Interlude 5.16.5: Emma Barnes & Amy Dallon

  Emma Barnes

  2010, December 26: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

  I took an angry bite from my French salad. The food looked tasty, but no way was I letting that much fat and carbs into my body. I had a modeling career to look forward to, and the New Year’s shoot was coming up. I glanced at Victoria, stuffing her face without a care in the world. It must have been nice, having Panacea on call.

  I’d told daddy that I wasn’t interested in coming, but he dragged me here anyway because this was a great “networking opportunity,” as if any of these dweebs were worth knowing. None of them were strong. None of them were survivors. Not like me, and not like Sophia. Hell, even Madison was better. At least she knew enough to blend in with the winners.

  Today sucked. This whole month sucked.

  Sophia wouldn’t stop ranting about that Creed guy ever since she and Aegis got embarrassed by the “totally a hero now” supernerd. He was a lame, wishy-washy, limp-dicked coward who had a thinker’s hand so far up his ass he might as well be a sock puppet. She told me how without all the help he got from The GOAT’s tinker collective, she’d have hunted him down like a rabid dog.

  Worst of all, she was explicitly prohibited from seeking a rematch because the PRT were pathetic pussies. They were trying to “cultivate good relations with an independent heroic faction.” Yea, as if. The real answer was they were too scared of a cape who wasn’t even in the city.

  I understood her annoyance, but she didn’t need to repeat it like a broken alarm. I told her so after the eighth time and she got all sulky so we hadn’t talked in the last week or so.

  I couldn’t even see Taylor because it was winter break. I wasn’t going to go to her house, even though I knew where she lived, because I wasn’t an obsessive loser. I refused to let a loser like her live rent-free in my head.

  Even before that, I had the brilliant idea to let our pranks die down a bit. Since November, I’d had the girls lay off, lulling her into a false sense of security.

  Then, Sophia, Madison, and I were going to play the mother of all pranks on the first day of school. We’d been raiding the trash bins in the girls bathrooms for months now and were going to fill Taylor’s locker before stuffing her inside. That’d put her in her place.

  Part of me wanted to call Madison and Sophia, but that wouldn’t do. I couldn’t be the one to call, that’d make me look guilty and I’d done nothing wrong. As daddy said, cases and arguments were often won just by standing your ground.

  This lame party would have been bad enough, but I ran into the Gloryhole and her perfect medic sister. I should’ve known they’d show. And, the social cripple even showed up with a date. Sure, a freshman who was being strung along like a balloon animal, but at least it was something. Amy Dallon almost made me believe in Christmas miracles again.

  Whatever. It just meant I’d have to find my own fun. I looked around, scoping out possible targets. Sophia was right. You were either strong or you were weak. The sorts of people who attended parties like this didn't get it. They couldn’t because they’d never been tested before.

  They liked to think they were on top of the world, but they weren't true survivors. And that made it okay to test them. Hell, I was doing them a favor. I was giving them a taste of the real world, where the strong did as they pleased and the weak bore what they must. All the better for them to learn it from me than someone meaner.

  I saw that poor freshie in the corner. He was brooding over a drink, probably wondering how he’d blown his chance with the Dallons’ ugly duckling. Poor idiot probably didn’t even realize it wasn’t his fault; Amy didn’t drag him here to be a serious date.

  I thought about stealing him away. It wasn’t like he was hideous or anything, and I could do with someone to pamper me for a night. It’d make his year and I’d get to rub it in Amy’s face, but Vicky’s boytoy took pity on him before I could. I scoffed. Dean was probably imparting some terrible dating advice. It sounded like the kind of thing he’d do because of “the bro code.”

  I found someone else. Bernice was a big-boned girl with more zits than clear skin on her face. Her mother was just the office manager at daddy’s firm so she had no one else to rely on. It’d be nice if she fought back, but I doubted it. People like her were weak. They didn’t deserve the privilege they enjoyed.

  I walked over with a sharp smirk. “So, are you in the corner because you’re trying to hide your sweat stains or have you figured out that watching you eat makes everyone else feel sick?”

  She startled when she heard my voice, like an obese rabbit. “I-What? What are you–”

  “Lovely, slow and… unfortunate looking… You’re the full package, aren’t you?”

  “I”m not-I don’t even know you!”

  “No, but I know you. I always say I have the worst luck.”

  “What’s your problem?”

  “Boredom, really, but also you. Your pizzaface is everyone’s problem. And if you’re going to make everyone else’s life difficult by breathing our air, then I’m going to do us all a favor and show you your place.”

  “I… Why are you doing this?” she asked. I could hear her voice start to quiver already.

  “I told you. It’s because you’re pathetic. You’re an eyesore and no one wants you here. You can think of this as my public service for the evening. You know, ‘tis the season of giving and whatnot.”

  X

  Amy Dallon

  I leaned against one wall as I tried to catch my breath. I loved my sister, maybe more than a sister should, but Vicky sometimes didn’t know her own strength. She squeezed way too hard when she was swinging me around. Not that I didn’t enjoy it, but I could feel my ribs creak. I’d have to get Bryce to heal the bruises later.

  That was super convenient. Everyone else in my family had me as a safety net, but I always had to be extra careful. I couldn’t heal myself so if I ever got injured, I was shit out of luck. Not anymore. Now, I had Bryce. It was reassuring, knowing I wouldn’t be laid out for months because of a broken arm or something equally fixable.

  I looked over to see what he was doing. Across the room, he and Dean seemed to be deep in conversation. I wondered what they were talking about. For whatever reason, Bryce seemed to actually like the white knight schtick Dean put on.

  He knew Dean’s identity; I was sure of it. I couldn’t remember if he’d explicitly said so, but he knew so much about the Wards, like Chris’ specialization, that it wouldn’t have surprised me. Besides, if he didn’t know from his thinker bullshit, then he definitely could find out whenever he wanted with SAINT’s help.

  I almost felt bad for dragging him out here, but he really did make dinner easier to tolerate. It wasn’t like he didn’t get anything out of it; I promised to do my best to help him with his devil fruit project. Well, I would have helped him anyway, but still…

  Stupid, edgy name aside, the project was… amazing. Bryce described it as a pure nugget of potential, a cluster of cells that couldn’t even be called stem cells, really. “Stem cell” implied that the “root” part of a creature, whether that be a human, dog, or some other animal, had been determined already.

  That wasn’t the case for these “zoans.” They were more like lumps of pristine, untouched clay, ready for me to mold into the shape of any animal in the world.

  No, they were even better. I could feel it; they had the potential to surpass any animal “template.” According to Bryce, the animal almost didn’t matter as much as the subject who consumed a zoan. The fruits would unlock their “inner potential.” I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I couldn’t wait to find out.

  Even now, days later, it was all I could think about. The world had a severe shortage of heroes, but Bryce and I could turn that around. PRT troopers who had strong wills and good hearts could finally stand toe-to-toe against the worst sorts of villains.

  Even if we made the selection process so rigorous that each city only ended up with one or two, I had a feeling we’d be able to turn the tide against villainy. We could, quite literally, bring about a whole new golden age of heroes, ones that lacked the conflict drive that Bryce talked about.

  I shook my head. That was a dangerous thought. I knew this potential would scare people. We’d have to be careful, ensure that not a single devil fruit got lost or stolen. We’d need a proper framework, the infrastructure to make this sort of thing possible. Most of all, we’d need experience and legitimacy. In the end, people wouldn’t trust a “miracle fruit that can make anyone a hero.”

  Hell, I didn’t trust it until I examined it for myself. Which meant Bryce had been right to hide it from me, even as he told me about everything else.

  I… I hadn’t been in a good place at the start of the semester; I could recognize that now. I was irritable, depressed, and burnt out and disillusioned with my job. I would never have accepted the devil fruit at face value. I probably would have knocked Bryce into a coma and dragged him to the PRT myself.

  And if I, Panacea, the person who was supposed to be the world’s foremost authority on biology, couldn’t give Bryce a fair shake, then the average person definitely wasn't going to either. That’s why Brockton Bay had to be a testing ground. It had to be our proof of concept.

  Once we had a team of real, proven heroes, heroes who weren’t parahumans, we could show the world. We could point to Brockton Bay and say, “See? It’s safe, secure, and will help people without monstrous side effects.”

  I was drawn out of my daydreaming by a familiar, snide voice.

  “So, are you in the corner because you’re trying to hide your sweat stains or have you figured out that watching you eat makes everyone else feel sick?” Emma sneered. I turned to find her a few tables away, whispering harshly at a girl who looked bewildered at the sudden attack.

  I hadn’t realized I was loitering so close to the ginger bitch, but I wasn’t surprised she’d found herself a new chewtoy. She tried to hit on Dean once at one of these parties a while back, got shot down because the empath obviously saw her puke-colored personality, and had it out for Vicky ever since. If it were up to me, she could have him.

  I rolled my eyes as she did her best to rip the poor girl apart. That was her whole schtick. Whenever we met, she’d pick a fight with Vicky, get shot down like the raging cunt she was, then look for easier targets. She was a bully, projecting all her fuckups onto others even while she hid behind daddy’s money.

  I… I never spoke up. I never bothered to because it’d all seemed so beneath me. The latest child I couldn’t save. The next dreaded shift at the hospital. The last cigarette in my pocket. It’d always seemed like I’d had bigger concerns.

  I wasn’t sure what changed, but tonight, I found myself listening in. I didn’t want to. I hadn’t made an active effort or anything, but Emma’s voice seemed to carry, jabbing into my ears like the insistent mosquito she was.

  Last month, shortly after Damascus, I got pissed at Bryce for running back into the riot. He’d evacuated all the patients who’d been left behind at the medic center, then decided he’d go beat up the strongest capes in Syria.

  I’d punched him then, yelling about how stupid he’d been, risking his life for people he didn’t even know. The dumbass laughed and said something like, “I’m told that’s what heroes do,” as if the stupid fuck hadn’t been swearing up and down that he was a villain.

  It… It felt good, hearing that. When we first met, he said that all he wanted to do was to keep his own family safe and make cool shit. It made me wonder if I was the reason he thought that way.

  Right now, I felt like a hypocrite.

  Sure, no one was dying, but I’d told Bryce that I’d be his moral compass. I’d make sure he didn’t do anything horrible with his powers. After all, I was a hero. If I didn’t keep an eye on him, then who?

  “I told you. It’s because you’re pathetic. You’re an eyesore and no one wants you here. You can think of this as my public service for the evening. You know, ‘tis the season of giving and whatnot.”

  I snapped.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Even if I never went on patrols, I should at least not let some uppity bitch run her mouth. Otherwise, letting Bryce call me “The GOAT” would start to sound pretty fucking ironic.

  “Really? That’s your excuse for being a raging cunt? Are you a better person the other eleven months of the year?” I snarked as I stalked over.

  Emma scoffed dismissively, flipping her hair like she thought someone was filming her. “Some of us had to earn our place, princess. Some of us had to fight and prove ourselves. Then there’s this fatass. She looks like she’s never seen a mirror in her life, never mind a treadmill.”

  “Wow… What the hell does he see in you?” I muttered under my breath. Bryce had called her “the most important person in the world. I didn’t get it. I was sure I could find more valuable bricks. “You’re talking mad shit for someone whose only worth is a pretty face. See this girl? It would take me five seconds to clear up her acne. Is that really what you have a problem with?”

  “So what? Why are you even here? Don’t you have some poor sap to heal? Can you really afford to be spending your time here? People are dying because you wanted a steak dinner, you know.”

  “You–”

  “Yeah, it’s kinda harsh, isn’t it? I mean, if I had your kind of power, I sure wouldn’t be offering a dermatology checkup to pizzaface here. Does it make you feel better? This meaningless charity crap?”

  “It should. Some people live to lift others up. Others put people down to make themselves feel better,” Dean said, butting in like the white knight he was. I’d thought he was busy psychoanalyzing the weirdness that was Bryce, but he’d apparently found us more interesting. “Amy’s got nothing to be ashamed of.”

  He was as handsome as ever, with that perfect, preppy, rich boy smile that made me want to give him cavities.

  “Aww, Dean~ I knew you agreed with me. I mean, really, how cruel is it of the Panacea to imply that Bernice here isn’t just perfect the way she is?” Emma cooed with a saccharine smirk. “Talk about putting other people down to make herself feel better, right?”

  “M-My name isn’t Ber–” the bullied girl tried to interject. She was obviously painfully shy and so many people gathering around her probably made her want to crawl into a hole.

  “Yeah, yeah, the people who matter are talking.”

  “That wasn’t what I said, Emma,” Dean scowled. He looked a lot like his dad, actually. I’d bet anything he practiced the expression in a mirror.

  “We all heard it. Don’t go backtracking now.”

  “Shut up, Dean, you’re not helping,” I spat. I eyed Bernice or whatever with a frustrated frown. “Don’t listen to some bitch telling you you’re worthless. Anything I can fix in five seconds doesn’t define you and neither does the soulless ginger over there.”

  “That’s hardly the case. You can fix a cripple in a wheelchair, but they’ll still have that experience. Saying it doesn’t define them is trivializing things, isn’t it?” Emma asked innocently. She was great at that, playing the victim and acting like she’d done nothing wrong.

  “Stop twisting people’s words, Emma!”

  “Hmm? Am I doing anything like that, Amy? The way I see it, you’re a self-important, glorified nurse who thinks she’s hot shit because she won the power lottery. Guess what? Not everyone’s going to kiss your ass to pop a zit.”

  We weren’t really being quiet anymore. I could see a few people start to look our way. I could feel my face flush with rage. I wanted to slap her so badly, but that’d just be playing into her hands. Emma was exactly the kind of manipulative bitch to go crying to daddy if I did.

  I took a deep breath. Mom always insisted on self-control. And with a sister like Vicky, I heard that lecture around the house constantly. I could probably recite it chapter and verse by now.

  Taking a step back, this was honestly a novel experience. I’d never had to deal with any bullying in school. Vicky was always one of the popular kids, even before she got powers, and afterwards, who’d want to bully Glory Girl’s sister? And after I became Panacea? Good fucking luck.

  But that didn’t mean I didn’t know how to deal with a manipulative worm like Emma. People like her came to me all the time, hoping they could trick me into promising my services or saying something that sounds like I support this or that cause. Just this week, an “independent journalist” tried to make me say I’d treated more gunshot wounds in black people over white people, as if his agenda wasn’t glaringly obvious by the “1488” on his bracelet.

  “You know what? You’re right, Emma,” I said, surprising her. “I did win the power lottery. I am one of the most important capes in the world. People do kiss my ass for a single minute of my time.”

  “Boo hoo, look at me, I’m Panacea, my life’s so ha–”

  “You shut your bitch mouth and listen,” I snapped. I stalked closer now, inches from her face. I had to tiptoe to meet her eye-to-eye, but I channeled every bit of the no-bullshit attitude that carried ER nurses through their shifts. “I won the power lottery and I fucking wish I didn’t. There isn’t a single cape in the goddamn world whose problems are solved by their triggers. You think it’s fun being the person who fixes everyone else’s problems?

  “Guess what I did yesterday? I told a mother I couldn’t fix her son’s brain hemorrhage so he died while begging his mother for just one more breath. Before that, I regrew the skin on some poor bastard’s arm after he managed to completely deglove himself with a chainsaw. And before that, I spent two goddamn hours picking bullet fragments out of a girl’s chest cavity. You know how old she was? Twelve, because Brockton’s that kind of city. You think I enjoyed any of that? You think I had fun? You think I go home every night and look forward to doing it again the next day?

  “I don’t. I don’t because I’m not a fucking psychopath,” I said quietly. But the hall around us had gone silent and my voice carried. “Honestly? Had you asked me even a month ago, I would've told you that I'd give up my power in a heartbeat. It's rough, knowing that someone is dying every second I'm away from the operating table.”

  My sister flew over at the commotion. She hovered between Dean and I and glowered down at Emma. I could feel the weight of her aura pressing down on us all.

  To me, it was a familiar warmth. Vicky was the light of my life. Until a few months ago, I’d have said she was the sole light of my life, the only thing that made getting up in the morning worth it.

  Emma’s eyes widened as her pupils dilated. I knew what it felt like, of course; even sisters had arguments. But for once, I didn’t feel like reminding Vicky to control herself.

  This was getting a bit out of hand. It was starting to draw too much attention. Then again, maybe this was exactly what Emma needed, a public humiliation so thorough that she’d question some life choices. I doubted she would, but I couldn’t bring myself to care right now.

  “Ames?” Vicky asked, placing a hand on my shoulder.

  I swiped it off with a furious scowl. “No, I'm not done. I said I would have given it up. Not too long ago, I told myself every piece of bullshit you just tried to feed me. Not anymore. You know what changed?

  “Me. I changed. I grew up. Someone I admire showed me what it means to be a hero. I learned that it’s not about beating myself up for every person I couldn’t save, that saving lives meant saving myself, too. I learned that being a hero meant moving forward, always onto the next thing, the next patient.

  “I guess that’s the difference between us, Emma. I’m not better than you because I’m Panacea; I’m better than you because I refuse to let the voices win. I’m better than you because I don’t take sick pleasure in bullying others, only to curl up like a bitch and play the victim the moment someone stands up to you.”

  Emma stepped back as if she’d been slapped. Her eyes flitted frantically, searching for a way out. Typical bully, she crumbled the moment someone stood up to her.

  “That’s not what I said,” she spat back. “You’re the one who came over here acting like Bernice here should kiss the ground you walk on because you offered to clear up her skin!”

  “When the fuck did I say that? You were making fun of her so I told you that anything that takes me five seconds to fix isn’t worth your bitching. Get it straight, Emma.”

  “No, I wasn’t! And you can’t prove it!”

  Vicky floated in front of me protectively. She took the shy girl’s hand and tugged her beside me. “You’re full of it, Emma.”

  “You’re her sister! Of course you’d have her back.”

  “Yeah. I’ll always have Amy’s back,” she said. My heart soared at that. “But that’s not it. You know how I know you’re bullshitting? Because that’s not even her name.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Her name isn’t Bernice, Emma. What is it? Go on, tell us.”

  Emma looked at her, then at Victoria. “I-I-Who cares? I bet the great Panacea doesn’t know either!”

  “I don’t, but I’m not the one pretending to be her friend so I can play the victim,” I replied with a careless shrug. Then, just to make a point, I turned to her with my friendliest smile. “Hi, I’m Panacea, but only hospital staff, patients, and pompous cunts call me that. I prefer Amy. What’s your name?”

  I could see the girl inflate like a balloon animal. Vicky’s aura had that effect on people. The awe it inspired was hard to describe. It was almost like a tangible force that filled you up and cast out silly things like anxiety. “I-I’m Beatrice. I-It’s nice to meet you.”

  “That dermatology treatment offer stands, by the way. Just because I don’t take requests doesn’t mean I can’t volunteer. It’s cool if you’re comfortable in your own skin, but if you’re not, it’s on the table.”

  “I… I’d like that…”

  “That’s not fair. You’re bribing her to make me look bad,” Emma accused. “You’re abusing your power; some hero you are!”

  “No, abuse would be if I refused to heal you or your family, forever. You might not need me now, but can you say the same for the rest of your life? I can do that, you know, just blacklist people on a whim. But I won’t, because I’m nothing like you.”

  “You’re so full of it. Must be nice, knowing you profit off the sick and dying. Do you sleep easy at night knowing you’re a monster? Do you cheer when you see news reports about the Slaughterhouse?”

  “Wow… I don’t know what to say to that. Like, I genuinely don’t. I don’t do brains so whatever the fuck is wrong with your head? I can’t fix that. I’m sorry, I’ll go tell your daddy his daughter’s a fucking psychopath and that this shit’s terminal.”

  “Amy Dallon!” I heard behind me.

  Victoria and I froze as one. We turned to find mom stalking over like an angry lioness, because of course I was the one in trouble.

  Her face was flushed red, though whether that was from embarrassment or too much wine, I couldn’t tell. Behind her was a tall, ginger man who I vaguely recognized as Emma’s father. He looked constipated, probably because his darling princess getting into a bitchfest with me wasn’t a good look. I hoped he was here to impress his bosses. I hoped he failed miserably.

  I readied myself for the lecture of a lifetime. Mom was as rigid as they came. She’d buy Emma’s bullshit about me bullying her because she was even more gung ho about the whole cape accountability thing than Aunt Sarah. She hated anything that might even imply power abuse.

  Except, before she could get going, I heard the sound of applause.

  I hadn’t even seen him arrive. Bryce, that infuriating son of a bitch, was clapping, clapping like he'd been watching an opera. He strolled over with a lazy, unhurried gait that drew the eye and made him seem so much older than he really was. It was such an unorthodox response that everyone kind of paused and stared for a moment.

  Next to him was Dean. He’d dipped out at some point when we started arguing. Maybe he thought that Bryce could help calm me down. Admittedly, he was probably right, but it still annoyed me.

  “Wow, that was gold,” Bryce began. He looked as smug as ever, as if he didn’t mind being the center of attention. It was so very Creed. “You must be very proud, Mrs. Dallon.”

  “If you think this is funny, young man–” mom started, only to be cut off by a sincere, disarming smile.

  “I mean it. I’m not trying to be sarcastic or clever. I really do think you should be proud of Amy. If I’m honest, I’m not really a good person. Amy’s always telling me to do the right thing, that I should stop being a dick to everyone. It’s… a work in progress…”

  “Then she should know better than to threaten people with her power,” she said firmly, or as firmly as she could with a boozy flush on her face.

  “But she didn’t do that. From what I heard, she’s saying she could choose to not use her power.”

  “Don’t get pedantic with me.”

  “Sure, but as for me, I’m glad she can walk the talk. If I were in her shoes, I don’t know if I would’ve cared enough to speak up for that other girl, whatever her name is,” Bryce said. He wasn’t looking at me, or Emma. He was fixated on mom with an intensity usually found on cobras. “Because it’s hard, isn’t it? Caring. Empathy. Amy was the one who showed me that it doesn’t always look like a feel-good Hallmark movie. Sometimes, the pretty picture is a lie. Sometimes, the ones who seem kindest, or cares the most, are rotten inside. They’re the ones that you really need to watch, aren’t they?”

  Mom flinched. She looked like she’d been dunked in an ice bath. The alcohol must have been getting to her because I’d never seen her like this before. She studied Emma with a heavy frown before turning to Beatrice and me with an intense stare.

  The shy girl shrank from her, hiding partially behind Vicky. It was like mom was seeing me for the first time. There was… acknowledgement? Something in mom’s gaze that I couldn’t name. It couldn’t be pride; mom would never be proud of me.

  “You must be really proud of Amy, Mrs. Dallon.” Bryce offered her a sincere smile. “I think she’s a little too responsible and should probably learn to unwind once in a while, but she must have gotten it from you, this whole hero thing.”

  “Now, we don’t know that that’s what happened,” Emma’s dad cut in.

  “You’re right. We don’t know that,” mom said. She took a deep breath and barked, “Victoria, explain.”

  “Wait a mo–”

  “Shut it, Alan. We’ll hear from them all one by one.”

  That was that. The adults took over. I got to watch Emma flounder when Beatrice confirmed my story. It wasn’t like this was a big deal. In the end, we were a bunch of teenagers arguing over nothing.

  But for a moment, so fast that I almost missed it, I could’ve sworn mom smiled at me.

  Christmas miracles did exist, after all.

  Author’s Note

  Double chapter, courtesy of Peach. The interlude just kinda has to flow after 5.16 and waiting would be a bad idea.

  I think I’m going to cut the arc here. It’s already running quite long and I think this is a good stopping place.

  Emma is hilariously obtuse. She lacks self-awareness like a fish lacks feathers. And yes, Emma is fifteen or sixteen and a sophomore. Bryce is fifteen (turned fifteen in November). Yes, they’re basically the same age. She’ll insist it matters anyway.

  This is also the hardest interlude I’ve ever written. Something about catty teenage girl drama is really hard to write.

  And yeah, Bryce just jabbed Carol straight in the trigger. Not hard, more like a mildly insistent poke, but that’s why she looked so shellshocked.

  Animal Fact Correction: As one of you lovely folks pointed out, octopi do not have “high copper content” in their blood. Rather, they use a different protein to bind oxygen. Humans have hemoglobin, which uses iron ions to bind oxygen. Octopi have hemocyanin, which uses copper ions instead. That’s why their blood is blue.

  They also have three hearts, two of which are dedicated to pumping blood to their gills.

  And before someone asks, no, we don’t have blue blood. That’s a myth. Deoxygenated blood is not blue; it’s just a darker red than oxygenated blood.

  Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: .