Chapter Text
AN: Seriously, I won't be insulted if you just skip this chapter and go to the next one. It has 6 extra months of consideration behind it, while this probably has all kinds of other problems.
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“That’s it! I can’t take this anymore! You have to do something!”
When Armsmaster took on the leadership of the Protectorate ENE, some thought that he would buckle under the pressure. It wasn’t that he was incapable or anything, but rather that the man was extremely inflexible. He was, in fact, best known for his tunnel vision and hyperfocus on effectiveness, time management, and organization. Some even said he was like a robot.
“Hey, are you listening to me? I can’t tell if you’re asleep or not in that helmet.”
In many ways, this made him perfect for the job. The team of heroes known as the Protectorate had to interface and work alongside the Parahuman Response Team, as well as Brockton Bay’s own Police, Fire, and Medical teams...to say nothing of the Youth Guard, Public Relations, and Human Resources. There were administrative duties to handle, schedules to wrangle, and a wide variety of minor jobs that would have made most drop the job within a week.
“This will be fast, I promise. I already found the forms for it, you just need to sign here.”
But Armsmaster handled it all with ease. While others were out partying and ringing in 2010 on New Year’s Eve, he was working on a spreadsheet that would go out to the PRT. When a new gang of teenage parahumans appeared and began to embarrass the ABB, he created a digital representation of their movements. Time and again, he put his job before anything else in his life, and handled it all with ease. He excelled at jobs that required little human interaction.
“Seriously, I already filled it out. I mean, your handwriting is better, but they won’t notice.”
But there was one part of the job Armsmaster hadn’t been prepared for, and that he found himself having difficulty with every time. Though the duty itself ostensibly belonged to Deputy Director Renick, the man was so busy that he often passed it to Armsmaster, claiming it was ‘more efficient’ for the hero to take care of it. He hated when people used that word against him.
So now, by being the leader of the Protectorate he also was required to be their liaison between the Wards and the PRT/Protectorate. It was mostly for approving large expenditures (like Tinkering budgets), giving orders in the field for dangerous situations, transferring new Wards in and out of the team of teenage parahumans, and little else.
“I’m sorry to bug you, but Assault said this was your job. Then he ran off for some reason.”
But Colin Wallis (Armsmaster in costume) would soon come to learn that the Wards were far more complex than he’d been prepared for. Because he had completely forgotten that they were something he had very little experience with...teenagers.
“Crap, I think you really are asleep. Look, sorry in advance, but I’m just gonna poke you…”
Teenagers were far more trouble than they were worth, and now it was his job to deal with them.
“ Oh crap! Sorry! I think that scratch will just buff out. Um...here, I can just take care of it. ”
Sometimes he wondered if he was getting too old for this.
***
“It’s really not a problem, Vista.” Colin had removed his helmet, and was now holding up and out of the Ward’s reach. “I used a polymer for my visor that is easy to repair.”
Missy Biron, never one to give up even when out of costume, made one more attempt to grab at the man’s helmet before letting out a huff and coming off her tiptoes. The size disparity between them aside, she also stopped trying to warp space. He stopped feeling a small 11-year-old hand brushing against the helmet held over his head as she settled back, and relaxed a little.
“Sorry, I was just trying to get your attention, and didn’t mean to bring that metal thing down on you.” She gestured at the small pile of finger-sized widgets he’d had up on a shelf, which had cascaded across his helmet after she’d tried to shake him and missed. “Didn’t expect you to dodge.”
“It’s all right. Why don’t you tell me what’s the matter?” Colin was a little embarrassed, though he didn’t show it. He’d been lost in thought for several minutes, staring at one of the shelves in his workshop, and his armor’s sensors had picked up on a spatial warp. By the time he realized it was the youngest Ward trying to get his attention, he’d already whirled and her extended hand had knocked several boxes over rather than tap his shoulder. “Have a seat over...here.”
Both sat at a table he usually used for contractor meetings, such as planning complex Tinker projects or multi-person expansions to The Rig. It didn’t get used often, but the chairs were comfortable (if a little dusty). To her credit, Missy didn’t ask for help getting into the tall chair, simply jumping and warping space a little to land with a plop in the cushioned seat.
“So, what I need is for you to help me out.” Missy held up a document he barely recognized, seeing that it was covered in ink and the scrawled handwriting of an 11-year-old. All that was missing was a signature at the bottom (and perhaps the correction of some spelling errors). “I just need you to sign at the bottom, please.”
“This is a Wards Transfer Form, and you’re sending someone to...Anchorage.”
“Yes.” Looking at him with a face that was anything but childish, Missy intoned, “We need to get rid of Shadow Stalker.”
Colin stared at the girl, wondering whether she’d go away if he stayed silent long enough.
***
After a full minute of staring back at him, Missy broke. She started to talk, in a big rush.
At first, she’d been happy to have a new teammate, especially another girl. Not that the other Wards weren’t really supportive, but they all had a few years on her and were always so wary about including her in things. They lived in different social circles, couldn’t hang out outside of the Wards, and none of their interests were anything close to her own. So having Sophia join the team had seemed like a breath of fresh air.
Unfortunately, it hadn’t taken longer than a few days to realize that breath of fresh air was actually a stinky fart. Missy blushed at her creative description of the girl, but Colin had heard similar name-calling from other Wards when they didn’t think he was listening. Clockblocker, for instance, had taken to calling her “Shadow Talker” because of the girl’s habit of threatening them all but rarely following up on it.
Shadow Stalker, both in costume and not, was rude, disrespectful, foulmouthed, violent, and entirely uninterested in working peacefully with her new teammates. She wasn’t fitting in, despite the efforts of many to reach out to her, and Missy was worried that her bad habits would start to tear them apart. Already Triumph had realized that punishing Sophia was almost pointless, and had started letting her actions slide until he could figure out a better strategy.
But Colin wasn’t a disciplinarian. He wasn’t a schoolteacher, librarian, or prison guard. It wasn’t his job to deal with teenagers, help them work out their problems, and find a way to come together. Short of directing her to someone else, or perhaps recommending punishment that had already proven ineffective, he couldn’t directly do anything about this situation.
That didn’t mean he was going to give up, though. He was a heroic Tinker, and had been around for well over a decade. He’d been on teams, talked to several people, and had even more talk to him (despite his annoyance) about a wide variety of problems they faced. Best of all, many of them had talked to him about solutions...and he could now draw upon them.
“Missy, I’d like to tell you a story, and maybe it will help with your situation.” He took a deep breath, already searching his memory and making subtle alterations to avoid violating any NDAs or privacy concerns. This was similar to Missy’s issue, in a way, so perhaps it would help. “I recall hearing of a problem much like yours, a few years ago.”
“Really? What’s this story about?”
Colin wasn’t the most creative storyteller, but he’d still try.
“It’s the story of two people who learned to work together, despite their differences.”
Try being the operative word.
***
Once upon a time, there was a hero named...Charge, and a villain named Mad...man.
Madman was famous for breaking things, bouncing around town causing havoc with his powers. He broke people out of prison, knocked over trucks, and generally created havoc around town with no regard for the people who got hurt. Worse, the people he broke out of prison would go on to hurt others as well, staining his own hands even further indirectly.
Charge was always dogging on his heels, doing her best to stop him at every turn, but he treated everything like a joke. To him, there was no point in stopping, because he had styled himself as some sort of Robin Hood like figure. He was robbing the rich and giving to the poor, as well as saving those who he felt had been wrongly accused.
This eventually became his downfall, when a hero agreed to be framed and put in jail, so that they could trap Madman when he came to break the hero out. The two escaped and hid out in a hotel, but unbeknownst to Madman the entire building had been filled with an odorless gas, and he was soon out cold.
Madman woke up in a cell, covered in foam, and immediately did his best to break out. But Charge, having fought him for quite some time, had learned all his tricks. He was unable to get free, and agreed to become a hero...but only if Charge would work with him. She agreed, and did her best to temper his more dangerous personality flaws...but her teammates hated the man.
Over time, he began to notice that everyone hated him, and realized that he would have to change himself in order to avoid being sent far away from all that he knew. But change is difficult, especially when everyone treats you badly...and even moreso when they have many good reasons to do so. Reasons that you were at the heart of.
Despite that, thanks to some positive reinforcement from Charge, Madman slowly began to get better. While he still had many annoying habits and even came to blows with Charge on more than one occasion, she knew more than anyone that he was trying. They had a connection nobody else understood, and over time the two even began to see each other as friends.
He kept trying, and to this day, will never stop trying to be better. All because someone stayed by his side, believed in him, and never gave up.
***
“Though to this day the man is still annoying as hell, often dangerously irresponsible, and prone to joking at the most inopportune moments…” Colin trailed off, then sighed and shook his head. “He did eventually become something loosely resembling a hero. His team more or less trusts him. Even his leader, despite all the evidence to the contrary, is willing to fight crime by his side.”
Missy was silent for a long minute, staring down at her knees. She had smiled, frowned, and even covered her face and snickered at several parts of his story, but now she looked as though she was in deep thought. He wondered if something in that mostly real story had inspired her.
“I think I understand.” Missy slid out of the chair, and headed for the workshop’s door. “I guess I have some work to do. Thanks for talking to me, Armsmaster.”
“Anytime.” The man silently cursed himself, hoping that she would take that as a dismissal and not an invitation. Luckily, she seemed to only smile at the remark and turn back to him.”
“By the way, I’m glad to hear that you think so highly of Assault.” She waved at him, grinning widely and walking out the door. “The other Wards always thought you hated him.”
Colin put his face in his palm, reflecting that he probably should have changed the name more.
***
In the weeks that followed, Colin wondered if Missy had perhaps taken the wrong lesson from his story. Rather than reaching out to Sophia and trying to understand or befriend her, the younger Ward was having even more problems with her new teammate.
Rather than opening up to her and trying to be patient, it seemed as though she was now trying even harder to force the girl to leave. Not a day went by without him overhearing a member of the PRT, Wards, or Protectorate talking about what had apparently turned into a full-blown war between the two of them.
One day he’d hear about Missy stealing Sophia’s cape and running it up a flagpole, and the next he’d be told that Missy had been found glued to her bed. On Friday he’d take a short nap after repairing the crossbow Sophia broke after throwing it at Missy, and then wake up from said nap to an email that Vista’s visor had been painted black by Shadow Stalker.
When he would question Sophia on the matter, the angry girl would just shrug and pretend nothing was going on. When he would question Missy on it, she would wink at him and pretend that this was something he was aware of. Neither was willing to give an inch, and their teammates could decide whether they found it funny or confusing.
But then there came a day similar to the others, although it had a remarkably different ending.
Armsmaster entered the Wards common room and found it damaged, one of their couches having a large dent in it...and a wall that had a smear of blood on it. He could hear voices coming from the dorm rooms. Rather than loudly approach, he merely used the camera system to check each room remotely.
When he got to Vista’s usual room, he found himself more than a little surprised. Vista and Shadow Stalker were both in there, and rather than fighting they were...talking.
“You only got out of that hold because you’re so tiny, you know.” Sophia said, wincing as the smaller girl rubbed some antiseptic on a large scrape on her back. “I totally had you, then you pulled that strange bullshit on me.”
“It wasn’t strange bullshit, it was Krav Maga.” Missy replied, smiling as Sophia rolled her eyes. The blonde bit her lip for a moment, then asked, “But how’d you do that part with the flip? I’ve seen it in movies, but it always makes me just fall over when I try it.”
“Yeah, you need to work your abs up more. Try...ahhh.” Sophia hissed as Missy applied a bandage over the scrape, then took a breath and finished. “Try to up your crunches, and let me know how it goes. I can show you the move once my back heals.”
“Cool, thanks. You’re done here, can you take a look at my arm?” Missy rolled up her sleeve, showing off a nasty-looking bruise on her bicep. “I keep forgetting how strong your hands are, is it from carrying that crossbow around all the time?”
“Nah, actually it was from climbing on roofs.” Sophia pulled out an ice bag and handed it to the girl. “In fact, with your powers you should probably start getting into that too. We could have a race, and then-”
Armsmaster cut the camera feed, walking back out as quietly as he could.
They weren’t friends by any means...but it was a start.