Unbroken 1.0 (Worm Commission) (Patreon)

I stomped through the back alleys of the Docks. It was after midnight, I had school tomorrow, this was one of the worst parts of town, and I had nothing but my bulk and my scowl to deter any would be muggers. At this moment, I was practically asking for some Merchant tweaker to stab me and try to trade my jeans for drugs. I was also far too pissed off to care. I’d been taken away from my sister once before, and now some fuckwits (and I had a damn good idea as to who) decided to shove my second sister into a locker in some fucked up murder attempt.

To make matters worse: I wasn’t able to do shit. If I went to Winslow, I could have at least gotten her out of the locker before tearing those fucking bitches goddamn heads off! But no, because instead of being sent to that shithole, I went to Clarendon, where the shithole sent the ones that even they wouldn’t touch. So, here I was, doing my best to vent my frustration without breaking anything in the house, while also hoping for someone I could beat the shit out of.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the local tweakers managed to rub their two brain cells that they hadn’t burned up, because the few times I saw any of them, they immediately ran the other way. Leaving me without anyone or anything to take out my anger at being so fucking useless!

“RAAAGH!!!” I finally shouted, slamming my fist into the side of a metal dumpster.

I was expecting pain, hell I was welcoming it, it’d distract me from the confusing turmoil of emotions I was feeling. I was not expected to hear the sound of metal warping and an utter lack of resistance. The lack of resistance makes me stumble, off balance, and I stare wide eyed at the fact that my arm was buried past the elbow in the solid metal side of the dumpster. Placing my free hand against the metal where my arm entered, I pulled my arm out.

My shirt sleeve was torn by the metal, but my arm itself didn’t have a scratch on it. I made a fist, digging my fingernails into my palm, and felt the same sting I’d have felt yesterday.

“Still feel pain, but strong enough to punch through sheet metal. Still useless, can’t punch Taylor well,” I mumbled, my gaze shifting to the hole in the dumpster, and briefly imagined it as some faceless individual who shoved Taylor into her locker. “Can kill if not careful…would be sent to juvie, worse than useless to protect Taylor there.”

My hands curled into fists, I’d rip the spines out of anyone that tried to take me from Taylor. I was strong now, stronger than I’d ever been. I’d bitten a finger off the man that took me away from my sister when I was young. I’d do worse now. But…

“‘No man is an island,’ do you know what that means Rick?” the woman, Annette, asked. The surly, glaring boy of seven didn’t answer, so she continued. “It means that no one person can do everything. Everyone needs help, needs other people. If someone tries to fight the world on their own, sooner or later the world wins. Don’t ever be afraid of asking Taylor, or me, or Danny for help. Okay?”

I took a deep breath, held it until the count of five, then exhaled. Turning around, I started making my way home. I needed to talk to Danny. I needed…help with my temper. The trip took the better part of an hour, but I arrived home at the same time as Danny’s truck pulled into the drive.

“How’s Taylor?” I asked as he got out, looking as tired as I was angry.

“Panacea stopped by, so the worst of it was taken care of. She just needs to rest now. What happened to your shirt?” he asked as we made our way up the front steps, skipping the rotten one.

“Punched a hole in a dumpster, need help controlling my temper,” I answered.

He paused, the house key halfway to the door as he turned to me and asked, “You’re a cape?”

“Strong, tough, haven’t tried anything else,” I said as he shook his head before unlocking the door and we entered.

“I can see why you want help controlling your temper,” he said quietly. “I’ll put some leftovers in the microwave, we’ll talk over dinner. You go take a shower, we don’t know what was in that dumpster.”

I nodded, making my way up the stairs, carefully controlling my steps. I didn’t know if stomping would break the stairs, much as it would make me feel better. I grabbed some clean clothes from my room, the one across from Taylor’s, and took a quick shower. I didn’t bother with a shirt, simply putting on a pair of boxers and sweatpants, and made my way downstairs. Dinner was leftover chinese takeout, orange chicken for me while Danny had the beef and broccoli.

“Are you still doing the breathing exercises?” Danny asked as we sat down.

“Yes. Breathe in, count to five, breathe out. Repeat if needed,” I recited.

Danny nodded, “That’s good, I’m not going to give you the sort of crap they fed me in anger management. It sounded good, but only to people who didn’t have bad tempers. For now, every time you feel your temper starting to get away from you, focus on what will happen if you give in. Think about how the people around you will react, what the consequences will be. Hell, imagine popping their head like a bad zit, so long as you think through the consequences.”

“Already do,” I responded. “Doesn’t always work. What then?”

We talked for a while, I don’t know how long; I didn’t bother keeping track of time. Dinner was finished long before we were, and eventually the talk drifted to the idea of me joining the Wards. I didn’t care for it, I had a hard enough time keeping my temper calm and controlled around regular teens, let alone ones with all the ego and baggage that comes with powers. In the end, I agreed to a… ‘meet and greet’ once Taylor was home.

Before that, for the next few days Danny was going to take me to the Boat Graveyard, so I could practice my strength on things that didn’t matter if I broke them. My control seemed pretty good, I hadn’t had any accidents since the dumpster, but both he and I would feel better if I put some actual practice into it.

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My hands shook, my entire body was tense with the strain of holding myself in check. I carefully turned another page, using each and every scrap of control I had to avoid damaging it. The talks with Danny had helped more than I anticipated they would, a week ago I’d have already stormed out of the house with murder on my mind. As it was, I was barely keeping from tearing down the house in my fury.

With forced calm, I stood from Taylor’s bed and made my way downstairs. Grabbing a poker from the fireplace, I began bending it, tying it into a knot like it was one of those stupid pipe cleaners children use in arts and crafts. It wasn’t enough, so I straightened it out as best I could, and did it again, twisting it into a different shape. The act of bending metal was surprisingly soothing, something known for its strength, durability, and rigidness bending in my hands like wet clay.

“Rick?” Danny asked as he entered the house, his eyes wider than usual and staring at the fire poker. “Everything okay?”

“How’s Taylor?” I asked, setting the now spring-shaped fire poker on the coffee table. I stood, picking up the journal that Taylor had written, detailing in it everything she’d kept hidden from me. I couldn’t blame her, not after I’d had a chance to calm myself a little. I was still furious, and it was for her own safety that I never see that traitorous whore again, otherwise I was liable to decapitate her with my bare hands and shove her severed head up her own ass.

“The doctors said they want to keep her on IV fluids for another night, but she can come home tomorrow. What’s this?” he asked as I handed him the journal.

“Found it in Taylor’s room. Don’t know if I’ll be able to keep from killing her if I ever see Emma again,” I told him, making him look up at me in surprise. Before he started reading.

I stood there, watching him as he read. Even I could tell that what he was reading was making him angry, much like it had me. I had a hard time reading people at the best of times, but the way that his jaw clenched, his lips opening to show his teeth, his muscles tensing in his neck and arms, his face turning red. I’m socially maladjusted, not blind.

As he reached the halfway point, Danny slammed the journal closed, slammed his eyes shut, took in a deep breath, held it, before releasing it. He did this five more times before muttering under his breath, running through scenarios involving going over to the Barnes residence and beating an ‘Alan’ within an inch of his life. The scenarios always ended poorly. I don’t know if this is what he always did when his temper flared, or he was trying to demonstrate to me the advice he gave, but after ten or fifteen minutes, he opened his eyes.

His gaze determined, he met my eyes and said, “Not tomorrow, but the morning after, we’re going to sit down with Taylor and talk about this. Tomorrow, let her focus on coming back home and resting. If at any point you think you won’t be able to handle it, head out to the Boat Graveyard and tear up some of the wrecks. Clear?”

I nodded, walking back over to the coffee table, and the fire poker. Looking at it, I hummed consideringly, before picking it up, trapping one end in my armpit, before coiling the whole length of the poker around my bicep. Moving my arm back and forth, I was surprised by how smoothly and comfortably it sat. I’d probably wear it under my windbreaker and hoodies.

The next day, Danny went to the hospital to pick up Taylor, while I waited at home. Technically, I was supposed to be at school, but fuck’em. Like hell I was going to not be there when Taylor got home. The wait was longer than I wanted, but she’d been in there for three weeks too long already. Finally, I saw Danny’s truck pulling into the drive, a wheelchair folded up in the back. I was opening the passenger door almost before Taylor had finished unbuckling.

“Rick?!” Taylor exclaimed, sounding surprised to see me, for some reason. I didn’t understand why, she was my sister, why wouldn’t I be here?

“Hey, Taylor,” I said as I scooped her into my arms. She was light, so light. I forced myself to remember that I could bench press a car now, so no matter how much Taylor weighed, she’d feel light. It wasn’t because the hospital had been starving her. Her arms wrapped around my neck, her head rested against my chest, and I faintly heard her take a deep breath.

“When did Rick get so hot?” I barely heard her mutter, making me glance down at Taylor’s face as I approached the front door. Her eyes were closed, but her face was red. I don’t think she meant for me to hear her question.

I set Taylor down on the recliner, it was the most comfortable chair we owned, and pretended not to hear the disappointed sound she made as I pulled away. I was confused, very confused. Taylor hadn’t ever given any indicator of finding me attractive, did she? I hadn’t had a girlfriend, everyone at Clarendon was too scared to get closer to me than absolutely necessary after that time I left one of the senior linebackers in the hospital for a month, back when I was a freshman.

Danny tried to talk to Taylor, but I honestly couldn’t pay attention. He gave me a convenient out yesterday, so I exited the house to head to the Boat Graveyard. I wasn’t going to work out my anger, but I needed to do something physical as I tried to process the confusing mess my mind was in after Taylor’s quiet confession of attraction.

I’d honestly never given any thought of the matter in regards to Taylor. She was my second sister, after I was taken from my first one. But…looking back on it, I could see that Taylor was growing into a beautiful woman. She wasn’t there yet, but the signs were there. I guess Taylor was just a late bloomer.

I don’t know how long I had my head in the clouds before I noticed, but when I did, I let out a surprised yelp before suddenly dropping. Brockton Bay lay spread out below me, and my limbs flailed wildly as I tried to control my descent. How had I even gotten high enough in the sky to be level with the clouds?! Thankfully, I managed to find whatever muscle controlled my descent and flexed it, bringing my fall to a sharp and sudden halt. I panted, before I slowly shifted my position, righting myself.

“Huh,” I mused, as I floated back and forth in different directions. “Flying is easy.”

Looking down at Brockton Bay, I felt a smile spread across my face. Before I aimed my torso down towards the city and shot off like a bullet from a gun. I stuck to the Docks and Trainyard, but even so, flying between buildings, bobbing and weaving through abandoned construction sites as impromptu obstacle courses was fun.

“WOOHOO!” the cry tore itself from my mouth as I flew along the bay itself, sticking a hand out into the water and leaving a stream like a jetski.

I pulled my arm back in flush against my body, grinning as I decided to see how fast I could go. Flexing whatever muscle controlled my flight, I was about to put on a burst of speed when a voice distracted me, “Having fun?”

I turned, eyes widening, to catch sight of a blonde girl Taylor’s age. She was wearing all white with gold trims and had one of those girly not-crowns, but that was all I managed to make note of before the speed boost kicked in. I ended up flying into the girl, my flight path being guided by where my head was facing, my face smashing into her chest, the air leaving her lungs, and the sound of shattering glass filling my ears.