"NATE!!!"
That shout could've cracked glass.
"COMING, DAD!" I yelled back, voice still half-asleep and cracking like a broken radio.
The kitchen was already awake before I was.
The old TV balanced on top of the fridge buzzed quietly, showing some grumpy man yelling about something. Morning news, probably. I didn't care. I barely even noticed it at first. My feet padded across the cold floor, pajama pants dragging behind me like I was carrying extra baggage. One sock was gone. I didn't even bother looking for it.
The cereal cabinet towered over me like a final boss. I squinted up at it like it was daring me to reach the Cheerios.
"—AND WHAT DOES HE DO NEXT?!"
The sudden yell made me jump. I turned my head slowly toward the screen, thumb halfway to my mouth.
A loud man with a tomato-red face was jabbing the air like it had insulted his mother."Spider-Man swings around like a lunatic! No license! No training! No accountability!"
"…Spider-Man?" I mumbled.
I stared at the screen, eyes wide. I didn't know much about Spider-Man, just that he was on lunchboxes and one of the big kids at school had a hoodie with him on it—and never let me touch it. But I knew what a goblin looked like. And Spider-Man? He wasn't green. He was cool.
"He's not a goblin…" I said under my breath.
But the man kept yelling."You give a man spider powers and suddenly he thinks he's above the law!"
I frowned. "That's dumb…"
I pulled the fridge open with both hands, almost dropped the milk. "Stinky mean man," I muttered, dragging the carton over to the table like it weighed a thousand pounds.
I climbed into my chair, poured the cereal with laser focus, and dunked it into the milk with a soggy splash. Jameson—or whatever his name was—was still yelling in the background.
"—WHO'S GONNA CLEAN UP THE WEB MESS? YOU? ME? THE CITY?!"
I rolled my eyes and took a big bite, cereal crunching like gravel in my mouth.Through the chewing, I said, "Spider-Man's cool. You're just loud."
Then I heard a voice behind me. "So you think Spider-Man's cool but not your dad?"
I turned to look at him—my dad, tall, white-haired, still in his robe, sipping coffee like the mug owed him money.
"Why would I? You never tell me what you do for work." I shrugged. "I think Aunt Lady's cooler."
I said it with pride. Aunt Lady was cool. She had boots, sunglasses, and always smelled like gunpowder and mint.
Dad blinked at me like I'd just stabbed him in the heart with my cereal spoon.
"…Geez. What's it feel like to get bitch-slapped by your own kid?" he mumbled, rubbing his face like he aged ten years.
Knock knock knock.
We both turned toward the door.
Dad groaned. "I'll get it. Probably a debt collector."
He stood up with a dramatic sigh and stomped over to the door like it owed him money too.
"Yes, can I help you?" Dad said in that voice—the one he used when he was pretending he hadn't just rolled out of bed, like he was already tired of whoever was on the other side of the door. Like this wasn't his first time answering a knock he didn't want.
"Yeah, you can, Dante. You can start by paying me back."
That voice. Cool, smug, and sharp like a smile with teeth.
My eyes lit up. "Aunt Lady!"
I slid off the chair, my socks (well, sock) nearly making me wipe out on the floor. I sprinted toward the door like the cereal didn't even matter anymore. Dad groaned something under his breath, but I was already pushing past him.
And there she was.
Standing tall in the doorway like she belonged on the cover of some action movie. White jacket open just enough to say I dare you, red gloves gleaming like fresh paint, short shorts and combat boots like she'd walked off a battlefield and into our hallway. Her hair was longer now, framing her face like it had grown up with her, and sunglasses sat on her nose like the sun had no business in her eyes.
She smirked down at me and pulled off the sunglasses with one hand. Her eyes locked onto mine.
"Nathaniel," she said with that amused, low voice. "Look at you. Growing up well you're going to end up being a lady killer when you get older with those pure pure white iris and midnight hair with a white streak."
I grinned like an idiot. "You look awesome!"
"Of course I do," she winked, then leaned in and ruffled my hair. "Someone's gotta be the cool one in this family."
Behind me, Dad groaned louder. "This is gonna be one of those days…"
Lady stepped fully into the kitchen, boots clicking against the floor like a countdown. She looked around casually, eyes skimming over the cluttered counter, the half-eaten cereal, the TV still ranting in the background—then landed on Dad.
"About that," she said smoothly, slipping her sunglasses into her jacket pocket. "I'm here about a job."
Dad's mood shifted instantly.
No more half-awake coffee dad. His back straightened. His eyes locked on hers like two pros sizing each other up in the middle of a standoff.
"Hunting, securing, or protecting?" he asked, voice low and serious. Gone was the joking tone, gone was the groaning dad. This was someone else now. Someone I didn't see often.
The air changed.
Lady leaned against the counter, arms folding over the harness strapped across her chest like it was just another Tuesday.
"…All three," she said.
That answer made my dad go quiet. Real quiet. He rubbed his jaw once, eyes narrowing like he was thinking five moves ahead on a chessboard no one else could see.
"Who's the target?" he finally asked.
"You can hear more about that from the client," Lady said, her tone a little more business now, a little less playful.
Dad raised an eyebrow. "So you're not in?"
She shook her head once, sharp and certain. "Not this time. I'm just the delivery girl. It's going to be Morrison, but he asked me to bring the message."
She shrugged like it was no big deal—but the look in her eyes said different. Cold steel with a flicker of fire.
"She wanted you."
Dad leaned back against the counter, arms folding like a shield across his chest. "She?"
There was a beat. Heavy, thick, like even the air was waiting.
I didn't even pretend to eat this time. I just stared.
Lady met his gaze evenly. "Yeah."
Dad's eyes narrowed. Something didn't feel right to him. I could see it.
"…Why did Morrison accept something like this?" he asked, his voice low but not quiet.
"She brought up your dad."
Silence.
A long, hard silence.
Dad's whole posture changed. His arms dropped. His jaw clenched. And that distant, haunted look came back into his eyes—stronger this time.
"She what?"
Lady nodded once. No smile now. No smug confidence. Just calm. Quiet.
"She said his name like it still had weight. Like she knew exactly what it would do."
Dad turned away from her and ran a hand down his face, muttering something I didn't catch. His shoulders were tight. Tighter than I'd ever seen them.
'His dad?' I thought. My grandpa?
I barely knew anything about him. Dad never talked about him. I didn't even know if he was alive or dead.
"She knows," Lady continued, watching him carefully.
Then he asked, voice flat and steady:"So… where does she want to meet?"
Lady smirked, just a little. Not like she was amused—but like she knew something he didn't want her to know.
"Figured you'd ask." She tapped her jacket, pulled out a small folded card—not the fancy kind, more like something you'd find pinned to a dive bar bulletin board—and handed it over.
Dad opened it.
I craned my neck from the table, trying to catch a peek, but the letters were too small and upside-down. All I saw was some kind of logo— with 3 dot.
"Old church on 13th and Larchmont," Lady said. "Abandoned. Half the roof's caved in, windows busted out. Looks like a ghost town."
"Nathaniel," Dad said, turning to me with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm gonna send you to my buddy Johnny down in New York for a bit."
I blinked. "Johnny? Who's that?"
Dad waved a hand like it wasn't a big deal, but I could tell—he was trying to play it off. Trying real hard.
"Just a guy I helped out back when I was younger," he said, the corners of his mouth pulling into that weird not-smile again. "Also's got great taste in cars. Real classics. You'll like him."
I frowned. "So why am I going there?"
Lady watched us from the counter. Quiet. Observing. she already knew the move.
Dad knelt in front of me, hands on my shoulders. "Just for a few days. You know, little vacation. New city. Change of scenery."
"But I like this scenery," I muttered. "And Johnny's not you. Or Lady."
Dad looked like that hit him in the stomach a little. His smile faded for half a second before he forced it back into place.
"I know, kiddo. But I just… I gotta take care of something. Something important."
I stared at him, eyes narrowing. "Is this about the grandpa?"
His head snapped up.
Dad groaned and ruffled my hair, trying to play it off again. "You weren't supposed to hear all that about him."
"Well I did. And I don't want you to go alone."
"You don't have a choice," Lady cut in gently. "Neither does he."
Dad stood up and gave me one last look before turning away. I didn't know what he was thinking exactly, but I could feel it—he was scared. Or something close to scared.
And that scared me.
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alrighty folks so I kind of want to hear your opinion about what Heroes should have kids already in this universe also I kind of decided that I'm going to try to stick with the X-Men stuff they will be other superhero Adventures or villains but X-Men is kind of easier to get into