CHAPTER ONE
Rush Hour

WARNING: This chapter contains brief suicidal ideation. Please read with caution.

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THIS WAS THE THIRD time in two weeks Cecelia would be late for therapy, but today, it wasn't her fault. Instead, it was as if the universe itself had decided to do the best it could to prevent her from reaching Dr. Patel's office by five o'clock. First, a malfunction in her apartment complex's elevator had forced her to take the stairs instead, wasting two precious minutes. Then a parade commemorating the Avengers had taken over the street, forcing Cecelia to nudge, elbow, and sometimes downright shove her way through the crowd. Not only did this blow five more minutes, but it also nearly made her burst into tears. Who knew that a bobble-headed Iron Man inflatable could dredge up such a visceral reaction?

When Cecelia finally reached the subway station—her only way to therapy on Tuesdays, when both of her parents were at work—a bright red announcement on the ever-scrolling screens let her know that there were several delays. She ended up having to wait an extra fifteen minutes for the subway to arrive, and by the time she squeezed herself into the packed car, she was ready to throw something.

Her appointment was just about to start, and Cecelia wouldn't even be off the subway for another ten minutes. She was already imagining Dr. Patel's impatience, the sigh that would leave her teeth in a hiss. She'd assume that Cecelia had been across New York again. That it'd been yet another Bad Day.

On Bad Days—worse than mere bad days, about as horrible as they could get—Cecelia went to the cemetery on the other side of the city. That was where Mr. Stark's grave (well, it was actually more of a commemorative statue) was. Though the area was often fit to bursting with tourists and other mourning fans, it still had a way of swallowing the hours whole. On these days, Cecelia would forget all about her appointments until her phone was chiming with a twenty-minute warning.

But today hadn't been a Bad Day. She'd gotten an A+ on her physics quiz—the last one of the year—Brad had only cornered her once, and the dumplings Christine had packed for lunch had been amazing. At home, she'd finished her homework early, challenged Alex to a few rounds of Mario Kart (his Shy Guy beat her Isabelle, but only barely) and put Cora down for a nap.

Of course, the well of grief that had taken up permanent residence in her stomach beckoned her into its depths, but Cecelia hadn't been consumed today. And, really, that was something that should be celebrated.

In fact, she'd been so proud of her progress today that she'd actually left for therapy a few minutes late, knowing that it never took her as long to get there as she thought it did.

Which was definitely biting her in the ass now.

The subway jolted, and Cecelia nearly lost hold of the pole. Her sweaty hands slipped on the filthy metal, and she tightened her grip, determined not to be that idiot who turned her fellow passengers into bowling pins. Even so, a white man in a tweed jacket and black slacks narrowed her eyes at her. Cecelia couldn't tell if it was because he thought she was a tourist—which would be fair, given that they were always the first to be knocked off their feet—or because he hated that a Native American was simply existing in a public space. Cecelia flipped off the inner linings of her jacket just in case.

She wished Alex was here. He'd started therapy after he'd come back—in fact, more people than ever were in counselling now, which had led to a national shortage—but he didn't see Dr. Patel. His counsellor was a non-binary person named Dr. Henley who specialized in trans kids. Additionally, his appointments were on Mondays and Fridays instead of Tuesdays and Thursdays, as the latter clashed with chess club.

Even so, Cecelia still would've felt better with her brother by her side. He'd been one of her best friends ever since she'd been adopted into the Olivier family, and, in general, he just made everything so much more fun. If he'd been with her in this cramped, stinky subway car, he would've started up an endless chatter that would distract her from the tension knotting itself in her chest.

Back when she'd first crawled her way out of the grave, she would've felt like an asshole for being glad he'd disappeared, too. But the truth was, she didn't think she would've been able to stand a world where her brother was five years older than her. He'd have been off to college, and Cecelia would still be here, seventeen years old (her birthday had been a few weeks ago) and alone. There was no way in hell she would've been able to cope with that.

The automated voice overhead announced that the next stop was Cecelia's, and her shoulders shrank in relief. She'd still have to walk ten minutes to reach the therapist's office, but at least she'd be out of this subway car. All of her muscles were tensed, desperately resisting the urge to turn intangible. Unfortunately, while slipping through the crowd would be a relief, it would clue everyone around her in on her identity faster than she could say Phantom.

When the subway slid to a stop, Cecelia shouldered her way out of the car. She climbed the steps two at a time, emerging into the warm, late-afternoon air. It was the end of June—just a week left of school, now—and the brisk spring (which had been a lot colder than usual, apparently affected by the sudden reappearance of half the world's population) had finally ebbed into summer. A season of freedom.

She made her way through the busy streets, pausing only to hand bundles of clean socks and wads of cash to the homeless people she passed. Like everyone and everything else, they'd been badly impacted by the Blip. In fact, their numbers had nearly doubled. A lot of people had returned only to find strangers living in the places they called home. Unfortunately, though they'd never technically moved out, being dead for five years apparently gave landlords the right to put their houses up for sale.

The Blip Shelters that had cropped up around the city helped, but only a little. Though the government provided funding, the fact remained that the shelters were far too overcrowded and couldn't help everyone. Eventually, most residents there were just expected to get back on their feet. As if it was that easy.

If Richard had been here, he would have sneered that they should just get up and find a job. And Cecelia would've been unable to do anything but shoot them pitying looks with his hands on her arm.

Jokes on him, though. Now that he was in prison, Cecelia could help everyone she wanted.

Eventually, she reached her destination. After checking the time on her phone—yep, she was almost twenty minutes late to her appointment—she pushed her way through the front doors. A bell announced her arrival, causing the receptionist—Eileen Johnson, a thirty-something woman whose easygoing nature belied her business exterior—to look up from her laptop. When she saw that it was Cecelia who had come in, she shook her head.

"You're late. Again."

Cecelia didn't really want to launch into a whole, long-winded explanation of why this was the case, so she just said, "Sorry."

Eileen typed a few commands into her laptop, signing Cecelia in. While this occurred, Cecelia wandered over to the snack table and took a packet of fruit gummies and a brownie Bear Paw. A few feet away, Finding Nemo played quietly on the mounted TV. A girl Cecelia's age sat on one of the plush sofas, flipping through a pamphlet on OCD. A therapy dog snoozed at her feet.

"All right." Eileen ceased her typing. "You're good to head on in. I've informed Dr. Patel of your arrival."

"Thanks." Cecelia nodded at her. Then, tearing open her fruit gummies, she made her way down the hall.

When she entered the office, she found Dr. Patel sipping from a foam cup of water. When she noticed Cecelia, though, she set it down on the wooden table in front of her.

"Cecelia! I was beginning to think you'd never show up."

Cecelia popped an orange gummy into her mouth. "Nah. I wouldn't leave you hanging like that."

"Well, I guess you're better than my ex, then. Sit down."

Cecelia sat, but not before taking a fidget cube from the bin by the entrance. Pressing her thumb down on its fattest button, she said, "I'm sorry I was late. It wasn't actually my fault this time. The elevator broke down at my apartment, then there was this—this parade that I had to push through, and then the subway was delayed. I wasn't at the—I didn't go to the cemetery today, I promise."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that. So, today wasn't a Bad Day?"

"No. It was just—normal. I mean, the parade did fuck me up for a second, because it was for the—for the Avengers, but I pushed past it. I just focused on getting here, and... I don't know. I got through it. But other than that, nothing happened."

"That's very good to hear, Cecelia. It sounds to me like you're employing the strategies we've discussed."

Cecelia shrugged. "I guess."

"Well, then, how was your weekend? Did you do any patrolling?"

If anyone else had asked her that, Cecelia would have flinched. But Dr. Patel had known Cecelia's true identity from the beginning and had followed her journey from vigilante to a sort-of Avenger. Cecelia couldn't tell if she approved of the idea of a sixteen-year-old going toe-to-toe with criminals, but she didn't let her own bias get in the way. Thankfully. Cecelia had already dealt with an earful from Peter's aunt when she'd found out.

"Yeah. A bit. Stopped a few muggings and cat burglars. There was also some fuckface cat-calling girls that I gave a stern talking to."

Of course, by 'stern talking to', Cecelia really meant 'delivered a kick to the crotch'. Peter had remarked later that the man would probably never be able to have kids. Cecelia didn't think it'd been that bad, but honestly, he kind of deserved it.

"And how was patrol?" Dr. Patel asked.

"Better. A lot better. I told you that Howl's finally finished, right? He's so helpful. I mean, now I don't have to share Karen with Peter anymore. I can actually scan for enemies on my own! Plus, I programmed him to say 'that's my girl' whenever I knock someone out, and it's honestly the best decision I've ever made."

Right after Mr. Stark died, Cecelia had struggled to go back on patrol. Just the thought of slipping into the suit he'd made for had been a probe to the gaping wound of her grief. She'd avoided it for a month, just like she avoided most things—school, socializing, sleep. But after her parents forced her to go back to therapy and Peter began to swing back to provide comfort, Cecelia had finally become Phantom again.

Even so, it was still hard.

Half a year had passed since then. Cecelia had completed the AI she'd been meaning to work on pre-Thanos. Affectionately named Howl after the Studio Ghibli character, he alerted her to possible threats nearby in Christian Bale's sultry voice. He was probably a little more rudimentary than Karen—after all, she'd been designed by Mr. Stark himself—but he was perfect for what Cecelia needed to achieve.

"And how is Peter?" Dr. Patel asked.

Cecelia twisted the fidget cube, temporarily disassembling it. It reminded her of a good piece of tech coming apart at her fingers, only to turn into something better. "He's... fine. Doing about as well as me. Though he's still refusing to go to therapy."

"Yes. You have told me that." Dr. Patel picked up her water cup again. "But that wasn't what I was asking. You told me last session that your relationship with him had gotten... strange. I was wondering if you wanted to elaborate on that today?"

Heat crawled up the back of Cecelia's neck. She rubbed the afflicted skin, giving herself a moment before speaking.

"It's not like anything bad has happened," she said. "We're still as tight as we've been since the Vulture. It's just—I don't know. I don't know how to explain it."

The emotions tangled inside her during the last few months were impossible to put into words. But ever since Thanos, something had... changed. Not their relationship—in fact, those bonds had only solidified. Just... the way Cecelia felt around him.

Sometimes he'd laugh, open-mouthed, head tipped back, and Cecelia would lose her breath for a moment. Sometimes the setting sun would catch on his curls, alighting them in gold, and Cecelia's stomach would tie itself in knots. Sometimes he'd sling his arm around her neck, friendly as ever, and Cecelia's skin would spark up.

It didn't make any sense, and Cecelia hated it. Peter was... he was Peter. One of her best friends, now. Her partner in crime (or rather, her partner in stopping it). He'd fought her, rescued her, gone to space with her, and died with her. He was perhaps her closest confidant now. And Cecelia didn't want to let go of any of that.

So why, why, why, was her body determined to do exactly that?

Dr. Patel swallowed another sip of water. "I'm going to need a little more than that, Cecelia."

The fidget cube nearly slipped out of Cecelia's hands. "I just—I just feel weird. Around him. That's it."

"Uh-huh. And is this a good weird or a bad weird?"

"Neither. I don't think. It's not like I feel like he's going to stab me in my sleep or something. But it's making it hard to be around him, too." Cecelia resumed her fiddling. "So, yeah. Um, can we talk about something else? I'm not going to, like, abandon him, or anything. It's fine. I'll just keep doing what I'm doing. Maybe it'll go away."

Dr. Patel pursed her lips, almost as if she was suppressing a smile. "Well, okay. I do have a few ideas of what you might be feeling, but if you really want to change the subject, we will. How is school going? I know you're almost finished the semester. How have you been managing the anxiety of finals?"

"Um." Cecelia thought back to the frantic all-nighters she'd been pulling, the near-daily consumption of Xanax, and the constriction in her chest that was only alleviated during patrols. "Not well?"

Dr. Patel leaned forward, balancing her knees on her elbows. "Now, I don't like hearing that. Why don't you explain it more?"

Cecelia gladly fell into an account of the growing stress she'd been facing as summer break grew closer. Not that it was something she really wanted to talk about—even just thinking about it brought that familiar flare to her chest. But at least she wasn't talking about Peter.

And at least she wasn't talking about Mr. Stark.

EVEN EIGHT MONTHS later, Cecelia still got that familiar jolt in her stomach when she opened her phone and saw the year 2024 staring back at her. It seemed like a futuristic date, the title of some old dystopian novel. Before Thanos, Cecelia had thought of the year 2024 only in fantasies of earning a degree in mechanical engineering. She'd be twenty-three in 2024, a full adult, old enough both to vote and drink. Perhaps she'd be working at Stark Industries—after all, she'd spent enough time there already. Maybe she would've even gotten into a relationship.

She'd certainly never expected to still be in high school in 2024. Still a kid, really (she used to deny it every time Mr. Stark called her the term, but she was realizing how true it was, now). Nowhere near the career she'd wanted ever since she'd discovered her affinity with robotics.

Of course, she knew she wasn't alone in this. Half of the world's population had gone through the exact same thing when they'd woken up and realized that they'd lost five years. Younger siblings suddenly were older, partners who'd previously been committed had found other people, and work positions that had been filled for years had been taken by strangers. Even now, Cecelia often heard strangers on the street crying about a grandmother who'd died while they were gone or beloved pets that had been adopted by someone else.

But that was the rational part of her. The other, overwhelming piece of brain screamed that she was alone, that she'd been frozen in time while everyone moved on, that she was never going to be able to catch up to what she'd missed.

And this could not be demonstrated more perfectly than in the case of Jules and Cora.

Cecelia had known Jules since she'd come to live with the Olivier family. Back then, he'd been a cute, chubby-cheeked three-year-old whose cherub face masked pure mischief. A Harry Houdini in miniature, he had a tendency for making great escapes—from his crib at night, his highchair at dinner, his stroller in the middle of a packed park. Poor Mom and Dad were constantly running around trying to find him, only for him to come crawling back ten minutes later. He also was probably the grossest kid Cecelia had ever met, with a complete and utter hatred for baths (and water in general, for that matter). Even so, as she settled into life with the Oliviers and started to realize this might end up being her permanent home, she grew to love him.

Years passed, and Jules was four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. An energetic, Cars-obsessed child who discovered a passion for video games. Not the toddler he'd been, but still a child, still her baby brother.

Then, literally overnight, that had changed. In a blink of an eye, Jules morphed into a teenager only two years younger than Cecelia herself, with neon braces, blue-framed glasses, and hair longer than it'd ever been before. And sure, it had been the most startling the first time she'd seen him, but that didn't mean Cecelia had ever really gotten used to who Jules had become. Especially when it seemed like he was the only one who'd actually changed.

It hurt, sometimes. Sometimes Cecelia just wanted her real brother back, the brother she knew and loved. And then she felt like an asshole, because Jules-the-teenager was her real brother, and shouldn't she love him for who he was? But she just couldn't help it.

Tonight was a family movie night, a certified Olivier tradition. After some considerable debate—especially between Eva and Jules; that, at least, hadn't changed—Mom had put on Kubo and the Two Strings. Nobody but Alex had seen it, and his constant assertions that it was a cinematic masterpiece had eventually piqued their curiosity enough to choose it. And indeed, the wonderful Claymation and intriguing plot were enough to captivate everyone's attention for the entirety of the two-hour runtime. Even Eva (who'd voted for Mean Girls) was on the edge of her seat.

Originally, Cecelia hadn't wanted to come—she'd been doing Spanish homework since she'd gotten back from therapy, but could really use more time—but Dad had insisted that it was good to take a break. And Cecelia hadn't even realized how much she'd needed it until she was away from the blurry characters she was still struggling to decipher.

Jules was sandwiched between Cecelia and Eva, King on his lap. Occasionally he shot an envious look at the popcorn bowl in Eva's lap—his braces wouldn't come off for another month, and until then, he was strictly forbidden from consuming anything that could get stuck in his brackets—but Kubo's search of the Breastplate Impenetrable seemed interesting enough for him.

It was supposed to be a decent day today, but for some reason, Cecelia's stomach began to sink at the sharpness of Jules's jaw and the maturity in his eyes. Yet again, she found herself missing someone that wasn't even gone.

You're being stupid, she told herself, returning her attention to the movie. It's been eight goddamn months. Jules hasn't been a kid for a while now, and you need to get over it. Stop trying to get the nine-year-old back.

This sentiment worked for a little while. On-screen, Kubo was entranced by the Garden of Eyes, and it was up to Beetle to save him. Cecelia privately thought that if she'd been in the same situation, she wouldn't have even given those eyes a chance to get to her, but she supposed fictional children didn't always make the best choices. Even if they were Enhanced (magical origami counted!).

Kubo was just realizing that Monkey was his mother all along (which, holy shit, Cecelia hadn't expected that) when a tinny wail cut through the room. It was so loud that Kubo's words were drowned out, and Cecelia shrank back in her seat, disappointed. Things were really getting good.

Mom paused the movie, glancing with pursed lips toward the baby monitor on the side table. Cora was awake. They'd only put her to bed two hours ago, but it seemed that was all the sleep she wanted to get. The baby was more of an insomniac than Cecelia.

"I'll get her." Dad unfolded himself out of his La-Z-Boy, grimacing when his knees and back popped. "Keep playing the movie, all right?"

"No!" Alex, who'd been grinning at everyone's reactions throughout the entirety of the movie, sat up from his position on the floor. "You're not gonna want to miss the next scene, Dad."

"Can we take a break?" Eva asked, scooping a fistful of popcorn from the bowl. Her hair was twisted into two braids on each side of her head, and she was wearing her favourite pair of blue-and-white pajamas. This, paired with the lack of makeup on her face, made her look even younger than fourteen. "Like, an intermission? I need to text Claire. I think she's finally going to ask Hunter out."

Claire was Eva's new best friend. For most of her life, Eva had been friends with Tara, but Tara had ended up surviving Thanos's twisted Russian Roulette. With Tara about to graduate high school and Eva about to enter it, they didn't have as much in common anymore. Sure, they'd still occasionally hang out, but it was obvious that it would never be as before. Hence, the necessity for someone else.

Eva never complained about it outright, but Cecelia could tell it bothered her. Perhaps more than she herself even knew.

"All right. Five-minute intermission," said Mom. "Does anyone want me to make more popcorn?"

"Please," Alex said, sitting up. He'd had his own personal miniature bowl with him, but it had been emptied before the movie had even reached the ten-minute mark.

Jules crossed his arms and glowered. "Oh, yeah. Rub it in, why don't you?"

Cora's cries grew in volume, and Dad hustled off to change her diaper or adjust her blankets or do whatever it was she needed. Cecelia sank back into the couch. She couldn't wait until Cora grew out of this phase.

This was the second thing that reminded her that she would always be behind. Cecelia's baby sister might as well have sprouted out of the ground like Jack's magic beanstalk for how abrupt her arrival had been. Cecelia had gone to space with three siblings and come back with four. And though she'd long since grown to love Cora, she would always be a reminder that Cecelia could never get back those five years she'd lost.

Once, on a really, really Bad Day, she'd told Dr. Patel that she wished she'd stayed gone. She didn't even mean it—every day, Cecelia woke up glad to be alive, glad to be given another chance when so many people never got that opportunity. But it had been a month since Mr. Stark died, and that had already been enough to drag Cecelia down into the pits of depression. Then she'd walked into the kitchen and found Jules inhaling his cereal and Cora reluctantly accepting a spoonful of applesauce, and she'd just turned around and headed back into her bedroom. Her door slammed behind her.

Mom and Dad let her skip school that day, but insisted that talking to Dr. Patel would be good for her. Cecelia had sulked the entire car ride over, but when she finally made it into the office, her rage and misery spilled over.

"Everything's fucking ruined!" she'd screamed, pacing back and forth. "I've lost my little brother, I have a sister I was never supposed to have, half of my classmates are in college, and Mr. Stark is—he's gone! I had a perfectly fine life before I died, but now that I'm alive again, everything's gone to shit. Sometimes I wish—sometimes I wish that I'd never come back!"

It had taken Dr. Patel nearly twenty minutes to talk her down, and Cecelia had spent the majority of that time bawling her eyes out. But after several cups of water, copious squeezes of a hamburger Squishy, and a Xanax, Dr. Patel had said something Cecelia still tried to hold onto, even now.

"You're right. Everything has changed, and for us, it seemed to happen instantaneously. That's not fair, yes, but that's also life. Change will always come, whether we want it to or not. And sometimes it's scary, and sometimes it seems like it's for the worse. But the truth is that change can't be defined in such simple terms. There are always both positives and benefits of it.

"Right now, you're only seeing the negatives, and for good reason. It's awful that Tony died, first of all. I've known him since 2012, and though I never could quite call him my friend—he was my patient, after all—I really did care about him. And considering how close you were with him, I know the blow his death provided was even worse for you. This is one change, and it's a real nasty one. Your grief is completely valid, and there is no way I'm going to tell you that there's anything good about what happened. You're allowed to hate this change as much as you want.

"But the other changes you've been facing with your siblings and friends? They're not so black-and-white. It may seem like the end of the world because you're still used to your life before. You never got the chance to adapt, and it's still so new that it seems ugly. But these kinds of changes always have upsides. It's like moving out for the first time. At first, you're just missing your home and your parents so much that all you want to do is pack your bags and return. But then you realize that no one's hogging the bathroom in the morning, you can go to bed when you want, and you're not restricted by your parents' rules anymore. And when you miss your parents, you can call them. When you miss your room, you can hug your favourite blanket and remember that you have a piece of it with you.

"So, here's my challenge for you. Next time you're making a mile-long list of reasons why your old life was better, add one reason why you like—and it doesn't even have to be prefer, it just has to be like—your new one. That's all. Just one. And then, go down your list and try to pick out negatives that can be fixed, even if it's only temporarily."

That very session, Cecelia had admitted that one thing she liked about her new life was that her ride to school was shorter. It didn't even seem relevant at all—why should she care if her ride was shorter when everything else was so shit?—but Dr. Patel had told her that was exactly what she was looking for. One small thing that made things bearable. Just one.

Cecelia tried to force herself to do that now. One small thing. Just one.

...She had Pepper Potts' number on her phone. The CEO had given it to Cecelia after Mr. Stark's funeral. At first, Cecelia had thought that nothing would come of it, but only a week later, Pepper had called just to ask how Cecelia was doing. They'd spoken for almost an hour, and it had been... nice. Really nice.

Plus, Christine would've flipped out if she'd known.

Cecelia took out her phone, knowing that physically seeing Pepper's contact and their text message history would be better than just remembering it. But before she could scroll down, a new text flashed on her screen.

PETER: Are you free tonight????

Cecelia couldn't help the smile that came over her face. This was Peter's way of asking if she was up for a Spider-Man and Phantom patrol. It'd been a few nights since they'd done it together—though Cecelia had gone out last night on her own—and despite Cecelia's weird feelings around Peter, she was always down to stop bicycle thieves and carjackers.

ME: of course.

Peter replied less than thirty seconds later.

PETER: I'll be there at midnight :)

ME: see you then, loser.

She set her phone down, feeling a tad better than before. At least there had been one thing that hadn't changed. At least, even if Peter and Cecelia's relationship was becoming strange, Spider-Man and Phantom would remain a constant.

That was the one change Cecelia simply wouldn't have accepted.

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HAVEN: and we're officially back!! i'm glad to be here, especially since i ended up rewriting this chapter (and the next few subsequent chapters) like three times. it was during exam season, and i was basically coping by having cecelia complain about exams, too 😭 all that's been fixed now, though.

fun fact: i thought that far from home took place in may, since that's usually when american high schools end (and i was very proud of myself for knowing that, because i'm canadian). but nope, it's actually in june, which means that cecelia's birthday has already passed. i guess she'll be the dancing queen in this fic!

also,  i just have to reiterate that when i mention cecelia taking xanax, it's anxiety medication. it helps treat panic attacks, which is what cecelia uses it for. she also takes a daily dosage of fluoxetine, which i actually used to take. fluoxetine is used for depression, ocd, bulimia, panic disorder, and premenstrual dysphoric disorder. cecelia has been taking it since before the snap, but she probably got a stronger dosage after tony died :(

anyway, i hope you enjoyed this chapter!! thanks for reading <33