In A Snazzy Suit (Patreon)

"Comp- what the fuck!?" 

He expected that. He really did. Taylor was... extremely difficult to manage at the best of times. She had a rather nasty habit of seeing everything and everyone around her as either a potential enemy, or an active enemy, with little to no space left for any sort of allies. She barely acknowledged the existence of bystanders.

Not that she'd believe him if he told her that chances were, almost everyone who she had ever thought was in on her bullying was probably just a bystander that ultimately didn't care about her one way or the other. Dean wasn't stupid, he knew pretty well how such a tone deaf, even if true, statement would go. And besides, he wasn't here to deal with her trauma to begin with. That was for the actually qualified professional the PRT had working with her to deal with.

"Taylor, listen, this is important," he interrupted the developing storm before him, the turmoil of her emotions sharpening into an aura full of icy cold daggers that were pointed at him. Prickly at the best of times, downright nasty most of the time, such was Weaver of the Wards. "This does not mean what you think it means," he explained, "it's legalese bullshit that you need to be prepared for. Word games, reframing and rephrasing will be exploited to the utmost in order to present you as less of a victim and more of a participant. They will want to present you as someone who gave as good as she got, turn it into less of a bullying campaign and more of a spat between teenagers."

"And that means I should just pretend I was part of it!? It sounds like you're telling me I should tell everyone I brought it on myself! I haven't heard that one before," she rolled her eyes, clearly, she had.

"You yourself told me that the principal minimized things when you reported it. You think she's going to be above lying about you retaliating?" Dean asked gently, rubbing the bridge of his nose, slight exasperation seeping into his tone, though at least Taylor did look a little bit sheepish about her outburst, and her emotions were swirling once more, mostly negative, but at least tinged with less fury.

"But... it just feels disgusting. I wasn't an accomplice, I didn't, I didn't-" she sighed, placing her face in her hands. "I just wanted them to leave me alone, I, I thought if I ignored them, if I didn't react, they'd just, they'd just go away, and reporting them didn't do anything so-" she sighed, her elbows sliding apart a little as she almost sank into the table. She wasn't sad or in despair, she was angry.

But it didn't matter.

Dean frowned and leaned back on his chair. They were discussing these matters in his home, the Stansfield manor had plenty of rooms for private discussions and the study was one of them. They were surrounded by books and it was clear Taylor appreciated the place. She might not be much of a reader herself, at least not recently, but she did mention a few of the titles she recognized that her mother had owned, and which she had read herself. 

Maybe they could bond over books later.

The wheels of the chair allowed Dean to put a little distance between himself and the table, and he leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling. How to put things in a way that wouldn't set her off? It was at these times he wished he had a social combat thinker power, rather than just the ability to read emotions. Didn't help much when he wouldn't know what would set a traumatized teenage girl with PTSD off until he stepped on that land mine.

If nothing else, she had proven to be made of stern stuff, at least she would try to restrain herself for the sake of achieving her revenge and justice against the school system. 

"Taylor," Dean said, "you need to understand this," he explained. "As much as you might find me or  Townlin to be weasels and assholes and legally empowered scum, I trust that man to know what he's talking about," he said.

"But why," she didn't ask, it was more of a protest, a statement that alluded to the unfairness of it all. "How is- how is any of it my fault, my responsibility?! What was I supposed to do!?" she shouted, frustration coming out all at once. "I went to the teachers, I went to the principal, I requested a transfer, what else was I supposed to do!?" she shouted in frustration, slamming a closed fist against the hard mahogany of the desk that separated the two of them. "Cry? Beg!?"

"Escalate," Dean responded gently. "I... understand your situation with your father, it wasn't the greatest, I don't know if he could or would have helped you, but," he raised a hand to forestall her protests, cutting her off before she started defending her father. An odd relationship, where she clearly didn't trust her father to actually have her back, yet would be insulted at the thought of anybody else implying he wasn't trustworthy. "But!" he cut her off as she opened her mouth again, then he coontinued gently, "that's what I'm talking about... I'm sorry to say, Taylor, there is a part of responsibility that's on your hands."

She turned her face aside. "My dad couldn't deal with that," she said, bitterly. "He was barely even there at all, with, with Mom gone, he just..." she clenched her fists. Despair, hopelessness, resignation, anger and shame... that was a whole 'nother can of worms that was well beyond Dean's capabilities. "And... and- what higher authority even is there?"

"The city government has a board that oversees public education," Dean said gently. 

"I didn't even know that existed," she said, her muscles tensing as anger coursed through her.

"And that," Dean said, raising a finger, "is another point in our favor," he said. "I need you to trust me on this Taylor... I need you to trust me, when I tell you that Townlin knows what he's doing, that he has far more knowledge of these matters than either you or I," he explained. "You can distrust our motives, but you have to trust our ability, our capability. You have to trust that we CAN help you, even if you won't trust that we want to."

"But I trust you," she muttered, softly. 

"About as far as you can throw me," Dean responded, a wry smile on his face, as he looked at her skinny arms. That wasn't very far at all. Taylor had a very long road ahead of her involving proper nutrition and exercise plans before she was in proper superhero shape. "Empath, remember?" he asked, tapping his finger on the side of his head, between his temple and ear.

She had the good graces to blush, and her embarrassment was quite significant. She didn't remember, not in the least. It was fine, he didn't usually advertise that part of his powerset.

"It just... it feels too good to be true," she said. "Some rich guy finds a poor and downtrodden girl, rescues her from her bullies and helps her become a hero, out of the goodness of his heart? Fairytales are less unrealistic than this," she said, looking out the largest window on the study, which was directly letting natural light onto the area where the desk was. 

Dean remained silent, just looking at her, monitoring both her expressions and the flow of her emotions and the colors they turned.

"Maybe I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop... maybe I'm waiting for you to pull the rug out from under me, and for everyone to start laughing at the stupid girl who thought things would ever get better for her..."

"Taylor," Dean said, softly, closing his eyes and looking positively serene for a few moments.

"No, no, I get it, I understand," she said, shaking her head. "I'm not easy, I know... I'm a mess, I've been, ever since," she frowned. "Fuck. Shit. Fuck everything, I get it," she said, sighing, grabbing onto her head, bunching up her hair as she let her frustration flow freely. "Fucking bitches, assholes, everyone, I, I just fucking stood there and took it, what the fuck was I supposed to do!?" she screamed. "Nobody told me what to do! Nobody helped me! Anyone who seemed like they were coming to help were just another trap she set up to humiliate me! Everyone always took her side! And I, I just, I just wanted her to leave me alone!"

Her voice was cracking, she slammed her closed fist on the desk making everything on it rattle but not quite knocking anything over. She was breathing hard, her face was red, it was obvious she was struggling not to cry in anger and frustration, and her arms and hands were trembling as she tried to contain herself.

"And now you're asking me to, to just- to take the blame?! To say I was complicit in my own torture?! What bullshit is this!?"

"Unwilling, Taylor. That's the point," he spoke. "I'm sorry to say but it's the truth..."

"How is it my fault!?" she repeated. "Why is it my fault!? I didn't do anything wrong, I didn't do anything, I-" she sobbed, "I just- I just wanted to live my life!!"

"I know," he said gently. "Trust me Taylor, I'm not telling you this because I want you to suffer more, I want you to be ready and aware of what they are going to try, you need to be prepared..."

"S-So wha, what, it's just bullshit anyway!!"

"Before a jury of our peers, it doesn't matter what's true or not, the only thing that matters is which side can pose a more convincing case."

She huffed. "Doesn't all the evidence need," she sniffed, still trying not to cry but not quite managing to keep her tears fully in, "to be vetted and confirmed or, or stuff like that?"

"Whether this becomes a criminal case or not will be a decision that will be out of our hands for the most part, we'll push for it of course but," he sighed, "this is a civil case right now, the standards for proof are lower... It sounds bad, but we're not going to be looking to prove a crime has been committed, we're just trying to convince the judge and the jury that you've been dealt an injury, and that you deserve recompense for it."

"And that's it? Just, just slap a fine on it? A bag of money won't give me back the time I lost..." she protested.

"I can never give you that time back," Dean said solemnly. "I can't even promise you I will put Blackwell in prison - at least not yet. I told you we can put the gears of justice into motion, the wheels will turn, slowly, but they're moving... If we win this case, there's a very real chance that the state will want to follow up on it. Everything you've told me suggests the principal, Blackwell you said? is definitely covering things up. Once the dominoes start falling, it's only a matter of time before the chain reaction starts getting to the intended target."

"And what if it doesn't?" Taylor asked softly. "What if it's all just swept under the rug, what if Blackwell wins, and she gets away with it? what then?"

Dean paused for a few moments, then a smile came over his face. 

He adjusted his tie, wiped some imaginary lint from his suit jacket's shoulder and nodded at her. "That's what the lawyers are for," he said.

"It can't be that simple," she shook her head, "it never is, it never, if it was that simple, if- if all I had to do was just talk to someone, then what was all that for!? What was all the shit I endured for!?" she shouted, voice cracking. "Was it just for some sick bitch's amusement? Is that it!? Some cosmic bastard that gets off watching me suffer!?"

He didn't respond.

Just let her decompress for a moment, the only sound in the study was her harsh breathing. 

It wasn't unusual that she had trouble dealing with it.

What kind of person likes to hear that they might've had a hand in their problems? Nobody, nobody likes to hear that. Even Dean himself, even when he could straight up tell when people had good intentions in telling him something, even he hated being told as much. Nobody liked it. But it was the truth, and she had to accept it, if they were to move forward.

"So that's it?" she asked softly. "I just... accept it? That's all I do?"

Dean knew to wait a few moments, before Taylor finally was ready for his answer.

And it was one he had told her numerous times already, and he would continue to tell her as many times as it was necessary, until she accepted it. "I wouldn't come to you about this if it wasn't necessary," he said.

"It's not that easy," she spoke, then looked around, and saw that at some point while she was throwing a tantrum, she'd knocked over some stuff in the desk, and there were small hordes of insects already making their way to the table. "Oh, I- sorry," she said, shaking her head, immediately with her control reasserted she was sending the arthropods back into hiding, and most of them, out of the mansion entirely.

"But it's better that it happens now, than they use it as a weapon to make you mad and paint you as a combatant, rather than a victim," Dean supplied. "So it's okay, get mad, throw things, break things, do it all now, so that when they inevitably call on you, you can screw over their entire strategy, if they try it," Dean said.

"Responsibility..." Taylor muttered. "I've just been thinking about, about people shirking it for so long. The teachers. The principal. Even my dad."

She was lost in thought for a few moments, then wiped her face and realized her nose was leaking quite a lot of water and snot.

Dean passed her a handkerchief wordlessly, and she cleaned her face.

"I hate it," Taylor said softly. "You... you're manipulating me, I can tell."

"I am," Dean said. "I told you when we first started this little partnership, didn't I? I'm chasing that high," he said. "You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

She nodded. "Yeah... yeah I understand you a little better now."

"But you don't trust me, not yet at least," Dean said, closing his eyes. "That's fine. I can deal with that."

"You're right, I don't trust you," she said. "But I trust your motive at least... that's a start, right?"

"That's all I'm asking for," Dean said.

"I guess that's fine," Taylor said, cracking a small smile. "Then... let's review once again," she looked at the files Dean had brought with him regarding the case they were building, and all the information and recommendations compiled by the lawyer, Townlin, and everything they needed to prepare.

In many ways, preparing a client was very much part of a good lawyer's job before a trial, and this was indeed some invaluable experience for Dean's own future.

Thus, Dean took charge. "Right," he said, and so he went back to the start of their conversation, before Taylor had lost her shit at the implication that she might have a hand in her own fate, and what it meant from the legal standpoint.

It wouldn't take an empath to realize that Taylor hated any and all implication that she might have even the slightest bit of responsibility regarding her own situation, including, unwillingly, being complicit to the cover-up by hiding it from her own father. They absolutely would use Taylor's own distrust in authority to harm her standing... it would take a lot of work, and a lot of preparation.

But it would do so much more good than just a simple lawsuit for money.

His objective from the start was to save the person in distress before him, and that meant helping her any way he could. 

Gallant never could, Taylor didn't need a Knight in Shining Armor, Taylor needed a Lawyer in a Snazzy Suit and Tie.