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Typical nights at the Winters household were quiet. Days where Wavelength wasn’t called away to a job, they kept to themselves. Besides the muffled music coming from Ashe’s headphones and the beeping of the microwave, things were uneventful and uninterrupted- not that Wavelength was ungrateful for that fact. Ashe didn’t do much talking, which was fine, less questions that way. The kid didn’t have to be any more wrapped up in his life than he already was. The routine of tossing in a microwave ready meal for them both, letting the night pass by, Ashe in his room and Wavelength, Mark, on the couch watching a rerun of The Price Is Right, just like any other happy family, was enough for them both.
Ever since inviting those prime defender kids into his life, his home, he didn't get many of those nights anymore.
The kids just didn’t understand the concept of ‘not showing up unannounced’, or ‘not being suspicious around the neighbors’, or even ‘not throwing knives in the house into his goddamn walls, Vyncent, holy shit ’. He also didn’t appreciate them, specifically Dakota, planting dumb shit ideas into his kid’s head. Thankfully Ash inherited the common sense genes from him, without them it would be difficult to keep him out of trouble those delinquents so often got into.
At least they’re good influences. He tried to remind himself. Thinking of Dakota, he amended the thought. ...most of them are… He thought of the other two. ... probably?
He waved the thought away, they were better influences than he could be and that’s all he could hope for at this point. It was probably good for a kid of Ashe's age to have friends anyway.
He leant down to pick up a wrapper haphazardly discarded onto the kitchen floor, no doubt from the gaggle of pseudo super-kids that barged in to kidnap Ashe for a few hours. He’d been too busy in his basement working out the kinks of his new suit design to deal with that whirlwind earlier, but now that the sun had long since set and Ashe had returned, he’d been forced out of his hole to deal with feeding them both and the mess left behind. He tossed the trash in the can under the sink and checked the remaining time on the microwave. Did 10 minutes have to feel like an hour? He groaned and allowed his thoughts to briefly draft a blueprint for a better, faster microwave. Maybe he could add some of the heat protection tech from his original suit? Or… He tossed the idea, it didn’t seem worth it to risk a fire to make his supervillain microwave no matter how convenient it could be.
Mark’s eyes wandered vaguely to the living room where Ashe was sitting, a rare sight to see but it was becoming increasingly less so. Ashe was outside his room more often than he’d ever seen since... he waves the thought away before he can dwell. Mark wasn’t exactly sure how to feel about it, it was good for them sure, but it wasn’t safe. He couldn’t guarantee Ashe’s safety out in the world, especially with the shit he’d seen. Ashe was unbothered by that threat, more excited to get out than anything, and well… Mark couldn’t deny him that when it was the happiest he's ever seen Ashe in a long time.
Ashe’s headphones absolutely blared to the point Mark could hear each word of the song. It wasn’t unusual but, Mark surprised himself by wondering if this was something he should be worried about. Was loud music bad for kids? If it was going to destroy Ashe’s hearing, maybe he should tell the kid to knock it off. He didn’t have money for ear surgery, he pretended as if that was the only reason he worried about the subject.
Mark shuddered and pushed the subject aside. Since when was he an overprotective parent, the kind that worried about loud music? Since when had he become overprotective? He was a supervillain for god’s sake, not some suburban mom. Teenager’s were practically made of steel. The kid would be fine without the coddling and he sure as hell wouldn’t appreciate it either. Mark’s thoughts briefly read over the nutrition information on the back of the microwave meals they ate so frequently. Maybe he could get one of those healthy brand microwave meals instead or some vegetables- he stopped the train of thought as abruptly as he could.
Nope. Not happening. He was not going to start helicoptering over Ashe. Mark had grown up eating easy meals and he turned out fine -well mostly fine but, that wasn’t the point- Ashe’s diet was fine. “Healthy nutrition” and “Well balanced meals” were probably thought up by dietitians to get more money any way.
Another glance to where Ashe sat on the couch revealed a book in his hands. It was folded over itself as he turned the pages, Mark couldn’t see the title or the contents, besides a few pictures of lizards. The only book he had thought Ashe owned was the impossible to destroy magic bullshit one. Mark had tried several times to burn, cut, and or maim the damn thing, all to no avail. He was even considering making his better microwave a reality just to take another shot at it at this point. It was strange to say the least, but maybe the kid was just learning about lizards for a school assignment or some shit. Curiosity got the best of him in the end.
“Ashe.” He rested his arms on the counter separating the kitchen from the living room, leaning toward the kitchen. Ashe gave no response, head bopping silently to the music in his blaring headphones.
“Ashe.” He said it louder this time to still no response.
“Ashe!” It came out sterner than he really meant it and the kid jumped, pulling down his headphones. Mark sighed, slightly frustrated, “What are you reading?”
Ashe stared for a moment, and he definitely couldn’t blame the kid. It wasn’t like they made small talk in this house. “A book.” He finally answered.
“Yeah alright, where’d you get it?”
“Dakota gave it to me.” Mark grunted, he didn’t really trust the Dakota kid as far as he could throw him. Granted throwing him just happened to be something he had done before, and had been pretty damn far, but that wasn't the point. A bit of doubt around Dakota could also be construed as common sense as far as he was aware.
The beeping of the microwave timer went off, interrupting any kind of follow up questions or comments from Mark. He tossed the kid his microwave meal as he pulled back on his headphones. They ate in silence in separate rooms, just like they always did.
A week later Mark opens up the fridge to grab the pair's microwave meals again and is confronted with the sight of various leafy greens and assorted vegetables. Bewildered, he looks over to Ashe.
“Hey kid, did you get all this?” He’s still reading that same book, he closes it and tucks it away before Mark can sight the title.
“Yeah, Rusty's was… giving it away for free so…” Mark gives him a skeptical look.
“Don’t get caught shoplifting, I'm not bailing you out.” Ashe protests that that wasn’t what happened but Mark ignores him.
He pulls out some lettuce, peppers, onions, and whatever seasonings he has still rattling around in the cupboards. He used to cook often, not so much anymore. His wife couldn't cook for shit so he took over the kitchen. He remembers those days where he would don an apron, still in his work clothes, moving around the kitchen as she made him laugh. Ashe was still a baby then. She would hold him in her arms and try to convince him to say some words, eventually it worked, Ashe’s first words were in this kitchen.
He cooks the same vegetable stir fry from those years ago. Ashe and him eat in the same room for the first time in a while.
The next day Mark is hunched over his work bench well into the night. His suit needs repair from the last heist he was called on and he’s been procrastinating getting it done. It’s nearly finished, but he’s having trouble with a few connectors and stands up in frustration. He stretches out a sore neck and tired limbs, and pops his back. He’s getting older and can feel it in the ache of his joints. It’s not a pleasant feeling.
Then he realizes he’s sweating. The majority of the time it’s freezing enough in his ‘secret villain’ workspace to see his own breath but now it’s warm. He’s certainly not complaining, the warmth is definitely pleasant, it’s more of a matter of “where the fuck is the heat coming from”.
He manages to trace it to one suspect, a heat lamp perched on the corner of the desk, facing him. The only person who could have put it there is Ashe, the super kids haven’t been by for a few days, but he can’t think of a possible reason as to why.
Another day passes. He doesn’t interrogate Ashe about the lamp, doesn't see the point, he’s used to it now anyway and he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, Ashe’s still reading that stupid book that Mark still doesn’t know what it is.
He’s at his work bench again, still fixing the same things on his suit, when he knocks a glass of water over the side of the work bench. Cursing, he gets up and grabs a rag. Looking down at the spill he notices movement.
Several dozen crickets click across the floor. Mark jumps back from them in a mixture of shock, horror and disgust. He breaks for the door, weaving around the bugs as they jump around and swiping them off his clothes as he passes. He moves the washing machine back in front of the door to his workspace in an attempt to quarantine the crickets from the rest of the house.
Mark curses himself for not adding bug killing technology into the security of his room while he makes for the Raid spray, he doesn’t want to think about the damage several dozen crickets could do to his weapons and tools.
He’s interrupted by spotting Ashe passed out on the couch. His headphones are blaring still and he has the book he’s been reading all week across his chest. The title simply states “How to take care of your new pet lizard!”
Everything finally clicks into place, the heat lamp, the vegetables, the crickets. Mark pinches the bridge of his nose in irritation, it’s all he can do to not go throttle Dakota for giving his kid this book in the first place. He has half a mind to drag the idiot from the Prime Defenders base to clean up the cricket mess in the basement but, he can’t bring himself to get mad at Ashe for this. It’s Mark's own fault really for not clarifying his whole “Lizard situation” to the kid. Looked like he was just trying to be helpful, no matter how misguided it may have been.
With a sigh and grunt of effort Mark picks Ashe off of the couch and carries him into his own bed. It reminds him of when he was still a kid. He’d pass out in the car or after playing and Mark would do this same thing he was doing now. A lot of years have passed since it last occurred, and a lot of things have changed. He tucks Ashe in, he doesn’t even stir.
In the morning, he decides, he’ll answer some of the kids' questions, he deserves that, maybe he can give Ashe a clear head, help him understand what he’s doing, what has happened to him, and why. In the meantime he ruffles his kids hair and turns out the light.
He takes one last look at the kid asleep, wishing for when Ashe was younger, innocent and happy. He hopes he can still help him, hopes he hasn’t completely messed up as a dad.
“‘Night kid.” He murmurs, and shut the door.