The Anchor [Brallon-ish]

6

On our way out of his house on the drive to mine, I had a thought. I had the wonderful thought of Dallon absorbing too many abilities and losing control of everything, and then getting caught and living in quarantine forever. I expressed my concern, he mirrored it for a half hour while we took a fifteen minute detour to a motorcycle shop, picked up a pair of riding gloves, and bought a nice brown leather jacket so the purchase didn't look so weird. We still got weird looks, but Dallon told the cashier it was for a kids party, because he was playing the off-brand Ghost Rider at a kid's party. Nicholas Cage is copyrighted.

In all honesty, I suggested it because he looks good in it. That's the sole reason.

The gloves are the first thing my dad points out when we get to my place. I thought he would've left when I did, but I guess he wanted to check me in to Next Steps to consolidate my complete and utter lockdown for the next month or however long it took before the staff decided I could handle myself.

Brainy Bitch sticks his hand out for him to shake. His dumb silver Council suit sleeve sticks out from underneath his hoodie. Apparently he doesn't know how to change and wash his clothes. "The jacket's new too?"

Dallon nods. He gives me a glance at his side before taking my dad's hand. "Yes sir. New ability, new me, right?"

"That's what I like to hear," I get the death side eye from my own dad, "very positive, considering... er—" he trails off, because he doesn't know if he should even mention Dallon's lack of a father figure. He's an idiot like that. My mom rubs her temples from down the hall. He's combat savvy, but sucks at existing other than that. The only person he can show affection around is my mom.

"Well, I feel like I've got a piece of him with me now." Dallon points to his chest with his thumb, and my dad's eyes blow up to the size of saucers. He's speechless and excited for him. Not the same level of excitement for me and the passing on of his stupid legacy, so very far from it.

Finally, my dad manages to choke out a "tell me", and spares a couple smiles to my mom. She's also happy for him, but still not as happy as she was for me. Maybe this is the beginning of my tragic super villain backstory.

Dallon agrees, but takes a second and a deep breath before he takes the glove off one hand, places his hand on my shoulder, and moves me an arms length in front of him. He gently takes my hand and turns it palm up, stretched out to him, and I genuinely feel my insides turn to mush when he gives me a squeeze and lets go of my hand.

I think he sees it as me being nervous. "Don't you worry," he winks so my parents can't see, "I'll be careful."

White sparks fly across his hand, jumping from fingertip to fingertip until a stream of electricity connects like a spider web, and slowly bridges over to crackle over my palm.

My parents clap as the show wraps up and the glove goes back on, and my mom finally makes her way over to my dad's side, leaning on his shoulder and shaking her grip over his elbow. "How impressive," she nods, "we have three superheroes in the family now!"

Dallon and I both smile and laugh, and thankfully my parents don't seem to notice how fake it was, both the sparks and the laughter.

———

I don't get a long hug like Dallon does after my dad finishes signing the paperwork in his dumbass Council suit and convincing the staff he's the legal guardian of both of us, but I don't care. I have my bags and a huge box of surprises from my mom, so fuck that guy. Fuck him and all the parents that wanted photos with him.

The way they have it set up is weird. It's just one large building, white, shiny, pristine. The layout of our room is given to us on our way up the elevator to the seventh floor. It's two small separate beds, a small kitchen through a narrow doorway, a couch, and a lounge chair. There're ports in the wall to charge devices we don't readily have access to, but it still reminds me of a mental institution. But I guess they have to have everything protected and proofed from any dangers, because there sure are a lot of them. In the lobby we passed one kid with steel framed sunglasses that completely wrapped around his head, and then we passed a group of people painting over a large burn mark in the wall. It doesn't take a genius to connect the dots.

Dallon is the first one to step into the room, and he lets out the longest sigh. He chucks his backpack across the room against the bed frame, and sits on the skimpy little shag rug in the middle of the room. It's a little smaller than I expected, but whatever. "I can choose a different ability. On the paper your dad signed, there wasn't a place to put what I have and he didn't tell anyone. I could have anything I want."

"Just don't choose laser eyes," I point up to the ceiling which is scarred with black streaks, "because that's both dangerous and lame."

"Speaking of dangerous and lame," he digs through the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a pamphlet folded in a little square, "I have the information about the people across the hallway, so we don't technically have to interact with them but we'll know if we need to alert someone if we hear anything concerning. I guess they've been here long enough to have solid abilities listed."

"Cool," I take a seat beside him on the bed, "privacy is a social construct. Read them to me."

"Miss Taylor A. Swift fucks around with metals," he scrunches his nose, "and was an unregistered Early Bloomer at the age of six. Her mom left when she was five, and her dad lost his marbles while he was teaching her how to responsibly throw kitchen knives across a football field at top speed with incredible accuracy. She was self-admitted after... the person she was hired to kill tried to kill her back?"

"Interesting. If I pay her enough, do you think she would kill me?"

Dallon stares at me for a good minute. He doesn't respond to that, and moves on to Taylor's roommate. "Joshua Dun is one end of the electricity current, his partner Tyler Joseph is the other. They grew up together as neighbors with steady home lives but quickly realized their abilities spiraled out of control when spending too much time in close proximity. Danger levels are low, as long as neither are too emotional."

I wonder what my biography will be. 'Son of dickbag head of Council. Hates life, truly loves only one person, and will kill to trade abilities with literally anyone else on the planet'. I pity whoever has to write Dallon's. If there's even a record of who his biological dad is, then he's screwed.

"So we live across from two people that could kill us in our sleep?"

He nods and flips through a few more papers. "Well, some guy down the hall can make someone fall asleep with a single touch. Maybe they'll team up and murder us together?"

Oh, gee. I hope so. Then I can talk shit on my dad to my mom and it'll be fun. "What about his roommate?"

He squints at the pages and his nose curls again. "His body heats up when he gives hugs."

Nice. "Stamp of approval. Are you going to unpack?" I grab my bag and shake into one of the drawers under the mattress and kick the box from my mom into the gap beside it. I still have two more drawers to hold my stuff, but one will do. I don't believe in separating my clothes.

"I'll do it as I need everything. Slowly but surely, y'know?" His eyes follow every corner of the walls to the next, tracing over the tiles before they disappear beneath the rug, swirling along with the quilted pattern on the blankets.

"Did the gloves work? Can you read my mind?"

He frowns and stares off into the distance. His eyes squint but after a minute or two he sighs in both disappointment and relief that the gloves worked. "Nah." His eyes are so blue and he looks so good in the jacket, all I want to do is hold his hand and be near him all the time.

"At least they do the trick," I try to look upset but I feel like celebrating, "and you won't be overloaded within, like, a week."

His eyebrows raise. "I mean, I guess you're not wrong. Mind reading is too invasive for me anyways."

Good.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

[these get better I swear]