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Chapter Text

The first thing 007n7 felt was sunlight.

As light began to filter through the darkness of his shut, reforming eyes, 007n7 hesitantly opened one. 

He immediately shut it once again, tilting his head downwards. He groaned. He had forgotten what the actual sun was like. 

Slowly this time, 007n7 tried again. 

He looked around, finding himself and the others in the middle of a suburban neighborhood—luckily on the sidewalk, not the main road. Houses were sprawled out all around them in neat lines, children outside playing together, and fresh-spring greenery had grown in neat yet natural areas. 

And as far as 007n7 could see, the dark forest and its dingy old cabins were nowhere in sight. 

The plan had worked. They were really back.

Beside him, Elliot stood tense, eyes closed. Waiting. Gently, 007n7 held his hand and shook it. He opened his eyes, staring dazedly at the sight before them.

“Holy crap, Seven,” Elliot blinked, breathless. He slung an arm over 007n7’s shoulder, leaning onto him. “You…You actually did it.”

The two of them shared a moment, allowing each other small smiles kept to themselves. Though not as big or loud, Elliot’s small smile had outmatched the sun. 

007n7 laughed shakily, clutching the sleeping bundle of red in his arms. His son stirred slightly.

“Dad…you’re hugging too tight…”

“Ah, sorry about that, son,” he said, loosening his grip. He began patting C00lkidd’s back gently in an attempt to wake his grumbling son. “Kidd, you can open your eyes now. We’re home. Well, almost.” 

Keyword attempt. When C00lkidd slept, he slept like the dead. If the dead snored like thunder and drooled like a storm. 

007n7 chuckled fondly. Ah, what the heck. I’ll let him rest a little longer.

He tilted his head back to where the rest of the survivors stood, all of them with their eyes shut tightly. “Everyone! You can open your eyes again! We—we made it!!”

“Are…a-are we really back?” Noob whispered, dazed and disbelieving. He rubbed at his eyes once, then twice, seemingly waiting for the view in front of him to switch back into the gloomy forest. His eyes brightened as minutes passed, and the sun stayed present in the sky. “W-We’re back! We’re back…back! We’re back, we’re back! We’re really back!!”

“We heard you, Noob,” Shedletsky grinned, ruffling the younger’s hair. “The whole street did, I think.”

“Thank the Spawn! Thou has granted mine safe return, and that of my companions.”

Taph’s hands flew into an array of symbols. The man himself was hunched over, cradling his stomach.

“I never want to do that again,” Builderman translated. He nodded in agreement, the both of them shuddering. “Same here.”

Dusekkar placed a hand onto 007n7’s shoulder. “Well done, past exploiter. Thanks to the skills you’ve honed, we’ve finally arrived home.”

“It–it was nothing really,” 007n7 smiled sheepishly. 

“It was. You can afford to feed your ego a little bit, Sev,” Elliot rolled his eyes. “Just don’t get too cocky.”

Chance wiped an imaginary tear away from his eyes…well, shades. “Hell yeah, man! Ya took a gamble, and the payoff was insane! I couldn’t be more proud.” 

A joyous air overcame the group, the most optimistic they’d ever been together. But through the exhilarated cheers from all around the survivors, 007n7 couldn’t help but notice that one of their own had been oddly quiet. 

Guest 1337. 

The military man’s face was withdrawn, a mask that didn’t seem to know whether to laugh or cry. While certainly not outspoken, 007n7’s friend was never this silent. Worry settled into the pit of his stomach. 

He tugged at Elliot’s the sleeve of Elliot’s uniform. When he had Elliot’s attention, 007n7 gestured silently towards the troubled sentinel. 

Elliot, ever the empath, understood immediately. “Guest? Are you alright? Is something wrong?”

Immediately, silence befell the group—a quiet solidarity. The unspoken worry and understanding for their usually composed comrade collapsing their earlier triumph. 

Guest tried to answer, but he found that his words simply fell away into nothing. He opened and closed his mouth, searching for words that seemed to evaporate as soon as they formed.

“This is my neighborhood,” he finally said. His voice shook as he spoke. “My house should be just down this street.” 

Builderman placed a comforting hand on Guest’s shoulder. “Lead the way then, soldier. Let’s get ya home.” 

Guest guided the group down the street, threading through houses and his recollection of what came before his life in the military.

“My wife, my best friend, and I grew up here. Even though we grew up in that orphanage, my wife and I decided that we wanted to build our family here too.” 

“I remember we were playing tag in a small field near here, and I tackled the both of them so hard we all toppled over!”

Guest chuckled, pointing out a creepy, run down house. “My best friend—despite being one of the best soldiers in the military—was always scared shitless whenever we walked by here…I hope he’s alright.”

“We taught my daughter how to ride a bike when she turned eight,” Guest said, eyeing a small section of the sidewalk that was under construction. A tree chopped down and heaved onto a truck caught his attention. His smile was bittersweet as his eyes lingered on its dead stump. “She peddled too fast and forgot how to stop. She ended up crashing into that tree. When we finally caught up with her, she spat out a tooth.”

The group of survivors walked past a few more houses, before Guest finally stopped at a house with an obnoxiously pink mailbox, the numbers ‘1337’ slathered on to it crudely. 

The one he and Charlotte had painted together because she had said, “ Brown is too boring! ” The paint had long since dulled and chipped. 

The house still had the same yellow walls, decorated with dirt and slight mold.

The garage, its doors left open, housed the van he and Daisy bought when they found out she was pregnant with Charlotte.

And the lawn, once well maintained and orderly, was now buried with weeds and wildflowers. 

This new addition apparently also came with a kid wearing a black cap, playing with some bugs within the density of the grass. The blades towered over him, like a rabbit in a grassy forest. 

Guest swallowed hard. A hundred thoughts raced through his head, a thousand implications with it.

“Is this it?” Chance asked, flipping his coin nonchalantly—blissfully unaware of Guest’s inner turmoil. If Elliot was attuned to his team’s emotions—a hypersensitive detector dedicated to seeking out his friends’ troubles and destroying them—Chance was his fodder; a man with as much emotional range as his gun on a bad roll. 

The soldier nodded stiffly. “It should be, but I have no idea who the kid is.”

Shedletsky’s head wings ruffled, preening with overconfident pride. “Don’t you worry your scruffy little head off, Guest! Rest easy, Shedletsky’s got this. Hey, kid! Yeah, you!” The ex admin waved the little boy over, ignoring any and all protests against his brilliant idea, as per usual. 

The boy, although reluctant to leave the tiny critters in the grass, got up and walked over to the group. Shedletsky grinned, newly spawned chicken leg in hand. “Ya like fried chicken?”

The boy looked around nervously before hesitantly answering, “Uhm…I guess I do?”

“Then answer my questions and I’ll give you this one. Deal?” 

The kid thought it over. “Deal.”

“Shed, maybe you should—”

“Seven, shush. Let me do my thing.”

“For the love of—does he not realize how suspicious he sounds right now?!” Taph signed, disappointment practically melting off of his fingers. 

Dusekkar nodded gravely. “Indeed. While his intentions are nothing vile, Shedletsky does sound like a pedophi—“

Elliot groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do not finish that sentence.”

Shedletsky hadn’t noticed their sentiments, or just chose to ignore them, continuing on with his excellent cross-examination. “How old are you? Do you know anything about the family who lived here before you? Do you live here? With your parents? Do you think spicy or original is the better flavor? Because personally—“

“Shed! Slow down,” Builderman scolded. “The poor boy can’t keep up!”

The child in question had been heavily in thought, seemingly recounting all of Shedletsky’s lightning round questions in his head.

“Ten years old, and uh–not really?” He shuffled his feet around, fumbling with his fingers.  “And, uh…sorry, but my mom said never to answer questions like that. Because it’s sketchy. She also told me not to talk to the person who asks questions like that. Because they’re sketchy. So I’ll go now. I guess. Bye.”

The kid turned around to leave, before spinning around to face them again.

”Oh! And I think spicy is the better flavor because…it just is. Okay, bye now.”

“. . .”

“Shed—“

Builderman made to grab the chicken lover, but Shedletsky had already moved, grabbing the kid and shaking him aggressively. 

“HOW COULD YOU THINK SPICY IS BETTER THAN ORIGINAL?!”  

Builderman pulled Shedletsky off of the child who was now on the verge of tears. “SHED!! Stop it, yer scaring the kid!”

“Also not the part you should be questioning,” Elliot muttered, the pressure of Shedletsky’s stupidity weighing on his forehead. The worst kind of migraine known to mankind. 

“Perhaps another should perform the interrogation?” Two Time suggested. Even their unwavering smile had its limits, faltering at the situation in front of them. “This…is quite unsightly. The Spawn requests that another questions the child.”

“No!! How dare you all gang up on me like this,” Shedletsky sniffed indignantly. “I am perfectly capable of handling this!”

Elliot, finally having enough, screamed. 

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE, NO YOU’RE NOT. JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU FATASS!!!”

“WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME.”

“YOU HEARD ME.”

And just like that, chaos descended upon them all. For all their exceptional teamwork, children still fall to the antics of other children. Especially man-children. 

However, through the survivors’ arguing, they failed to notice an approaching presence. The child however did not. He perked up, eyes brightening with recognition. 

“Charlie!!” The little boy practically screamed, bolting towards her. He made a mad dash, quickly placing himself behind the girl, using her as a makeshift boundary between him and the survivors. He peeked out at them from behind the safety of the older girl, a tiny hand gripping her pant leg.

Finally aware of the newcomer, the survivors paused their argument in favor of looking at her.

It was a teenage girl. She was brunette, sprinkled with streaks of dyed blue hair. Although she was a looker—even with her deep-set scowl,decorated with sharp eyeliner and neon pink eyeshadow, Guest personally thought a smile would suit her much better. Bloody bandages were wrapped around her knuckles, practically telling him all he needed to know. 

Rebel. Troublemaker. Delinquent.  

Guest furrowed his brows. Despite that, there was also something that screamed familiarity about her, but he couldn’t place what exactly.

The girl frowned, glancing at the group briefly before solely diverting her attention to the little boy. As mean as her demeanor seemed to be, the intensity of her eyes softened noticeably as she talked to the younger boy. “Are these punks bothering you?” 

Shedletsky objected loudly, “We weren’t—“

“I was talking to my brother,” She snapped back, bearing braces-covered fangs that dripped with venom. 

The small semblance of gentleness she held vanished without a trace, as if it had never been there in the first place. She eyed the—admittedly—odd looking group suspiciously, as if trying to dissect their intent from appearance alone. She crossed her arms, standing in front of her brother protectively.

“Who exactly are you people? What business do you have here?” 

“We’re, uh, friends! Y-Yeah, friends of Guest 1337! He invited us over,” Noob stammered quickly, looking over towards the others for support. They caught on swiftly, offering a cacophony of sounds that meant agreement. 

Chance chuckled, quietly nudging Guest. “Isn’t that right, soldier?” 

Guest and everyone who heard him rolled their eyes in exasperation.

The girl however was ardently less amused, eyes now glinting a dangerous…pink? Her glare intensified, furrowed brows knitting together. Her knuckles turned white as she struggled to keep her composure. 

“My father died eight years ago. Now what do you really want? Spill it before I call the cops or I beat the answer out of you myself.” 

Guest froze. 

A sick intensity squeezed at his stomach, as the realization of what the girl had said promptly registered in his mind. 

The girl. His daughter. Charlotte .

007n7 glanced at Guest, concerned. This situation, so much like his own…A pang of sympathy struck him. He held onto his son just a little tighter. “Your…father? Guest 1337 is your father?”

“He is. If you were really friends of his you would know that, wouldn’t you? Now scram.” 

“W-We’re telling the truth!” Noob stuttered, glancing at Guest, who looked as though any semblance of air had been knocked out of him. “Your dad’s alive, he’s—“

She blinked, staring at them wholly unimpressed. She pulled out her phone. “You’re all crazy. I’m dialling 911.” Then Uncle Matt. And his badass wife. So that we can all kick your asses together.”

“Buddy, now might be a good time to step in,” Chance laughed nervously. But Guest couldn’t hear him—couldn’t tear his mind away from the girl’s—no, from Charlotte’s words. 

Eight years. An impossible pain clawed at his heart. Eight fucking years.

Everyone thought he died eight years ago. 

He missed nearly a decade with his family. 

He missed Matt’s wedding. He missed countless of his and Daisy’s anniversaries. He missed Charlotte’s awkward pre-teen years. He missed his son’s birth.  

He had been stuck in that godforsaken hellscape for eight years, fighting to make it back to his family. But now, all that was left were strangers—mere echoes of his memory—and he, a figment of theirs. 

He didn’t even recognize his own children.

Even as the horrible pit of fear consumed him, his hands trembling and his lungs unable to breathe, Guest took one shaky breath and raised his head. 

He had to make this right. He had to face this. The words of his parents echoed in his mind. 

Be strong. Always be strong.

Guest stepped forward, pushing past the others. “It’s true.”

The girl’s glare, previously directed at Shedletsky, had changed course, pouring onto him instead. But the moment she looked at him, her heated attitude instantly vanished—recognition, grief, confusion, and hurt flooding her eyes. 

It pained him to know that his daughter could recognize him so easily, and yet here he was; a failure of a father, barely to see the remnants of his little girl in this stranger.

“Charlotte,” The name so familiar, but the girl in front of him completely foreign. It shook as he said it. “It’s me.”

She flinched back at the sound of his voice. “It—it can’t be…”

“Dad?” The tremor in her voice—no longer high pitched and innocent, now lower and mature—hurt more than any death he had experienced. 

The little boy’s head snapped up at this. He hesitantly took off his cap, revealing a head of blue locks. He looked up at Guest with wide eyes, a near replica of himself as a child .

He tugged at his sister’s jacket, loosely tied onto her waist. “Charlie, is that our dad?”

Is that our dad? The words replayed in his mind torturously. He swallowed back a sob, a burning in the back of his throat. “I—“

“No,” Charlotte cut him off, taking a deep breath. “No it’s not. He’s lying, Theo. We’re going inside. Now.”

“Charlotte,” he tried again, every intake of air a sharp stab to his lungs. 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

Anger, pure detestation fizzled beneath quiet words, like a grenade ready to explode at the slightest brush of a finger. She glared so fiercely at him, enough for Guest to stumble back as if burnt.

“How dare you. I’ve seen a lot of people try to get some clout out of my dad’s name but this…this takes the cake. Get the fuck off of my lawn and never show your faces here again.”

“This is not a prank, Charlotte,” He grabbed her wrist firmly. She flinched, hurriedly trying to pull it out of his grasp.

Guest held on tight. Charlotte pulled back harder. “Fuck off—“

He still refused to let go, “—please, it really is me! Your dad—“ 

“ I SAID FUCK OFF!! ” 

With a harsh tug, Charlotte finally managed to take back her wrist. Instead of continuing inside the house however, she drew it back and thrust it directly his way.

A rush of air swung by Guest’s ear, accompanying the rage-driven strike of his daughter’s fist. Had he not been ingrained with soldierly reflex, allowing him to dodge at just the right moment, it would have easily broken his nose.  

But Guest had no time to ponder his discovery of Charlotte’s strength, as another fist quickly made its way towards him. Guest brought his hands together, blocking quickly as Charlotte threw punch after punch, kick after kick. He grit his teeth as the onslaught of attacks continued to try and pierce his guard.

“Guest!” He heard 007n7’s cry of concern, the shuffling of Elliot’s pizza box, and the sound of Shedletsky unsheathing his sword. 

“Stay back, don’t get involved,” he gritted out, pushing back as much as he could against the force of Charlotte’s kick. Reluctantly, the others stayed put.

“Fuck the cops. If you people won’t get off of my lawn, then I’ll make you, right here, right now. STARTING WITH YOU! ”

Guest moved sideways, dodging another hit. “Charlotte, Charlie, please. You have to believe me,” he said, raising a hand to block a harsh kick. It smashed into his arm hard , yellow welling from the spot. His kid hits like her fists weigh heavier than steel.

However, while Charlotte’s attacks were swift, strong, and determined, they were still inexperienced, repetitive. Predictable . 

Using that to his advantage, Guest gripped her left fist just before it made contact with his face. After realizing her left had been made useless, Charlotte swung her right fist wildly. Guest easily stopped it. His arms shook slightly under the weight of Charlotte’s force, but he held his ground anyway, refusing to harm his daughter.

“Charlotte, calm down! I know this is hard to believe, but—just calm down and listen to me! Stop,” he begged, but Charlotte didn’t listen. She shifted her weight, her leg aiming for Guest’s unprotected side. His eyes widened, and he pushed her back involuntarily. The girl fell backwards on the pavement hard, rough stone scratching on the palms of her hands. 

Realizing what he had done, Guest hurriedly rushed over to her side, fussing over her. “Shit, Charlotte, I’m so sorry, crap, are you alright? Charlie, can you hear me? Are you—“ 

She crawled backwards, desperate to get away from him. Tears welled in her eyes, quickly overflooding in the form of messy streaks down her face.

“STOP IT! STOP TALKING TO ME AS IF YOU’RE HIM!! HE’S NOT COMING BACK, SO STOP, PLEASE STOP, STOP, JUST STOP!!!”

Somehow, she crumpled further onto the ground, any and all aggression replaced with an overwhelming grief. She hugged her knees, muffled but raw and unfiltered cries spilling out. A raging river that had broken free of its dam, one that had been made of rotting logs; a shield nearing its last days, a wall with multiple tiny cracks.

“Dad,” she sobbed, a piercing stab to her father’s ears. “I begged for you to come back. So many times. And now you’re here and I—I…If this is a lie, if it’s just some sick prank…”

She sank further into herself, a fleeting attempt to hide her grief behind her arms; the instruments of violence that served as her best line of defence. “I’m not s-strong enough to lose you again.”

A suffocating silence had found its way between them as Guest struggled to find a solution, an answer as to what he should do. He had been a soldier, an exceptional strategist and a determined man. 

But he was no longer a soldier on the battlefield. Now all he was is a lost father, a soldier who was no match against his daughter’s tears. 

“It’s…it’s not a lie, Charlie,” he said, an aching throb digging itself under Guest’s skin. Another sob heaved its way out of Charlotte, clawing its way straight into Guest’s weathered heart.

So, out of ideas and out of anything to lose, Guest decided to help his daughter in the way he knows best. Protect her. Shield her. Until the world knew it could not hurt his poor, precious daughter. Not while he was here. Not while his lungs still breathed, his heart still beat, and his limbs still moved. 

He reached, resting a hand lightly atop Charlotte’s back. The rest of him hovered over her, a looming, waiting shadow with a silent question. And when Charlotte answered, no words, no move to push him away—he crawled a bit closer and pulled her into his arms. She melted into the embrace. So did he. The weight of it all crashed down on the two of them.

“My beautiful, brave daughter,” Guest spoke, voice breaking as he felt a fresh wave of his daughter’s tears flow onto his uniform. He felt a sudden wetness prickle in his eyes too. “I love you. Your father loves you so, so much. I’m sorry for leaving, and I’m sorry for taking so long to come back.” 

“You’ve become so strong,” he murmured into his daughter’s hair. He held her gently, as though his hands had never known the violence of war. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

“Dad,” Charlotte pleaded, a mess of snot and tears on his uniform. She held on to him tightly, clinging like she did the day he left. “Please don’t go again, Dad.”

“I promise,” Guest hugged her back tightly, like she would disappear if he let go—like she would age another eight years older if he did. “I will never leave you again.”

And for a moment, everything fell silent. 

Time stood still, forced to pause for the family it shattered with its cruel hand. Guest and Charlotte simply stayed there, just like that, hidden in a bubble worlds away—nothing dared to pop it, the love of a father enough to stop the cruelty of this world from reaching his daughter. If only for a moment. 

Chapter Text

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RING! 

A shrill ringing broke through the monotonous pattern of clicking keyboards, high pitched and obnoxious. 

Daisy yelped, the sound breaking her focus. As it did, her eyes, filled with red cracked lines, drew themselves away from the bright, damaging screen in front of her. They strained to adjust to her environment, as if learning to see again. 

She blinked, hard and long, taking off her glasses for a moment and setting them aside on her desk. The dull numbness around her ears and the bleary aching in her eyes had finally caught up to her, and it wasn’t going away anytime soon. 

Her phone continued to ring, vibrating loudly as it buzzed against the surface of her desk. Oh, right.

She answered it up quickly and placed it to her ear, muttering half-baked apologies to her glaring coworkers. “Hello? Charlotte?”

“Hi, Mom. You need to come home. Uncle Matt and Aunt Molly are also coming over.”

“What? Why? Charlotte, I can’t. I’m at work,” she murmured under her breath, quickly excusing herself outside of the office. “And tell your aunt and uncle to come over another day, I don’t have enough time to prepare dinner. What happened?”

“No. They need to be here. And so do you. Also, I’ll cook dinner tonight, ev—I mean, Theo’s already hungry.”

“…And?” Daisy pressed on, the lilt of her daughter’s crackling voice over the phone told her there was something else she had to say. Tremendous worry surged through Daisy, an aching instinct wishing her to run out the building right now and return to her family.

“And…nothing bad happened,” Charlie said, an uncertain edge to her voice.

“Both you and Theo are safe?”

“Yes.”

Daisy let out a tiny breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing bad. But definitely something big.”

She could already feel the budding migraine forming in her head. The trail of vague answers her daughter left did not help. “Charlotte, I don’t have time for this. Just get straight to the point,” she demanded. “What did you do this time?” 

“What—I didn’t do anything! Why do you always assume—” 

Daisy clicked her tongue, cutting her off mid sentence. “Because you do. You always do something. You are seventeen, Charlotte. Practically an adult. I don’t know what it is now, but I can’t just ditch work whenever you decide to stir something up again. What will you do when—“

“My god, you’re not even listening to me! I just said I’m not in trouble. NOT. IN. TROUBLE,” the teenager hissed, emphasizing her words in that disrespectful sass that teenagers are just wired to speak in. The rise in Charlotte’s tone tempted her to raise her own. 

“Then what else could be so important that I need to leave work early? Tell me, did you murder someone else?” Daisy snapped, all patience gone. Regret washed over her in an instant, as she realized what she had said. “Charlotte, I…”

Charlotte didn’t respond, a pregnant pause taking a hold of the two of them. Daisy opened her mouth to ask if she was still there, but the girl finally spoke up again before she could.

“…You know what, it’s fine. Don’t come home or do. See if I care. Bye. Love you.”

A beep emitted from her phone for a second, before vanishing into complete silence. The screen now displayed Charlotte’s contact and a star system to rate the call. 

Her daughter stared up at her, a younger, happier thing. 

And right beside her daughter was her husband.

Guest had wedged his way into the picture, a blur of blue hair and black clothes. The two of them wore twinning smiles, identical down to the dimples on their left cheeks. 

Daisy sighed softly. It was days like this when she missed him the most. 

She took a deep breath, turning off her phone and re-entering the office.

Charlie ended the call, sighing loudly in frustration. Every single time, her mom just had to assume she’d fucked shit up again. The rising anger burning in Charlie’s throat swelled, before she forced it all out of her system with a long exhale. 

It wasn’t like it came from nowhere. It was logical, given her track record—failing grades, detention every other week for talking back to a teacher, bloody knuckles and a myriad of never ending injuries and enemies—basically a horrible reputation that followed her no matter where she went. 

Even in the school she had just enrolled in. 

So her mother’s disdain made sense. Truly, it did.

But sense didn’t soothe Charlie’s anger. Nothing really did these days.

Carefully, she peered at the group from the kitchen, secretly observing the nine strangers awkwardly crammed together in the living room. 

Chicken Addict, Hood Guy, Pumpkin Guy, and Builderman—and wasn’t that something? Fucking Builderman just chilling in her damn house—were sat on the couch, making idle chat. 

Pizza Delivery Man and Burger Man were settled on the carpet, leaning against one another. They drowsily made conversation with Coin Flipper and the Creepy One, both of them one blink away from sleep. 

The little red…child? in Burger Man’s arms had woken up a few minutes ago. And, seeing as Theo was another kid his age, promptly declared her brother his new friend and whisked him away to play. 

And, of course, that left Guest 1337. 

She had seen him the night before, being chased by a man with a machete and a mask. The masked man slashed at him while he in turn fought back as much as he could, weaving between structures and counting the minutes left—

A burst of pain welled in Charlie’s head, a hiss escaping her lips as she clutched at it helplessly. It always hurt to dwell on these, for a lack of a better word, visions. She still didn’t completely understand them. Zack’s knowledge, though helpful, was limited. Leo’s research was progressing, but at a worryingly slow pace. And Violet, for all her willingness to help, was not much better at gathering information.

The world just had it out for her, huh? Dropping this bomb on her, after things had already been hard enough since that night. At the party where she had watched someone die. The night she had been branded a murderer for the rest of her teen life.  

The night she had first encountered Blox Watch.

A scream pierced through the forest, leaving behind a chilling echo. Charlie switched her flashlight’s setting to the highest level, pointing it into different directions of the darkness erratically. Leo’s breaths came in short, fearful stutters behind her. She held out an arm protectively, stance tense as she prepared herself for an attack at any moment.

“Hello!?” Despite being scared shitless, he called out to the forest, voice breaking. “Is anyone there?? Are you okay? Do you need help?”

No response. 

“I can’t see anyone,” Charlie said, a nervous sweat breaking down her neck as she craned it as much as she could, searching for any sign of life in the forest. 

“I don’t like this,” Leo said, tugging her arm urgently. “something’s not right. Charlie, we should go back—“

The scream erupted again, this time, right behind them. 

The both of them whipped around like rubber set to snap, expecting the worst—

“You should’ve seen the look on your faces!” 

They came face to face with the three jerks that had been bothering Zack. She had learned the ringleader’s name through Vicky earlier, after she introduced him as her boyfriend. 

In a way, they were almost right. Because this guy was the worst.

Apprehension quickly turned to annoyance as Charlie scowled, the sharp of her nails digging into the plush of her palm. “What do you want, Grayson?”

“After all that talk, it only took a stupid copyright free scream to scare you?” He mocked her, that ever-present condescending intonation causing his face to look all the more punchable.  

He gestured at the goon holding the phone with a slimy smirk. The same scream they had been hearing played from the phone’s audio, grating their ears. 

Grayson suddenly snatched a baseball bat from his other minion, stalking towards them in slow steps. A pathetic attempt to look menacing. He played with the bat, tapping it lightly against his other hand. “I believe we have some unfinished business from earlier.”

Charlie opened her mouth to curse them out, but Leo quickly spoke up first, already foreseeing Charlie’s aggressive comments. “We don’t want any trouble, okay? Just leave us alone.”

“Aw look, she brought her little boyfriend with her!”

Leo flushed. So did she. “I’m not her—“

“I don’t actually care,” Grayson drawled. “Look, I don’t even know who you are. So stay out of this.”

She moved forward, shoving Leo out of her way as gently as she could. “He’s right, Leo. Stay out of this.”

She turned her attention to the bullies, rolling her eyes and giving them an unimpressed snort. “What’s wrong, huh? Too scared to face me properly? Really had to result to jumping me in the woods? When I’m isolated and tipsy, and you’re armed?”

She took a step forward, silently daring him to do the same. “Coward.”

“YOU LITTLE BITCH!!” He roared angrily. He charged at Charlie and Leo, bat raised behind him ready to swing, but Charlie waited until he was a foot in front of her, then promptly stepped aside and dragged Leo with. She planted her foot out as Grayson ran over, causing him to trip.

“That actually worked? Dude, that’s just sad,” she said, not bothering to stifle a giggle at Grayson’s splayed out body on the ground. The boy growled and tried to grab at her feet, unable to stand up just yet. His ankle still hurt from where she had tripped him. 

“Charlie! Stop provoking him,” Leo urged again, stopping her before she went to throw another insult. “Let's just leave. Please.” 

Leo’s pleading eyes pierced through Charlie in an instant. She sighed. grabbing his arm and walking away. The remaining two bullies joined side by side, forming a makeshift barrier. 

She raised a brow, giving the nastiest glare she could manage. It seemed to work, as both of them withered slightly under her gaze. “You heard him, we’re leaving. Move, you’re blocking the way.”

Then suddenly Leo yelped behind her, and his arm was no longer in her hand. Charlie spun around, met with the sight of Grayson’s wild, rage filled hate, and a bat ready to swing. “YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE!!”

But before the man could do anything, a stranger tackled him onto the ground. The bat was knocked out of his grasp, landing softly onto the grass. Not the same could be said for Grayson, who now had a split lip. The stranger tried making a break for it, attempting to skitter away, but Grayson’s minions had caught him. They pulled down his hood roughly, exposing his face. 

“Zack??” Charlie asked, dumbfounded. “What are you doing here?”

“Figured it was time I joined the party. Sorry I’m late,” he joked, devoid of humor.

“You,” Grayson growled. The bat came crashing down fast, and Zack strained against the grip of Grayson's lackeys, but he couldn’t break himself free. “I’m gonna make sure I break every bone in your body.”

Charlie lunged. 

A scream clawed its way out of her throat, hand outstretched in a desperate attempt to reach Zack—but it was no use. 

She wouldn’t make it in time. But she didn’t have to.

Because the bat had stopped mere inches away from Zack’s face, now bathed in bright pink light. 

Grayson let go of the bat, but it still held itself up in the air. “What the…”

“T-That’s not possible! How—?”

“It’s her!” One of the goons exclaimed fearfully, pointing at Charlie. “She’s doing it! Look at her eyes!”

“C-Charlie,” Leo stammered. He was shaking. “Your eyes! They’re—they’re glowing!”

How had Charlie not realized that her eyes burned? A searing all encompassing pain that had her thinking she had been set ablaze. 

It hurt. But she couldn’t blink. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. If she blinked, whatever magic she was using would fade, and then her friends would be in danger.

“How are you doing this?! Answer me, freak!” Grayson demanded. Despite trying his best to sound intimidating, the wobble in his voice did just the opposite. 

“H-Hah, I can see you shaking! You still want a piece of me?” Charlie bluffed, hoping her haughty laugh was enough to mask the sheer panic coursing through her. The bat still hung in the air, and her eyes strained, dry and tired—to close her eyes is to be vulnerable. “You really wanna see what else I can do? Just try me, come on!”

“This is too freaky, man! I’m out!” The brunette bully said, shoving Zack forwards and running back to the direction of the party. The other one seemed torn, switching his head back and forth before quickly following the other one. 

“You bunch of wussies!” Grayson cursed, preparing to run after them. However, his attention was caught by something else—a man. 

He was an inch taller than Charlie. Blonde. Wearing the same outfit as Grayson. His back was turned.

He was familiar in a way. 

Then it clicked. 

The boy in the poster. He must be Violette’s missing brother. 

But something about him felt…off.

Grayson didn’t seem to notice the weird feeling Charlie, Leo, and Zack regarded the man with. He moved towards the blonde haired man, grass crunching loudly beneath his feet. 

“Robbie?? Where on earth have you been, man?! Everyone’s been looking for you, your sister’s been worried sick!” He said, shaking the man. Still, he refused to turn around, to even speak. “Robbie! What the hell is wrong with you?? Why won’t you say anything!?”

“…That’s not Robbie, is it?” Leo whispered, taking a step back. Charlie did the same, accidentally cracking a twig. Its head snapped, twisting unnaturally at a full circle to look at her. 

Charlie staggered back, flinching at the abnormal crack of Robbie’s neck. His head was now backwards on its body. Charlie’s lungs shook, breathing erratic. 

Instead of the brown eyes and a warm smile on the poster, Robbie’s pupils glowed a toxic yellow, and he had no mouth.

Grayson’s eyes widened in alarm. “What the—“

“Blox Watch,” Zack said, barely above a whisper. 

At the sound of its name, the creature’s arm slammed into Grayson’s chest, knocking him into a tree. Grayson’s body hit the wood with a sickening crunch. Blood dripped down his forehead, his blonde locks staining with the liquid. His eyes were blown wide open, mouth parted in frozen terror. His lifeless form just laid there, crumpled pathetically on the ground. 

He didn’t blink. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

He walked slowly, in large and predatory strides. Its hands were lightning, containing controlled yellow sparks that zapped around him. 

Zack had begun to run after it, a fleeting blur of red hair in the corner of Charlie’s vision. Blox Watch hadn’t even glanced at him, throwing him back as well without another thought. 

She couldn’t see if he was breathing. She hoped he was. The alternative made her sick to her stomach.

Finally, Blox Watch stood in front of her, an inch away. Its glowing pupils scorched her sight, causing her to squint; and yet, its haunting face would forever be burned into her mind. The Creature Wearing Robbie’s face tore itself a mouth over smooth skin, ripping into a bloody, disfigured smile. 

Even as the sounds of panicked shouts and sirens came closer, its voice eclipsed the chaos—a deep, rumbling thing that was never meant to be heard.

“Hello Charlie.”

That one interaction alone had been enough to make her paranoid. Everywhere she went, she felt as if something somewhere followed; creeping around in the shadows, hunting, waiting. Waiting for her to drop her guard.

So, when a man parading around as her dead dad appeared on her doorstep, adamant about ‘getting through’ to Charlie, she didn’t wait. She threw the first punch. She couldn’t afford to freeze again.

But truly, she hopes she made the right choice believing the blue haired man she invited in. Though she does strongly trust that it is her dad. However reluctant she is to admit that. 

She was about 90% sure that he wasn’t Blox Watch in disguise. That, maybe, he was really Charlie’s dead dad. 

Well, supposedly dead dad. Or was it wrongly presumed dead dad? She could only really hypothesize as the man hadn’t explained anything. 

He wanted to save the explanation for when her mother and uncle arrived. Which made sense, yes, but it certainly didn’t help any of the questions spinning around in Charlie’s head, or ease the nauseating queasiness that came with the revelation that your dad—who had been dead for eight years, is alive and well and studying every family photo taken in his absence like he’d be given a pop quiz at any moment.

Her dad held a picture of Charlie’s mom—his wife, she corrected—thumbing the frame gently. His eyes were soft, lovelorn, and aching.

The sight should have made Charlie happy. To know her father missed her mother just as much as she did him. But it didn’t. It just made her sick.

A part of her still deeply contested his presence. The part of her that had come to terms with his passing, the part of her that had learned to live without a father. 

The man cradling her father’s picture felt like an imposter, a man with no right to miss her mother. Because if he really cared, and he was alive all these years, then why didn’t he come home? Why had he left his family to rot, to cry, to suffer under his absence— 

Charlie shook her head. That wasn’t fair to him. The man must have a good reason. She hoped he did, at least.

She knew all this, but that didn’t change the way her insides yearned for violence.

But, hey! Maybe all she had to do was take a few deep breaths like her old therapist said, and her entire being would reset. 

Then she’d return to being a decent person who didn’t want to pick a fight with her dad. A second time.

Maybe she could return to being the little girl who her mother actually enjoyed being around, the one in her father’s memories. 

Charlie breathed in and out slowly, closing her eyes. After a few repetitions, she turned around again.

He was looking at a picture of her and Theo celebrating his fifth birthday. Her eye twitched, the urge to just hit something gnawing at her. The vase, the counter, that stranger—

Charlie groaned, slumping against the wall with a thump. 

Yeah, no. This wasn’t getting any easier to digest. Not anytime soon, anyway.

Despite whatever animosity Charlie harbored, she was still a host with ten—nine if you didn’t count the returning owner of this house—guests in her home. So, she sucks it up, bottles up all the spite fizzing in her veins, and walks over to the group. 

“Yo. Any suggestions for dinner?”

“Fried chicken,” Chicken Addict answered immediately. 

“No,” Builderman objected, just as fast. “You’ve gobbled those down for eight years straight apparently.”

An idea popped into Charlie’s head. She pulled out her phone, already searching for the contact number on the internet. “I could order a pizza—“

The group collectively jolted, screaming out, “NOT PIZZA!!”

The silence that followed said everything that needed to be communicated.

Charlie looked at them weirdly, slowly moving her phone away from her—the way one would behave when trying to approach a trigger-happy robber. 

“Okay,” she said. She put her hands up in a sarcastic show of surrender. “Not pizza then, geez…”

“Ah, sorry, we’ve just gotten—” Guest—her father, she corrected begrudgingly—paused, piecing together his phrasing. “A little bit sick of pizza.”

He looked quite green at the mention of the food. So did the rest.

“That’s definitely one way to put it,” Coin Flipper muttered. Murmurs of agreement from the others echoed throughout the living room. 

Charlie raised a brow at Pizza Man. “Even you?”

He groaned, his head dropping into his hands. Burger Man and Coin Flipper patted him on the back sympathetically. “Especially me.”

Charlie hummed. ”So, what do you guys want, then?”

“If I may, I’d like to request a broth of some sort,” Creepy One perked up, their already sharp, disturbing smile growing more so at the thought. It almost made Charlie want to deny the request.

“Maybe something with vegetables?” Burger Man added, most likely thinking of his kid.

“What about corn and carrot soup?” Pizza Man suggested.

Charlie thought it over, looking over at the fridge and recounting its contents easily, as if she could see through the metal door; being responsible for all the groceries does have its perks. She nodded. ”I think we have ingredients for that. I’ll get started then.”

Guest Her father looked at her in surprise. ”You’re cooking?”

“Yeah,” she said, raising a brow at him. “Got a problem with it?”

”No, no! It’s just,” he smiled, mind far away, deep into the past as he seemed to recall a memory. Every word the man spoke served solely to piss her off, his tone too disgustingly fond.

Just shut up, Charlie. Don’t say anything, just hold your—

“The last time I saw you, you couldn’t even reach the stove. And I’d be a pretty irresponsible parent to let a ten year old cook.”

Her mouth acted faster than her impulse control. She asked him with a dry laugh, ”Do I look ten years old to you?” 

His smile fell fast, like a house of cards against a hurricane. ”Ah…No.”

—tongue. Well, shit.

No other words were exchanged by the father and daughter, a silence stretched as far as the room could take it. The others shifted uncomfortably, the tension shrouding everyone like an extremely thick blanket in the middle of summer.

Elliot coughed loudly, a pathetic attempt at diffusing it. “If you need some help in the kitchen, we’d all be willing to help.”

Charlie turned, already making her way to the stove. “No thanks, I’ve got it. I’ll call you all when dinner’s ready. Don’t damage the property or I’ll damage your shins. Permanently.”

Dinner had finished about as briskly as it was unpleasant. 

Though it certainly didn’t feel that way. With only the floating sounds of awkward chewing negating the silence, dinner felt like they had temporarily been brought back to The Spectre’s realm—albeit extremely toned down. It had become an arduous game of eating as fast as you can while trying to survive the extremely suffocating tension. 

Eventually, everyone finished their food and dispersed. The chatter started to pick up again, thankfully, and it was as if the intense atmosphere had never been there in the first place.

Guest had moved from the dining room and into the hallway. He stood there, silent and still. An observer of his own home. His eyes were glued onto the pictures hung on the wall, a calendar of all that he missed told through visuals. He gazed at the center-most picture. 

It had Daisy, Charlotte, and Theo, gathered around a tombstone. His grave. They all had ridiculous party hats on—silly enough to be stupid, but decent enough to be respectable. Just the type of ridiculousness that Guest enjoyed. 

Daisy stood beside the headstone, a hand placed on it. Charlotte stood on the other side of the grave, one hand shoved in her pocket and the other forming a peace sign. And Theo clung onto Charlotte—a habit for the kid apparently—a shy smile on his face. His smile looked just like Daisy’s. 

Guest continued to stare at the image. He had been staring at the picture for so long, as if it would pry the paper open and he could crawl inside of it, as if he had been there all along. As if he belonged there. 

Standing beside Daisy. Carrying Theo on his shoulders. A hand placed on Charlotte’s arm.

But the picture didn’t change. 

His spot remained occupied by the tombstone, silent and still. Just like him.

Ever the observer, the pictures weren’t the only thing Guest had noticed. 

Charlotte thought he didn’t see it, but he did.

The peeks she took every so often, the same careful observation her father had a habit of doing—but Charlotte’s seemed to be born from some form of malice. He half expected her to charge at him, starting up another fight.

She thought he couldn’t tell. She didn’t want him to be able to tell. But instincts were hard to ignore, and Guest’s were rarely ever wrong. 

He had seen the disdain written in her eyes, along with the conflict and the hurt. 

He wished that the moment they shared earlier was enough to solve that. 

But one hug couldn’t solve eight years of grief. 

God, he didn’t know what could. He had so much to fix and he didn’t know where to start.

Guest finally tore his eyes away from the frame. He couldn’t look at it anymore. He couldn’t be near it, couldn’t be in here. 

With years of practiced stealth, he swiftly opened the front door, stepped out, and closed it with barely a creak.

The evening air embraced him, the chill nipping at his nose. The neighborhood had become quiet, only the sounds of suburban nature could be heard; a stark contrast to the barely muffled racket inside the house. 

The sun had long gone, the moon taking its place. Misty clouds were still present, but they were sparse—whereas the stars were abundant, jewels in the dark. Guest strolled out into the wild garden, sitting down in the overgrown patch of grass.

He sat there, just himself, his thoughts, and the night sky for a while. 

Then, careful footsteps approached from behind him. A presence joined his side, sitting down beside him. Out the corner of his eye, he caught the hint of a burger hat and a blue polo.

“Seven. Do you need something?” Guest greeted, though he didn’t look at him. He didn’t say anything. Guest couldn’t see him, but he could visualize his anxious friend fidgeting with his hands and willing himself to spit out whatever he needed to say. “Go on. Whatever it is, just say it.”

“Are you…okay?” 007n7 cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. “I mean, of course you’re not, but—”

“I’m managing. Thanks for asking,” Guest interrupted before his friend could ramble. “I’m just..thinking.”

007n7 looked at him, sympathetic. The understanding of one father to another. “You should talk to her.”  

“I know,” Guest responded, “I’m trying. But it’s just…complicated.”

007n7 gave a weak chuckle. “Yeah, I can tell. I mean I’d be pretty lost too if C00lkidd suddenly turned into a teen when I met him again. And if he tried to beat me up on sight.”

Guest’s eyes travelled to the side, finally leaving the sky for a moment. He raised a brow at the other man, giving 007n7 an unimpressed look. 

The ex-hacker grinned sheepishly. “If he tried to beat me up on purpose,” he corrected. 

007n7 continued, voice soft, “But..I can tell that that girl needs her dad, Guest. Whether she knows it or not, she needs you.”

“And I think,” he said quietly, “you know that too.”

007n7 left him with those words, standing up and going back inside the house. Guest closed his eyes. After a few minutes, he pulled himself up and followed.

Guest was surprised to find the main area of the house strangely empty. The only person to be found inside was his daughter. She was by the sink, washing whatever was left. 

There wasn’t very much, a few utensils, bowls, and plates probably from earlier that day—there were no dishes left over from the dinner participants, since Guest had very subtly, and forcibly, proposed that every person wash their own plate.  

Summoning all the strength he had left after today, he coughed loudly alerting her of his presence. “Do you know where the others are?”

”Some of them went to the backyard. Theo and… C00lkidd?” She asked, looking for confirmation that she had said the red scamp’s name right. Guest nodded. “Dragged the others away to play.”

“I see,” he said. Deep breath in, deep breath out. “Do you need any help with the dishes?”

Charlotte paused, surprised. She pondered the request, looking as though she wanted to say no—but she eventually sighed and moved over. 

“Fine. I’ll wash. You dry.”

Guest tentatively took the nearby rag from its hanger, working dutifully at the pile of dishes that had yet to be wiped. Once that had run out, Charlotte had begun handing the dishes over to him herself. It was a repetitive cycle, the fall of the faucet‘s water and the occasional squeak of the plates an unchanging pattern.

It was a calm silence for once, both father and daughter content to simply coexist. 

As some water made contact with her damaged knuckles harshly, Charlotte was unable to repress a loud hiss. She shut the faucet off, wiping her hands dry on her shirt and pants. She cradled her left hand, inspecting it. When she found nothing wrong, she turned the knob again and went back to rinsing.

Guest glanced at her, concerned. She twitched everytime even a drop of water touched the raw skin. The reality of her wounds were much worse when the bandage wasn’t there to cover it. “Do you want to switch? Your hands..”

Charlotte handed him the small bowl she had been washing. ”Nah, I’m fine. This is nothing. Nothing I’m not used to anyway.”

”So…you get in a lot of fights?” Guest inquired, taking the bowl and wiping it dry. He placed it in its proper cabinet and started on the next one.

“They always find their way to me,” the girl shrugged, scrubbing a particularly dirty bowl harshly. As much as she tried to play it off, her scowl definitely proved she felt the opposite of chill. “I just don’t run from them.”

“I can appreciate that,” he said tentatively, bracing himself for the possibility of his daughter’s wrath at what he would say next. “But you should avoid using violence if you can.”

She snorted. “This coming from the man who fought a war?” 

Guest frowned. “A war that I tried to avoid, but it eventually caught up to me. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t have—“

“You did have a choice, and you left,” Charlotte stated bluntly, the truth of the fact ate away at his nerve like a hot wire overheating.

“To protect you!” Guest exclaimed, not unkindly, but not without a mild sense of  Guest exclaimed, not unkindly but not kind enough; a plea that his means would justify the end. 

“Exactly!” She shouted back, fervor in her every word, passionate and determined.shouted back, fervor in her every word passionate and determined. “To people like us, it’s not even a choice. We fight because if we don’t, then who will? I can’t sit by and let the people I care for suffer.”

Well. That had him stumped. 

He couldn’t counter that. Even though he had his reservations on what it entailed for Charlotte. Because then he’d be a massive hypocrite. 

He could already see Daisy’s disdain at this persistent reasoning of his and his daughter’s—the need to protect others, at all costs. It was something about himself that he was quite proud of, but he did kind of wish Charlotte hadn’t inherited it. As much as it filled him with pride to know his daughter had his morals, he couldn’t deny that he’d rest far easier if Charlotte would simply just back down from the danger.

Guest laughed hard, a bittersweet thing that bubbled up from the irony.

“Wha—?” Charlotte looked at him, confused. She had clearly not expected a happy response from him after his momentary muteness, and yet here he was, laughing his ass off. 

“Damn, kid. You’ve got me there,” he said, coming down from his laughing high. “You’ve got guts. Not a lot of people have the strength to do what you do…I’m actually impressed, but don’t tell your mother. I have a feeling she’s not as pleased?”

Charlotte grimaced. “No. She just…doesn’t get it.”

She mumbled, low and most likely not meant for him to hear, “I’m glad you do, though.”

For her sake, he pretended he didn’t hear. “Did I ever tell you about the day I met your mother and your Uncle Matt?” 

Charlotte shook her head. She had yet to hear the story.

Guest smiled, recounting the fond memory with ease. “It was my first day in the orphanage. Your mom asked me to be her friend. We went out to play later that day, but two jerks started messing with her.”

“I stood up to them, but they were stronger than me back then. They started going after me instead, hurling all sorts of insults about Guests. Then that’s where your Uncle Matt comes in,” Guest grinned. “He tackled them to the ground at the same time and they ran off. The three of us have been inseparable ever since.”

Deja vu washed over her, pushing a short, disbelieving laugh out of her throat. “You won’t believe this, but I get exactly what you mean. One of my friends actually did the same for me. That’s how I knew I could trust him.”

“Tackling is the best form of friendship,” he agreed, only half joking. His daughter snorted. A silence washed over them again, before Guest cleared his throat, successfully getting Charlotte’s attention.

“Listen, Charlotte. Your mom is glad you’re a strong and kind person, but she wouldn’t want to see you putting yourself and your future in harm’s way. People like that get their karma. You don’t have to lower yourself to their level for it to happen.”

She didn’t say anything, but Guest knew that the teen had acknowledged his words. However, she didn’t seem ready to voice her agreement verbally. 

“So, you never got to get back at those guys?” 

Guest smirked. “Oh, no. I met them again during military training. The first day in fact. They tried pulling the same crap, talking bad about ‘my kind’. Shut them both up with a kick straight to their faces. They avoided me completely after that.”

“That’s awesome!” Charlotte exclaimed, a laugh seeping up out of her wide grin. “Uncle Matt told me you were a kickass soldier, but I had no idea you could do that stuff before military training!”

“Yeah, I had a bit of practice,” Guest chuckled. “Isn’t easy when everyone’s against your race.”

“Tell me about it. I don’t even look like a Guest and I still have to deal with that crap. I’m more worried about Theo, though,” she frowned, eyebrows furrowed in displeasure. “He’s sweet as cotton candy and I love that about him, but it makes him an easy target. Had to teach this one douche a lesson because he thought it’d be fun to pick on a little boy who looked like a pure Guest.”

Charlotte groaned, wincing slightly as she wiped at her wet, injured hands. “I gave him the beating of a century, but my hands were sore and bleeding for weeks.” 

“I could give you some pointers,” Guest offered, before any apprehension could seep into his mind. “Have your knuckles bleed a little less.”

“Really!?” Charlotte gasped in excited surprise. “You’d train me??”

Guest’s eyes widened. “That’s not—“

Charlotte cut him off, not bothering to mask her thrill with her usual feigned nonchalant manner. “When do we start?!”

Guest repressed a sigh. Truly, if the explosion wouldn’t be the death of him, his kid might be. Or his wife, once she finds out about this. “Whenever you want.”

“What about tomorrow? Tomorrow morning??” 

“…Sure, kid.”

Daisy will kill him. Most definitely. But facing his wife’s wrath might be worth it. It would certainly be a less explosive death.

Right now though, the stars in Charlotte’s eyes and her hopeful, exhilarated smile were too much for him to deny. 

“Will you teach me that kick flip Uncle Matt always does?” Charlotte asked, enthusiastically showing him a video of Matt—if anyone, at least he knew his best friend hadn’t changed much in eight years—demonstrating the move proudly, a small crowd around him cheering him on. “It’s literally the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s not just his move you know,” Guest huffed, a pang of jealousy ringing at the idolization his daughter held for his best friend. He sank deeper into the couch, exhaustion running coarse through his bones. “I use it all the time too.”

Charlotte waved him off. “Yeah, but he said he taught you that! And everything else you know!!” 

Guest pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes rolling back on reflex. “I might need to talk to your uncle about spreading false information.”

Guest and Charlotte continued to converse, lost in a chatter of promised training and future plans. They had been so caught up in their conversation that neither had noticed the soft creak of the front door as it pushed open. 

The jingle of keys clattering onto the floor was the only warning he got, as a painstakingly familiar voice called out his name. 

One that never failed to make his heart stutter. 

“Guest?”