“Or that.”

He sighed. “I wanted to say… I know it’s not a good comparison, but I was sent away for four years, only seeing my family for holidays. I don’t know if the hospital stay was anything like that, but I could offer a listening ear. I think I understand my sister, and even my old friend. I could answer questions or help you figure things out, if Crystal’s not up to it.”

I sighed.

“Or not. When we get through this mess with the Titans, if you wanted a bit of normal and you don’t mind going out to fast food with your two kid cousins, I could try giving you a taste of what’s ninety-eight percent ordinary civilian life.”

I don’t think we’re getting through this. I think this might be the new normal.

I can’t imagine a reality where I can draw a clear line between cape and civilian anymore. If I ever could.

Isn’t that right, my fragile, many-handed friend? It would be risky, like we might pull apart. I could lose my control and you could lose your connection to me.

“Thank you,” I said, with a small smile and zero sincerity.

“Ah, you’re your father’s child too, aren’t you?” he asked, looking into my eyes.

“I have no idea what you mean,” I said, keeping my expression blank as I thought of the uncomfortable memory of my mom with Uncle Neil. My mom crying after I confronted her.

He reached out, and I was bewildered enough in the moment that I didn’t react before he pulled me into a hug.

He might have sensed how tense I was, because he did pull away.

No damage, no disaster, just—

He touched his cheek, and he pulled something away.

Two long strands of blonde hair. My hair.

I reached up to the side of my head that had touched his cheek, stroking it. It prickled like I had a sunburn.

At least ten strands of hair clung to my palm.

I used flight to facilitate standing from the pew, and backed away a bit.

Horrifying. Horrifying, horrifying, horrifying.

Fuck me, what was this? I could look to one side and see injured people, bleeding people, and people with ulcers. In another direction there were two scared little kids I was related to. People praying with zero hope in their expressions. More injuries, more hurt, more despair.

In a warm church I’d let my guard down and let myself pretend things were normal and I could relax. Now it felt claustrophobic. Four walls and a steepled ceiling that couldn’t contain the hurt and fear the people inside were feeling.

I flew a bit over to get to the door, and to get out. Hair dug into the folds where finger met hand as I adjusted my grip on the door handle.