Are You Even Human

"Okay, I'll ask one more time. You're sure you won't let me change your face?" I ask.

"Hey, I didn't get blessed by what is apparently the god of Perfection for a lack of vanity," Peter says, haughtily putting a hand to his chest. "I got blessed because that god knows it when they see it."

I sigh, glancing at everyone else for help but finding little of it.

"We'll be fine," Emily dismisses. "The number of anti-supervillain squads that can actually threaten us are laughably low. The military won't release something like Danielle in a population center."

"Does the military actually care about the population?" Christine asks. "Or I guess more accurately, do the crazy parts of it that support Agnus Dei care?"

"Yes," Emily says. "Even if we want to treat the organization as fundamentally emotionless—which it isn't, it's still run by people—they literally can't function without the civilian population, and they know it. They need sources of new recruits, they need laborers, they need industry. We're fine. They don't want a big fight in public places any more than we do."

"I agree," Maria says. "They're going to track us if they notice us, and they'll probably notice us, but we're just going to head back into alien territory anyway. They won't follow us far."

"They might attack us," I point out. "By that logic, once we leave civilization, all bets are off."

"Well if there's any actual danger, I'll know about it," Emily says. "Unless you really fucked up, the military doesn't know what my powers are. They can't plan around the precog they don't understand."

I sigh. It's all good points, but I can't help but feel like they just don't want to be shapeshifted again because they're squeamish about it. I glance to Christine.

"Hey, don't look at me," she says. "You already gave me a new face."

Yeah that's why I… you know what, never mind. I sigh and turn back toward the road.

"Alright," I say. "Back to civilization, then."

The trek through the wilderness to return to human territory was much like the one I took with Blossom the first time we came through here, though with a lot less teaching people how to speak English and a lot more of Peter making trees cease to exist by walking through them. I know I'm not one to talk, but his power is kind of bullshit.

"It's going to be so weird returning to civilization after all this," Maria says, shuddering uncomfortably. "Though on the other hand, I am really looking forward to eating real food again. …Er, wait, are my taste buds going to be different? I can't remember what we did to my mouth…"

I poke her mouth with my domain, doing a quick check.

"They're the same," I confirm. "Though since your brain is different, things might not taste the same regardless."

"Oh boy," Maria sighs. "Well, still, I have some serious cravings for real food."

"I'll second that," Emily agrees.

"Thirded," Peter nods.

"I could really go for some chicken nuggets," Christine hums.

"Chicken nuggets!" Anastasia cheers in agreement.

"You know what, sure," I sigh. "Fast food can herald our triumphant return to human civilization. What's your favorite chicken nugget place, Ana?"

She proudly informs us that it is (thankfully) one of the biggest still-running restaurant chains in the country, which is good news because that means we might actually find an open one. Abandoned businesses are just as common as abandoned houses, so if you're looking for a specific store and come across a sign for it, there's like at least a seventy-five percent chance there's nothing and no one inside once you get there.

We finally make it out of the woods and onto a road. Again, it's the same road Blossom and I used, and retreading the ground feels like an unneeded risk. Unfortunately, there just aren't a whole lot of other places to go, and we have to set the van up somewhere out of sight. Although, again, maybe the van isn't a good idea? The military definitely knows our plates, and even if Emily is right about them having limited options for stopping us, surely we still don't want to make it easy for them to track us?

Besides, Emily might also just be wrong. Something improbable could still take us out, as her power isn't flawless. But perhaps more importantly, it only considers death. Emily can use that to track if she gets captured since, according to her, the chance of her dying increases if that happens. But what if something changed? She never knows what influences her death chances, so what if she gets a false negative from the military opting to change their own policy on what to do with her? Or what if she was more likely to die in the military due to something that involved The Forbidden Name, or In-Joke themselves, and now those things don't apply?

"You're catastrophizing again, sweetie," Maria says gently, grabbing my arm and pulling me gently to her side.

"I'm not catastrophizing, I am thinking ahead," I protest. "My concerns are reasonable and logical."

"I know, but we've been through them already," Maria reminds me. "We discussed this and made our decision."

"Protest: it is a profoundly unsafe decision!" I say, swapping over to the network to complain. No way in hell am I going to complain out loud.

"Declaration: even if it is not a perfectly optimal decision, that does not mean it is not the best decision," Maria says.

"Objection. Contradiction."

"Disagreement. Hypothetical optimals usually assume optimal execution by their nature. Assertion: our group is not capable of consistent optimal execution without rest. By sacrificing short-term safety, we improve the likelihood of quality performance down the line."

"Objection. Speculation that suboptimal behavior will improve one's future capacity for action as justification for that suboptimal behavior is both infinitely repeatable and impossible to verify."

"Twisting Scars Reshape Fate, We have been trudging through the ocean with absolutely nothing to do for several days straight, after several MONTHS of war or, in my case, total insanity. If we do not take a break now, the entire group will be ragged by the time we begin any important diplomacy," Maria argues.

She… might have a point, but the whole concept of her argument annoys me a little. Yes, fine, people get exhausted if they work non-stop, but when you're exhausted and there's something important you need to do, the correct decision is always to do it anyway. Being able to do what needs doing even when it's making you miserable is just a basic fucking life skill. It happens. It's how things are.

"But is a life of nothing but that what you want for Anastasia?" Maria asks softly.

Ugh. Low blow. But… a fair one.

"…At least letting me change everyone's faces would have been smart," I grumble, manifesting a large, disconnected hunk of flesh from which I can disgorge the van.

"I just think everyone is a lot more comfortable in their own bodies," Maria says. "Except Christine, I suppose."

"Irritation," I send. "I would be a lot more comfortable in my body, too, but I have been using someone else's since all this started. They could handle a different face for a couple days."

Maria sighs and gives me a reassuring hug, wafting a general feeling of sympathy. Which… okay, I mean, I wasn't looking for sympathy, but… I guess I don't mind the hug. I lean into it as I unform the flesh glob, leaving just the shipping container with our van in its place.

It's… honestly looking dangerously frail right now. Whatever weird acids like to eat everything I put in my storage have finally started doing a real number on the container after several days, but thankfully the van appears to be only mildly damaged as a result. I can't help but think back to how In-Joke implied that they expected Ana's clothes to be dissolved already. I wonder what's different.

"It good to be reminded that for all it love, Possibility can be very cruel sometimes," Blossom hums, walking up next to Maria and me as the others work on getting the van out of the crate.

Hmm? Oh, she means In-Joke.

"To live so many possibilities so intimately only to know they will all eventually be discarded… it is little wonder you consider that human insane," Blossom clarifies.

It's creepy is what it is. Like sure, yeah, it sucks for In-Joke, but the more I think about it the more I feel disturbed rather than sympathetic. They know so much about me because apparently they've spent countless years getting me to tell them things about me, and that has culminated in simulations where we have purportedly kissed often enough for them to fucking judge me about it. And given that they claim to have had sex with Maria in other future simulations, maybe they've done that with me too! Maybe they're not obsessed with me because I save the world at all, and all of this shit is revenge on their ex-girlfriends who never actually dated them in reality in the first place.

"I trust them," Blossom says.

"What, just because we share the same god?" I scowl.

"Yes," she answers. "Same god chose all three of us. Don't know why that would not be big deal."

"Eh. The existence of several gods might mean I'm not an atheist anymore, but it doesn't make me any less of a nihilist," I say. "Meaning, value, and importance aren't things some outside force gives us. They're things we decide for ourselves, whether subconsciously or intentionally. I don't want to save the world because Possibility wants me to. I want to do it because it's the right thing to do according to my personal ethical system."

"You overthinking this," Blossom says, rolling her eyes. "You not need be as religious as me to think it meaningful when being capable of far greater foresight than you make big decision."

"…Blossom, you've obviously learned enough English to speak it correctly at this point," I sigh. "Can you please just do that?"

"No," she says, and then teleports away as I make an irritated swipe at her.

Annoying little Angel. I guess she's not wrong, though. If we assume Possibility also wants to save the world (which I think is a fair assumption) and that Possibility has a solid plan in mind (which I think is much more of a stretch), then trusting In-Joke becomes a genuinely good idea because it wouldn't make sense for Possibility to sabotage itself for no reason. Some of the other gods might do that, sure, but it's unlikely Possibility is one of them. …Though not, of course, impossible. It is the God of Keeping Your Options Open, more or less. Who knows when it might change its mind.

"It's weird to think about that," Maria sends over the network.

"English or the gods?" I respond out loud.

"The gods. I was never super religious, but my family went to church and stuff," Maria says. "The existence of a single, all-powerful god has been such a pervasive background assumption for most of the people in my life that I still feel odd thinking about it."

"I can sympathize with that," I say. "Though I've never liked the idea of some higher power getting to do whatever it pleases to the world on a whim. I've hated the core concept of every religion I've looked into. The way that the angels of the Abrahamic religions ended up being the name for the most dangerous alien invaders was always darkly amusing to me, though. Everyone likes talking about divine benevolence until they realize they've been living in Sodom the entire time."

"Actually, I knew some people who genuinely believed that," Maria says. "They thought the Angels were actual, literal angels from the bible who were wiping out humanity. …They were also the sort of Protestants that got really disturbingly excited when Vatican City had to be evacuated."

"The thought of God straight-up personally killing the Pope certainly has a… theological weight to it," I acknowledge. Man, I forgot that even happened. "Can you imagine how things would have gone if the Pope got superpowers?"

"Honestly?" Maria sighs. "Probably not a lot would happen. People will believe what they believe either way. There's a new Pope now and Catholicism is doing just fine. Though on the subject of belief, that's actually more of what I wanted to talk about."

"Oh?"

"I remember some of what the Angels of my colony spoke about, in regards to Legion," she says. "Bits and pieces mostly, but it's there. How they worship it, how they value unity and cooperation… and yet also how they value conflict with those outside their group. There's an emphasis on both togetherness and otherness, and which one of the two any given Angel focused more on was mostly left up to them."

"It's like that in my colony, too," I nod, switching to pheromones. "Some of my council members think Possibility is about accepting all potential outcomes, while others think Possibility is about seeking specific desired outcomes, no matter how improbable."

"It's weird," Maria says. "I asked Legion itself about it in my dreams the other night, but it didn't even seem to care one way or the other. The gods are all so…"

She trails off into vaguely confused and irritated bursts of emotion, then swaps back to verbal speech.

"They're just completely blasé about the nature of their own existence!" she says with frustration. "I asked Legion about the schism regarding its different aspects and basically just received a divine hammer to the skull made entirely out of 'giant shrug.' Legion is, essentially, anything and everything that could be Legion. It's not a singular, static thing. And I guess that's convenient in some ways, but in other ways it's like… well, what am I supposed to worship!?"

"Uh… well, you could always just not worship it," I point out. "Possibility doesn't seem to care about that, anyway."

"Legion definitely cares a little," Maria says. "Though maybe 'worship' is the wrong word. It's more that… I need to be part of Legion's legion. If I'm not, that's about the biggest spit in its face that I could manage. But perhaps more importantly, I… think I want to? Not to discount Infrared's heroic efforts, but I probably wouldn't be anywhere near this sane without Legion's help. I owe my life to literal divine intervention. What could be a better reason to become religious?"

"Admission: I am still leery about the concept of religion in general, so anything I might say on the matter will be inevitably biased against that decision," I tell her. "Note: this is one of the many things I would prefer to just be silent on, but I am trying to break that habit, and you could probably feel it to some degree anyway. I am the wrong person to ask about this."

"…Yeah, that's fair," Maria sighs.

"What's fair?" Christine asks. "Never mind, I'm just missing half the conversation again, aren't I?"

"Oh! Sorry. Did you want to talk about religion?" Maria asks. "Have you spoken with Division at all?"

"Uhh… I definitely don't want to talk about it, actually, so just ignore me," Christine says. "It's time to get into the van, though."

"Right! The van," Maria says hesitantly. "We'll, uh, have a lot more space this time, at least!"

"I… yeah," Christine confirms. "You good?"

"I probably will be. Let's go," Maria nods thankfully, and we all pile in.

"I would be happy to speak with you on the matter of faith, A Prism of Refracting Selves," Blossom offers as Peter starts the vehicle up, which chugs to life after only a few sputters. Anastasia sits right next to me, and I gently rotate her head so I can fix her braids, which have all been messed up from the trek. She happily obliges me, leaning in as I turn one of my fingers into a bone comb to work out all the tangles.

"Don't you worship a totally different god, Blossom?" Maria asks.

"Affirmative. However, Possibility and Legion hold no animosity, so while I am not well-versed in the nature of your god, I am certainly curious about it. And perhaps speaking of my own relationship with Possibility will help clarify things about the relationship you hold with Legion."

"Hmm. Alright, that sounds good!" Maria agrees.

"God, they're gonna be like this forever now, aren't they?" Christine mutters to herself as Maria swaps over to purely network-speak and starts asking Blossom questions.

I guess I haven't thought much about the language-swapping that we've been doing. It just feels natural to use English for some things and the network for others. Maybe it's a side effect of literally having two different parts of the brain for the two different kinds of speech. Swapping between them doesn't feel jarring to me. If anything, the only weird bit is that when we do speak out loud, we're still sort of also speaking with the network at the same time, just with general emotional state and impressions rather than full-on words.

Our subconsciouses are always reaching out to each other. I'm always dimly aware of them, but if I focus I can really zero in on what the others are thinking. Blossom is looking forward to getting to know Maria better and is trying to become friends with her. Maria, despite everything, is still a little hesitant about being buddy-buddy with an Angel but is genuinely interested in what Blossom has to say. And of course, more overtly the two of them are discussing their religion directly.

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"Assertion: your claim that your god cares not for the nature of its own existence is, I believe, an identification of a truth from an incorrect angle. Legion is Legion. The case is not that it does not care what that means, but rather that it cannot care because that is not what it IS. It is not merely the god of legion, it IS Legion. And is a legion defined as something which introspects on the nature of its own existence?"

"Well… no," Maria says. "But that shouldn't mean it's incapable of doing so. A Legion isn't defined as something that picks favorites and gives blessings, either."

"No, but perhaps that is how a god is defined," Blossom muses. "It is the one point of commonality between them all. They act on the world by empowering those that bring them joy to observe."

I listen to their conversation without any input of my own. The whole thing makes me a bit uncomfortable, honestly. No god ever helped me with any of my problems, at least until Possibility forced itself into my life. Nothing is worse than being told that your suffering is all part of some grand plan and that the plan is also perfectly good. As if what happened to me was necessary and just… or worse, something that I needed or deserved.

Possibility actually did me a solid, so of course I believe it exists, and I'm happy to know it. But if Maria and Blossom want to elevate that to full-on devotion and worship rather than just, like, friendship or mutual respect? I can't say I understand the urge. Yet it's not my place to interfere with, either. Getting into religious arguments with people basically never goes well in my experience, and in this case I can't even argue they're hurting anyone or promoting a dangerous ideology or whatever. It's best if I just keep my thoughts to myself as much as possible.

"This entire conversation discomforts me, but I do not wish to interrupt or discourage it."

Damn it!

"Acknowledged," Maria sends.

"Acknowledged," Blossom agrees.

"Admittance: I simply wish to be able to discuss the nature of my god with it directly," Maria continues as if my interruption never happened. "I would prefer to focus on the unifying aspect of it at the expense of the tribalistic aspect of it, yet I do not know for sure if it would be true worship to deny part of my god's nature. I fear my own inadequacy, or perhaps worse, my own god's rejection of my morals."

"Comprehension. That is an ancient theological issue, and one well-discussed amongst our people," Blossom says. "I, too, often wish I could receive clearer answers from the divine. But it is the common consensus that a god does not select a chosen unless that chosen already matches with a god's ideals. If your preferred method of embodying Legion was abhorrent to it, it never would have fallen in love with you in the first place."

"Thankfulness. Concern. Is such a consensus not dangerous in that it intrinsically justifies all possible interpretations, and by extension empowers all chosen, no matter how cruel or misguided, to be assured in their own righteousness?"

Blossom grins.

"It does exactly that," she confirms. "But my god birthed the other gods, and my god is the god of Possibility. Why would it design its creations with a specific morality in mind? Cruelty and kindness are equal before the divine. It is, perhaps, their eternal coexistence which sparks their interest in us."

"I do not wish to believe that," Maria says. "My god is a god that loves. It is one that encourages wholeness and cooperation."

"Especially wholeness and cooperation against a common foe," Blossom points out. "Legion is a terrifying god of war."

"But it does not need to be only war," Maria insists. "I like to think that global unity would please it even more."

"It's always possible," Blossom says, her smile unwavering. "Though if that is your manner of worship, you will be praying for a long time."

"Reluctant agreement. Yet you're going to help me, aren't you A Blossom of Wilted Chances? Because that unity is also what your council member wants."

Blossom sighs, glances at me, and reluctantly concedes the point. I tune out the rest of their conversation on finer theological points, instead peeking around the front seat to see how close we are to town. The answer, as it turns out, is 'very.' Oh boy, stress time again, here we go. Is everyone prepared? Maria's inhuman bits are all hidden, Blossom knows what she's doing, Peter, Christine, and Emily aren't hugely recognizable, and Anastasia… ah, right.

"Remember to keep your gloves on when we go outside, Ana," I remind her.

"I hate wearing gloves," she complains. "They're always too big because my claws are so long I can't wear ones my size."

"I know, hon, but we're undercover. You can't show your claws to people," I say.

"I knoooow," she groans, reluctantly putting them on.

"Thank you, Ana," I smile at her. That's all taken care of, so… right! Right. I need to put away my extra eyes and tentacles and whatnot too. Ugh, everything feels so dull with basic human body parts now. I already miss not being able to make my hair squirm around and grab itself when I'm bored. Not to mention how hard it is to feel everything around me. Should I keep my domain spread out to keep better track of my surroundings, or should I keep it close in case of ambush or the possibility of other supers detecting it?

"Chicken nugget time," Peter says, parking the car. "Everybody out."

God we're totally going to get noticed and found out.

"It'll be fine," Maria says, squeezing my shoulder as she gets up to hop out the back.

"And if it not, we make whoever make it not fine regret it," Blossom adds.

Fine, fine. Okay. Despite the fact that it would make way more sense to just use the drive-through, our group heads inside for our first human-food lunch in a while. Or is it closer to dinner? There's a bit of a line, which I can't say I expected. Looks like there's some kind of special deal today or something? I read the signs and conclude that it's just some arbitrary marketing event. Nothing important. Good.

"Mom! Mom, look! Look look look!"

No. No no no. Already!? Are you serious? I can feel a kid pointing at us. Young girl, probably six or seven. What gave us away? Is it me, did I fuck up my body? No, I'm fine, I'm completely externally human. So what is… oh, damn it. I'm an idiot!

It's Ana's braids! They're incredibly distinctive, since hardly anyone has hair long enough to make them possible. I'm so stupid! I could have just done them up differently, but I didn't even think about it because I know how much she likes that style. I was just trying to fix them for her to be more comfortable, not… uuugh.

Okay. Damage control. I do my best to casually turn around, glancing at the kid and her parents since the kid is like, pointing at us and shout-whispering to her mom. Is that a thing? Shout-whispering? It's whatever kids do to make it sound like they're trying to whisper but still somehow manage to be the loudest thing in the room.

Not important. What matters is the mother. Her eyes widen in shock. Her heartbeat rises. Several stress chemicals start pouring into her bloodstream. This is not the reaction one has upon seeing a superhero. Word of our defection has been made at least somewhat public, then. Damn.

"Um, hi?" Anastasia says, waving at the girl pointing her way.

"Hi! Hi! Oh gosh. Are you Vermillion?" the kid asks excitedly. She, it would seem, either hasn't gotten the memo about our defection, or she simply doesn't care. …I've gotta say, it would be very cute for Ana to have fans her age if not for the present circumstances.

"Hey!" Ana protests, crossing her arms. "You can't just ask someone not wearing a costume if they're a super hero! That's against secret identity rules!"

Bless you, Ana. I can work with that. …Probably. I can't just claim she's also a fan, her hair is too distinctive. Even if she was a fan, Vermillion hasn't been in the public eye long enough for someone to grow their hair long enough to match her. Which means…

"It's a wig," I say, giving the mother and father a knowing and slightly apologetic look. Yes, I'm aware that you're stressed, and I'm aware why, but don't worry! We're definitely not scary supervillains at all!

To 'prove' my point, I briefly make Ana's scalp secrete a weak but fast-acting glue to stick the base of her roots together, eject all her current hair out of the top of her head, and force her follicles to quickly grow brown, curly hair in place of her current black. Affecting hair directly is a little wonky for me since it's not currently alive, but I have enough options that I can work around the issue fairly easily. In retrospect, the fact that I can do so much with hair maybe should have been another hint about my storage space… though not more of one than the bullets, I suppose.

I briefly lift Ana's 'wig' off of her head, causing her to yelp in surprise and claw at it (metaphorically, thankfully, as her gloves are still on).

"Hey!" she protests. "Don't do that!"

"Sorry, hon," I say, putting the wig back on. But… I can't really reattach it to her head, so I'll fix her hair later. She pouts at me, and I smile back at her. The parents are calming down now. Good.

"Yo, you two! What do you want to order?" Peter calls from the front of the line.

"Six nuggets!" Ana declares.

"Oh, uh, make that twelve for her. And twelve for me too!" I call out, during which Ana grabs my hand and starts dragging me away.

"Potty," she declares, though since that's not really something she needs my help with, I suspect she's lying.

I've no reason not to let her steal me away, though, so I follow her into the bathroom. As soon as the door closes behind us, she rips off her wig and tosses it to the ground, rubbing at her own scalp.

"Seriously, don't do that!" she admonishes. "Fix me."

"Sorry, Ana," I say, starting to put her hair back to normal as I eat the discarded extras. "The parents recognized you, and from how stressed they were, it seems we're officially wanted as supervillains already. Had to provide a believable alternative for them to prefer."

She shudders as I finish lengthening her hair back to where it was before, her whole body relaxing when it returns. Hmm. Growing an extra pair of arms to help, I quickly begin to braid it.

"Is this a power thing?" I ask. "Not sure how your hair relates to blood control, but… it could be worth looking into. I initially assumed it grew this long because your body's increased rate of producing blood applies to nearly all of your fast-splitting cells. It's why your skin is so pale; your body just generates new skin cells faster than a normal human does, and they never get time to darken in the sun. Same with your hair, but… not really, because your hair growth slows down the closer it gets to this particular length, doesn't it?"

"…I wanted to hurt you when you cut it off," Ana admits quietly. "Not like, a lot, and I didn't really want to hurt you, it's just… I don't know. Like I'm supposed to. 'Anyone who breaks part of me ought to get broken.' Or something like that. I think that's how my powers feel."

Hmm. I don't at all like what that implies about Ana's propensity to hurt herself.

"I've found that the more I establish a conscious understanding of what my power is supposed to represent to me, the better I've been able to control it," I admit. "Sometimes I still get distracted and shapeshift when I don't mean to, sure, but when I'm using my powers on purpose, lately it just comes so… naturally. Part of that is experience, sure, but I think part of that is because I've decided on what I want my relationship with Possibility to be, and I've decided what aspects of Possibility I want to represent and why. I think if you change the way you think about Reciprocation—or even just the ideas it represents—it might help you handle all the different things you've been feeling. What do you want 'to return in kind' to mean?"

"I dunno," Ana says. "Help good people. Hurt bad people."

I pause my braiding.

"Anastasia," I say slowly, "do you still think you're a bad person?"

She shrugs. Oh, no. Damn it. Damn it! Maria's right, I've been so focused on the mission that I've been forgetting about the people right in front of me.

"You aren't," I insist.

"Okay," she says rather nonconvincingly.

I sigh, gathering up her unfinished braids in two hands so I don't undo the work I've done, and leaning down to hug her with the other two.

"You are wonderful," I insist. "You are smart and kind and strong. I am so, so happy I get to be your sister."

"…Yeah," she says softly, her little hands clutching onto one of my arms.

"We'll talk about this more later, okay?" I say. "I want you to know how much I love you and how much you deserve that love."

She doesn't answer, but she doesn't protest either. Agh, I've been so blind! I knew she's always had guilt issues, but I've been neglecting them. Neglecting her! Of course the girl is traumatized, she's a literal child soldier! She's had to watch people she was responsible for protecting get hurt over and over, and she was already prone to blaming herself for stuff like that. Uuuugh, I'm such an idiot!

After one more squeeze, I quickly finish up her braids, the two of us returning to the others and quickly devouring our promised nuggets. As expected, Ana eats twice as much as she thought she would. She hasn't had food here since her powers turbocharged her metabolism, so she probably defaulted to the order she was used to without thinking about it.

Okay, you can do this, Julietta. Managing your own trauma might be something you suck at, but managing other people's? That's like, your main skill. You've got this. Just form a plan, and… then lament because there probably isn't any plan better than 'consistently and regularly show her substantial love and encouragement for probably at least several years because she has no other parental figures in her life.' So that sucks. Mental health sucks.

"What's this about 'no other parental figures in her life?'" Maria protests. "I can help you! Why wouldn't I want to help you?"

Oh. Right. Sorry. I'm still sort of in the mental mode where Peter is a jackass, Emily is a doomer, and Christine is a panic attack on legs. I've been so caught off-guard by the people in my life meaningfully improving themselves that I kinda forgot it happened.

"Are any of your former foster parents still alive?" Maria asks. "Because I want to beat them up."

"Holy non-sequitur, Batman," Peter says.

"At this point I think they're doing it on purpose to try and peer pressure us into getting new brains," Christine comments.

"Also no, they aren't," Emily adds. "It was mostly various homes in Chicago, right?"

"It's possible they got out of the incursion in time," I muse. "But at the very least, the parents Peter, Emily, and I shared are dead, since we kinda… left them behind? Wow, I didn't even think about that, that's totally our fault, isn't it?"

"Nah, they had their own car," Emily reminds me. "They wouldn't fit in Lia's alongside everyone else anyway. They could have escaped. Hell, maybe they did."

"…And how likely would you say that is?" I ask.

"Oh, one in a million," Emily says. "But fuck 'em."

"They were far from the worst foster parents I've had," I protest. "I don't know if they deserve that much vitriol."

"They had no idea how to raise kids. They were just two old farts in it for the tax breaks and too lazy to adopt anyone younger," Emily argues. "They figured if they stuck to teens they could basically make us raise ourselves."

"If that was all it was, they wouldn't have adopted me," I point out. "I'm not gonna say they were remotely good at being parents, but they did at least try to be."

"Your standards are too low," Emily waves me off with a sigh.

"Why wouldn't they be?" I fire back. "I'm not saying I liked them, but I still feel bad we didn't help them at all."

"Well, don't blame yourself for it," Peter shrugs, precariously leaning his chair back on two legs. "Not like you coulda done anything personally."

That's true enough. Maybe that's my problem. I was always trying to do every single thing I possibly could, and when I rested it was just because there were so many things I couldn't do. I was forced to accept help regularly, so it felt like anything I wasn't forced to accept help on was something I should therefore be doing alone.

But now… my possibilities are nearly limitless. Accepting help is no longer a requirement for me to survive my day-to-day life, but it still feels like I shouldn't accept help unless I need to. It would be selfish. I'm a burden by default, just because of what I am. It's my responsibility to minimize that. Or… it was.

"Okay, but that's bullshit?" Maria says. "It's never anyone's obligation to minimize their impact on others."

"…Huh?" Peter blinks.

"Just ignore it," Christine sighs. "She's obviously responding to something else."

"There's a balance to strike," I argue. "As a disabled person… or a former disabled person, I guess, I was a burden on those around me."

"That sounds ableist as fuck," Maria scowls.

"No, it's a fact," I insist. "Ableism is looking at that fact and then saying 'therefore, disabled people are lesser in some nebulous manner' or, more relevantly to this conversation, 'therefore, other people shouldn't be obligated to take on that burden.' But they are. In a functioning, moral society, it is right and just for those who can help to do so for the sake of those who need help, and unjust to withhold it. Needing help doesn't make you some kind of problem. Everybody needs help sometimes. As long as you're giving as well as receiving, there's no issue."

"What if someone is incapable of helping others?" Maria presses.

"Frankly? I don't believe in the existence of a hypothetical person that's completely incapable of providing value to others," I say. "I needed help with everything physical, so I learned to be useful in other ways. There are innumerable ways to give back to the world and the people in it."

"I guess I just really don't like this emphasis you're placing on 'usefulness,' and 'providing value'" Maria sighs.

"Because it sounds incorrect, or because it's actually incorrect?" I ask. "People have an annoying habit of associating attempts to use clear language to explain ethics with bad ethical systems. I have no idea where it comes from, and it's very frustrating."

"It comes from the idea that it's mentally unhealthy to judge yourself based on something you output rather than who you are!" Maria insists. "You're not beating me in an 'introspection about your biases' contest, buster. At this point I'm like, ninety-five percent introspection by volume. It's Marias questioning Marias all the way down."

"But that's the same thing," I say. "Your output is who you are. Whether that output comes in the form of physical action, contributions to relationships, or anything else, it is the sum total of how the world sees you. Your internality isn't important to anyone but you."

"But why does that make it irrelevant!? We're literally talking about the way you view yourself!"

"Because the criteria I use to judge myself is based around my ethical principles, and ethics are about how you treat other people and society, not your personal ego," I explain.

"Uuuugh," Maria groans, her head in her hands. "You are so stubborn!"

"…Er, wait," I say. "Stubborn? I feel like I made a pretty major breakthrough on the subject of accepting help from others. Isn't that what you want?"

"Are you serious…?" Maria asks.

"Yeah, of course I am," I say. I mean come on, you know I'm basically always serious. "I get that you're upset that I'm still standing by my system, but the system wasn't the problem. I was just still subconsciously running it based on parameters that no longer make sense to use."

"Okay, if you two wanna continue this conversation, do it over your weird brain-speak," Christine grumbles. "I'm trying to eat my goddamn nuggies."

I was honestly enjoying the conversation, but okay fine. We were pretty much done anyway.

"No we were NOT," Maria insists. "But it's probably best if we take a break. I'm getting a little frustrated."

"Apologies," I send. "It was not my intention."

"Acknowledgement. I know."

"Disappointment," Blossom butts in. "Human philosophy is fascinating!"

"Don't worry, Blossom," Maria sends. "I am sure we will get into an argument about it again."

"Jubilation!"

"I wasn't trying to argue, I was just trying to explain," I protest weakly. I'm not blind, I can see how it became an argument in retrospect. I just… ugh. I just something, I guess.

Emily sighs dramatically, taking a loud sip of the rest of her milkshake.

"Our stupid teenage asses are never gonna be able to save the world," she laments.

"Yeah, I think we're getting failing marks in The Power of Friendship," Peter agrees.

"It'll be fine," Christine disagrees. "We've got an A-plus in The Power of Violence. It's pretty much just as good."

Anastasia gasps.

"We have to find a giant turtle!" she declares confidently.

The rest of the conversation descends into chaotic babbling about television shows, and honestly, it's a bit of a relief. With everyone else comfortably distracted, I focus on looking out for potential threats and making sure no one is paying us undue attention. Somehow, making sure I'm combat-ready has become less stressful than dealing with interpersonal issues.

Blossom, of course, notices my cynical thoughts, but unlike Maria she doesn't challenge them. Her domain just stays synchronous with mine, spreading out and helping me keep track of the world. I send her my thanks, and we pass the rest of the meal in silence.

Soon we'll be back to work, and I can finally relax.