Guardian,
A Worm/Destiny Crossover
Chapter 2: Hear Me Roar
The locker room had showers that hadn't been used, Taylor was pretty sure, since shortly after the school opened. They didn't have hot water, what water did come out was dirtied by rusty pipes. It was the sort of water only the truly filthy or the truly desperate were willing to subject themselves to. As luck would or would not have it, she fit neatly into both categories. She was covered head to toe in filth that, while not defying description, certainly eluded it. Her mouth was desert dry and filled with the sour tasting residue of vomit. Her injuries may have been healed by her Ghost, but the taste and smell of blood still lingered about her.
All of this made stepping under the frigid, strangled flow of water the greatest sensation of her young life. While she bathed she had an intense strategy session with herself and came up with the rough outline of a plan. Which went as follows:
Step 1: Get clean using these God sent showers.
Step 2: Go home.
Step 3: Eat something? She was kinda hungry.
She also wasn't sure of her plan beyond the first two steps. Which was probably fine. She only had superpowers now and an invisible sorta-robot friend who literally brought her back from the dead and gave her those superpowers. Not having a plan and all of that practically went hand in hand. So maybe, once she got home and came up with a convincing lie for her dad, Taylor could do some brainstorming and see what her options were. Or what they could be.
The pipes groaned in a mutinous, tired sort of way when she turned the shower off. Having cleaned her clothes at the same time she did the rest of her, she squelched out of the shower room and headed to the door that would lead her through the gym, into the school proper, and eventually home. She paused with her hand resting on the metal door handle. Something had just occurred to her. Something that should have much sooner. "Ghost?"
"Guardian?"
"How am I going to get out of here without being seen?"
"I'm afraid I can't help you with that, Guardian. If you want to leave this building without being seen, I can only provide information. What you do with it, and how you proceed, are up to you."
Taylor sighed, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Wonderful."
The Ghost then tried to be helpful. " Think of it as your first test as a Hunter. Stealth is a large part of their method, after all."
Stealth, huh? Taylor turned the idea over in her head and found herself warming to the idea. The same part of her that had earlier wanted to run and climb and fight and be free now whispered that it would hilarious fun to sneak through a school while wearing shoes that squelched when she walked. Never mind that it was so full of people that not bumping into someone was almost impossible. She was a Guardian now. Wasn't doing impossible things what they were all about?
A grin started on her lips. "I think I have an idea."
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Panting, Taylor collapsed against a tree and clutched at her pounding heart. There was an urge to crow to the skies that she was the bomb, the supreme Hunter, the best that's ever been. It was an urge she stifled, because she was still close to the school. In fact, she was still in sight of the first floor window she'd slid out of in her escape. Her legs felt rubbery and ill-tempered to cooperate, yet she moved around to put the tree between her and the school.
She may have reined in her impulse to start boasting, but there was no stopping the clenched fist of victory she pumped. "Well done, Guardian." In the air above her shoulder Ghost made itself visible in a flicker of light – not Light, or at least probably not. "Well done, indeed."
"Thanks, Ghost." It was then she became aware of how widely she was smiling. It was the kind most often seen on people at the moment of their greatest triumph. The kind of smile that lit up a person's entire face and made them look so very alive. If she were to ask the Ghost, it would have told her that it was the sort of smile that she should display as often as possible. Understandably absorbed in her moment of supreme skill as she was, this did not happen. With effort, she fought the smile down. "Okay, um...now what? Right. Time to go home."
"As you say, Guardian." Another flicker of light, and Ghost disappeared. Taylor was aware of its presence nearby and drew comfort from it. The Ghost had brought her back, in more than one way. It was also, quite possibly, the one living thing in her world that one-hundred percent had her back. She loved her father, and wouldn't trade or change him for anything, but her mother's death had hit him, in some way, harder than it had her. Couple that with the slow death of the city that he bore witness to every day, and...
Well, he'd been home every night, but it had been a long time since he was actually there.
That aside, it was a cool, cloudy April's midday. A breeze was blowing in from the bay, and though she wasn't feeling as cold as she should be – another perk of being a Guardian, perhaps – it still put a shiver in her limbs. Taylor hugged her middle, sticking her fingers into her armpits to preserve warmth, and figured out the quickest way back to her house. Once she was done plotting that out, she set out. Headed towards home and whatever came next.
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Warm, dry clothes were the greatest thing in the history of ever. Taylor would accept no debating on the subject, no questions, and no investigation. Going from cold, damp clothes to their exact opposite had to be the pinnacle of existence, or close enough that you couldn't see otherwise unless you squinted. She lay spread-eagle on her bed, luxuriating in the width of her bed. The slight burn in her muscles and the freedom of motion were used to forever banish the twinned sensations of claustrophobia and confinement from her mind. This, she resolved, would be the last time she gave them anything.
From here on out things would be different. She'd see to it. But later. Right now she had bigger, more interesting things to think about. Like the Light coursing through, and strengthening, her body. Like the Ghost flitting with avid interest around her room. Like how she was going to go about practicing or even figuring out how to use what she had been given. Because she was going to use it. When she figured it out, and she would, her next would be to make herself a hero. Or maybe a Hero.
Taylor was getting ahead of herself, though. She sat up, crossing her legs Indian style and biting her lip. The Light was part of her. She could feel it, but could not access it. Thus was her dilemma. How did she change that? There was a way to reach inside of herself, take hold of the Light, and shape it. Draw it and mold it and make it a weapon against her enemies.
"What troubles you, Guardian?" Ghost had settled above her headboard, single dot of light looking down on her. She sighed and fell back on her pillows, bouncing as she settled in her bed.
"I'm trying to figure out how to use the Light." Another long breath hissed out through her nose. "Coming up blank, though."
"I wish I could be more helpful." Ghost sounded regretful, voice tinged with something like shame.
She hummed and pursed her lips, shifting them left, then right, and back again. "Maybe I'm over-thinking it." This tended to happen to her. Confronted with a problem, she would assume the solution was more complex than it usually turned out to be. "Maybe I just need to..." An expressive hand was waved. "...do it."
Both she and her Ghost were silent for a long minute. The only noises in the room were the quiet sounds of her mattress settling under her weight, the whir and clunk of her ceiling fan, and the gentle chirping hum of Ghost. Then it was broken. "Guardian? I think I have an idea."
"Shoot."
"You are a Hunter. What I know of Hunters indicate that most of how they utilize Light is channeling it through tools. Blades, guns, bows. Perhaps you could try that?"
Taylor sat up and directed a wry look at her Ghost's warped frame. "You couldn't have mentioned this before?"
Ghost drooped. "Apologies, Guardian. The damage to my systems has limited my processing capabilities, in addition to my other functions. Accessing my records and sorting the relevant data took...longer."
"Oh." Guilt touched her, then. And sorrow. "Ghost, I didn't mean to..." That didn't work. So she tried again. "I wasn't being..." Nope. Why couldn't she just say it?
"Don't worry." Ghost seemed to understand, and the warmth in his synthetic voice reflected it. "I know."
"Still." The sharpness in her chest remained. "It's not right."
"Many things happen that aren't." Ghost bobbed up and down in the air, as if nodding. Then, a series of clicks later, "I don't imagine you have access to a gun or a bow?"
"Not...not really."
"A blade, then?"
Taylor knew it was trying to change the subject. She knew, and she let it. Knowing that her Ghost, and it was hers, was going to die did not sit well with her. But as it stood right now, there was nothing she could do, and obsessing over it would drive her insane. She knew that from experience. So she let the little being chivvy her downstairs to the kitchen and a possible solution to her power problem.
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The knife she settled on was for all intents and purposes a kitchen knife. The sort she'd used to chop vegetables a few dozen times before. The blade was a thin, flexible metal that joined with its black plastic handle after about four inches of naked, slightly dull edge. She turned it over, tapping the flat metal on her palm a few times. It wasn't the most glorious of weaponry. It wasn't even a weapon, really. But...She could feel something in it. Like a burst of inspiration during a project or an especially tricky puzzle. There was something there. All she had to do was reach it.
Her eyes narrowed into a frown, never leaving the knife in her hands as she carried it to the kitchen table, sitting to devote her entire focus to the feeling inside of her. Or was it inside the knife? Both? She blinked, and shook her head. Chasing those thoughts would lead her in a circle for the rest of the day. Sure, it'd feel like progress, but she wouldn't actually get anywhere. Taylor hummed, once, and softly to herself. On a whim – or some instinct she wasn't sure of – she flipped the knife in her hand so the blade protruded from the bottom of her fist.
There! That felt...that felt good. That felt right. She was aware, in a distant corner of her mind, that her Ghost was hovering in utter silence across the table from her. But she was so consumed by her efforts she barely noticed him. A deep breath entered and exited her body, and for a moment she went still. In that moment, she finally bridged the gap between her and the Light that coursed through her. Sensation rushed through her, vast and bright and so very strong.
That's when it happened. Crackling blue energy formed around the knife, stretching its edge and width until it was more than half a foot long. The tip punched through the tile-and-wood table with the same ease and attention a propeller cut water or air. A pitched buzz vibrated in the air, and the smell of asphalt just after rain followed. She moved it through the air, hand twisting and bending at the wrist to change the timbre of the buzz as the knife move through the air.
Her heart pounded, elated, in her chest. She'd done it! She'd fucking done it! A wide, prideful grin did more to illuminate her face than the blue glow from her blade. Across from Ghost appeared as transfixed by her triumph as she was. The protrusions on either side of its center light flexed. A smile? She couldn't tell, and with the rush of Light pounding through her veins, it was hard to focus on anything else.
"Well done, Guardian." Ghost's voice carried the proud smile it hadn't been able to show her a moment ago. It was a smile she returned, albeit with a more ferocious edge. With this in her hands, Taylor felt powerful. She had agency, now. She could do something for the first time in what felt like forever. Right? Before she could delve too deeply into possibility, there was a sound at the door that sent a bolt of pure terror to her heart.
It was the sound of a key turning in a lock, failing to because the door was already unlocked, and the doorknob starting to turn. It was a sound that meant her dad was home, and she was sitting at the kitchen table with a blade shaped and charged by lightning itself.
Luckily, the first problem solved the second. The shock of realizing her dad was home early had distracted her enough that the blade winked out, leaving the kitchen seeming darker than it had before just as the front door swung wide and in stepped the man himself.
"Taylor?" he blinked in surprise. "What are you doing here?" His nose wrinkled. "And why does it smell like ozone?"
She put the knife down flat as quietly and quickly as she could. "I live here, remember?" Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth right now, such was the innocence of her expression. "And I have no idea what you're talking about."
It was with a doubting, reproachful look that her dad reminded her that it was he who she'd refined her lying face on as a kid. "Very funny." he stepped inside and let the door swing shut behind him. By rote he reached behind him to turn the deadbolt, something she'd forgotten to do in her rush to get inside and warm. A moment of silence passed as father looked at daughter, and daughter looked right back. Ghost, perhaps wisely, was nowhere to be found. "So." He sat down across from her. "Do you have any idea why Winslow called me about the fact that you up and disappeared in the middle of the day?"
Taylor sighed. "I think I might."
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She knew, for her entire life, that her father had inherited her grandfather's temper. So had she, for that matter. It seemed to be a Hebert trait. Inside their tall, skinny frames was an explosive anger that was quick to ignite and quick to burn away. Rather like an explosion, however, while it lasted her dad's temper was loud and frightening. There were some who might have thought, especially given the events of the past years, that she was afraid he would have turned that temper onto her. This was untrue. Taylor had never been afraid of her dad. For him, certainly. But of him? Never. Then again, she'd never seen him quite this angry before.
He was still. Utterly, near inhumanly still. His eyes behind his glasses were wide, pupils dilated. On the table before him his fists were clenched and trembling. Long, slow deep breaths moved through him. "Emma's the ringleader, you said?" His voice was quiet, and far too level. She nodded. So did he. "I see. I think I need to make a phone call. It's been a long time since I really talked to Alan."
Concern coiled hot in her gut. "Dad, don't...don't do anything, you know..."
"I won't." It was a promise delivered as he was standing, moving toward the kitchen phone. Despite the fact she received it when he wasn't looking at her, she grabbed onto it with both hands and believed. She could hear him punching in the numbers on the handset with more force than it warranted. He remained, standing tall and still, while it rang in his ear. "Alan? It's Danny. We need to talk. Now." His flickered over to where she still sat, and he moved into his office, shutting the door behind him with a click.
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. It gusted out through her nose in a long sigh. That had been...intense. She hadn't seen anything like that before. Not from her, from her mom, her friends, or anyone. What she had just borne witness to was a level of anger that she suspected most people never reached in their lives. From above her shoulder came the sound of her Ghost coming back into visibility. "Guardian?"
"Yeah, Ghost?"
"Remind me never to make him angry at me. Or you, I guess."
"Yeah, Ghost."
Now that she'd ridden herself of the, until recently, biggest secret she'd ever kept from her dad, she felt...lighter. Cleaner. Like she'd shed a burden that was just heavy enough to be carried alone but never intended to. It had been a shackle, this secret, chaining her to the people acting against her.
Now she was free. She liked that. She liked that very much. Loose in the limb from a sense of relief and release, Taylor went to flop on the living room couch and find something mindless on TV to watch. After the exultation in working out how to use her power, or at least a facet of it, and finally telling her dad, she just wanted to sit and zone out of the world for a little while. She'd earned that today, she felt.
Forgotten by both the elder Hebert and the younger one, the kitchen knife lay flat on the dining room table. It had been...changed. The blade had narrowed, tapering and refining its edge. The handle had shrunk and deformed around where Taylor had been holding it, especially where her index and ring fingers had curled around. The human inhabitants of the house may have missed it, but the single inhuman one did not. Ghost clicked and hummed to itself as it bobbed gently over the blade.
"Now that is interesting."
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I copied this straight from Ao3