical sobs wracked me. Her fingers traced slow, little circles on my upper back as she gently shushed me. I knew I was pathetic, but I couldn't help myself.

  Gradually, my sobs quieted to choked mewls, then gentle sniffles. Miss Militia didn't let go, neither did I. I didn't deserve it, it had been my fault she died, but god I couldn't bring myself to stop. I squeezed her a little tighter as my breathing slowly settled down. I felt awful but...a little better.

  A little shiver went down my back as she gently touched the locks of hair sticking out from under my hood. She brushed them back behind my ears, then let out a little sigh. I pulled away slowly, loosening my grip and finally dropping my arms to my side.

  “Sorry,” I managed to choke out. “I-- I shouldn't have--”

  “It's alright, Amaranth,” Miss Militia said gently. “What's the matter?” I opened my mouth, but my throat closed again and I shook my head. “Would you like me to go?” I shook my head, more violently, and got a gentle sigh. “Oh Amaranth...” Her hands rested gently on my shoulders as she lowered herself to meet my eyes.

  “Sorry,” I apologized again, lowering my gaze to the floor.

  “What are you apologizing for?” Miss Militia asked, sounding a little confused.

  “I can't—” I choked and swallowed, shaking my head slowly. “I don't know if I can do this.”

  That was a lie, I knew I couldn't because I just couldn't. Trying let to failure led to death led to trying led to failure led to death led to fuck! All I had figured out, all I had accomplished, amounted to knowing the Slaughterhouse Nine was great at killing me and I was a four-time trophy on their fucking collective mantle.

  “May I come in?” Miss Militia asked.

  “It's fine,” I said glumly. “I have to patrol and you--”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Amaranth.” I snapped my mouth shut. “I don't believe you're in any state to go on a patrol like this.” My eyes widened.

  “I have to,” I countered, hating how pathetic my voice sounded. “If I don't...”

  If I didn't, nothing would change. The Undersiders would attack tomorrow, or wouldn't if I warned them in advance which would lead to me getting dumped in the basement of a sadistic, spandex-clad, snake-themed shithead. I really didn't have to go on patrol, it wouldn't actually do anything, but I had to because--

  “If you don't,” Miss Militia echoed softly. “Then Battery will do her patrol alone. There's no shame in it, and you certainly wouldn't be the first Ward to miss their first patrol.”

  “But I can go,” I countered, staring at the floor. “I'm not-- not hurt or anything.” Not anymore. “I'm just...” I shrugged. A coward, a failure, a bastard. “...shit.” Her grip on my shoulders tightened.

  “Let's go inside.” I shrugged again and stepped backward into my quarters, Miss Militia following closely. “Would you like to sit?” I sighed. No avoiding this then.

  “Sure,” I replied flatly, walking over to the couch and sitting down.

  I kept my gaze firmly on the coffee table in front of me as Miss Militia muttered quietly into her radio. I was causing problems and I had barely woken up yet. I would only cause more, with Jack coming after me. I was sure it wasn't a fluke, something had happened and he'd come after me again. I couldn't fuck it up, couldn't let people die for me.

  “Alright,” Miss Militia said quietly as she took a seat beside me. “Now, I'm not sure what brought this on, but I know you've been having...difficulty adjusting.” Understatement of the fucking myriad. “I know it may be difficult, but could you tell me why you feel like you're...shit?” I winced.

  “I just--” I swallowed and took a breath. “I try to help people and I keep screwing it up. It never works, people only get hurt or...” I couldn't help glancing over at her, wincing at the unmarred skin of her neck. I looked away. “I'm not a hero, just playing the part.” I gestured flippantly to my closet. “Complete with spandex.” I flinched when her hand touched my shoulder again, accompanied by a soft hum.

  “I'm sorry you feel that way,” Miss Militia said, gently squeezing. “I wish I could understand why.”

  “Because I can't save anyone,” I snapped, crossing my arms. “I just make things worse by trying.”

  “I disagree.” I shook my head and she squeezed a little tighter. “Amaranth, Gallant has expressed many times that he wouldn't have survived Leviathan if you hadn't intervened.” I shrugged, he might've. “And the soldier you saved from Fenrir's Chosen, escorting that convoy, the people those supplies fed?”

  “I can't save the people I care about!” I shouted, panting heavily.

  I bit my cheek so hard that blood coated my tongue. Miss Militia's arm wrapped around my shoulders as a sob heaved its way out of me. I leaned on her, curling up as I did. Being comforted by the ghost of a woman I killed...it was just too much. Every time, she showed me kindness, and every time I let her down.

  I couldn't anymore, couldn't let people get hurt because of me. I sniffed and wiped my face, huddling against Miss Militia. I couldn't let her get hurt especially; I owed her that much. My breathing began to slow from the frantic, choked gasps before. It helped, a little at least. Less than the warm arm around my shoulders.

  “Sorry,” I managed at last, wiping my eyes dry.

  “You have nothing to apologize for.” I had everything to apologize for. “I'm sorry your hurting.” I'm sorry you got hurt. “Know that you can lean on me, and all of us, when you feel this way. You may not feel like it, Amaranth, but you are a hero.” I took a shuddering breath.

  “I'm not,” I said, shaking my head. “I...I have to try harder.” Miss Militia made an odd noise.

  “How will you do that?”

  The question, annoyingly, gave me pause. I...didn't have an answer. So far I had been stuck, scrambling to avert the only three disasters I knew I could, or at least knew when they were. I fed the heroes the information as best I could, when I was able. I had been there too, trying to fix shit before it spiraled into disaster.

  What was the common thread? Me, obviously, but there had to be more. I was always there, but I wasn't in charge, wasn't directing things beyond the initial push. No, the thing that kept causing me problems wasn't me me, it was that fucking reckless attitude that got me stuck in shit up to my neck every single time.

  It would be easy to deal with, in theory, if it had been something conscious but no. That was just something that I did and now had to didn't...that was a hell of a thought, but it made some sense. Slowing things down meant that I might not be able to help in time, might not make it in some cases. That was a terrible precedent to set but...but if I was dead then I couldn't help shit, dick, or ball.

  My cheeks flushed and burned with humiliation. That was a lesson I should have learned back at fucking Leviathan but here we were: survive. That was the overarching objective, had to be. Amy...fuck, I'd try, but fuck. Okay, maybe two overarching objectives, but I couldn't compromise survival for...much, at least.

  “Thanks,” I said, sniffling one last time as I pulled away from Miss Militia. “I'm um, I'm sorry, but thanks. I...needed that.”

  “I'm glad I could offer it,” she replied, giving my shoulder one last squeeze before letting me go. “For what it's worth, I've seen you trying your hardest, and I think you're up to the task. Being a hero is difficult, I won't lie, but it's the only work worth doing. You've more than earned that title though, Amaranth.” A faint smile touched my lips and I cru-- I let it be.

  “Thanks,” I repeated. “Uhm, sorry, I think I made you miss your patrol.” And mine, but that was obvious.

  “It happens,” Miss Militia said gently. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” I said, taking a breath. At least a little bit... “So...now what?”

  “Well,” she scratched her chin. “We're technically down a patrol now, since Vista went along with Battery.”

  “Sorry.”

  “So,” Miss Militia continued, ignoring the apology. “I want you to answer me honestly, Amaranth: do you feel up to patrolling tonight, with me? Saying no won't affect your status as a Ward, nor my opinion of you.” I looked down at the cushions, then up and met her eyes.

  “Yeah,” I replied with a slow nod. “I think I am.”