Chapter Text
I push open the door of the dingy bar with a sigh, eyes trailing across the few remaining patrons. There’s a couple of old men playing chess in the corner, a younger man staring blankly into his drink, and- ah. There she is.
I make my way to the mound of dark curly hair slumped against the bar, flashing an apologetic smile to the bartender as I do so.
“You’re here for her?” the bartender asks, eyebrow raised.
“Yeah, I’m her ride,” I say, reaching a hand out to shake the comatose form of my friend. “Come on Taylor, let’s get you home.”
The girl in question groans. “Just one more...” The rest of her words are impossible to make out, as she chooses that moment to yawn loudly.
“Let’s get you into bed, okay? For me, please?” I whisper softly, running my fingers gently through the tangles in her hair as I speak.
She peeks at me through bleary eyes, a frown marring her face before abruptly softening. “Lisa, you came.”
“Of course I came,” I say, pulling her off the stool and leaning her against my shoulder. She stumbles slightly, but manages to stabilize enough to walk in short order. I throw a few bills at the bartender, as has become my habit when picking up Taylor from whatever new dive she’s decided to lose herself in.
“Thought you’d be mad. Didn’t tell you I was going somewhere,” she mumbles, and I need to school my expression for a moment. I was mad when I got the call. Mad that she didn’t tell me where she was going. Mad that she got blackout drunk all on her own... Again .
Then I got here. Then I saw her.
“I can never stay mad at you, you know that,” I sigh, pulling her out the door and into the cold spring air.
“Won’t last forever. You’ll get tired of me. Everyone else does,” she says, eyes blankly surveying the empty streets as we step out into the night. I didn’t park far, but that doesn’t stop the breeze from being uncomfortably cold against my exposed skin.
“I can’t promise I won’t, but it hasn’t happened yet,” I say, knowing that lying to her would make things worse. She doesn’t like being patronized or lied to. Not even when it’s just harmless white lies. “Still, I don’t intend to leave you, Taylor, and I can’t see myself getting tired of you.”
Especially since I don’t have anyone else. Taylor’s not the only one who’s spent the last few years watching people leave. She’s the only one who stayed, even though she had other options.
We both did, and yet here we are.
“I saved the worlds you know,” She says, slurring her words and looking up at the stars. “I saved them all. Made- made people help each other. Made them be useful. Wish I could make myself useful like that.”
I pause, looking up with her. “You did good, Taylor.”
“You were mad at me. I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“You’re forgiven, just like the last thousand times you’ve apologized,” I say, leaning against her as much as she leans against me.
“I’m not going to stop. You didn’t deserve that. Didn’t deserve how I treated you. Like you were small and I wasn’t,” she pauses for a long moment, so long that I almost think she’s done speaking. “I’m small too. We all are. Like little ants in a universe bigger than we can imagine.”
I don’t say anything to that. Instead I just gently nudge her into the passenger seat of our car. I help her with the buckles in silence, my hands brushing against hers as she fumbles with the metal tongue. It’s a worse night than I thought if she’s getting philosophical about... that day.
We drive back in silence, her face pressed against the window as we glide through the streets of New Brockton. It’s not home, not really, but it’s the closest we can get to it. An imitation of what was lost where we can pretend that we’re okay, that the world didn’t end, and that our families are still alive.
I suppose it’s fitting, given that we’re mostly just pretending to be who we used to be. Fake people in a hollow city, playacting with worthless money and purchasing goods without purpose or meaning. Studiously ignoring why the buildings we pass have less than five years of history.
We avert our gaze from the obvious truth: That what’s left of humanity is just a patchwork collection of broken people, clinging to the shadow of civilization from a world that no longer exists. That the crowds of empty husks which inhabit this blank facade are just acting out their old lives in the vain hope that everything will magically go back to normal.
It’s sad, pathetic, and the reality I confront every time I look in the mirror.
Maybe it’s not a good night for me either.
I drag her into our apartment, half carrying her to our room where I tug off her old clothes. She doesn’t help much as I pull on her pajamas, but she doesn’t hinder me either. We’ve both learned how this song and dance goes by now.
On her bad days, she gets drunk and I take her home. I hold her hair back when she needs to vomit. Help her shower and dress as needed. Pull the blankets over us as I curl up next to her in the only bed we have. It makes me feel useful. Wanted. Needed.
On my bad days, I do too many painkillers and pretend that I don’t exist. Every time I wake up after one of those trips, she’s curled up against me, desperately trying to give me comfort in the only way she knows how. I don’t know if she knows how much I need her. How much of me only exists because she’s there to pick me up every time I fall down.
Day by day we push on. Day by day we exist, even when there is precious little reason to. Every day, the world gets safer. Every day, society pulls itself together. They elected a governor for the Gimel Coalition the other month; yet another item on the list of things I don’t have to take care of anymore. I should feel relieved.
Instead I just feel empty.
Who am I without my work? Who am I when I’m not a cape? Who am I when I’m not Tattletale, and what do I do when the world doesn’t need her anymore?
So no, I don’t get mad when Taylor has a bad day. I don’t judge her for despairing at our pointless existences. I don’t begrudge her the escape when the world keeps saying it doesn’t need Skitter or Weaver, that it’s okay for her to be Taylor.
As if either of us understand what it means to exist without our masks anymore.
“Lisa,” she says, mumbling into my shoulder as I shuffle into bed next to her. “You’re my best friend. Best friend in the whole world.”
I smile. I rarely smile these days, but she can always draw one out of me. “You’re my best friend too, Taylor.”
“Love you,” she says, her breathing slowing as she drifts off to sleep.
“Love you too, sweetie,” I say, punctuating it with a kiss on her forehead. Her mouth tugs up into a brief smile, before sleep overcomes her addled mind.
I close my eyes, and enjoy her warmth. I bask in the sensation of being close to her. Sink into her embrace like it’s a warm bath on a cold day. Taylor was wrong about one thing: I am smaller than her. Which is exactly why I like it when she wraps her arms around me.
The world isn’t a kind place, but when I’m locked in Taylor’s embrace, I can just forget everything else. I can ignore my insecurities, my festering addiction, and even my nagging powers. I don’t have to think about any of it.
I have Taylor, she has me, and that’s all either of us needs.