Guardian
a Worm/Destiny Crossover
Chapter 56: Fin
The Ellisburg Memorial Park covered the entirety of what was once a blasted land with green. Not the bright, witchlight-green of the Hive, but the duller, more natural tones of grasses and leaves. Hills gently rolled throughout, and a cold, placid lake made for a glittering centerpiece in the pale winter sun. Of the tunnels and catacombs beneath, home to horrors from beyond or between the stars, there was nothing. Filled in as if they had never existed. Gully, a parahuman from San Diego, had headed a crew of fellow earthmovers to make that possible.
The surface had been Panacea's doing. New Wave's – and indeed the world's – premier healer had been brought in during the final moments of that final battle to do what she could for the wounded and the dying. Many who would have been otherwise crippled owed her their mobility, and many who would have died lived because of her. It was a delirious soldier, dying from sepsis on a cot, who would give her the name she would be known by from then on. As she knelt at his side and placed her hands on his chest, he blinked up at her with glassy eyes and breathed out, "Angel..."
Though she expressed – repeatedly – that she didn't like the nickname, that Panacea was enough of an ambition, those she saved cheerfully ignored her. Thus, the legend of the Angel of Ellisburg would haunt her for many, many years.
Though as her adopted sister would note in a documentary a decade or so later; "If she hated the name so much, why did she turn around and pretty much prove them right?"
Whatever it was that prompted Panacea – Amy. No matter what she was called in uniform, she was always Amy – to reveal the true scope of her power remained unknown. Perhaps she did it to spite her adopted mother, with whom she'd never truly gotten along. Or perhaps it was the fruit of a discussion with her sister, whose word she valued highest. Perhaps it was a quiet talk with Guardian, who she found grieving the lost in the arms of a girl with platinum-blonde hair and sharp, green eyes. Perhaps it was the result of a long struggle with some dark persuasion in the depths of her, finally won.
Whatever the reason, the park existed; its grasses and trees forever green. The lake stayed cold and blue and pure. The air was sweet and clear to breathe. People with asthma or other, similar issues would often spend hours there, solely to enjoy breathing easily.Amy may have feared her potential for darkness, but one needed only look at what she left behind her to see how little she had to fear.
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In the center of the park was a statue, depicting two figures. The first, a soldier in full kit kneeling with rifle at the ready. The second, a parahuman in full costume, standing at the soldier's back with hands raised. The faces of both were given enough definition to show their humanity, but left otherwise indistinct. A plinth lifted these figures some five feet off the ground. The front of the plinth bore a legend:
THEY GAVE THEIR LIVES, THAT WE MAY LIVE IN PEACE
The statue had many visitors, to say the least. Each gave respect to the fallen in their own way. Some left flowers. Others, letters tucked into places they might be spared the worst of the rain. Some left candles, ringing the memorial in a warm glow on a dark night. There were those who brought prayer, those who brought tears, and those who brought silence.
One day, a month or two after the park opened, the memorial received three visitors. A tall, dark-haired man, thin and bespectacled. He left flowers at the foot of the plinth before kneeling in front of the carved names of the fallen, searching for one and finding it. He touched his fingers to it and bowed his head, whispering, "Thank you," before rising and stepping back.
The next was a young woman, who looked to be a direct relation of the man. She shared his height, hair color, and build. When she moved towards the memorial, she did so with incredible grace and not a single sound. She too brought flowers, and she too sought out the same name the man had, kneeling before it. She kissed the tips of her fingers and touched the name, tears welling in her eyes. Quietly, she said, "She saved me."
The third stood behind her, hands tucked deep in the pockets of a pea coat. She was short, and slender. Her white-blonde hair caught the winter's pale sunlight and glowed, her green eyes filled with sympathy and love. She knelt by the side of the other girl and wrapped her in a hug. "She did," came the agreement. "I'm sorry she's gone,"
"So am I."
Just as quietly, with a flicker of hesistation, the blonde girl asked, "Do you want a minute?"
The other girl sniffled and ran the back of her beneath her eyes before shaking her head. "No," she stood. "I'm...I'm okay."
The two walked back to the tall man, who wrapped them both in his long arms for a long, quiet minute before they left the park.
The name?
Karen Wilson, aka Spike.
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There were, Danny admitted, upsides to having a daughter that was a dyed-in-the-wool superhero. Every father believed their little girl was strong enough, brave enough, and smart enough to deal with any idiot that got handsy uninvited, but it was another thing entirely to know it. He'd seen his little girl go toe-to-toe with supervillians on live TV. A horny teenage boy was a joke by comparison. That was the upside.
The downside? He'd seen his little girl go toe-to-toe with a supervillian on live TV.
There wasn't enough therapy in the world to handle that kind of stress.
Another upside: her friends. He hadn't been in the best of states after Annette's death, and missed a lot of Taylor's slide into isolation and depression, but he hadn't missed her lack of friends. This new group, though, they were a near-permanent fixture at his house now. At least one was crashing on their living-room couch on any given weeknight. Sabah, with her commendable excess of personality. Lily, quiet and thoughtful with a dry wit and clear, reciprocated adoration of Sabah. Prudence – Roo – who had once turned the coffee table into the location of a three-days long effort to build a better mousetrap.
The downside? Lisa. He liked the girl well enough, and it was obvious to anyone with eyes that she was head-over-heels for his little girl. But. She clearly had more...intimate...designs on Taylor, and that was something he was not and would never be ready for. He'd grit his teeth and try to forget that, though, because it was incredibly clear that she made Taylor happier than he'd seen in years.
He'd put up with a lot worse than knowing that his daughter was – ugh – kissing someone to see her laugh like that. Probably. If there was such a thing worse than that.
He doubted it.
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"Remind me why I'm here again?"
"The Mayor wants to honor all the local parahumans who contributed to the Ellisburg thing."
"...but why am I here?"
"Beca – baby, you were there."
"I'm not a parahuman, though. I'm a Guardian. There's a difference."
"One I'm certain someone will be interested in someday."
"I hate you. This is just an excuse to get me in a slinky dress, isn't it?"
"Like you haven't been looking at my ass whenever you think I wasn't paying attention."
"Have you seen your ass?"
"Fair point."
"...and I would like to welcome to the stage now; the one who personally brought Nilbog's reign of terror to an end. You know her, you love her... our very own...Guardian!"
"...I hate you, Lisa. Take pictures, or Dad'll kill me."
"Will do!"
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Yan fled across the city, and the Guardian followed.
She'd fucking – she'd told Donny to shut that trafficking shit down before all that shit with Nilbog blew over! Did he listen? No. Because she was new, and a girl, and unproven or something. Like, so what she didn't blow the Oni every time he showed up or didn't know the history of everything Lung did since he got to this shithole city? Not a hard question, by the way. Set a bunch of shit on fire was the answer more than it wasn't. She was new to the gang, she wasn't an idiot.
Not like Donny. Which was why his ass was grass, and hers was in the wind. Bad luck had her in the stash house the Guardian hit, but good luck and some damn fine thinking had her out like greased fucking lightning. She'd sprinted out, making fucking tracks towards anywhere that wasn't there. Starting to look like she made it, too.
Which proved the point, really. The only thing worse than pissing off Lung was pissing off the Guardian. Lung would just roast you. Boom, done. Maybe you'd live, maybe not. Sucked dick, but that was life with a dragon for a boss.
The Guardian, though? Bitch was methodical. Stone fucking cold in a way Yan would approve of if it weren't pointed right at her fine, Asian ass. The Guardian wouldn't kill you. She'd just follow you, use you to take everything you had, grind your dumb ass into the ground for thinking you...
got...
away...
Yan slowed to a stop, breathing hard. It was the only sound she heard, this far into the Docks. Didn't stop her from feeling like someone just took a shit on her grave. Like, all the little hairs on the back of her neck were standing straight fucking up. She wondered, as she turned around, if this was what a gazelle felt like when a lion was looking to fuck its shit up.
God. Fucking. Dammit, Donny!
Because there she fucking was. The Guardian. Five-ten of muscle, sex, and fuck you. Bitch had a sword. An actual fucking sword. Yan'd laugh, but she'd seen the bitch use it to cut bullets out of the air, so yeah. No fucking laughing here, no sir. She put up her hands instead. "I ain't fighting you." She said.
Yan was new. She wasn't stupid. No way could she take the Guardian. No way.
The Guardian didn't say nothing, just kinda tilted her head a little bit to the side. Which wasn't exactly helpful. Like, what the fuck was Yan supposed to do with that? Tilt her head back?
Well, actually...
Nah. Bad idea.
After a second, the Guardian lifted her sword and pointed it right at her tit. Like, right at it. Yan kinda wanted to pee herself. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" she shouted, leaning way the fuck back. That thing was a lot bigger than it looked. "I said I ain't fighting you!"
The Guardian rolled her eyes and twitched the sword down a few times. Oh. Right. Yan got on the ground. Stayed there 'til the cops came and got her. Sometime between getting on the ground and getting arrested, the Guardian vanished. Yan didn't move a fucking inch. No way was that bitch gone. No way.
She was in prison, like two months into her eight month sentence, when she got the news the whole gang had been busted. Shit was on the news. She and a bunch of other prisoners saw Lung go down. It was like fucking ballet or something, watching him and the Guardian and Armsmaster throw down. Guy's beard was gay as fuck, but damn if he couldn't throw down.
"You think we should go back when we get out?" Donny asked her, because he was a fucking idiot. So she popped him on the shoulder.
"Fuck no. I get out, I'm done. Gonna get a degree and be a vet or some shit."
Donny rubbed his shoulder. "A vet?"
"Yeah. Fuckin' love animals. Plus, ain't no Guardians in vet school."
"I hear that."
"Damn right you do. Dumbass."
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"...Hello? This thing on? Anybody hear me? Hellooooo? Whatever, I'm going to keep going. Ahem. In my official capacity as – you know what? That's boring. We're going off script. Hi. It's me. Your new friend. We come in peace for all mankind. Mankind, and some other kinds. Exo-kind? Awoken-kind? Sounds kinda awkward. Eh, I'll work on it.
Anyway, we're here to help. We brought a bunch of shiny new toys for everyone to share, and a bunch of food because, who doesn't like snacks, and – ow, Zavala, you don't have to pinch that hard! I'm sensitive!"
"I...apologize for the conduct of my colleague. He is an...acquired taste. My name is Zavala. I am the Commander of the Vanguard. The vessels you are picking up on the far side of the moon are ours. We mean you no harm. We have come to help, in any way we can. It was only recently that our Warlocks pierced the Veil that blocked off these...alternate Earths...from us. We understand that many of your worlds are struggling against a vast darkness. You are not alone in that struggle anymore. Rest assured, my friends, that we bring you Light."
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