Chapter 57

Amy Dallon woke up to the low, comforting humming of central air conditioning, and the familiar, intermingling scents of sandalwood and blueberry. She could feel her tongue thick and dry in her mouth, saliva having left her alone hours ago at some point in her unconsciousness. Memories fluttered through her mind; memories of fear, of panic, of dizziness and confusion. She could still remember the way that her heart had nearly beat out of her chest, her skin clammy and shivering as she struggled to breathe.

A panic attack. Vicky, with her uncontrolled aura, had given her a fucking panic attack.

However, Jason and Cassie… they had saved her. 

Amy burrowed her face into the pillows that smelled like them, willing her sluggish body to calm down. She wasn’t in trouble anymore, her brain knew this completely, but it seemed like her body was still in fight or flight mode. The lack of control was… frustrating. The fact that she was even made to feel this way when she had literally everything else in her world to worry about was frustrating. 

Honestly, some deep, dark, vengeful part of her wanted to get back at them - Carol and Victoria. After experiencing one herself, Amy knew, roughly, what was needed to invoke a panic attack; it was simply all in the hormones. Coaxing an overload of epinephrine from her adrenal glands and forcing the symptoms of a panic attack would probably be more than enough to do the job, and Carol… well, she kind of just wanted to slap her in the fucking face for being such a shit ‘mother’, a shit woman, and a shit human being..

But would that make her feel better about everything?

No.

Her dad was still the Marquis, stowed away in the Bird Cage like the murderous, megalomaniacal villain that he was. Her ‘family’ would still vilify her, pity her, and she would never feel welcomed amongst them. Her powers, the same powers she’d gotten from him, were still lurking beneath her skin like poisonous hooks ready and excited to dig into the flesh of anyone unlucky enough to-

Nooo.

No, she couldn’t spiral like this again. While the other two things about her family was true, Amy had already promised Jason and Cassie that she’d stop running from her powers. That she would open herself up to accepting them, using them the way she wanted to use them instead of the way that society - that Carol wanted her to. 

In a way, leaving her home sorta felt like taking the first step in figuring out just who Amy Dallon truly was… and, honestly, getting rid of that last name felt like a good follow up. There hadn’t been any actual love felt for that family since she was a young child, other than what she’d felt for Victoria.

‘Shit, who knows if that’s even natural, too?’

It was a bitter thought, and maybe an unfair one, but it helped focus her ire. Made the thought of dropping the Dallons completely less of a  lonely and heart-wrenching one. 

With a huff, Amy extracted herself from the mass of blankets and pillows, sitting back up on her knees and inhaling a lungful of clean, pleasant-smelling air. Being trapped within her thoughts and fears about leaving was useless right now, anyway - not with Jason and Cassie being out and busy. If she were to leave, she’d need a place to stay, and although she had a little bit of cash saved up from donations over the past couple of years…

She didn’t want to live out of some single-room apartment in Downtown Brockton Bay. 

Loneliness wasn’t something she was unfamiliar with. Hell, Amy would be the first to admit that she liked a healthy amount of solitude, within reason, since people often annoyed the fuck out of her. But if she were to do what she wanted to do, and live the life that she wanted to live, then she knew exactly where she wanted to be. Who she wanted to be around.

It was only a matter of asking, and hoping that - she felt her cheeks warm - they still felt the same way about her that they had only a short couple days ago. Going from a first date to roommates in such a short amount of time wasn’t a normal pipeline, Amy was fairly sure, but none of them were normal people. Not in the slightest.

God, she was thinking too much after just waking up. Her head was already starting to hurt.

‘… I wonder if I could take a shower here,’ Amy thought, eyes drifting towards the open bathroom door. The lights were dimmed, illuminating both the gothic-looking bedroom and bathroom with a low glow, but it was enough to see. ‘Isn’t that kind of rude? But- I doubt they would care, Amy, and you need to piss. Stop being a scaredy-cat.’

Biting her lip, Amy slid off the large bed and walked towards the bathroom. She couldn’t help but look around as she moved, overwhelming curiosity winning out against her initial desire to be a polite guest. 

The bedroom was relatively clean, but there were an assortment of random devices and electrical scrap falling out of a crate near the dresser. Her suitcase leaned against it as well, but a quick glance showed that it was empty.

Amy felt her heart skip a beat.

‘They unpacked my stuff?’

Sudden hope and relief flooded her brain with so many good-feeling chemicals that it was almost dizzying. Slowly, almost fearfully, Amy crouched down beside the open suitcase and pulled out the drawer beside it-

Sure enough, folded somewhat messily in compact squares, were her clothes, as unimpressively plain as always. Some were just shoved in, probably impatiently or with anger, but a few wrinkles were such a small price to pay for what this one minor act of kindness implied. 

At the very least, she would be able to stay for a few days.

For the first time in she didn’t know how many hours, Amy found herself smiling hard, her cheeks aching from the force of her elation. She grabbed a folded white t-shirt, some sweatpants, and a pair of plain black panties from the drawer - her drawer, and stood to continue making her way to the bathroom. 

Maybe after a hot shower, after becoming clean and refreshed, she would brave the arduous, anxiety-ridden task of actually checking her phone. Or maybe she’d just destroy it and ask Cassie for help getting a new one. 

Either way, Amy was feeling hope. A burgeoning hope, and a brittle one at that, but a little bit was better than none at all.

Everything just hinged on the next few hours.

…

Fifteen Minutes Later

…

Frizzy brown hair dripping water down into the oversized, fluffy black bathrobe that smelled faintly of a certain silver-eyed man, Amy adjusted her curled-up position on the bed, red-rimmed eyes staring balefully at the wide-screen television as she dunked her spoon into a pint of half-eaten chocolate ice cream. It had taken a lot of bravery to answer the pleading cries of her growling stomach and go downstairs to scavenge for food. Still, after experiencing her second breakdown in the shower, she was a bit too hangry to continue tiptoeing around like a fearful little rabbit.

So she hunted her prey, and consumed.

Triple fudge deluxe. Cassie, or Jason, had good taste.

Crappy, brain-melting television and junk food that would go straight to her fat tits and ass? Name a better combination for such a shit day. 

“And honestly, what the -bleep- is even with this Avalon guy? Where did he come from? You think it’s normal for a Trump: Yes to just come from the ghettos of the Bay outta -bleep- nowhere and clear out all the gangs in, like, a week?!” The loud, bald man on the TV screen growled at his fellow Podcast members. He leaned forward, a grimace pulling at his spittle-flecked lips. “I’m telling you. I’ve BEEN sayin’ this: It’s. Freakin’. CAULDRO-“

The screen suddenly shifted into black and white static, the abrupt noise nearly making Amy drop her spoon - which she saved by swiftly shoving it in her mouth. The sound of interference was obnoxious, aggravating the already annoying stress headache that thrummed behind her eyes, but just as she was about to reach for the remote on the nightstand-

The channel switched on its own.

“- And the coroner’s office has officially reported that the body of Kaiser, leader of the scattered Empire Eighty-Eight, is, in fact, that of Max Anders… former CEO of the multi-million dollar pharmaceuticals company, the Medhall Corporation.” The Channel Eight news reporter spoke stoically at the screen, papers held in front of him in clenched hands, but Amy could see the way that his lips twitched. 

He wanted to smile.

And honestly, hearing that Jason had actually done what he’d promised… in spite of her general aversion of violence and death, Amy found herself wanting to smile too. Jess had been a wonderful woman, a kind and benevolent one, and she truly hadn’t deserved what happened to her.

“Hopefully you can rest in peace now, Jess…” Amy murmured, grabbing for the remote control.

“In lieu of his father’s death, Theodore Anders will soon be stepping up to-“

CLICK.

The television blinked again, switching to some re-run of an older LooneyTunes episode. Seeing the colorful animated characters, hearing Daffy Duck’s horrible lisp and Bugs Bunny’s dry, acerbic wit - it reminded her of her childhood, watching these same dumb cartoons with Victoria, way before everything slowly went to shit in a handbasket. 

Oddly enough, the memories didn’t hurt as much as she thought they would.

Amy was just putting the remote control back down on the nightstand, eyes glued to the television screen, when her hand slammed against something small and hard - glass of some kind. It fell immediately, clattering against the smooth wood floor, and she lurched forward with a gasp when she realized what had happened.

“Shit!”

All nostalgic thoughts of cartoons were vamooshed in an instant, replaced by anxiety as she bent down to grab what looked to be a… glass mason jar filled up to about midway with clumps of green plant matter? The glass hadn’t broken, thank fucking Christ, and whatever plant project they’d been working on seemed undisturbed by the fall, but wouldn’t it be a bitch if she’d messed something up on the inside?

A familiar urge came to her then, one that was as familiar and unsettling as a longtime stalker - except, this time, the urge to experiment wasn’t focused on the dying or diseased bodies of her patients. Instead, it was focused on simple plant matter… and didn’t that make the most significant fucking difference in the amount of guilt she felt for her ‘urges’?

Hell yes it did.

“I’ll just make sure everything’s fine,” Amy muttered to herself, setting her slowly melting ice cream to the side and picking up the mason jar. The lid didn’t budge when she attempted to twist it open, but she was nothing if not stubborn to a fault. ‘Plus I’m curious about what this even is. Hm… it kind of looks like-‘

The lid popped open, and Amy drew back as one of the most potent, overpowering scents she’d ever smelled invaded the sanctity of her nostrils.

It was a vaguely familiar stench, too. One that pervaded almost every single emergency room in gang-heavy territories.

Marijuana. Cannabis. The Devil’s Lettuce. The gateway drug.

The Weed.

In Carol’s eye, it might as well have been a nuclear warhead seconds away from detonation with the way that she rebuked any and all talks of drugs done within her household - even refusing to try CBD oils to help Mark out with his clinical depression. It was absolutely demonized by the woman, and tentatively, the other women in their family adopted that same mentality around her… though Amy knew that Sarah and Crystal partook recreationally.

You got a good nose for the scent, even trace amounts, after working in the hospitals of Brockton Bay for long enough.

In any other situation, under completely different circumstances, Amy Dallon would have turned her nose up at the weeds, citing it as a source of horrible addiction and the gateway to becoming some drug-addled dope fiend who committed crimes and snorted crack. 

That would’ve been the Amy of a few weeks ago, before she met two of the most wonderful people ever, was basically told that she was unloved and unwanted by the woman who adopted her only because of the threat of her powers, found out that her dad was one of the most feared supervillains in America, was forced into a panic attack by the same sister who unknowingly filled her with so many good chemicals over the years that she’d inadvertently lulled Amy into falling in love with her, basically ran away from home-

…

Yeah, screw it.

“I’m sorry Cass, Jason, and God - if you’re actually up there and looking down on me with shame,” Amy breathed, a dry, absolutely exhausted smirk forming on her lips, “But if anyone deserves to get high for fucking once, it’s me.”

It was a good thing she wasn’t going by ‘Dallon’ anymore. If that decision wasn’t made before because of some sort of lingering vestige of fear and abandonment issues, it was basically set in stone by that ridiculously depressing summary of her life. The fact that Jason and Cassie were literally the only silver lining there was as heartwarming as it was sad.

Mind made up, Amy plugged her nose with one hand and shoved her other one into the mass of weeds- or were they called ‘buds’? As soon as her fingers touched the sticky, spongy surface of this new plant matter, Amy felt her powers reach out and soak downwards into the marijuana like little feelers of data, pulling for information…-

And, like when she modified the tobacco, her brain reacted.

The first thing Amy noticed - or, maybe, the most noteworthy - was the foreign impurities. Leftover pesticides, lingering pieces of fungi from time spent incubating in the mason jar, minor traces of pathogenic bacteria, just a bunch of little things that stood out in the initial scan. Amy wasn’t familiar with the process of cultivating, harvesting, or processing marijuana, but she felt like smoking pesticides and E. coli wasn’t the healthiest of activities. Or, as healthy as smoking weeds could be.

So she began purifying it all.

Like the tobacco in that fat man’s Marlboros, modifying dead plant cells was significantly more challenging than… well, she’d never really bothered experimenting much with her powers, nonetheless on nature. Still, this aspect of biokinesis was more difficult than changing around things inside of a living, breathing human. Sure it was more difficult, but knowing she wasn’t one intrusive thought or sneeze away from scrambling some poor kid’s brain or giving someone a second sphincter made the process significantly more enjoyable.

And, oddly enough… It was peaceful. Her fingertips were sticky, and the scent was loud, but there was something weirdly satisfying about sensing the impurities in this dead herb shrivel and die out beneath her power, slowly but surely enriching the bud and bringing it to a higher quality than it was before. With the bad shit being extradited, the ‘positive’ compounds of the marijuana were being pushed to the forefront; the terpene and cannabinoid content, in particular.

She couldn’t change much here, not with everything dead, but Amy felt her interest pique. If she extracted some of the seeds, maybe, and started the process of growing her own plant, she—and her power—could tell that she’d be able to do a lot more with the genetic makeup of the marijuana. There’d be no need for pesticides or foreign bacteria. She could make them pure from birth, cultivate more potent beneficial compounds, and create actual medicinal marijuana.

Less psychoactive highs, more anti-anxiety and mood-elevating effects. Hell, she could even change that disgusting smell, and give it a better taste when you smoked it, in theory. Despite the mundane nature of her ‘work’, acting as a glorified parahuman gardener, her powers almost felt… happy, if that was even possible. Her mind was clear of the usual depressive fog that pervaded it whenever she slaved over a diseased or wounded body. Here, with her fingers in the morally gray cookie jar, Amy almost found herself smiling.

The entire ounce of marijuana thoroughly cleaned of impurities and practically glimmering with vitality, she withdrew her hand from the jar, mind abuzz with fantastical thoughts of a miniature greenhouse-

CLICK.

The doorknob turned, and suddenly, in that heart-wrenching second, Amy realized her position; lounged back in the bed of her saviors, the room smelling of marijuana, with a pint of melted ice cream resting on the nightstand beside her. At least thirty minutes had to have passed since she’d started messing with the jar of weed, judging by the new episode of Looney Tunes playing on the television.

She was in her head for half a fucking hour?!

“I’m hearin’ you, baby girl.,” Jason’s voice came from behind the bedroom door, as dark and velvety as ever, “I’ll be careful when I test it out. No fighting Gods without you.”

“Or fucking them!” Cassie’s significantly higher-pitched delivery came right after, followed by what sounded like the weak smack of her fist against his arm. “I cannot lose to a Goddess. Not again!”

Jason chuckled, and the door slowly began to open. “I told you, Cassie; that was a dream.”

“Well it was real to m-“

Amy froze, the jar of weed half-shoved beneath the pillow she’d been lying her head on. A frizzy curl of brown hair fell into her face, tickling her nose, and she awkwardly blew it away while holding unflinching direct eye contact with a surprised-looking Cassie. 

The girl looked at her, the jar of vibrant-looking marijuana, the pint of triple fudge deluxe, and then to the cartoons playing on the flatscreen TV. A knowing grin warped her soft pink lips, her eyebrows raising up into the stylishly chopped black fringes of her bangs. 

Amy swallowed, trepidation mixing with the overwhelming joy and anticipation of finally seeing the two. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“It better be what it looks like, or I’ll be really frickin’ disappointed.” Cassie shot back, tossing her jacket carelessly to the ground and sprinting for the other side of the bed. “4/20 Blaze-It Slumber Party, fuck yes!”

“It’s February… and 11 PM,” Jason commented idly, gesturing with a slight flick of his wrist and sending Cassie’s discarded jacket flying towards the closet. The movement accentuated the glimmering silver ring on his finger, embedded by a black gem, but the sight of the jewelry wasn’t strong enough to pull her eyes away from literally everything else.

Handsome wasn’t even close to the right word. Exotic came close. Maybe ethereal? ‘Way out of my league’ didn’t seem short enough to be an actual adjective, so Amy was mostly at a loss on how to describe what she was seeing. It was enough to temporarily squash the embarrassment from being caught with weed.

Jason has gone from ‘supermodel bad boy’ hot to a completely new level entirely - one that seemed more at home in a fantasy love novel written by lonely, 30-year-old women with extremely unrealistic expectations. Elf ears extended from the side of his head, cutting through silvery white dreadlocks that messily fell down the nape of his neck in fluffy, organized chaos. With his dark brown skin seemingly glowing with health and vitality, giving it an almost invisible sheen of hydration, and his lidded silver eyes staring brightly at her with both amusement and care…

What even was he now? Was she lying in the bed of some dark elf prince pulled from a storybook? Normally her powers would be rolling beneath her skin, begging to see his biology and understand what all had changed in such a small amount of time, but modifying the weed seemed to have pacified it.

“Are you alright, Amy?”

His concerned voice wrenched her out of her thoughts, placing her firmly in the present time. Amy became aware of Cass beside her in the bed - not necessarily a sexual thing, considering how the girl gently extracted the jar from her hands and was oohing at its contents, but the extra weight beside her was comforting. Grounding.

She had to lick her lips and swallow before she trusted herself to respond.

“Thank you, I… I’m okay now. I just missed you guys.” It felt wholly underwhelming for what they’d done for her, and Amy quickly opened her mouth to continue before Jason could speak, “I didn’t smoke your weed either. Carol hated it, but I know from medical experience that it’s fine in moderate amounts, and I guess the idea of trying it felt… liberating? But I won’t touch it if you-“

“Relaaax, beautiful,” he soothed just as her anxiety was beginning to shine through. Amy immediately clicked her mouth shut, her face on fire. “It’s not my weed anyway; it’s Cassie’s. As you can see, she’s more than happy to have more smoke buddies.”

He began pulling his jacket off, revealing the intricate black swirls and designs that covered his arms in tattooed sleeves, and walked towards the bathroom. “I’ll be back in a second…. I gotta wash the taste of dead boats outta my mouth.”

Cassie leaned in from the side, having pulled brown rolling paper from… somewhere, along with a little pink tin with metal ridges covering the inside. Her shoulder pressed against Amy’s, snug and warm, and before she could do what her instincts told her to do and lean away from the physical contact… Amy breathed out again, short and calming, and pressed herself against her more petite friend. 

The warmth was comforting, a direct contrast to the sickeningly sweet, damn near nauseating heat being touched by Victoria caused inside of her stomach. It brought back memories of their date, hugging each other and giggling as they shared stories from their childhoods. Memories that made Amy smile, even though they were not very long ago.

She desperately wanted to make more.

“... Are you really okay?” Cassie murmured, her usual flippant cheerfulness gone from her voice. The water in the bathroom sink began running, accompanied by the sound of Jason brushing his teeth, but the short hacker’s dark eyes were focused solely on Amy’s. “Listen- I know our circumstances are completely different. Honestly, you’ve had it a lot worse than me. But… I know how it feels to feel abandoned and unwanted by your family.” 

A small, nostalgic smile pulled at the girl’s sweet lips. It was a brittle one. “And I know how it feels to be hurt by your sister. So if you need to talk…”

It was an olive branch, and a completely genuine one at that.

But-

“Thank you,” Amy swallowed down the frog in her throat, refusing to shed tears again. Not after bawling like a stupid bitch in the shower. “But I don’t wanna talk about them. Not right now. I had nightmares about Vicky. About Carol. I spent every second after waking up thinking about them.”

Ironically enough, it felt good to say these things. Cassie’s attention was solely on her, one hundred percent, and she didn’t interrupt. It made Amy feel validated, so she continued.

“I… don’t think they deserve my attention, or my tears. I learned who my father was - that was the only relatively good thing that came from the conversation with Carol. Everything else was just bullshit. I don’t want to think about Carol, or Victoria, or Mark, or any of the Dallons. They were never my actual family, Cass… they were my fucking wardens. I was only a part of their home because they wanted me to use my ‘scary powers’ for good instead of evil.”

The bathroom door silently opened and closed midway through her little speech, but the sight of a somber-faced Jason Black did nothing to dissuade Amy from speaking - if anything, it made her want to keep going. Not just for the sake of their understanding, but for her sake, as well. It felt like some sort of cancer was being excised from her chest, and she was nearly done with the operation. 

Swallowing to moisten her dry throat, Amy continued, her fingers interlocking with Cassie’s.

She hadn’t even realized that they’d even started to hold hands.

“I’m over it. I’m over them. I- I want to stay here, if you two are okay with that, and I want to work on using my powers the way I want to use them… not Carol, or the Dallons, or fucking Brockton Bay.” Amy’s gaze was tired, yet unflinching in its determination - even as moist as they were. She looked at Jason, staring deep into the silver, starry depths of his eyes. “I know it’s a lot to ask...”

“Well, like the weed,” He tilted his head to look at Cassie, who was idly grinding up one of the buds while surreptitiously wiping her wet eyes, “This place belongs to Cassie; I just livened it up a lil’ bit. But, invoking my righteous male dominance in our relationship-”

“Sexist pig,” the hacker sniffled quietly.

“I hereby declare you a part of our family, as small and dysfunctional as it is.” Jason smoothly finished without missing a beat, a rugged smirk on his handsome face. He crouched down - when did he even move to the bedside? - and took Amy’s other hand in his much larger ones, the feeling of his calloused palm against her soft skin enough to send goosebumps flying down her arm. 

This time, when the feelers of her power reached out eagerly to taste this man, Amy held it back through sheer force of will. Jason’s face was too open, his body too close, and she didn’t want to miss a single word he said. It wasn’t like she could move her gaze away from his lips, anyway.

God, she was fucked.

“Feel free to stay for as long as you’d like, Amy. Lung interrupted our last date, put you in danger, too - so keepin’ you around just means that I can keep ya safe and take you out to eat again.” There was no question to the declaration; just a straightforward promise that there would be a second date. While some would find that sort of confidence off-putting or arrogant, Amy, instead, found herself just happy that there would be a second chance.

Maybe doing the whole ‘series of dates’ thing was silly when she already knew just how badly she wanted this relationship, but with everything that had happened, taking things somewhat steady seemed like the smart idea.

No matter how desperately she wanted to finally be stupid for once.

“Ooh! We can make a date calendar!” Cassie gasped, her face brightening with excitement. She looked silly, with her cheeks and eyes pink from holding back tears, but the sight was a heartwarming one. 

Why did it feel so fucking good to be cared about? 

“Like, on Mondays, you can take Amy out on a date, and then on Fridays, I get my turn. Rinse and repeat until bam,” she set the grinder down, fingertips sticky with weed, and punched her fist into her palm, “She’s successfully seduced by our unwavering commitment and love! One super cute girlfriend with adorable freckles obtained.”

Scratch that- why did it feel so fucking good to be wanted?

Amy felt her fair skin burn, heat crawling from her neck all the way to the tips of her ears. “Two dates a week might be a little too much,” she pointed out dryly, doing her best to not smile from ear to ear and expose her childish jubilance.

Going off of the way Jason was watching her fondly, and the aching in her cheeks, Amy figured she wasn’t doing a very good job.

“Then we’ll turn it into a throuple date once a week, on Fridays. It’ll give us time to work on our own lil’ projects too, yeah?” he grinned crookedly, running a thumb over the back of Amy’s hand. 

The flesh grew hot beneath his touch, butterflies flitting down through her stomach and blossoming into other places. Slowly, belatedly, Amy realized just how difficult this entire situation was going to be for reasons outside of her own insecurities and fear.

It was almost unfair, being surrounded by ridiculously beautiful people who she liked and who also liked her in turn. Pure, consensual, fully reciprocated attraction was truly the hottest fetish, right up there with hand-holding and slow, passionate missionary-

Holy shit she needed a topic change.

“The, um - things you were talking about when you were about to enter the bedroom,” Amy spoke up, looking between her two new… roommates? “Jay, you mentioned ‘fighting Gods’. Is that something I’ll have to worry about now?”

The question was meant to be lighthearted, even though Any knew her delivery was a bit too sardonic for most people. After all, Gods definitely weren’t real going by the state of the world, and even if they were - why the hell would Jason be fighting, or fucking, them?

…

The way that Jason and Cassie glanced at each other didn’t fill her with confidence. 

Stomach nearly dropping into her ass, and the butterflies in her stomach replaced by the familiar, stone-like weight of anxiety, Amy narrowed her eyes. “Jason. What’s going on?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but it was Cassie who spoke first.

“I dunno what you did to my Sour Diesel, Amy,” she murmured, sliding her tongue across the length of brown rolling paper in her hands and securing it down into a thin, cylindrical shape packed with the weed she’d ground up in the pink tin. “But it looks freakin’ sick. Got a real nice green color to it, and it looks… cleaner. Whatever you did to it, thank you.” 

Amy blinked, the sudden topic change throwing her off. “... You’re welcome? I just killed off the bacteria and other impurities, mostly, but-  what the hell does that have to do with fighting Jesus Christ?” 

If she heard the frustration in her voice, Cassie didn’t seem offended or put off by it. Instead, she quietly passed the rolled up length of weed - the joint - over to Amy, who hesitantly grabbed it with both hands.

“‘Fighting Gods’ was an exaggeration, but… yeah, shit’s still ‘prolly gonna blow your mind. Might as well mellow the fuck out while we talk about it.” Jason sighed, standing up from his crouched position and sitting on the side of the bed. Lightly, he grabbed Amy’s legs and laid them over his lap so that he could stay in close proximity to her and Cassie.

The casual manhandling did its best to distract her, but Amy wasn’t that easy. Sometimes.

“Talk about what, though?” She pressed, doing her best to seem indignant and inquisitive even as her heart did little happy dances at the intimate position. 

A thought flew through her mind, one that reasserted her curiosity. “Wait. Does this have something to do with your, well… everything?”

Cassie passed Jason a joint roughly the same size and shape as Amy’s, and the man held it loosely between his index finger and thumb, staring at it with a wistful smirk on his face. “Yeah. Yeah, it does. And it has everything to do with you, too. We weren’t sure if you’d wanna hear about it right after the shitshow with your family-”

“Former family.”

“That,” he nodded, rolling his shoulders, “But I want all of us to be on the same page. And, if after this conversation, you decide that we’re too crazy for you to stay with… then I won’t stop ya from leaving. I’ll even give you some cash so you can find a nice place to stay.”

Amy knew that she shouldn’t have been offended that he’d even think that she’d want to leave. Realistically, it made sense - offering her an out when he held all the power in their current dynamic was simply the morally righteous thing to do, even if giving her money was toeing the line of charity. But, even if it was realistic…

“Nothing you say will make me want to leave,” she stated matter-of-factly, giving both him and Cassie a tired-eyed glare. “The bed’s too comfortable… and the company’s not bad, either.” 

The slight smile on her face completely ruined the serious vibe she was going for, but that was fine. Even if she wasn’t the most sociable person in the world, Amy needed them to understand that she wanted to be here. No matter what.

“Say less,” Jason smirked, letting go of his joint, leaving it floating in the air. He reached behind his back, and across his shoulders and the room behind him, a sudden electric blue glow lit up the dimmed darkness. When he brought his hand back, it was holding a ring - a silver one, similar to his own, with a small, gorgeously cut peridot shining on top.

Amy’s mouth fell open. “I-”

“I had the same reaction,” Cassie whispered, nudging her side gently with an elbow. Instead of a joint, she’d reached over to the side of the bed and grabbed a very pink, very girly-looking bong, which she’d already stuffed with a bit of the weed from her grinder. “Don’t worry, though - this ring is just magical protection. Like, um, a condom for your brain.”

“Magical protection?” Amy repeated, staring down at the beautiful piece of jewelry.

“A condom for your brain?” Jason deadpanned, giving Cass an unimpressed look.

“Alright, shush,” the hacker huffed, holding her bong up defensively. “Sometimes the snappy analogies just aren’t analoguing, alright?”

“Mm.” Looking away from his girlfriend, Jason locked eyes with Amy once again. “She’s not wrong, though - your powers aren’t just your powers, and this ring deafens them. Silences their influence, and makes it so that they can’t hear you. The things I plan to tell you are sensitive, and can put in motion some really bad shit if certain ears listen in. ‘Cause of that, the only way I can really tell you everything is if you wear this ring.”

Amy could have touched him at any point in order to truly gauge whether or not he was lying, but some part of her rebelled at the thought. She’d already done that when he’d spoken of the things he liked about her, and not once did he lie.

So why would he be lying about something as big as this?

And in either case, his words made sense. It only confirmed some vague suspicions about her powers that she’d had ever since she’d gotten them. The way that they seemed to respond to her actions, or inaction, and seemed almost happy to be used in certain ways… there was a sentience there, that much was for sure.

“... Would I be able to take it off when I use my powers?” Amy asked slowly, her eyes trailing down to the joint in her hands - filled with the very same weed that she’d carefully purified over the course of thirty long minutes. Proof that she could use her powers the way they wanted to be used without fear or disgust. “Sometimes, whatever is inside of my brain- it guides me. Fills in the blanks that I can’t see myself.” 

Jason nodded his head as if expecting the question. “I can see about making it an at-will ability, so you don’t need to take the ring off every time you wanna use your powers, but that’ll take a bit more work-”

“I can push through it,” Amy hurriedly cut in before he could change his mind. “For now, it’s fine. It’s more than fine. Thank you, Jay.”

His lips curled up into a wide, pleased smile. “You’re welcome. Now, before you put it on and pass out for five minutes…” 

He snapped his fingers, and the ends of both of their joints and the bowl of Cassie’s bong suddenly began smoldering with flame. Jason grabbed his joint out of the air, holding it easily between his index and middle finger.

Awkwardly, Amy tried to imitate his hand placement.

“Heck yes,” Cassie giggled, wiggling forward until she was flush against Amy’s side. She sat her bong down carefully on the bed, the water inside sloshing precariously with each movement, and took her phone out of her pocket. “This is your very first time, isn’t it? We have to take a group picture!”

Oh God, pictures. 

Blech.

“Do we have to?” Amy grumbled, a small wave of self-consciousness making itself known. Taking a photo with just Cassie was one thing - the other girl was clearly more attractive than her, but being around more attractive women was something Amy had gotten used to over the years.

But with the added weight of Jason, mister Dark Elf Prince added into the mixture?

She wasn’t sure if she could handle that dichotomy. It would be too much.

Some sort of emotion on her face must’ve been too obvious because Jason himself waved Cassie down after a moment of puzzled silence.

“Our first pic will be taken on our first uninterrupted date, not gettin’ high in the bedroom like a buncha college kids,” he chuckled, raising his joint to his lips. The smoldering flame became hotter, glowing a bright golden red against the room's dimness, and he winked at Amy. “First puff, sweetheart. You ready?”

Amy’s brain stalled. “You can’t just call me things like that out of-”

“Three!” Cassie grinned, grabbing her bong and raising it towards her face.

“Shit. Hold on, give me time to-” 

To what, exactly?! Why was she stalling?

Amy brought the joint up to her lips, and anticipation, excitement, and an overwhelming feeling of belonging made her heart race within her chest.

“Two…” Jason murmured, as calm and steady as ever. She drew from his fountain of confidence, letting it settle her jumbled emotions.

“Fuck,” Amy breathed, a nervous smile on her face, “One. Cheers?” 

“Cheers.”

“Cheers!”

And as she gently drew on the joint, sucking the smoke into her mouth and inhaling it down into her lungs, whatever lingering bits of anxiety, worry, fear, and insecurity that constantly plagued her mind swiftly found its way out of Amy’s consciousness. She exhaled the stress out of her body alongside the smoke, the light gray cloud drifting into the air and intermingling with similar exhalations from Jason and Cassie. 

As she stared up at the smoke, it began to dance and swirl overhead, following the casual whim of a grinning Jason as he moved his finger back and forth.

It took a few more tokes before he moved to put the ring on her finger, but by that point, Amy was ready, surrounded by the two people she’d unironically trust with her life, for better or worse. The unconsciousness didn’t last for very long - one moment, she saw nothing but darkness, and the next, she was lying on Cassie’s lap, her joint lazily floating in the air around Jason’s head as he and Cassie played rock paper scissors.

Cassie’s thighs were warm and soft, so Amy didn’t bother getting up. Didn’t necessarily feel like it, either, so Jason brought her joint down to her.

And that… that was when he began talking.

And talking.

And talking.

And sure enough, by the end of it-
Well, Amy was hella glad she made the decision to get high tonight.

_____________________________________

1000 CP remaining.

A/N:

Some people asked about Amy.

So we got some Amy!

There will be a minor time-skip at the beginning of the next chapter as we fully wrap-up the Gang War arc of the Worm Jump and move into the endgame here. The development and understanding between Jason, Cass, and Amy was necessary to continue their relationship down a healthy path, and with the knowledge of everything laid out for Amy as well, there's no one else left to exposition dump on.

So we move forward.

I won't say much about the next chapter except it'll be posted here sooner than you think, and it may or may not involve a Dojo being dropped. Sorry again for the somewhat long pauses between chapter uploads! Life is a bitch, but we gotta keep livin' it.

I'm trying to think about how to adjust my writing so that I can do 4k word chapters and release more often, but my writing oftentimes get so introspective or descriptive that cutting that out for quicker releases would be a negative drop of quality in my writing style. Thoughts?