Chapter Text
I take a Greyhound into Los Angeles. Once I get back into LA, I realize that I still remember the city’s Metro system pretty well, so it’s not that hard to get from Union Station all the way out to Malibu. Specifically, it’s the Red Line to the Expo Line to a bus to another bus. That sounds complicated, but given the shit me and Dana and Crystal have gone through, it’s child’s play.
When I step off the 534, I’m surprised by how nice it feels to be back in Malibu. The bus drops me off not far from my house, so I’m able to take in the neighborhood. There are a few new stores– an acai bowl place where there used to be a Jamba Juice, and a makeup store next to the Ralph’s.
The strip mall where the ice cream place and the dry cleaner’s were has burned down, which is kind of sad. I don’t know how long it’s been gone, but I remember loving that ice cream place when I was a kid. Me and Mia and Wilson used to go, when our parents gave us the money. We would all sit by the window, and Wilson would tease me because I would get mint chip, which he hated. Mia thought it was funny how red I’d get.
…Maybe it’s better that it burned down.
It’s only nine o’clock now, so I have some time to kill. I put my hood up, and drift down the familiar route to home.
It’s a hilly neighborhood. I don’t really have to worry about panting my way up and down them, though, since I can just hover. Still, the hills remind me of how me and Mia and Wilson used to ride our bikes home from school. Wilson always wanted to race, and he always beat me. I was so proud of my bike, but he called it “the Silver Snail.” But Mia would keep pace with me, laughing as the streamers on her handlebars whipped in the wind.
When I reach my street, I just sort of hover outside my house for a moment. It’s an ordinary two-bedroom suburban house, almost identical to the ones around it. There’s new landscaping, and none of my old toys are out front, but it’s still functionally the same house.
It feels wrong to be back here.
I turn around to look at Wilson’s house across the street. Well, technically it’s not Wilson’s house anymore. His parents had used the money they made off of their son to buy a mansion right before I left. But that was the house that Wilson had lived in for as long as I can remember, so it’s still his house to me.
He used to sit out on his lawn and yell to get my attention. Then he’d show off in some way– make his dog do a cool trick, blow a giant bubble gum bubble, whatever. And then he’d laugh at me.
His yard is empty. I turn away. I hope my parents still hide the key in the same place.
They do– it’s under the third flowerpot by the front window. The car isn’t in the driveway, and all the lights are off, so I figure it’s probably safe to break in.
Unlocking the door, I’m greeted by the house alarm. Thankfully, I still remember the disarm code from when I was a kid– 9911. I lock the door behind me, and look around. There’s a new couch, but everything else still looks the same. Same suburban kitchen, breakfast nook, and living room. They even still have the same table that I mixed up my batch of green goop on. There’s probably still a greenish stain infused into the wood from where my bowl spilled over, if I checked.
All the photos of me are still up.
I walk into the living room, and gaze at the mantelpiece, where I’m represented from ages zero to fourteen. There are baby pictures, me eating ice cream for the first time, me on a merry-go-round, me riding a bike for the first time– pretty much every conceivable childhood memory. It’s pretty obvious that I’m an only child. There’s a shift around the seven-year-old mark, which was when I socially transitioned. My hair gets shorter, and I usually have scuff marks or scratches on me because I would tussle with Wilson.
Today won’t be our first fight, not by a long shot. But it will be our last.
From then on, it’s pretty straightforward. I progress through elementary school and into middle. There’s a photo of me in my silver costume, from when I was “The Amazing Flying Boy,” with a big fake smile on my face. The last photo on the mantlepiece is a shot of me at fourteen, sitting on this rocky outcropping over the water on the beach near our house. My jeans are rolled up so my feet can dangle in the water, and I’m scowling at Wilson, who was holding the camera.
A month later, at that same outcropping, Wilson asked for a kiss, and I tore his face off. Four years after that, I’m going back there again.
Moving into the kitchen, my eyes are immediately drawn to the dog bed by the table. I bend down to pet Morty, my spaniel. “Hi, boy!” I say. He pants and wags his tail. He’s a very old dog now, and there’s white around his muzzle. He still has the two-pound weight on his collar to keep from flying away, and I laugh as I remember him eating his own share of green goop. His eyes glow slightly yellow now because of it.
He gets up to his feet, and, still wagging his tail, attempts to jump on me. I rub his ears. “Did you miss me, boy?” He barks.
“I’m sorry for leaving without saying goodbye, Morty. I made a mistake, and I couldn’t come back home,” I say. “That wasn’t fair to you.”
He licks my face, and I laugh. “I have to do something,” I tell him. “It’ll probably get me killed.” My voice quavers as I say, “I’m scared, Morty.”
He pants uncomprehendingly. I scratch his ear and then stand up. I need to eat something, even though my stomach feels like it’s made out of wood.
The fridge is also covered in photos of me, but the one that stands out to me is the bright red flyer. It blares, in loud black font, HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY? Above that message is the photo that Wilson took of me at the beach.
Next to the fridge is a stack of identical flyers. They’re looking for me. They’re still looking for me.
It becomes very hard to swallow. I open the fridge and pull out a peach. I bite into it, but I barely taste it. They never stopped looking for me.
I have… complicated feelings about my parents. They loved me, but they used me to launch their careers and make a profit. After I faked losing my flight, they weren’t mad or anything, but a bit disappointed in me. But they’ve been looking for me for four years, apparently. And I’m never going to see them again. They’re never going to see the person I’ve become, flight and all–
I slam the fridge door closed. I need to change my clothes. That’s why I’m here.
My room is mostly the same. Even my half-finished math homework from the day that I left is still sitting on the desk. They must have kept it like that, hoping I’d come home. Numbly, I open the dresser.
Empty. They must have given everything away to Goodwill. I bite into my peach again, and turn to the closet.
There’s nothing in the closet except a familiar silver costume. “Fuck me,” I groan, and pull it out.
It still looks the same. Shiny silver cape, grey shirt and pants. The shirt has “THE AMAZING FLYING BOY” written on it. I pull off my galaxy-print hoodie, and then my shirt, which also has “THE AMAZING FLYING BOY” on it. It was a shirt made for merch, back when I was a celebrity. I was wearing it when Wilson asked me for a kiss. It’s been well-worn.
After some consideration, I take off my binder, too. If I’m going to fight him, I can’t be gasping for air.
I slip on the costume, quickly, fastening my cape around my neck. Everything still fits, which is annoying. I thought I would have grown since I was fourteen. Looking in the mirror, I chuckle to myself. The Amazing Flying Boy, back for one last hurrah.
I drift back out into the living room, and whistle for Morty. He comes plodding into the room, after a moment.
“Hey, boy. I’ve got some time to kill, before…” I swallow. “Well, anyway, how about I take that weight off your collar and we can fly a bit together?” Inside, of course. I don’t need him flying away again.
I bend down and unclip the weight. Morty’s eyes go wide and his legs kick as he springs into the air. Straightening back up, I’m bowled over as he jumps on my chest midair, sending me back into a reclining position.
Suddenly, I hear a key turn in the lock, and I freeze. Me and Morty both look at the slowly-opening door in mute horror.
Mia Montez stands in the door. She’s four years older now, of course, but I’d know her anywhere. She’s wearing a letterman jacket with a t-shirt with a heart on it, and heart-shaped sunglasses perched on her head. Her red lipstick stands out against her tanned skin, and her black, shiny hair is chin-length. Morty bounds over to her. “Jack?” she says. “What are you doing here?”
I finish my peach. “This is my house. What are you doing here?”
I drift off to the kitchen to throw the pit away. Behind me, I hear her shut the door, and follow me. “I’m house-sitting for your parents– holy fuck, Jack. Where have you been?”
The pit makes a thunk sound as it drops into the trash. “All over.”
“And you can fly again!”
“Never stopped being able to, actually. I was just lying to you guys. Sorry.” I shrug my shoulders.
“And your face – I remember it being bad before you left, but not that bad. You’re, like, transparent now.”
“Thanks, I know. Are we done here?” I say brusquely.
I’m suddenly dragged down to her level as she grabs my cape. “Don’t be like that,” she says sternly. “You’ve been gone for years, and I was your friend. Don’t brush me off.”
“Sorry,” I say, a little taken aback. “Hi, Mia. How have you been the last four years?”
“Oh, good, good,” she says. “If you don’t count one of my best friends disappearing and the other one being thrust into a life of celebrity.”
I wince. “Fair enough.”
She lets go of my cape. “Seriously, Jack, how are you? You don’t look good.”
I rub my face. “Bad. I haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep in four years. My two companions are probably dead or dying. And I just found out that my parents are still looking for me.”
She blinks. “Yeah, of course. Why is that a surprise?”
I grit my teeth. “I don’t know. Didn’t think anyone still cared.”
“Are you kidding? Your parents are going to be devastated that they were in Palm Springs when you finally came home. They’re still putting up posters and following random leads about your disappearance. They got the whole neighborhood involved– practically everyone cares. Me, my dad and stepmom, Ethan, Ray, Kara, Wilson–”
“Wilson?” I cut her off. “No, that’s not possible.”
She laughs. “Jack, I know you guys had your little rivalry, but the three of us were best friends. Of course Wilson was worried when you disappeared. He put up a reward to whoever could find you, all over California.”
That explains why I never heard anything about a manhunt. I left California as fast as possible.
“Even now, he still checks in with your parents whenever he’s in town. He’ll be thrilled to know you’re back, seriously.”
There’s a dull weight in my stomach. He put up a reward for me. He checks in with my parents. He’s been looking for me, waiting to settle the score for years. And I’m going right to him.
“Shame about what happened to his face, though,” Mia says.
I blink. “Huh?”
“Oh, right, you disappeared right before it happened,” she says. “Yeah, it was really sad. He was flying over the ocean near here and dove into the water. There was a rock just under the surface which he collided with, face-first. Disfigured him pretty badly. He’s been wearing a mask ever since.”
Holy shit. She doesn’t know. Wilson never told her.
I swallow. “That’s…sad to hear,” I say carefully.
“Yeah, but it was an accident,” she says. “He’s actually back in town, you know. For a show. Maybe the three of us could hang out again, like the old days.”
I nod, kind of numbly. “Yeah, maybe. I’m– um– I’m meeting up with him tonight. At midnight.”
“Wow, really? Tell him I said hi,” Mia says. Her tone turns teasing as she says, “This is a private conversation, though, isn’t it? He wants you all to himself.”
I chuckle humorlessly. “That’s right.”
“Come on, you know that Wilson’s always had a bit of a crush on you,” she says. “I mean, that was what all that competition stuff when we were kids was about.”
“Yeah, I know.” I doubt he still feels the same way, though.
“Hey, if it comes up while you talk… just let him down easy, okay? He’s a nice guy, and if you don’t feel the same way, he should get to move on.”
I don’t think he’ll ever move on from me. But then, I don’t think I’ll ever move on from him, either. “Will do,” I say.
She smiles. “Thanks, Jack. Hey, you’ve got some time before midnight. Do you want to make some food and catch up?”
“That sounds amazing,” I say honestly.
–––––
We make pasta and chat for nearly two and a half hours. She’s doing well for herself– she goes to USC, but she’s home for spring break. She’s come out as bi like me, and is on the board of her school’s LGBT club. She works on campus in the prop shop.
At 11:45, I tell her I have to get going. She frowns, but says she understands. “Let me know how your meeting with Wilson goes, okay? The three of us can meet up sometime this week, if everything goes well.”
Everything is not going to go well, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again. “Will do,” I say.
We walk out of my house together, and she locks up. Then, with one final hug exchanged, we part ways, and I speed out towards the beach.
The waves are dark, and the beach is empty. Wilson is already hovering there by the outcropping, his green-fire eyes illuminating the area.
I slow to a stop across from him. “You’re early,” I say.
He’s silent, and then, “This is where it happened.”
Normally, I’d say something like “Congrats on the realization, genius!” But my stomach is currently twisting itself into a pretzel. “You didn’t tell Mia about it.”
“Mia?” His head tilts, and for a second it looks like I’ve caught him off guard. “I didn’t tell anyone about it.”
“Not even your parents?”
“Especially not my parents.”
It’s quiet. The waves crash onto the beach. “I guess this is it, then,” I say.
“I guess it is,” he says.
He must be brimming with fury. That’s why he’s being so calm about this. “Do me a favor, okay?” I ask. “Look after Dana and Crystal.”
He’s just a floating mask in the dark. He nods, once. And so I let myself go, and fly at him, pulling my fist back for a punch.
He blocks me with his forearm. “Nice try,” he says, with a smile in his voice. There’s the old Wilson.
He kicks me in the chest, and I skid back. Stupid gymnastics training. But I spring forward again, tapping him in the stomach.
He makes an oof sound, and punches towards my face. I dart to the side to avoid it.
As we fight, I realize that this is the first time in years that I’ve let all of my monstrous energy out. Ever since I tore his face off, I’ve been keeping it bottled up. Now, all of my rage is on display. But so is his. And we crash together, and it’s glorious.
He jumps at me, his gloved hands digging into my shoulders. I roll from the impact.
The force of his jump sends us careening towards the rocks. My back scrapes the rocks as he pushes down on top of me, and I wince in pain.
He falters, seeing my expression change. Only for a second, but it’s enough for me to grab a fistful of his hair and pull. He stifles a groan.
I wriggle out from under him. “Asshole!” I hiss. I knee him in the chin.
He grabs for me, and we roll around the rocks together, both scrambling for dominance.
Finally, I roll on top of him. He punches out wildly, and strikes me in the side of the head.
I reel, my vision going red, but I manage to stay on his chest, weighing him down. I wind up my fist for a punch. I strike down…
…and my fist drives down next to his head, into a crevice between the rocks.
I blink. I had meant to aim for his face.
…Hadn’t I?
I try to raise my fist again, but wince in pain. It’s trapped pretty firmly in between the rocks, and pulling it out would be painful.
Fuck.
We’re still. I pull on my fist again. His eyes flick over to it, and he sits up. I grab at the front of his costume with my off-hand, trying to keep him down, but he pushes me off and stands up.
We’re both breathing heavily. He towers over me, as I’m still stuck kneeling. His mask is still firmly on his face, an expressionless void.
“Why couldn’t you just finish the job, Jack?” he says, finally.
“Fuck you. I don’t know what kind of bullshit intimidation tactic this is, but stop gloating. You win, okay? For the last time, you’re better than I am! Is that what you want to hear?”
He reaches out to me. Instinctively, I strike out with my other arm. I connect with his chest, and he goes sailing back off the edge of the outcropping and into the water. Too late, I register that he was reaching towards my buried fist, to help me up.
He sinks like a stone.
The waters around here are deep. Wilson knows how to swim– I’ve seen him swim. Why didn’t he swim? Did I stun him that bad?
Panic surges through me. Wilson can’t drown. I need him.
Some part of me is shocked at the thought (because in what fucking world do I need Wilson?) but the panicking part of me pushes it down. I’ll confront that later, when there’s no danger.
I relax my hand, and try and pull it out again. It’s so tight that i’m barely able to uncurl it. Relaxing it means that I can raise it up an inch or two, but it’s still stuck. If I had unlimited time, I could ease it out, bit by bit, so that it won’t hurt.
I don’t have unlimited time. Wilson doesn’t have unlimited time.
Making a quick decision, I grit my teeth and yank. My hand flies upward. The skin stays in the crevice.
I purposefully don’t look at my hand. There’s no pain, so my adrenaline’s probably working overtime. I’ll worry about that after.
Diving into the water, I nearly stop automatically, because of how cold it is. Focus, Jack.
I open my eyes. My vision is red, but something is illuminating the water in front of me.
I push myself down towards a still-sinking, still-stunned Wilson. I shake him.
He doesn’t respond.
My lungs scream as I wrap his arm around my neck and grab his waist. Using what strength I have left, I push myself up towards the surface.
We break the surface, sending water everywhere. I dump him on the rocks, and push him so he’s on his side. His eyes are extinguished.
This is no time to feel guilty, Jack, I tell myself. This is so he doesn’t choke.
I rip off the mask.
His face is shadowed, and he doesn’t move. For a second, I think I’m going to have to give him mouth-to-mouth. Which is bad, because I don’t know how to do mouth-to-mouth. But then he coughs, once, twice, and again, sending out puffs of steam.
I breathe a sigh of relief and move back onto my heels. His eyes reignite, and he pushes himself up to a sitting position, still coughing. In the light of his eyes, I finally see him.
His mouth is still perfect. So is everything else below his cheekbones, although you can see his jawbone glowing green through his skin. At his cheekbones, there’s this jagged line, with mangled strips of skin still clutching his cheeks. Above that is pure white bone, glowing slightly green. He doesn’t have a nose– just a dark, upside down heart-shaped hole. His eyes burn in their sockets, and above his browbone, there’s another jagged line of skin, just before his hairline. His bangs are plastered to his forehead.
“You saved me,” he says, in between coughs. Somehow, he’s a lot less scary without his mask.
“Don’t read into it too much,” I say weakly. Now that the danger’s over, tiredness is setting in.
“Jack, your hand ,” he groans.
“Wilson, your face,” I imitate.
He touches his unmasked face. “Just… look at your hand.”
Slowly, I let my eyes drag over to my hand. It’s… well… it’s not what I expected it to be. Instead of a mess of gore, I’m met with pure white bone, hovering in the shape of a hand. The bones glow slightly red. I flex my fingers hesitantly, and watch the hovering bone move at my command. “It didn’t hurt when I tore it out,” I say. “Wilson, why didn’t it hurt?”
He shrugs. “Didn’t… didn’t hurt when you ripped my face off, either. Don’t know why.” He lets out another puff of steam. “Your eyes are glowing red, too.”
“Is that why I was able to see you underwater?”
“I guess,” he says. “My eyes did the same thing, before they burned out.”
“Great, I have that to look forward to.”
“It doesn’t hurt. And I can still see fine, it just looks a little weird.”
“That’s good,” I say. We’re both quiet.
“Why did you save me? You hate me,” he asks.
My cheeks heat up. “Why don’t you hate me?” I counter. “I ruined your life.”
He stares at me, and says, “I’ve lived like this for four years, now. I’ve had a lot of time to get used to it, and ultimately, I’m okay with how I look. Plus, I kinda deserved it– I was being a pretty big asshole.”
“Wilson,” I say, wondering if his brain is short-circuiting from the water. “I ripped your face off.”
“And I blackmailed you for two straight years,” he replies.
“That doesn’t mean you deserved it.”
“Whatever,” he says. “Anyway, because of what you did, my face stopped being plastered over every tabloid in existence. So I have that to thank you for.”
“Told you celebrity sucks,” I say.
“It really does,” he agrees.
I feel a stab of sympathy for him. I know first-hand what it’s like to be crushed by celebrity. And he’s been living that life for years, all alone. No wonder he’s all expressionless and muted now– he’s probably tired.
“I talked with Mia before this,” I say. “She told me I looked like crap.”
“You do,” he says.
“She wants the three of us to hang out again. Like old times.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Man, how would we even explain any of this?”
“Don’t know,” I say. “I kind of told her that we were just going to talk.”
The corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile. “Some talk.”
When he smiles, he looks like his old self. The one that called me “Jackie” and challenged me to race him over the hills. I tilt my head back and look up at the stars. “Holy shit.”
“What?” he asks.
I’m not sure what compels me to say this, but the next thing out of my mouth is, “I think I fucking missed you, man.”
A fraction of a second later, I realize how that sounds, and I say, “Wait– no, that’s not what I mean.”
“Nah, I get it,” he says. “I’ve never felt more like myself than when I’m with you. I was just kind of going through the motions for years, until Slappy said your name in Vegas. And then you were in front of me again, and boom! I was back to my old self. Doesn’t help that you’re still really fucking hot.”
I feel myself blush. “Wilson.”
“What? It’s not like I have a second face for you to rip off.” He turns away.
Fair enough. “What did you ask Slappy?”
“What did you ask him?” he says instead.
I lean forward. “Whether a confrontation between us was inevitable. What did you ask?”
“Promise you won’t laugh?”
“Sure.”
He turns back towards me. “When I’d get to see you again.”
I don’t laugh at him, but I can’t help but smile. “So, I guess this means we’re back in each other’s lives?”
“Do you want to be?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Whenever I look at you, I’m reminded of what I did, and I feel guilty. But… I think that’s good for me. I spent so long trying to dodge it, and it made me miserable. It’s better that I face it.”
He smiles, a real smile. “Face it?”
I snort. “Shut up!”
And then he’s laughing, and I’m laughing, and we’re both laughing on the rocks. And holy shit, why does this suddenly feel so normal?
“You realize this isn’t healthy,” he says.
“Nope,” I agree. “Wanna do it anyway?”
“ God, yes,” he says. “Happy to have you back.”
“I’m not sticking around,” I say. “I’m going up to Argus, to meet up with Crystal and Dana. Assuming they both survive.”
“And if they don’t?” he asks.
“Then I guess I’ll have to join you on your tour,” I tease. He rolls his eyes. “I don’t know. I’ll reunite with my parents or something.”
“At least wait a bit before you leave,” he says. “You, me, and Mia can hang out. You can stay at my place. We’ll have a fucking sleepover.”
I laugh. “Sure. But you can always come out and visit me, you know. We can catch up.”
“Your friends won’t kill me on sight?”
“Nah. Dana and Crystal are chill.”
He flops back. “Done. I’ll bring the booze.”
And maybe he’s right, and this is unhealthy. But it feels real, and that’s enough, for now.