The rest of lunch passes in a blur, people avoiding our table more than usual, like we're contagious somehow, like getting your ass kicked by fascists is something you can catch through casual contact.

It's not until the bell rings and everyone starts shuffling off to their next class that someone finally approaches me directly.

I tense up instinctively, my good hand curling into a fist under the table. But it's just Mike Giannopoulos, his broad face creased with concern as he looms over me.

"Hey, Sam," he says, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "I just wanted to say… what you did at homecoming? Standing up to Patriot like that? That was really brave. You ever consider doing sports, you know… after all… this is over? You're sort of a legend now, in the locker room."

I blink up at him, my brain struggling to process the words. Mike Giannopoulos thinks I'm a legend? I'm being invited to do sports? My face scrunches up sort of without me doing anything about it.

"I…thanks?" I manage to stammer out, wincing as my jaw twinges with the effort. "But I didn't really do anything. I mean, I got my ass kicked. Some legend."

Mike just shakes his head. "Nah, see, that's the thing. You knew you were going to get your ass kicked, and you did it anyway. For your friend, for what you believed in. That takes guts."

He glances around, like he's checking to make sure no one's listening. Apparently satisfied, he turns his jersey and leans in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"People are talking, you know. About how maybe Patriot and his crew aren't the heroes they claim to be. About how maybe we've been backing the wrong horse all this time, trusting the wrong people to keep us safe. Did you see that stuff that went on the website before it went down?"

I feel a flicker of hope start to glow warm in my chest, so fragile it feels like it might shatter at any moment. But for the first time since I woke up in that hospital bed, I feel like maybe, just maybe, we might actually have a chance.

Like maybe I didn't get my ass kicked for nothing.

"I didn't. But I'll look for it," I say, folding my arms up a little bit. "And, uh, I only do soccer. Sorry. No women's soccer team."

Mike nods at me with the sort of resolute expression you'd expect to see out of a hardened soldier. "There's a rally happening next week," Mike continues. "A protest march, superhero rights groups teaming up with some other activist types. They could use someone like you there, Sam. Someone who's seen firsthand what happens when the people in power go unchecked."

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. Marches and protests and demonstrations… They all seem so big. So high stakes. And haven't I done enough damage already, put enough targets on the backs of the people I care about?

But then I think about Jordan, ragged-tired but still fighting. About my mom and dad, keeping vigil by my bed. About Mr. Weston, and Melissa, and Alex, and even fucking Mike Giannopoulos, stepping up and speaking out in whatever way they can.

And I know I can't back down now.

I should say no. I should really stop throwing myself into the ring.

But the only thing that hurts about getting my ass kicked is that it makes it harder to stay in the fight.

"I'll be there," I say, the words coming out strong and steady despite the way my heart is jackhammering in my chest. "Just tell me when and where."

Mike's grin is blinding, a flash of white in the gloom. "That's what I'm talking about," he says, clapping me gently on my uninjured shoulder. "And don't worry, there'll be counterprotesters there for sure, but we've got a plan to handle them. Pattinson's Pals won't know what hit 'em."

And as I watch him swagger off down the hall, his chest puffed out with pride, I can't help the slow, fierce smile that spreads across my face.

----------------------------------------

The Delaware Valley Defenders' headquarters is a hive of activity when I arrive, my mom dropping me off a couple of blocks away with a worried frown and a fierce hug. She's been hovering ever since I got out of the hospital, like she's afraid I'll disappear if she takes her eyes off me for even a second.

I can't blame her. I'm kind of afraid of that too. But this is important. This is where I need to be right now, with my team, my people.

Even if it feels like I'm walking into a war zone.

The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife, everyone's faces drawn and haggard as they huddle around the big table in the center of the room. It's standing room only, every seat taken by a costumed hero or a grim-faced bureaucrat.

I spot Councilman Davis at the head of the table, his shoulders slumped like he's carrying the weight of the world. Clara Parker is beside him, her pen flying over a legal pad as she scribbles notes.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Multiplex is there too, all three of him, each version wearing a slightly different expression of weariness and determination, even while two of them are busy at the computers. Fury Forge and Crossroads flank him on either side, their eyes fixed on the papers spread out before them. Bulwark, and a new face that I vaguely am familiar with as "Captain Plasma", occupy the other parts of the table's back end. He stands out in his bright, primary-colored costume, looking all the bit a classic superhero in red, yellow, and blue.

And of course, there's my team. What's left of it, anyway.

Rampart gives me a tight nod as I limp my way over to them, his jaw clenched so hard I can see the muscles jumping. Gossamer reaches out to steady me when I stumble, her grip gentle but firm on my elbow. Blink just looks at me with big, sad eyes, like she wants to wrap me up in a hug and never let go. I wish she would. I could use a hug right about now.

But there's no time for that. No time for anything but the grim work ahead of us.

"Bloodhound," Councilman Davis says, looking up from his papers as I approach. "Good. You're here. We were just about to start."

"Sorry," I mutter, easing myself down into an empty chair with a wince. "Got held up at school. We on a time limit?"

"We're always on a time limit," he says, his smile thin and humorless. "But this one's a doozy. We've got the mayor breathing down our necks, federal agents sniffing around, and the press camped out on our doorstep. We need to get our stories straight and our shit together, fast."

"Language," Fury Forge mutters, but there's no heat in it. She just sounds tired. We all do.

"Right," Councilman Davis says, clearing his throat. "Let's start with the sitrep. What do we know?"

Multiplex leans forward, his three sets of eyes scanning the room. "Patriot's suspended, along with Egalitarian and the rest of Pattinson's Pals involved in the incident at the dance," he says, his voice flat and clinical. "They've also launched an investigation into the Philadelphia PD's involvement, and whether or not Patriot's goons have been deputized under the table."

"A day late and a dollar fucking short," Rampart grumbles. "They should've done that years ago."

"Let's focus on the present," Councilman Davis chides. "What about the Defenders? What's our status?"

"Suspended as well," Bulwark says solemnly, crossing his arms over his massive chest. "Voluntarily of course, but suspended nonetheless. They do not want us intervening until the investigation is complete."

Captain Plasma shifts uncomfortably, his bright demeanor dimmed somewhat. "It's a difficult situation. I came here to help, but now it feels like my hands are tied just as much as everyone else's."

I feel my stomach drop. "But… but what about the Young Defenders? What about us?"

Councilman Davis sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're… a bit of a grey area. You're not formally registered with the government, and your legal status as a satellite of the Defenders is murky at best. But given the circumstances, we think it's best if you all follow our lead and stand down for now. At least until the heat dies down."

"You mean until they sweep it all under the rug again," Crossroads mutters darkly. "Like they always do."

"That's not fair," Fury Forge says, but there's no conviction in her voice. "The system is flawed, sure, but it's the only one we've got. We have to work within it if we want to change it."

"Tell that to Jordan Westwood," I snap, my hands clenching into fists on the table. "Tell that to all the other kids who've been chewed up and spit out by this fucked up system. Tell that to me, and my face, and all the blood on that gym floor. We tried working within the system. Look where it got us."

Councilman Davis holds up a hand, his expression pained. "Bloodhound, I understand your frustration. Believe me, I do. But we have to be smart about this. We have to play the long game."

"There might not be a long game for some of us," I whisper. Then my head snaps up as I meet his gaze head-on. "I've been asked to testify. At a congressional hearing. About Chernobyl, about Liberty Belle, about… everything."

The room goes dead silent. You could hear a pin drop.

"Congress," Councilman Davis repeats slowly. "Of course."

The room goes dead silent, the only sound the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the distant wail of sirens on the streets outside.

"What?" Rampart asks, his voice low and dangerous. "When did this happen?"

"It's been scheduled since August, I just…" I say, shrugging my uninjured shoulder. "Forgot. Some kind of oversight committee, looking into superhuman regulation and accountability. But after Friday night…"

I trail off, letting the implication hang in the air like a guillotine blade.

"After Friday night, they're going to want to know about Patriot too," Crossroads finishes for me, his jaw clenched tight. "About what he did to you, and why no one stopped him."

I nod, my throat too tight to speak.

"Aw hell," Fury Forge mutters. "That's… that's big, Blood. Real big."

"You don't have to do this," Bulwark murmurs. "Any of it. You are so young, to have such a burden placed upon your shoulders."

Captain Plasma nods in agreement. "He's right. This is a lot to ask of someone your age. No one would blame you if you decided to step back."

"No," I say, my voice shaking but my resolve firm. "No, I do have to do this. I have to… I have to make it mean something. All of it. The pain, the fear, the… the blood. I have to make it count for something."

"When do you leave?" Rampart asks, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder, warm and solid and steadying.

"Tomorrow," I say. "I'm taking the train from 30th Station, Mom is doing the booking tonight."

"That's… wow, that's soon!" Blink says helpfully. "Sam, are you sure? You're still all… fucked up, and if they see you all, like, bloody and in pieces, won't it make us look bad?"

I smile thinly. "That's the idea, I think. They want to see how bad it was, how bad it can get. They want to see the consequences of letting people like Patriot run wild."

"Then let them see," Multiplex says, two of him continuing to work behind us all. "Let them look into the face of everything they've allowed to happen, and let them feel the weight of it on their souls."

"We'll be with you," Gossamer says softly. "If you want. Even if we're… you know, suspended. We've got your back. No matter what, we've got your back."

I blink back tears, my heart swelling with a sudden rush of love and gratitude for these people, for this makeshift little family of mine.

"I know," I whisper. "And I can't tell you how much that means to me. I don't… I don't think I could do this without you. Any of you."

"You won't have to," Councilman Davis says, his voice ringing with quiet conviction. "We'll be here. We'll support you in any way we can, even if it's just moral support from a distance."

A room-wide murmur of agreement. People shouting out individual things.

"I'll help you prep for the hearing," Clara Parker offers. "I've got experience with congressional testimonies."

"And I'll get in touch with legal aid groups in DC that focus on superhero and vigilante rights," Councilman Davis says. "See if they can provide any additional resources and support."

"Okay," I rasp out, swiping at my eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie. "Okay. Thank you. All of you. Let's… let's change things."