Chapter 5: Emotionaly ambivalent Family breakfeast

You never understand the freedom that flying grants until you’ve tasted it, until gravity’s hold on you is shattered. The rush of wind against your skin, the soft hum of your body cutting through the sky. It’s intoxicating, liberating—a high that no drug could match. And yet, as I slipped through the window of my room that morning, using my powers to soften my landing without a sound, I couldn't shake a hollow feeling gnawing at me.

I dismissed it. I just had a wonderful night with a gorgeous MILF. She had done things and asked me to do things to her no would have expected coming from her.

The sex had been good, good in the sense of 7/10 steak, enough to satiate you, not enough for you to absolutely crave it.

It felt bland, yes, bland was the name. It made me wish for something more. The question was what was missing to make it better.

I'll think about it later.

I glanced around Mich-my room, barely lit by the rising sun. Everything was just as I had left it, as if nothing had changed, as Michael had left it, before he died and I woke up as him, before he died with a bullet through his brain. I stood here in his place, wearing his skin, his memories mingling with my own.

I blinked away those thoughts. Why the fuck was still hanging over that. I was alive, I had might, powers, literally divine powers, what the fucking was I doing?

I wanted to make this world my oyster, to drink until I couldn’t do so, heal and continue. I wanted the greatest pleasures, ones who wouldn’t letting me dissatisfied like the sex with Miss Jackson had.

I wanted to be worshipped, for the people to looks at me with reverence, love and respect. I wanted to have the most fun imaginable.

I wanted everything so again, why wasn’t I planning? Why was I being stupid?

I could feel the beginning of plans forming I did my mind. I was sure without a doubt that unwantingly healing the people of Brockton Bay more than directing a lot of attention to them gave me a lot of positive PR.

I was or would be their mother Theresa, their Nightingale if I played it well. More than that, I knew that many others would try to come from outside the city for me to heal them and unlike Amy, there were no chances in hell I would do it for free.

Speaking of Amy, I needed to speak with her. She should be a billionaire with hundred of blonde models instead of being someone on the verge of breaking and possibly mindfuck her sister because she had limited herself too much in using her power.

The memories I inherited from the original Michael made me know that I was almost as close to her than she was with Vicky. I would say that it would have been even if it wasn’t for Vicky’s aura.

A part of me wondered if I wasn’t confusing canon and fanon. With all the fics I read in the past and Wildbow rewriting his chapter, I didn't exactly which was which. I would have to deal with that later.

It was now time to do something I had tried to avoid but had to deal with now because past me was an asshole.

It was time to deal with my family and begin my plan of Domination of course.

‘They probably think I’m still asleep.’

I moved to my closet, grabbed a clean shirt, and pulled it on. The fabric felt foreign against my skin, like I didn’t quite fit in it anymore. Maybe because I didn’t.

Another thing to deal with later. More than that, the clothes of the original were boring as if someone had taken as much clothe as possible from a boy’s section and threw it in the closet…which my memories showed that it had actually been the case, that this had been what my dear mother had done.

What else did I expect?

I headed downstairs, the muffled clatter of dishes and faint chatter grew louder. They were already up. That meant breakfast—together. ‘Great,’ I thought. ‘Family bonding time.’

I rounded the corner into the kitchen, and sure enough, they were all there. Mom, Dad, Vicky, Amy, Crystal, Eric, Uncle Neil and Aunt Sarah. My family. All of New Wave was there. The superhero family that could never quite figure out how to be just... family.

Mom, Carol Dallon—Brandish to the world—was at the counter, pouring coffee. Her usually stern face softened when she saw me, something that sent a strange jolt of discomfort through me. Dad, Mark—Manpower—was flipping pancakes, his broad shoulders hunched slightly, as if he was still carrying the lingering weight of his depression even while almost like he used to pretend everything was fine. Vicky, my golden older sister, her blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight, was animatedly talking to Amy, who responded with her usual dry, sarcastic wit. Crystal and Eric, my cousins, were already at the table, their plates piled high, their parents following in a more demure way.

It all felt... too normal. Too warm. Too much like a family that had suddenly decided to act like one, after years of not knowing how.

The only times my memories had me known new wave acted as a family when things were wrong.

Being all together without a crisis? I have more fingers in one hand than the times it happened in the past.

“Morning,” I said, slipping into a chair at the table. The word felt foreign in my mouth I ignored that

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Vicky said, flashing me a wide grin. She was up in an instant, wrapping her arms around me in a tight hug, the kind that felt like she was trying to squeeze the life back into me. I stiffened for a second before awkwardly hugging her back.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, but she wasn’t having it. Her grip didn’t loosen.

“Yes, it's right, you're fine, he's fine, he’s alive,” I heard whisper.” What could I say to that? I didn't know so I gave her a hug.

“I‘m fine Vicky” I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. I don’t know if I was able to succeed “I’m here.”

‘Even I’m not the same person anymore,’ I thought, but I didn’t say it. She didn’t need to know that.

Vicky finally let go, but not before ruffling my hair in that way only she could. I forced a smile, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate her affection. It just... felt wrong compared to the one usually given by my sister. There was almost a touch of desperation, possessive ness in it that wasn’t present before.

Crystal was next. She didn’t hug me, but she punched me lightly in the arm, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. It made me relax “Good to see you in one piece, Mikey. I was starting to think we’d have to start a ‘Resurrect Michael’ club with Amy.”

The dark humour made me chuckle. That, I could deal with and shake my head. “I’ll pass on that.”

Amy, sitting across from me, rolled her eyes but smiled. A real smile, one of relief not the tired, burdened one she usually wore. She grabbed a piece of toast and tossed it onto my plate. “Eat. You look like you need it.”

I raised an eyebrow, but the corner of my mouth twitched up. Amy wasn’t the kind of person whose love language was physical displays of affection not that she couldn’t be. It's just that it was in more subtle ways.

Eric, on the other hand, was already digging into his pancakes, barely looking up. But when he did, his gaze lingered on me a little longer than usual, something unspoken passing between us. He hadn’t said anything about what happened, but I knew. He was the closest thing the original Michael had to a twin, and even he didn’t know what to say about it.

Brandish Mom and Flashbang Dad took their seats at the table, and for the first time in a long time, the room was filled with an almost peaceful silence. Almost. Because there was still that undercurrent of awkwardness, of tension, as if none of us really knew how to do this.

I looked at my plate, poking at the food Amy had given me. The normalcy of it all was unsettling. I should’ve been dead. They should have been mourning me. But here we were, pretending like things hadn’t changed. Like I hadn’t changed.

“So,” Crystal started, breaking the silence, “how’s the... new powers thing going?” I would kiss her just to thank her for breaking the silence.

Everyone turned to look at me, and I could feel the weight of their stares pressing down on me. I swallowed, suddenly feeling like I was on trial.

“It’s... weird,” I said, not really sure how else to put it. I couldn’t say, hey, I filled an extra-dimensional slaver Catalogue that allowed me to gain the power of femboy Jesus so instead I bullshited.

“I mean, one minute I’m dead, and the next I’m... this.”

“And by ‘this,’ you mean badass,” Eric chimed in, grinning. “You can heal, you can fly, you can make light constructs. You’re like a mix of all of us.”

“Yeah, like you inherited your Mom’s power,” Crystal added, nodding toward Carol, who was watching me with a look I couldn’t quite place. Pride? Worry? Maybe both.

“You can fly too,” Vicky said, leaning back in her chair. “Like me, Eric, and Crystal. And heal like Amy.”

I shrugged, trying to play it off. “I guess I hit the genetic jackpot.”

Amy snorted. “Welcome to the club. We’ve got stress, grizzly sights, and a constant stream of mankind’s stupidity.”

The table chuckled, but the sound felt brittle, like it could crack at any moment.

“Speaking of healing,” Mom said, her voice cutting through the noise, “Michael, you need to be careful. What you did was... not exactly legal.”

Eric’s head snapped up. “Bullshit. He literally healed *everyone*. How could that be illegal?”

“Illegal doesn’t mean immoral,” Aunt Sarah who had been modrtky silent spoke.

I watched confusion bloom on some of the faces of the younger members of New Wave.

The gazes of my aunt and her husband crossed before he began to speak too. “For example,” Uncle Neil continued There are plenty of things that were legal but weren’t right. Like slavery. Or Nazi Germany.”

The room grew quiet again, the weight of the conversation shifting. I glanced at Mom, her expression unreadable as she sipped her coffee.

“I’ve been talking with some contacts,” she finally said, her voice low. “Doing what I can to make sure there won’t be any... consequences.”

“Consequences?” Vicky whispered, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Mom sighed, rubbing her temples. “The Protectorate might try to press Michael into the Wards.”

The reaction was immediate. Vicky’s eyes flared, and for a moment, there was a wave of something. Gone was the affectionate sister. In her place was something fierce, something terrifying.

So this was her aura, interesting. “They’ll try,” she hissed.

I could feel the air in the room shift, the tension thickening.I could hear the hearts of all of them pounding in their chest.I could hear each beat of them as if they were singing to me and something deep down, almost instinctive told me I could sing back.

“I’m not joining the Wards,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. The thought of being leashed by them, by the Protectorate... no. That wasn’t going to happen. There were no chances in hell I'll let them leash me, tell me what I could or couldn’t do.

“We’ll figure it out,” Mom said, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced. “But for now, you need to be careful. There are rules—”

“Rules are made to be broken,” Vicky muttered under her breath, earning a pointed look from our mother and smiles from the others.

The conversation drifted back into more mundane topics, small talk about inconsequential things and the like, and upcoming patrols. But the weight of what had been said hung in the air like a storm cloud.

At one point, I accidentally knocked over the water pitcher, and without thinking, I flicked my hand. A light construct formed, stopping the water mid-air before it could spill.

“Whoa, that’s cool,” Eric said, eyes wide.

I heard Crystal chuckle. “Looks like you did inherit Mom’s power.”

Mom didn’t say anything, but when I glanced at her, I saw a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“And flight,” Vicky added. “Don’t forget that.”

“And healing,” Amy said, raising an eyebrow at me.

“An amalgam of all our powers,” Crystal mused. “That’s... impressive.”

“You’ll have to learn to control it,”

... *You'll have to learn to control it.*

The words lingered in my head, an echo of something my father had told me once. "Power without control is worse than no power at all." The old me—the one from before—might have taken that to heart. Might have wanted to live up to some ideal of what a hero should be. But the new me, the me standing in this kitchen surrounded by a family I’d known for a lifetime and yet felt so distant from, wasn’t bound by those ideals.

Control wasn’t a barrier. It was an opportunity, a tool, something to be honed so that I could do whatever I wanted with it. And right now, the only thing I wanted was to enjoy this moment, milk it for all it was worth.

The sun’s warmth returned to the room in a slow, deliberate manner as if I’d never stolen its light away in the first place. All the natural colors seeped back into the kitchen, and I let the orb of light between my hands dissipate. The room was brighter again, but the air carried the weight of what I’d just shown them. Silence hung for a second too long.

“Woah,” Eric said, eyes wide, his mouth open like he’d just witnessed a magic trick.

I smirked. The kid had always been easy to impress, but even I had to admit this was more than a neat trick. I had stopped light. Bent it to my will. This was something bigger, something on a different level than what even New Wave had ever done.

Crystal was the first to break out of her stupor, her usual casual grin replaced with something more thoughtful. “You know,” she started, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms, “I don’t think anyone else in the family can do that. Sure, Vicky and I can fly, Amy can heal, but this—” she gestured to where the light had been, “—this is something different.”

“Not *that* different,” Amy muttered, pushing some more food onto my plate, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile as she glanced at me. “He’s got bits of all of us, though, doesn’t he? Flying like Vicky, making constructs like Mom, healing like me…”

The rest of them were still taking it in, turning the idea over in their heads. Even Carol, who usually had a sharp word for everything, was uncharacteristically quiet. She stared at me, not with the usual sternness that always seemed to hover just under her expression, but with something softer. Something almost like… pride?

“Power like yours,” my uncle Neil finally said, breaking his long silence, “can change things. But you’ve got to be careful, Michael. A lot of capes fall because of arrogance.”

I met his gaze, smiling just a little. “It’s not arrogance if we do it together, right?”

His brows furrowed, but before he could respond, I felt the familiar tug of power at my fingertips. Light gathered in my palm again, slowly at first, then faster, forming a glowing orb. The air around us dimmed, the sun’s rays no longer filtering into the room. It was as if I’d drawn the light away, bending it to my will.

The orb hovered above my hand, brighter and more intense than before. I felt their eyes on me—Amy, Crystal, Vicky, Mark, Carol. All of them watching as I pushed the glowing orb toward Amy. She looked at me, raising an eyebrow, her expression skeptical but not surprised.

“Really?” she asked, sighing as she extended her hand. The orb fell into her grasp, and for a moment, it stayed there, the light refracting in strange patterns around her fingers.

I couldn’t help but think that Amy trusted me more than anyone else in this room. Even if I’d pushed the limits, even if I’d shown a side of myself that scared the others, Amy would always trust me. That was just who she was.

“No powers at the table,” Carol said, her voice softer than usual.

I let the orb disappear, and the room brightened once again. The world returned to normal, or at least as normal as it could be.

Before anyone could say more, the doorbell rang, cutting through the moment like a knife. We all froze, glancing at each other.

“I swear, if it’s another journalist—” I heard Eric muttered under his breath as he stood up to walk to the door.

“Who it is?!” I heard him shout. For a moment, there was silence before he turned back to look at us.

“Who it is Eric?” Amy asked.

“It's the protectorate,” he answered.