#IGNORE TEH DIALOGUE. I KNOW ITS AWFUL

[pupyr0arz]

eidolon deserves a time travel fixit.

—

Manton stumbles, eyes widening at the sight of him before he tumbles through the bleeding gash Eidolon tore into reality. The Siberian drops all pretense of attacking him, kicking off the wall and sailing through the hole, arms outstretched in an attempt to save it’s master. He shuts the hole with a wave of his arm, seam melding together tightly with little more than a mental note of what Earth to feel for when he isn’t so tempted to just tear off Manton’s head and be done with it.

Eidolon feels the urge to kill him in his bones, the alarms blaring in his head that he shouldn’t allow such an obvious threat to continue breathing just for a hypothetical. He clamps down on the danger sense and discards it, taking a breath. A stronger version than the one he found himself using, more specific and informative, but the emotional bleed through seemed a higher price than a thinker headache.

Teleportation, flight, transport, offerings are laid down and he pauses, dropping the powers he has at hand to appreciate the spread. It’s been a long time since he’s had movement so free, he cycles through what feels like a hundred types of flight. Eidolon had almost forgotten his capacity, and this still wasn’t at his absolute peak.

He wrenches his attention away, grasping at a teleportation power. Now of all times is not the time to get caught up with his abilities. There are more important problems at hand.

—

He takes two steps, then three, then his arms are around Hero, around Clark and how many years has it been since that name has been attached to the right face? He squeezes him tightly, checking twice, thrice, four times with the extended awareness a thinker powers give him that his heartbeat is in a normal range—that it exists at all— and that none of his slots have a brute power. The idea of accidentally crushing Clark’s spine after so long makes him laugh involuntarily, a breathless sound.

“Hey, big guy?” Clark asks, hands coming up and patting Eidolon’s back awkwardly. He feels hysterical. “What’s the occasion?”

“What the hell was all of that?” Alexandria demands brusquely, Legend standing besides her with a concerned and confused expression on his face. He feels nothing but fondness, back when Alexandria would drop most pretenses around them and sparked with temper.

He lets go of Clark, the contact leaving a tingling feeling. Anxiety still pumps in his veins, he’s had this dream too many times to believe it wholesale. Clark adjusts his visor and pats his arm and Eidolon doesn’t look over at Legend or Alexandria, cycling his powers as he asks what comes next. How does he die today?

—

“Beyond your abilities.” Eidolon says, gesturing to Contessa. She doesn’t respond, doesn’t purse a lip or even wrinkle a brow. Suddenly he misses her older self with a sharp pang of pain. The vulnerabilities she allowed him to see, had built a human there that hadn’t existed prior, even fourteen years into working together.

Not that he could really call what they were doing working together—these years had, with the wisdom of his hindsight, felt aimless. Unaware of Cauldron’s true cause, scrabbling around in the world building fairy tales and reputation to be put to no ends of worth. He had been an idiot.

The Doctor’s hand clenched around her pen. “Do you suppose he has any blind spots?” She asks probingly.

“Not myself.” He says. “Perhaps the Endbringers, but I hold my doubts. He was capable of their destruction either way.”

“You report he was defeated. How?” It feels more like an interview than one of their talks, her on the back step. Eidolon swallows and let’s himself mull on his memories a moment longer, like he could make more sense of them if he were only pressed harder.

“I’m not sure.” He admits, nails biting into his palms. “I…”

“How are you not sure?” The Doctor asks sharply, eyes darting upwards as the neutral facade fades away. “Were you not present?”

“I was under a master effect.” It’s not a total lie. He can’t fully trust her, Eidolon knows this, the consequences of associating himself with this organization. But he has other concerns and he doesn’t need or want to have to police an overzealous Cauldron and the Triumvirate. And Clark. Eidolon lifts his head, schooling his expression as the Doctor considers a master who would control him. He’ll have to take the reins in this relationship, even if he doesn’t want to.

“It altered my perception. My memory of the fight from that point onwards was hazy, but there was a definite end and my controller was still alive.”

—

“Eidolon, we’ve been looking for you. Why’d you just run off?” Legend asks, settling down next to him. Eidolon doesn’t turn from the dummy, keeping his gaze on the steel walls of the training room. He feels bile rise in his throat at the sight of Legend, unmarred, unsoiled by his future sins. Five minutes ago, Eidolon had been advocating for horrors none of them would’ve considered, and now he stands here, supposed to be their fresh faced equal.

Legend looks concerned in his reflection played over the metal walls. It’s different, purer than any way Legend looked at him after he and Alexandria had been outed. There’s no distrust, or even resentment. Just Legend, a comrade and trusted ally of his.

“I discovered the identity of the villain,” Eidolon lies smoothly. “I had promised to report on it immediately to the Doctor.”

Legend frowns, squinting. It’s a trait he cut back on once the Protectorate proper had truly hit its stride, citing it being an unattractive quirk. Eidolon turns his head to face him. “Who was it?”

“Doctor Manton.” Eidolon says shortly. “It seems our Doctor has had some hiring issues.”

“Manton? As in, Doctor Manton? Our Doc—“

“Yes,” Eidolon says, harsher than he should. He doesn’t want to think about Manton while he worked with them, as the kinder and personable scientists who took readings and asked to be brought up on flights to see the horizon line. It’s not a Manton Eidolon has deigned to acknowledge existed for years now, the name dominated by the bloody streak he cut through his life and through the country. “He stole from the Doctor and attempted to kill us. That’s the entire situation.”