Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Despite explaining his nostalgia for his child piano I could feel his resentment through the screen. He blinked rapidly, his smile stretching too wide across his face making me flinch back. My heart skips a beat and it doesn't know why. Homelander describes his mom's delicate smile and it rang false to me, ringing inside my skull like a church bell. I physically felt the lie thrum in my blood, it was obvious within his glassy blue eyes if you squinted hard enough. The advertisement switched to live TV, showcasing the same heroes talking up their new movie, Dawn of the Seven. They look as radiant and overly polished as they did in their ads on TV. My eyes roll involuntarily at the production value. 

"Could you turn that up, Daphne? They should be talking about the current political climate in D.C by now." My father, Mr. Dan Bennett surmised smoking a cigar adjusting his bum on his creaky recliner. I turn the volume up to a deafening degree and approach the kitchen to get a cup of tea from the family's heirloom of a china pot.

“Do you really think they’ll be talking about anything important during one of those?” I yelled back, grabbing the tea-set and platter with as much grace as I could muster. I distractedly glance out the window towards the back yard. It'd be idyllic if it weren’t for the towering skyscrapers encroaching the view.

“Bah!” My father croaked, swinging his hand about dismissively. That’s when my mother Jessica Bennett, a retired school teacher, strolled in taking off her gardening gloves and work boots at the entryway. She plopped down on the old couch that's turned an off tan from its years of service with the Bennett family. My mother took the cup of tea I offered her with a smile.

“Thank you sweety.” She hummed happily sipping at the chamomile tea, her favorite. My father took his without a glance. I try to relax into our lumpy couch forcing myself to focus my attention on the TV. My knees start to shake up and down without my knowledge. My mother grabs my knees with a swift and tightening grip. 

“Honey, this is a time to relax, not to fret about what we can’t change.” My mother’s shrug to my questioning stare is answer enough. “You're an open book, dear.” I sigh, my body further burrowing itself into the couch. If I could dissolve into it the better.

“Sorry, mom, I know I shouldn’t bring work home with me but...” My shoulders sag at the admission. I twirl my pointer finger around one of my golden ringlet curls. 

“Sometimes it's impossible, but when that moment comes you should take it. No matter the consequences.” My father piped up wearing a dark expression I didn’t wish to decipher.

I turn the volume up on the TV, my father grunts in appreciation, as I turn my eyes back towards the screen. It’s as I thought, the Superheroes were discussing their personal history as if they were talking about their groceries. The headache from earlier slowly crawls back up my neck to stab the front of my cranium.

“My home life with my family is what gave me the strength to protect the millions of American kids from threats like the super terrorists everyday,” Homelander trails off in the middle of his speech, faltering. His wide smile in all of his promotional ads was plastered on his face now. “And we need to fight as a united country to make a safe place to call home for our future generation. So, my proposal is for the Seven to be fully implemented into our great American troops by the end of this term."

The emotions of Homelander came rushing inside my head without any restraint. A gushing volcano; the emotions of rage and inner turmoil surfaced on the roof of my mouth and out like leaking lava and tar. The emotions were so vivid and enveloping that without my conscious knowledge I turned the TV off. 

“Hey! He was going to talk about the super terrorist group that targeted flight 37!” My father yelled, raising himself from the recliner standing stiff and straight. My mother pinned me down with a hard knowing look. It dawns on my father a moment later. “Honey, are you alright? Is it your headaches ?” He whispers the word “headache,” with a trembling lip. His stern big brown eyes pin me to where I am, frozen into the couch. 

My family has called me sensitive for a very long time and once I reached puberty my powers grew strong enough to become too much. They decided it best for me to control and mute it as much as possible. This being a decision we all agreed upon unanimously after my fainting spells grew worse in high school. 

“I’m fine now…” I whisper faintly looking back at the black screen, goosebumps crawl across my skin. My hand clenches and unclenches around the remote without me realizing it. I pry my clammy hands away from it. The same thought keeps running through my head over and over again. I have never felt such a strong emotional impression from someone at such a long distance.

I couldn’t have felt that from the live conference, could I? Did I feel that from Homelander? Or was it someone else–I don’t think so...but maybe? I never felt pain and contempt so violently through a screen before, or any screen for the matter. Maybe it was the feelings of the Seven conglomerating itself through the TV? I was theorizing down an unending rabbit hole, with all the info I have now, this is all just theories. 

“So, you think we could put the TV back on?” My father huffed sliding back in his recliner with more grace than expected. His experience in combat has made him oddly graceful. 

“Daniel!” My mother crowed standing up in indignation and hurriedly strutting to the kitchen. To cook I think. She cooks whenever stressed out…so ergo when I have any sign of my power fluctuations she heads straight into the kitchen. I think it’s a way for her to take action without suffocating me. The whole neighborhood–meaning the apartment buildings surrounding them, loves her baked goods. They appreciate them so much she’s invited to all of the building parties, as long as the baked goods are included. She enjoys being a social butterfly counter to my father–the isolated shut in.   

“It's okay Dad, I need to make a call anyway.” I murmured on my way outside to the back porch, my mother's eyes followed my every move. I dialed my best friend’s number quickly, on instinct. My fingers did not feel like they were in my full control as they quickly typed away.

“Hey Daph! What’s up, in a hurry and currently doing the hair of a super-diva right now?” Olivia spoke, words falling out of the phone like the rushing rapids. I could hear a lot of chattering in the background, her usual hectic life. It seemed no matter how busy Olivia was she always answered her phone. 

“I wanted to know if there were any available seats on the next Morning Cup of Joey when he interviews with the Seven next Tuesday?” I quickly turn my body away from my mother’s prying, curious eyes peaking through the yellow curtains of the kitchen window. My heart races as the silence continues on the other end.

“Ahh! You told me you didn’t care about superheroes, or the superculture in general! When did it change? Did you look at A-Train’s ass and see the error of your ways?” Olivia spewed excitedly curious, not stopping for a breath of air. 

“Olivia, I am just curious about the current superhero law! It's being enacted so they can legally be integrated into the military. You know my father's been specifically asking me about it.”  He has not. When in doubt, use my father’s veteran status to get my friend to stop questioning me. Not a great thing to do but I will do chores for my dad and make a donation to The Fisher House Foundation to make up for it.

“So, he wants a ticket too?” Olivia did not buy the bait. 

“No, um no my dad has just got me interested is all.” I falter lamely not buying it completely myself. I adjust my overalls nervously, trying to ignore the heat of the sun beaming down at me from my parent’s patio.

“Well, sure but Joey never can get the whole Seven to come. No morning news has since Black Noir doesn’t do public showings unless it's Vought sponsored. Usually those are just after successful missions too now that I think about it…” Olivia trails off and I sense her conspiracies brewing in that crazy brain of hers. Though she has more access than most civilians to superheroes she has never liked the pompous attitudes that seem to be included with the super powers. She told me enough horror stories to get me off the love-supes-blindly train early into our friendship. “Either way, I can get you in next Tuesday with Queen Maeve. They're trying to get Starlight but with the recent bad press surrounding her means it's unlikely. She’s on her own publicity tour to recover from the Deep. The Deep’s in fucking nowheresville Ohio where he belongs." Olivia’s candor turns angry with derision at the mention of the scandal.

I cringed hating myself for forgetting about the recent news. One of the Seven recently admitting to sexually assaulting Starlight–a new member, was big news and came out only a few weeks ago. I felt bad for asking to see them in person after these accusations against the Deep, ergo the Seven, but I had an inkling my powers weren’t going to stop escalating. The Seven were the only clue I had at this point. My powers were not only controlling my choices but affecting my work. If I can’t sit at home and enjoy time with my family then what kind of life am I living?

“Want to meet me for dinner and give me the tickets then? My treat!” I force out a strained laugh. 

“Please Daph, I’m not letting you pay on your federally funded salary.” She joked, making me genuinely laugh for what felt like a first in years. “See you at 7:30 at the studio. Hopefully no Supe makes me stay late to put their extensions back in...” She trailed off hanging up the phone incidentally not needing my vocal confirmation. I hastily walk back inside ignoring my mom’s continued worried stare and grab my bag. I pat my Dad’s shoulders before ducking for the front door, he continues to stare dead straight at the television.

“Bye guys love you! I'm going back to the apartment before it gets any later.” I croaked before my mother could protest and rush out with a quick wave. 

My heart starts to race in apprehension. Though that may be the posters of Homelander smiling down at me in his signature red, white, and blue costume with an inspiring pose to boot. The posters were sprawled all across the train almost taking over the subway walls. The loud colors of his uniform were gaudy, especially in the advertisement, he almost blended into the American flag as if he was our very own American symbol. The goosebumps across my skin crawls its away up to my neck, the whole thing unnerved me.

I get off at the correct station and hurry out of the crowd with my earbuds jammed in my ears. They were blaring out one of my favorite Frank Sinatra songs, New York, New York. When I have to be surrounded by all of these people I have to focus on one thing and numb myself to the rest. Focusing on music, a specific accessory on someone’s outfit, or even an unusual detail in the environment around me could help calm my symptoms. Sometimes nothing helps.   

Why live in a big city? Well, this has always been my home and though I crave the silence I could never see myself leaving. The city is where I grew up and the streets and the buildings, though I resent them at times, gave me comfort I don’t think a cabin in the woods could give me. There are certain moments while walking on the sidewalk barely dodging people rushing to get somewhere as the sounds from the city fill my ears, it gave me a sense of peace, sometimes.

Most of the time it's just a struggle to get to one location from the next. I swallow another pill dry and drudge it to my dingy apartment building, which was not as nice as the neighboring ones near my family home. The missed job opportunities and my graveyard resume doesn’t make me a prime candidate for my chosen field. Luckily I can get by with little and I’m content. There are downsides like loud pipes and a slanted floor with questionable neighbor activities, but besides that I’m living in luxury.

I laugh quietly to myself–looking half mad as I skip up the narrow steps of the cramped stairwell. Entering my damp, dingy apartment I am greeted with an assortment of succulents of varying colors in strung up glass jars. I collected the odd jars over the years through my jam making hobby. Jam making was one of my many varying hobbies that I was not very good at. Clothes were haphazardly laying across the old gray wooden floor with little care. The bright fuzzy area rugs were the only things I could add to the flooring, according to the contract my landlord gave me. My apartment’s walls were a robin blue I painted the first day I moved in. The original color being a sad tan that made me think of overused khakis. That had to go immediately, and the walls were not excluded in my housing contract like the floors. My furniture was a mixture of old and very used, all coming from secondhand shops and auction houses. They screamed eclectic and beautiful, if a bit worn. Furniture with any wooden carvings or handcrafted wooden ornamental features are what I hunted for in my rare shopping sprees. 

I rushed to my bedroom catching myself from falling over on a random shoe in the middle of the open floor space. I dressed quickly making sure not to pick anything too casual or unfashionable, trying not to embarrass my friend. My fashion style stemmed between tight stick up her ass pants suits ranging to jeans with holes and logo adorned T-shirts. There was no in-between with my sad wardrobe. I grab a professional looking pencil skirt and throw on my only non-stained white blouse as a compromise. I leave just as quickly as I came, not forgetting to water my plants and lock my doors before making my exit. 

I arrived at the location where Cup of Morning Joey was being filmed after a long bumpy ride out of the city. It was placed on a large lot of land with five different filming studios sponsored by varying TV networks. It was a dry deserted desert of a location and anyone outside of the small town five minutes away would agree. The place was a little ways off outside of the New York suburbs, and I’m sure it's because the land space is more available in these rural parts. 

Oddly enough, going inside the studio always felt like I was intruding on a space for the rich, famous, and/or god. Meaning not me. Olivia herself can’t help but feel self-conscious around the superhero and celebrity alike, but she has always claimed it was because of big egos. I never felt like I got the whole story for her distaste for supes but I never felt okay to approach it. It was awkward waiting outside in the middle of nowhere at the end of shoots. It gave me the shivers and that spike of adrenaline hurried my steps to the correct building–3A. 

Inside were various halls and open lounging space, a coffee shop not just a foot away from the secretary. In the center sits the secretary working tirelessly on her computer. She was simultaneously dealing with someone on the phone in a large desk chair behind an even larger abrasive desk. A person was already waiting to get her attention and she looked irritated. She was a small woman in a stylish but colorful suit that complemented her red curls. Her voice took on a tone that did not bode well for the person on the receiving end. 

“I’ll have you know Queen Maeve and Homelander will be on the property in one week, a day, at 8:30 am on the dot! The trailers available are not in the conditions Vought contract requires and the food being served here is abysmal, to put it politely. We will need a whole new catering crew during their time here Tuesday. If you cannot get this done I want to speak with the manager in charge of the Morning Cup of Joey productions pronto.” Her speech was fierce and full of indignation. I could feel her heated anger just a few feet from where I was standing. I can surmise from her attitude that she liked the power she held over people. The flavor of smugness coming off of her sticking to the roof of my mouth, like a thick black goo. I looked away from the woman not able to stomach any more of my powers right now. I quickly put in my earbuds ignoring the redheaded woman causing a scene. 

Not a song or two later Olivia came rushing out of the right hall looking uncharacteristically frazzled. Olivia has a long lean tanned body, from her weekly palates, and a great fashion sense adding to her charm. She's the full package. Her hazel eyes catch sight of me awkwardly waiting and scrambles past the tornado at the front desk. Her perfectly pedicured nails dug into my shoulders as she hurried us out the exit.  

The stars were twinkling bright out at this time, a lot darker than I expected it to be when I arrived. Olivia didn’t give me a chance to ask where we were going before she steered us into a cab, confidently giving the cab driver some vague directions he apparently understood. The middle of Manhattan. Somewhere fancy, meaning nowhere I could afford. I slump into the lumpy cab seat and give Olivia my best sassy eyebrow raise. 

She sighs looking more defeated than when she was fired from a gig with Vogue. In that case the photographer was her ex and they had a bad break up not that long before the shoot. She was fired after it was discovered and as she wasn’t the client’s first pick, and she wasn't famous like her ex either. 

“I don’t know, work has been getting extra stressful since Morning Cup of Joey 's been taking off. I feel like I’m drowning under the workload.” She huffed picking at her baby pink nail polish. 

“I’m sorry if asking this is inconvenient or bad for you at work. You don’t have to get me a ticket.” I profusely exclaim, upset at the thought. Would they think she was asking for special treatment? Maybe they would resent her for asking?

“Stop! Stop, no that is not a problem and I have a twenty ticket a year limit. I have only given three out since last fall,” Olivia put her hands on my knees trying to calm my shaking legs. “Don’t fret so much, Daph!” Olivia cheered happily.

We arrive in the middle of Manhattan across from us, a restaurant with long golden encrusted windows showcasing a fancy interior. The lighting inside was dazzlingly atmospheric with the hanging chandeliers adding to the atmosphere. The title in golden encrusted lettering read Ocean Prime , which I could only assume meant they have great fish. 

Olivia nods to the hostess and we are quickly given a seat at a table near the front windows. It would be enchanting if my medicine was working properly at the moment. I don’t think I’ll be able to taste the food with all the conflicting emotions flashing in my head and sticking to the roof of my mouth. I forced my face to go slack focusing on the diamond necklace Olivia was wearing, a gift given to her by her late mom, she rarely takes it off anymore.

My vision came back into focus as Olivia continued to gossip about who could be on the next episode. From what I heard earlier in the lobby, that woman named Ashley said it’d be Homelander. That's not confirmed, so I decided to hold my tongue. I needed to understand why my powers were fluctuating so badly, and why it was triggered by the Seven.

“I don’t care who, as long as it's a member of the Seven.” I look off to the side as my hands start to twitch. I counteract my obnoxious shaking by obnoxiously tapping my fork against my crystal glass. 

“You don’t have a favorite? I know your mom loves Queen Maeve and your Dad is obsessed with Black Noir, but what about you?” She questioned playfully pointing at me with a breadstick. The breadstick probably cost more than the groceries in my cabinet but I tried not to hyper focus on that.

“I guess Homelander.” I shrug picking the first name that came to my mind.

“So boring! He’s like not even a person? He’s like a fucking symbol of patriotism or fucking America itself!” Olivia was always vocal and loud when she disagreed. That was another reason why I found her so lovable. I always backed down when it came to any form of conflict, and Olivia is just the opposite, always willing to face conflict head-on. I snorted water up my nose at the comparison. It's exactly what I thought back on the subway.

“I like that he represents what we need to strive for. I want to be able to give that sort of inspiration to the kids I see.” I admit shyly, not fully realizing the truth behind my statement.

“You sound so cheesy. Maybe you really are a Homelander fan, and I thought this was a ruse to get me out.” Olivia teased ruthlessly.

“You are usually the one trying to trick me into going out!” I retorted, ignoring the subtle question behind her hazel gaze. No one outside my parents knows about my powers. Nothing good comes from telling people about them.

“Well, now the roles are reversed.” She hums, eating her lobster with gusto. My scallops were excellent. I couldn’t bear to look at the bill after the dishes were taken away. My leftovers were secure in their container laying protectively under my arm. Olivia had no leftovers to speak of. “Now, don’t tell anyone I don't do anything for ya.” Olivia gives her one sparkling silver backstage pass with a center row seat. I quickly grab the ticket from her grasp with obvious glee. Olivia looks at me with a frown knowing something fishy was afoot. 

Luckily dodging questions is my specialty.

“You sure you don’t have any other reason for wanting to see the show?” 

“Of course!” I force a chipper voice and pair it with a too wide smile. I don’t think she's buying it. “I swear I’m excited and will be there just to see how big their heads are as a live audience member.” 

“They don’t act like that on TV Daph!” Olivia puffed out her cheeks, scuffing her snake-skin stiletto heel against the sidewalk. 

“I meant their actual heads, Olive.”

“Oh,” She snorted, rolling her eyes at me. “I think TV usually makes you seem taller, not make your head look bigger.” She gestures with her hands as if widening her own head, a smile grows on my face at her silly antics. 

“Well I’m no showbiz professional like you. It’s getting late, so I’ll head back to my apartment.” My smile is drowned out by me yawning out my words in a slur. We were standing at the exit of Ocean Prime and I couldn’t help but regret staying out so late. I have a long work day ahead of me starting at five in the morning. Hopefully my medicine’s side effects won’t make me call off. There's one specific case I need to focus on before it implodes on me from lack of attention.

“Hey, you're dozing off again? I got you a cab. Just get yourself into bed alright, Daph?” She pushes me into the cab unceremoniously as I stumble into the cab.

“Yeah, I’m fine, see you Tuesday.” I mutter, clutching my head as Olivia gently closes the cab door. Olivia didn’t seem to buy the “I’m fine” line but she didn’t push it.  I was happily surprised that I arrived at my apartment not too long after ten thirty. I got inside, put my leftovers in the fridge, and went straight to my bed falling into a deep peaceful sleep.

The birds started chirping outside my window–an unusual alarm for New York. This wakes me up enough to blurrily glance at my phone. It glared back at me in bold letters: 4:30 am. Ugh, I woke up a whole half an hour earlier than my alarm. I sigh, knowing my headache won't let me get any more sleep. I dragged my feet to my bathroom readying myself for a hard day. Scrubbing my blond curls with my favorite lilac shampoo under the hot shower water is what my head needed. I chant over and over in my head as I wash the stress away for this upcoming day. 

My powers won't make me look crazy nor go crazy. I won't faint and I won't give anyone depression nor will I mask their emotions with mine. I'm normal. I'm not a super. I am a therapist for kids in need.

I chanted this over and over in my head until I arrived at my office building. A normal routine of mine that I have used since middle school. My parents and I figured out that technique after I had to be removed from school for causing great "emotional distress" to a fellow classmate. They had to go to the hospital to be detained for public self harm. 

Ignoring everything around me I step forward past the revolving doors and into my office space. My golden plaque read Daphne Bennett Therapeutic Carer beside my door. Plugging my ears with some classical music I start to file paperwork that I have been holding off for ages. I run through my emails skimming everything from workplace parties to important notices from my case workers. This past half an hour was more productive than this entire month combined.

"The Burgesens are here for you, M'am." The office assistant Ms. Sydney Regis poked her red curly head in without a knock, of course.

"Please, send them to the therapy room Ms. Regis." I wave her off gathering my files and throwing it half-hazard into my left drawer, not a thought for real organization. 

A kid hiding some interesting quirks is currently under the care of a new foster family, the Burgesens. They have a clean record and started fostering kids at the beginning of this spring. Being a new family in the system meant records and recordings done by their case worker are abysmally small. Sadly, this makes my job a lot harder. Understanding the kids' mental state is dependent on understanding their environment. 

I grab Stevie Lawsen's file scurrying off in my practical black heels towards the therapy room's lounging area. Standing awkwardly between the Burgesens was gangly Stevie Lawsen. He was a preteen that looked too skinny for his age and the way he glanced between his two foster parents apprehensively didn’t bode well for his current mental state. 

"Hello Mr. Burgesen and Ms. Burgesen, how are you doing today Stevie?" I ask hyper focusing on his emotional wavelength. Focusing hard I could see his emotional fluctuating bright like the northern lights above his head, an aura full of color. My powers usually only work when I'm hyper focused–and sometimes touching–the individual but on rare occasions, especially without my medicine, I don't need to.

"I'm fine, M'am." He mutters looking down to the ground. A bitter scowl breaks through the facade. His thin mouth twisted down into a small frown. His emotions are currently in a state of flux. Mostly anger and deep sadness emanated from the small preteen. His emotions tasted like salty fizz, a bad aftertaste residing on the back of my tongue. 

I contorted my face into a neutral mask. I open the door into the therapy room with no preamble. It was to the side of the lounging area connected to the therapy room by a glass wall and door. I calmly sit in the chair across the soft plush couch residing in the center. I watch with a furrowed brow as Stevie places himself at the corner of the couch, farthest away from me. Putting my notepad down I cross my legs deciding then and there to wait for Stevie to lead the session.

“I have my assignment Ms. Bennett.” Stevie quietly mutters, taking a quick glance at the glass walls separating us from his guardians. 

“Good, do continue to use it this week until the end of summer. This is not something that needs to be shown to me nor talked about in our sessions if you don’t want to. That journal is for you to express yourself without anyone butting in or judging you. It's for you to express yourself.” I smile warmly trying to focus that feeling onto Stevie. The familiar headache that comes with invading someone’s psyche persists annoyingly. 

“So you won’t look inside it?” Stevie questions looking up at me with those big blue doe eyes. The innocent expression makes me fidget with the hem of my collar. I always felt a sense of deep guilt when using my powers during sessions. The thought of not fully explaining my method before doing so is innately wrong. But, my methods make the process smoother. My powers help me make a hundred percent correct diagnoses. 

“Of course not. For your eyes only.” I whisper the last part conspiratorially, adding a wink for the fun of it. He flashes me a brief small smile before his signature blank expression takes over once again. “How about we start from where we left off last time? The anxiety and paralysis you felt when you were asleep.” 

“I never sleep well…” Stevie wandered off, his voice barely a raspy whisper. 

“Do you remember your dreams?”

“Sometimes.”

“When we discuss your dreams you sound like you remember them clearly. Do you remember the ones that bother you most?” I ask while trying to decipher his emotional state. The thick dark fog appeared in plain sight, through my powers I could see it surrounding him. 

“The one I had last night is the same one from before.” He says clearly looking directly in the eyes for the first time since he came into this office. 

“The one with the dark figures?”

“Yeah, the dark figures…hurt people in my dreams.” He whispers, hands shaking as he quickly covers his mouth in fright. “I wake up and I can’t move and they’re still there standing over me.” He admits twisting his little hands together. His dirty white sneaker squeaking across the shiny clean floor. The echo of his squeaking shoes were the only sound to be heard.

“That does sound scary Stevie. Can you tell me what you do before bed?”  I ask, preparing to jot down anything Stevie is willing to tell me.

“I brush my teeth and put on my pajamas before I go to bed every night.”

“Do you go to bed at the same time?” 

“No, It's hard for me to fall asleep. I have nightmares.”

“Do you always have nightmares?”

“N-n-nightmares are all I r-remember.” I can feel his emotional wavelength tightening within himself, becoming closed off. I reach over and gently pat his shoulder getting up to get some of my famous chocolate chip cookies. The only recipe I’ve bettered from my mom’s repertoire. The touch on the boy’s shoulder gives me an inkling into his dreams. 

The images flash in a quick blur of dark murky colors. The figures surrounding a street in the middle of what looked like Park Avenue and a crowd surrounding something. The point of view looks up and there are figures flying in the sky. 

The quick flash melts away to leave a taste of bile in my mouth. The memories and dreams blurring together gives me a headache. I try to be a good hostess and not drop my platter of cookies. I shakily place the platter of warm cookies and milk on the coffee table with a sigh of relief. I sit back down into my cushy chair waiting for Stevie to continue.

“I can deal with the nightmares–I'm grown up, but being awake and also not then not being able to move…” Stevie nibbles on the end of his cookie.

“Stevie, it's okay to be afraid of nightmares. I get scared by mine all the time. Dreams are a way for our subconscious to process our thoughts and memories from the day before. Sometimes these thoughts and memories can reflect how we felt in our dreams too.” 

“What do you get scared of, Ms. Bennett?” Stevie turns towards me, eyes widening just a fraction. 

“I get scared of a lot of things Stevie. Heights, dark alleys, and loss of family or friends are just to name a few. Have you been feeling scared or anxious when awake?” Stevie’s face shifts subtly into a blank slate.

“No, Mr. and Ms. Burgesen are really nice. They have two dogs and a pool so that’s cool.” He turns his head towards the window, his brown curls bouncing with the movement. I turn my eyes to the beautiful city view trying  to see what he sees in those far off eyes. All I see are bright lights and moving cars.

A flier for Jitter Bean speedily sweeps across the window causing Stevie to flinch back. He brings his hands inwards and his pupils are blown wide. His whole body starts to shake uncontrollably and his breathing grows erratic. I kneel before him, giving him direct eye contact.

“Everything is okay, Stevie. You’re having a panic attack. It will be over soon,” I reassure in a calming tone. “I’m going to count backwards from ten to one. Count back with me if you can.” I start the count off lifting my arms in the air with each deep breath. 

“Ten.”

“Ten.” He breathily follows the count. Stevie’s pale thin face recovers some of its color as he regains his breath. I delicately put my arm around the boy and he leans into it pointedly staring into the far off corner. I shiver involuntarily, shrugging away from his touch and emotional influence. Stevie does not notice the abruptness, so I allow myself to swallow down the guilt and continue the session as if nothing happened.

“Would you like me to warm your milk?” I ask, standing up and adjusting the wrinkles out of my sharp pantsuit. Stevie shrugged his pointy shoulders and I took that as a sign to double the cookie serving as well. I place my rose embellished china tea cup–a gift from my grandmother–back on the coffee table once officially warmed, also not so subtly placing a blue notebook beside his second serving of cookies. He looks up at me, his left brow raises up in confusion. 

“That's another assignment for you,” I point to the notebook. Stevie’s eyes slowly trail down, looking at the notebook as if it was a double headed snake ready to bite. Maybe homework wasn’t the best choice of words for a thirteen year old boy on summer vacation. “A notebook to write your dreams down in. It's called dream journaling. It can help you decipher your dreams. If you get good at it you can learn to wake yourself up when you're having nightmares.” I pat the notebook gently with a sense of fondness that I couldn't shake. The fondness stemming from my own dream journaling habit–an angel kitten on the cover was nestled in my leather tote bag.

This technique is not considered a valid option for practicing therapists in most cases with sleep paralysis. My intuition makes me wonder if it's something deeper than that, though. My intuition and powers don’t ever steer me wrong. He continues to glare at the notebook with a furrow in his tiny brows, pursing his lips as if he licked a lemon. 

“Don’t look at it like that. Don’t forget to put it beside your bed every night. I hope it won't be too much homework added to your summer vacation.” I tease him walking out towards the connected waiting room. "You still have to write in your separate journal to process all your thoughts." He grunts, unashamed in showing his distaste.

“Wait, Dr. Bennett, you asked me what I was scared of, remember?” Stevie’s voice grows more quiet with each word said. He stopped just before the glass door where his foster parents waited. I bend down to his eye level looking him directly in the eyes. 

“Yes, I remember.” He shivers, turning his head back towards the window. Dread hits my stomach like a freight train, my heart starts to pick up speed, and the sour familiar taste of fear drenches my tongue. I ignore the encompassing fear and focus on him instead.

“Superheroes scare me…” He whispers so softly that if I had blinked I would have missed it. My eyes grow wide ever so slowly as the cogs in my brain start to turn. If any of the fears and trauma stems from a superhero then he must have a past relationship with one, or an incident of some kind. I need to look more into his past parentage. “Please don’t tell.” His trembling hands shoot out to mine gripping them tightly. 

“Stevie, I won’t tell a single person. I promise.” I whisper, zipping up my lips and throwing away the key. He smiles faintly, looking like it pained him just to show genuine happiness. “Now let's get you back to the Burgesens.” I walk with him to the waiting room, my arm resting on his shoulder to give him some sort of comfort. I ignore the boy's emotions and faded memories barraging my senses by focusing on the repetitive sound of my heels tapping on the hard tile floors. 

“See you next week Stevie. Have a good rest of your day Mr. and Ms. Burgesen.” I wave them off to the exit floor sluggishly walking back up to my office. The stairs are one of the only exercises I get in a week and I’m sticking to it even if my feet are swelling up every night from my uncomfortable heels. 

Closing my office door I relax into my cushy chair with an embroidered kitten pillow added for emotional support. I went to my email to find three hundred unread emails categorized as IMPORTANT received just an hour ago. Great. It seems clearing my email box is an impossible task, but worth the effort nonetheless. Ms. Regis pokes her head in through my door without knocking, again.

“You have another appointment, mam.”

“I didn’t get assigned another session nor pick up another assignment. So, am I getting my days wrong or am I mistaken? I thought I was free for the rest of the afternoon.” I twist my left pointer finger’s moonstone ring back and forth over and over until I feel an irritated rash appear. 

“Sorry, Ms. Bennett but Mr. Larsen approved a few more families for you. I can tell them to wait, but I think that would make the case worker and Mr. Larsen upset." She side-eyes me, judgment written clearly all over her face. I sigh a little too loudly, I can hear my mother right now admonishing me for the behavior, and gesture with my hand for the files. She throws them at me with little care. "I'll let Mr. Thomas know that you will be available for a session with Lydia in fifteen minutes." If I hadn't been listening closely I would not have caught the aggression in Ms. Regis's voice. She hurriedly leaves my office. The sound of her quick tap tapping of her stiletto heels not far behind. 

She needs to be reprimanded for her attitude but being related to our boss gives her certain perks no one else has. But that's life in modern America. The work day dragged on, repeating the same pattern across the week. With the show being a closer reality the dread builds over time in the pit of my stomach. My meds were starting to wane again and with no sick days available I was shit out of luck. 

Coming into work has become increasingly more painful. My nice suits weren't taking my profuse sweating well and I was starting to look more and more like a gaunt ghoul. My coworkers gossip loudly about my possible withdrawal symptoms. I laugh the jibes off though I can sense their intentions to be malicious. I've grown used to people's rude thoughts invading my headspace, but it's increased to an insurmountable degree this week.

My day off finally rolls in with traffic noise blaring through my closed, but cracked window. It also happens to be the day that I get to test my theory in a live studio audience. Sad that it happens to be after the big media frenzy that was Transluscent's funeral.  Starlight’s song now number one on the music charts and Homelander’s speech was being put into the record books as “most poignant and heartbreaking” to ever be recorded. I didn't tune in. From what I heard the whole thing sounded like a bit much .

The bed creaked loudly as I rolled over for the millionth time that morning. I rubbed my eyes trying to see beyond the bright light streaming through my windows transparent curtains. I hurriedly grab my blue sparkly bedazzled phone from my bedside clumsily. My heart plummets into my stomach. I missed two calls and a text from Olivia. My fingers fumbles for her number.

"Where are you? I thought we were going to take a subway to Rockaway and then catch a cab?" Olivia's voice was an extra octave higher than usual. "I waited thirty minutes for you!"

"I'm sorry Olive, I'll make it up to you I promise! I've been switching my medicine dosages and that's been affecting my sleep, but that's no excuse. I'm so sorry. Especially since you're doing me such a huge favor." My voice cracks at the mention of my medication. I twist the ends of my hair curling it around my finger over and over.

"It's okay Daph I know you've been dealing with a lot. I forgive you, for now. Just let me take you out more and I will call it even. As long as you get to the show on time!" Olivia admonishes me. I glance at the clock again.

"Shit, okay Olive I'll be there in thirty, don't worry."

"Sounds reassuring." Olivia's sarcasm is palpable through the phone.

I leap out of my bed, my knees cracking painfully on impact. I push myself forward out of my bedroom, not willing to look back at the mess. I brush my teeth and quickly wash my face. The only thing I do to my hair is pull it in a high ponytail. I throw on a white blouse with a small flower pattern embroidered throughout the top. I wear light blue jeans that have daisies embroidered on the sides and I pair the look with a pearl bracelet with matching earrings. I add my second hand white kitten heels to pull the whole look together. Now you got something not so embarrassing. 

The early morning sunshine hits the robin blue walls in my apartment perfectly. The color reflected off the vases and jars holding the succulents still in the air as if by magic. The hanging fairy lights paired with the jars strung up reminded me to appreciate the small things in the morning. Too bad the clothes scattered all over the floor and the mountain of dirty dishes in the sink dampened the beauty. A buzz vibrating aggressively in my back pocket shakes me from my daze. I glance at my phone and it lights up in response. A text message alert stares threateningly back at me.

Olivia:

You better be in the cab and on your way here.

I ran out of my apartment like a bat out of hell, not forgetting to water my plants and lock my doors, of course. The cab was an easy haggle as usual in the bustle and hustle of New York on a Tuesday morning. Taking a cab straight to the distant set might not be the best move financially, but It’ll make up time and it'll be easier on my head. Rushing out of my apartment I throw my hand in the air at the edge of the sidewalk waiting only a second before a cab parked poorly before me.

The cab had a damp smell–like old subway wrappers mixed with cigarette butts that permeated from the seats. Sadly, the cab somehow held inside an even grosser cab driver. His beady eyed stare through the rearview mirror sent chills down my spine. His aurora writhed in his predatorial thoughts. The gross delusions permeated my mind and his emotions tasted like the way his cab smells. Vile. 

My fingers start to twitch and fiddle with my rings over and over. I force my right hand to stop the other. My fingers' twitch transferred to my legs. I plug my ears with my earbuds and let Meatloaf’s lyrics help me forget the cab driver’s intrusive thoughts. Specifically the ones about young women entering his cab, young ones like me. I gulp loudly, my clammy hands drench my jeans as I wipe them off. 

The cab ride to the far off studio set in the suburbs of New Jersey had not arrived soon enough. I get there within the thirty minute range and I feel almost proud of my time management. The line for the studio audience was long and continued out the door of the sub-building 3A-1. 3A-1 was connected only by the trailers that were all parked in uniform by the set. Probably placed specifically for the Superheroes visiting. I dive into building 3A’s front doors and I could still see the line for the studio audience visible through the windows. Luckily I didn’t need to get to the secretary at the intimidating desk. She looked even more busy than the last time I saw her.  

“Come on, Daph! Over here come through here,” Olivia appears from the corner waving her arms towards herself trying to mime something indecipherable. I walked inconspicuously her way not trying to seem like a line cutter–which I was. She grabs my shoulders looking over me like a mother hen pecking and hawing at her baby chick. “You seem fine. Don’t be late for the pre-show announcements. Everyone should be in their seats by that time.” She gives me a pat on the shoulder before running to the exit.

“Where do I go again?” I ask, puffing a stray blond curl off my forehead. I point my toes inwards, feeling something deep within me grow still. The air changes and I feel my powers shift. Everything became off kilter for just a moment, vertigo overtaking my senses. I paled visibly, so much so Olivia’s face pinched up and her perfect eyebrows curved upwards in concern.

“You okay, Daph?”

“I..I just feel a bit faint. It’s okay, I probably just need some water.” I mutter shooing her concerns away as I wobble into her arms. That feeling of the dark abyss encroaching upon my senses came back as suddenly as it did during the live TV broadcast last week. 

The strong connection started to fade, but I could tell the person or people who held these emotions were not far away.  My shoulders tense as Olivia starts to drag me through the employee-only halls connecting to the set. 

"I-I-I don't know if I should be going through here. Am I allowed back here?" 

"Of course you are! You have the pass on your neck, don't ya?" She waves my concerns off dragging me into a more private lounging area with a buffet table in the center. A small kitchen with a fridge the price of my apartment building stands in the corner, intimidating me with its fanciness. Olivia grabs a bottle of cold Fiji Water . Expensive water, of course. "They always get the best stuff I swear." She huffs pushing the water into my clammy hands. 

"Thanks," I take a large gulp to placate her. Olivia nods, apparently satisfied, looking me over once more before turning towards the exit. "Wait, this room isn't for the celebrities and superheroes, is it?"

"Why ask me when you already know the answer." She crosses her tan toned arms quirking one eyebrow up at me. 

"I can't be here! I should get to my seat." The nape of my neck suddenly grew goosebumps and a continuous cold sweat trailed down my back. My audience neighbors will probably smell the fear and stress wafting from me when I get to my seat. Great. 

"Relax, the super heroes got their own trailers with a catering service serving them on their hands and feet. They won't even come into this side of the building." Olivia waves my worries away–seeming to not care about the possible doom if caught. She visibly pales, her hand freezing in midair. Her irises blew out and her nonchalant confidence left her body like a soul being exercised from the possessed. 

I shiver compulsively at someone else’s emotions shoving itself into my mind. The emotions are dark and full of self loathing--the flavor of strong tang of vodka resides like a film on my tongue. The bitter emotions catch in my throat. I've never felt such an extreme push of violent emotions thrusted at me with no forewarning before. I guess my powers are growing stronger with every day that passes. Not good. Olivia's eyes grow wide like saucers. For the first time since I've met her she is dead silent.

"Well I didn't know the "optional" lounging room was going to be so crowded." Dry frank resignation dripped from Queen Maeve's voice. Tall, pale, and mysterious vibes oozed off of her aura. By choice or not I don't know. Queen Maeve's armor shimmers with distinction--the little armor there is, and her long brown waves did not move an inch nor frizz out of place. She glared at the two of us with her piercing stormy eyes. Her emotional void called to my powers like a moth to a flame. 

My left hand shot from my side reaching towards her as if trying to stop a wound from bleeding out, only it wasn’t physical pain I was trying to soothe. She raised her eyebrow at me. Her first reaction was not to kick my back in half like a chainsaw, a plus. 

"I'm sorry for your loss. I'll be leaving right now. Sorry again for invading your space." I patted her shoulder infusing warm emotions and thoughts of safety into my physical touch. The pull and tug of her aurora grew dark and twisted like the tornado in The Wizard of Oz. Her face did not change from its stormy disposition, but as an intense headache intruded my mind. From what I can see the darkness of her mood faded to a more manageable fog from my power’s influence. The wrinkle between her eyes soothed, looking relaxed for the first time in a while. I try to push Olivia and myself out of the room--with my water in tow–without gaining Queen Maeve's further attention.

"Why are you here?" She focused on me. Her irises grew small and pinned me to my spot like a lion hunting her prey.

"She's my guest. Sorry, her blood sugar was low and she needed some  water. I'm taking her to her seat now, so if you don't mind Ms. Maeve?" Olivia swoops in before I can make a bigger fool of myself. Her ability to maneuver out of an uncomfortable situation has always been her super power. 

Queen Maeve's eyebrows furrowed as she grinded her teeth, cracking her jaw in the process. Olivia gulped and I stood still between the two feeling like the last rack of lamb at the end of a holiday supper. She looked between the two of us trying to decide if we were worth her time.

"Well, get the hell out then." Evidently not. I take a glance back to see Queen Maeve take a swig from a flask that was hidden beneath her skirt. 

We maneuver between the numerous halls to find ourselves entering the audience seats. Olivia pushed me quickly to my seat amidst a bunch of fans dressed up either in superhero logos or full on cosplay. A lot wore the new T-shirt " Out of Sight, Never out of Mind '' from Transparent's funeral flash sale all over the city. I don't think I personally would have chosen that to memorialize him but I'm not a superhero marketing team. 

I stuck out like a sore thumb, no logo on any of my items, not even an American flag as a form of pretense. People were chatting around me; their general excitement and giddiness to see their heroes in person was clear. I didn't need powers to see that, but a large amount of glee forms into an almost mob-like mentality, a cloud of glee permeating the air making my senses go crazy. 

The amount of unanimous glee in the air infiltrates my taste-buds; all I could taste was cotton candy. For once a pleasant flavor. The loud emotions dulled all my senses making me feel like I was riding on a cloud. I started my breathing exercises, one large inhale in and a slow breath out. Focusing on the details of someone's Homelander cup was the next step. The details of his suit was intricately designed across the cup. I counted each star on his cape over and over hoping the high would subside.

"Did you hear who Queen Maeve is coming with in this interview?" A young girl with a shrill voice asked her friend from a seat behind me.

"I thought Starlight was supposed to be here? Isn't it supposed to be girl power themed?"

"No, I heard from a backstage crew member that Homelander was going to be here!"

"Oh my god! These tickets were totally worth the money." The girls obsessed over the Seven's looks after that. Especially Homelander's. The idea of a stranger analyzing every facet of me in order to gauge how attractive I was made me feel all sorts of queasy. Anyone constantly under the limelight must thrive on it, if not I didn't know how they would survive it.

The lights dimmed slowly until it was pitch black in the studio audience. The stage lights for the set slowly faded back in focusing on the stage. A spot light beamed from a high rafter directly on the colorful large wooden sign. The added 3D coffee cup on the sign was a nice touch. 

"Hello, my early birds. I'm hoping you're having a sunshiny morning to start off your day. Oh, and don't forget your cup of morning Joey." He winks to the audience taking a sip from his show's merchandise, the show's logo plastered on the mug. The cup looks bigger in person oddly enough. Probably for sales reasons. "Now let's introduce our two favorite superheroes, Homelander and Queen Maeve from our favorite superhero team, the Seven."

Homelander and Queen Maeve walk onto the studio floor; two new bold spotlights follow their trail. A loud roar of applause and cries of "I love you!"s  infiltrate my ears making me wince in pain. The intense wave of hero worship clouds my vision and my body grows slack in my seat. The taste of sugary sweet cotton candy glee is on the tip of my tongue. I shake my head back and forth, trying to jostle people's invasive sexual thoughts out of my mind. I need to focus on the heroes and hope my powers are triggered by one of them…or something different to explain what’s happening to me.

"So, how've you two been holding up since the loss of your dear friend, Translucent?" The host turns towards the two with a cheerful smile. A little tactless of the host to smile so brightly after such a dark question, but Joey has never been known for having tact.

"Thanks for asking Joey. We are in a lot of pain right now and trying to recover together as a team. The only thing that has made us see any light behind this dark tunnel is Transluscent's sacrifice not being in vain. The mission was successful because of Translucent." Homelander spoke to the talk show host with fervent passion thick in his voice. He puts his fist to his face as if trying to hide his emotions, but nothing about those words rang true. I hyper focused my attention to his aurora seeing the lies twist within it. 

"These are some of the requirements to being a part of the Seven. We risk our life to save the people we swore to protect." Queen Maeve says plainly, it seemed to her it was a matter of fact when taking the job on as a superhero. 

"That's a lot for the Seven to deal with, especially with a new member joining soon. How's that going?"

“We are excited for our team to grow, we just don’t know who yet.” Homelander replied with a shrug throwing a large winning smile at the crowd. “Whoever joins our team will also join in the mission to stop the super terrorist group Shining Light Liberation Army .” 

“I heard from a little birdie that the next superhero joining will be a woman. How do you feel about this, Queen Maeve?” Joey does not take the bait to discuss this political hot topic. Homelander's emotions fluctuate to anger briefly and quickly. That anger does not subside like most people's, and instead sits above his head haunting him. More emotionally stable people can usually summon enough control to shelve these feelings away, especially in a public situation,  but it does not seem so with Homelander.

“I’m here to accept any new members on the team, be it a woman or man. They’ll be a great asset no matter what gender they are; that is a guarantee.” Queen Maeve’s tone and inflection was dry and straightforward. Her thoughts if poked were a bit more jumbled. These lines were given to her before she went out on set. I wonder if Homelander has certain lines he’s required to say by Vought too?

  “As long as we get to vet them beforehand.” Homelander adds with a wink and a dashing smile to the cameras. Queen Maeve gives Homelander a quick glare, a warning if I ever saw one. If I was not in tune with their mental and emotional wavelengths I didn't think I would have seen the tension hovering between them. 

Queen Maeve's general dark cloud of inner frustration and bitterness was still present in her aurora. I switch my focus to Homelander, a sense of foreboding creeping up my neck like a wraith's cold fingers brushing down my spine. His domineering smile and arm wrapped tightly around Queen Maeve did not come from pure warmth. No, a need to control was obvious in his actions. I scrunch up my eyebrows sticking my tongue to the side of my mouth pushing myself to look within the superhero. Something isn’t right in Homelander’s current mental state. I could feel a dam of emotions ready to burst from within him. 

“Let’s stop thinking about the future and remember who we’ve lost. Not just Transluscent but Madelyn Stillwell’s recent murder by Billy Butcher leaving that poor baby orphaned, its just horrible, isn’t it?” Joey leads with an annoyingly loud sip from his mug. He pointedly looks back and forth between the two supes. “We have heard through the little rumor mill that you were quite close with Ms. Stillwell, how are you holding up?" Joey bravely asks, his smile looking like a cat lapping up a silver platter of warm milk.

"What are you trying to imply Joey?" Homelander chuckles, sounding strained, his eyes turn distant and hazy. You don't have to have powers to see an uncomfortable anger rising to the surface. Queen Maeve's shoulders tense and her eyes flicker between Homelander and the host. Joey did not seem phased, which only makes Homelander's simmering aura more tumultuous. The heat from the connection between Homelander and I shouldn't feel this intense and hazardous, but the longer I hold onto the connection, the more it grows stronger. I'm quickly learning that my powers and this hero has a lot of untold nuances that I haven't fully unraveled yet.

"Nothing, Homelander. We, as fans, are simply curious about the rumors that say you had a deeper connection with Madylin Stillwell than the rest of the Seven." Joey's wording helps him appear more innocent than any of his questioning actually was. Instead of the usual cheer and good humor Joey is known for in his interviews he's throwing hard curveball questions to America's God. His strategy might get him ten times the views, but was it worth irritating Homelander? 

"Do you think asking this would get you the extra millions of views that you want? Do you think it’s worth it?" Homelander's malicious tone intensifies as he leans towards Joey. Joey gulps loudly enough for the surrounding audience members to hear. Homelander ignores Queen Maeve's hand tightening on his shoulder. His emotions were opening up to me the more intense he was on stage. His aura swirled aggressively over his head clouding his cognitive thoughts like a red fog. His thoughts were loud and chaotic, and if I pushed too hard to see more I think I would be cut asunder. 

At that thought and without realizing it, I do just that. I lose consciousness as a result.

I am laying in the midst of what appears to be a red desert and a dark night sky void of any stars. The winds were harsh and the sand scraped my face at a harsh pace, I felt as if I was in real pain, even though I knew it wasn’t real. This must be Homelander’s visual representation for his mental landscape at the moment. The mental landscape can fluctuate and change depending on the situation and person. At least, that’s what I’ve learned from the little time I’ve spent in someone else’s head. 

There has to be a way to get out of a mind without damaging either of us. Not getting caught is also high on the priority list. I could feel my eyelids open but my vision and hearing was gone, meaning I’m officially stuck. I knew I should have been more careful. I look like a barely comatose zombie sitting in the middle of the audience in real time. I have no physical control of what's going on outside of his mind's landscape. I'm fucked if I don't figure something out quickly.

Instead of focusing on leaving his mental state I decide then and there to find a root issue to soothe. This method has helped me once before, but it comes with major risks. Relaxing and soothing his mind through an issue can leave me an opening to escape, if done properly. 

Luckily his tumultuous state of emotions will lead me straight to an issue he’s fretting over. And it did. Traveling his mindscape feels like being a fly in the middle of a chaotic storm. Thrown about with the winds having what felt like no real sense of direction. I was a flying wraith in metaphysical form, moving too quickly to comprehend the memories and thoughts thrown my way. I tried to ignore the intrusive memories that flashed above the night sky. A woman, Madylin Stillwell, flashed across the night sky so much I couldn’t help but notice.

An issue he was currently talking about–in real time might not be the best idea to approach, but I wasn't left with much of a choice. I found Homelander himself floating around a female figure, over and over again. His thoughts all centered on this female shaped figure, whom I assume to be his memories of Madylin Stillwell.

"Do you think bringing her up in the conversation is okay to do while some of us are still grieving? We were all close to her and we appreciated everything she did for the Seven. The rumors are based on that and nothing more." Homelander's voice echoed across the mental mindscape with abandon. He continues to ignore me, the invasive species that I was, I tried to sneak over by his flying figure.

Sadly, I was immediately noticed. Homelander did not waver in directing all his personal defenses towards me, his glowing red eyes an obvious warning. He didn’t understand the situation he was in. He could hurt himself if he was not careful. Me being in here and if injured or kicked out improperly could cause irreparable damage to both of us. Red clouds approached slowly beyond the horizon, lightning thundered across his mindscape. His mind was warning me to approach lightly.

No one would believe me if I said Homelander has a twisted, broken mind. I wouldn't believe it either if I didn't see it with my own eyes. No amount of denial is going to get me out of here though, so I need to think fast. Ignoring my sporadic heart rate; I approach the angry superhero. Going by instinct, I grab Homelander's cape with my shaky hand and ignore his glowing red glare. His eyes glow brighter.

He stared down at me as if I was an ant crawling across his shoe. Before he could decide who and what I was--an invader, I rushed to grab his arm with my other hand. My warm physical touch echoes across his mind's red skies turning it instantly into a calm blue and the harsh winds circling around us stops. His red eyes fade and his feet lightly fall back down to the red sands. 

"Who are you?" He ask his face contorting into a confused state, brows furrowed up to his hairline and his shoulders tensed up readying himself for a fight. I can't imagine my cover not being blown at this point. I'll just have to be honest.

"I'm Daphne, I wanted to make sure you were okay." I try to calmly, pushing down my own personal panic attack. I wasn't planning on giving any more personal information away if I could help it.

"Okay? How are you here? Are you a figment of my imagination? Wait, no you must be someone with powers. You're threatening the leader of the Seven just by being in here." The more he talked the more he seemed to be processing, which only meant I was in more shit.

"Maybe I’m a part of your consciousness trying to help you through an issue, hmm?” Maybe a bit of manipulation of feelings and thoughts could make him believe me, but I had no idea how to do that. I have only been through a similar situation once, and nothing this intense. His eyes were stormy blue and glared directly at me with a piercing sense of mad paranoia.

“What kind of trick is this? Are you trying to control me?” His panic was rising with every quick angry breath he blew in my face. His stare was increasing in intensity with every second, a faint red glow emanating slowly back from his eyes. 

“No, I just wanted to check if you were doing okay." I rushed to say, shaking my head back and forth. "My powers instinctively do this without any forethought.” I spew out shoving the words out of my mouth before I can regret it.

“I don’t care if you can’t control it. Going inside my head without my permission is a fate sealed with death.” His intense laser stare was growing brighter, a warning.

I guess it didn’t matter if I was here with good intentions. They were purely selfish. I thought if I could connect with one of the seven using my powers I would be able to understand them better, but that backfired. It was naïve to think so. No matter what I did to seem nonthreatening I was still inside his head without consent. He wont believe I did it by accident either.

"What if I show you instead," Without him attacking me on the spot I force him into a sense of calm. I wrap my arms around his waist trying to spare myself some time to get out of his head and into my body. He grows slack and without his knowledge he leans into my hug. "Do you feel better?"

“Y-Yes, I do.” He doesn’t verbally question me nor try to push me out of his head. For once in a long time it seems he’s at peace. But I can still hear storms on the horizon. The unpleasant emotions and thoughts buried further in his mind I wouldn’t be able to reach without his permission. My powers aren’t developed enough for me to not to hurt him by accident if I tried. So, that’s a no on that idea.

“Well, then I did what I came here to do.” I mutter under my breath clinging to what feels like a strong warm man, but it's just all in our heads, a projection of what we think we would feel. I try to force myself to consciousness, my powers only allowing me after calming his mental state. I leave his mind hoping to not leave irreparable damage in my wake. 

I woke up with a start, my body trembling all over and my outfit was covered in cold sweat. No one around me seemed to notice my unconsciousness nor my sudden outburst. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the studio set watching their favorite heroes in adoration. The two heroes were calmly sitting side by side and Joey was laughing at something Queen Maeve said. My brain started to replay the things that were said when I was not in my body. The joke Maeve said was a bit too honest but the host ate it up all the same. Homelander has been silent for the past five minute ignoring the host’s pointed questions. Queen Maeve has been elbowing him and pinching his arm to get his attention, to no avail. Blood spilled from my nose, a few drips falling onto the front of my white blouse. I stood up rushing to the exit not barely six feet away. I stumbled over people’s feet and weaved through the seats, ignoring the angry mutterings from the people sitting around me. 

“Hey, stop!” Homelander’s voice boomed echoing across the crowd and straight into my bones. A chill ran down my back like a snake slithering down my vertebrates. I fumble my way to the exit as everyone in the audience stood up to attention. I look down at the red carpet focusing on each step. I exhale and inhale over and over in order to keep my heart from bursting out of my chest. I was moving forward one wobbly step at a time, and the next thing I knew; I was standing before a glaring Homelander with a piercing gaze. Only the rush of sudden wind warned me of his movement. “You will stop when I command it.” Homelander’s voice boomed, people were chatting and rushing to record everything on their phones. I felt nauseous at the sight of it all.

My body spasms before falling to the ground unceremoniously. I faintly felt warm hands rush to grab me, a hard grip was the last thing I felt before everything faded to black.

_______________________

The cameras focused on the woman’s dramatic fall as Homelander catches her just before her head could crack on the floor. The cameramen close in on the two as Queen Maeve rushes in on the scene, uncaringly throwing fans alike away from the situation. The crowd surrounds the three, even with Queen Maeve’s glare to deter them, as a spotlight shines itself on the three in a Hollywood moment that Vaught always craved to film. Joey adjusts himself awkwardly in his seat, not moving from the set.

“We have to take her to the hospital.” Queen Maeve declares boldly stepping beside him. Queen Maeve stares down at the woman, it takes only a second for her to recognize Daphne. She grabs the unconscious woman’s arms instinctively ready to help. Homelander curls his arms tighter around Daphne, glaring metaphorical daggers at Maeve.

“I’ll be taking her there immediately.” He turns away from Queen Maeve dismissively before placating towards the audience. His smile is too wide and it shines a bright shimmering white under the flash of photography. Queen Maeve nods but quickly looks through the woman’s pockets, taking her wallet. She rifles through her identifications and contacts before throwing it back into her pocket, Homelander none the wiser. His distraction from the press is Queen Maeve’s boon.  

“I saw her before going on set with an employee. I will contact the family if you are so keen on taking her to the hospital?” She states her plans as a question to abide Homelander’s ego, it's  easier this way, Queen Maeve thinks. Tension clear in the air, her shoulders tensing, readying herself for Homelander’s reply. He knuckles tighten around Daphne’s form before nodding to the crowd with a big smile pasted back on his too perfect face.

“Good luck, Queen Maeve. I’m sorry everyone, but we will have to retire early, as you can all see.” He pointedly stares between the damsel in distress in his arms before looking back dramatically at the cameras. “Hero business, as usual.” Homelander waves his arm towards Joey, the spotlights following Homelander’s cue, the lights focus back on the host. "Thank you, Joey, for being such a gracious host.” The word dripped with bitterness, his shining smile turning into a hard grimace before flying out of the studio in a blink of an eye. The audience gasps in amazement before applauding the dramatic exit.

 Queen Maeve rolls her eyes before storming out of the studio set, no dramatic speech before leaving necessary. She walked out towards the main building knowing Daphne Bennett was with an employee when she saw her in the guestroom–and from what she recalled from glancing at her friend’s ID–her friend is a makeup artist for the studio. Meaning she would be where makeup and hair was done before all airing shows. Queen Maeve stomped through the back entrance of building 3A, stopping suddenly, she focused her energy on listening to her surroundings. There, a specific voice she remembers not too long ago who accompanied Daphne Bennett. 

“I’m sorry Ms. Bennett I don’t know where Homelander took her.” The familiar voice that accompanied Daphne Bennett consoled the distressed women on the other side of the line.

“He must have taken her to a hospital closest to the studio. I’ll be there in a half an hour. Olivia, please if you find any new information please call me as soon as you can!” A distressed voice replied in a hurry before hanging up abruptly. 

“Shit, shit, shit…” The friend, Olivia, was muttering into her phone typing away at it before storming out of what looked like a janitor's closet. Queen Maeve did not care to ask and instead forced her arm in front of her stopping Olivia mid step. Her hazel eyes stare back at Queen Maeve with a sense of dread. 

“Homelander didn’t take your friend to the closest hospital.” Queen Maeve’s matter of fact tone only made Olivia pause longer on the super hero. Her eyebrows twist up in confusion before she throws her expensive phone into her too large purse hanging by her side. 

“Then where did he take her?”

“To Vought’s hospital, I would surmise. He doesn’t really need to worry about time when it only takes him a few seconds to arrive anywhere he’d like.” Maeve shrugs dismissing Olivia’s obvious growing anxiety. “Call her mom back and tell her what I said. Here’s your friend’s wallet by the way.” Maeve shoves the wallet into Olivia’s arms, not waiting for her to respond before spinning into the opposite direction. Reporters and audience members swallowed her whole as she walked away, no wave goodbye or heroic pose, to Olivia’s great disappointment. 

“Shit.” Olivia muttered just one more time before doing as Queen Maeve instructed.

Homelander arrived at the Vought building with little fanfare with what looked like a dead woman in his arms. Daphne was her name, and he would find out just exactly how and why she forced herself into his mind. The only one allowed to be inside his head and torture the daylights out of him was himself. Then again, reflecting on it all, all she did was make him feel better. 

Finally getting to the seventy-eighth floor he steps out of the elevator to be ambushed by the medical personnel. A first in a long time when the medical staff don’t react in instant fear. Homelander was never a good patient to the doctors and nurses who had to deal with him at the miniscule chance he was injured. They pull her away from Homelander, some looking nervously between the hero and woman. They all unanimously held their breath waiting for a dangerous outbursts from Homelander, but none came.

“Don’t let her leave when she regains consciousness. Hold her until I say you can release her, got it?” Homelander directs glaring down at the nervous personnel. They all nod fearfully, most hunching their shoulders in and others shaking just from the sight of him. They gurney her away not glancing back at the glaring superhero. 

Homelander enters the elevator hitting the floor where Stan Edgar resides in his larger than life office. It resembles a more refined Seven meeting room all built for one man. Homelander gave Stan Edgar no pomp or respect and walked through the door without a single glance to his secretary. To Homelander’s annoyance Stan Edgar looked up from his paperwork just for one cold moment before resuming what he was doing.

“Why have you graced my office today, Homelander?” Stan Edgar’s heart rate continued to beat at a calm leisurely pace, its consistency grated on Homelander’s nerves. 

“During a morning show my mind was infiltrated by an unknown supe in the audience." Homelander huffed indignantly. "She didn’t get far before collapsing, so I took her to the hospital wing to be detained. I think she may be one of Butcher’s terrorist.” Stan Edgar’s withering stare made Homelander shrink inwards, like the sniveling child he once was. Was he crazy thinking this was one of Butcher’s harebrained schemes? He didn’t think so, with all of the moles--Starlight specifically, that were popping in and out of their security as of late.

“Interesting. We will question her further and see if she will be an asset or not. You may go now.” Stan Edgar did not look up from his papers as he dismisses him. Homelander’s jaw grinded, his fists tightened by his side, a feeling of inadequacy filling the air. “Homelander, you brought this potential threat to Vought, so you are responsible for any future damages she brings us. If she is an asset for us, well we will hold off to wait and see.” He says with a smirk that only meant one thing, check mate. Waving his arm towards his secretary as an official dismissal, Mr. Edgar gives Homelander no more of his time.

His secretary, a short cute blond that contained the most robotic of smiles, smiled coldly at Homelander. She was still as a statue, waiting patiently for Homelander to leave Edgar’s office. He left with a twist in his cape swooping in the air and stomps out.

“Did you see the show Mr. Edgar?” She asks, but seems to know the answer.

“Of course, Donna. I see it, and just for a second...everything was under control.” Stan's eyes clouds over into deep thought as he looks over the city dwellings through his expensive cityscape view. He thinks on the beauty and hideousness of its current state, a grotesque monster ready to attack whenever to whoever, from his personal experience. A city he compares to his unmanageable superheroes. Now who will be cleaning up the messes this city leaves in its wake, why Stan Edgar, of course.