Greg Vs Raid 9-42: A Mother Fears (Patreon)

"-ear you, I hear you, Suze. I do, it’s just…the Nine in your city. It’s… it’s just…” A deep voice rumbled low, a familiar half-laugh still present. “I mean, it’s a hell of a thing to hear from CNN, you get me?”“Well, Ro…” Eleven minutes of holding the phone against her ear had left it warm, her jaw halfway to clenching and already aching for it. Her eyes trailed over the blaring television in front of her, a shaky rooftop shot from a phone showing a downtown Brockton Bay that took another hit it didn’t need. "It's definitely a hell of a thing to be living through, so..."

"Right. I’d tell you to get out of there but… I doubt it’s a good idea to be moving now, right? I doubt there’s even flights." He laughed loud and clear and a little uncertainly; the sound a good bit deeper than she remembered. "But… right, guy’s gotta check on his kid, you know?"

Check in…  He’d checked in — properly, at least — back on Greg’s fifteenth over a year ago now. Susan hadn’t held it against him, as much as she could hold anything, and Greg hadn’t even bothered to pretend like he cared. She’d talked to the man for almost three-quarters of an hour, and the new father had spent most of it sounding exactly like himself; a man narrating his own highlight reel. 

"Hey, so… speaking of the kid." Rowan cleared his throat. "Tried him on his birthday, actually. Called twice."

"Yeah…” Susan’s nod was slow and patient. “I’m sure you did.”

"I’m not just saying that, Suze, I di-"

"I wasn’t saying you were lying, Ro, okay?” Susan Veder sucked her teeth, unable to hide or soften the flatness in her voice. “No one could pick up your calls because we were in a shelter." A breath found its way free, almost a full sigh. "His sixteenth birthday was the Endbringer attack.” 

The other end of the phone was silent for a few good seconds.

"...Jesus. Yeah. Yeah, no, of course I know that." The man took in a breath of his own. “I’m just saying that nobody called me back or anything. I wasn’t trying to s-” Rowan Veder was silent for a few seconds more. "God. You know what? That’s on me."

"It's fine."

"It's not, but okay."

TV remote in her other hand, Susan turned the volume up a few notches as the news on Channel 12 shifted to the PRT building and that was news she needed. Another video taken from the top of a building covered the area of downtown where the HQ rested, the street around it glittering like someone had dumped diamonds all over the asphalt. Block after block of shattered windshields and storefronts rolled by behind the anchor in gritty footage captured from a cracked camera, Susan barely able to believe it. The idea that all of this had been from the scream of one woman…

Susan really found it hard to understand capes sometimes, that level of power hard to even put her mind around.

Even when it was so close to home. Greg.

She had no doubt he was down there. 

He’d mentioned he’d be downtown with Theo and Sparky when he left a few hours ago, heading right out without even giving her the chance to ask exactly where. And before she could fully put it out of her mind, the emergency broadcast tone had come over the television. 

And Susan Veder knew in her heart of hearts that Greg was going to throw himself headfirst against the worst killers on the continent with the same sort of confidence that had him tackle an Endbringer until he was more skin than bones.

"So how's my boy doing, anyway? He good?"

Blue eyes blinked as Susan realized the phone was still up against her ear. "He…” A dry mouth caught the truth before it could leave her, the single mother licking her lips before she found something else to say. "He's good. Fine, yeah. Just growing faster and faster every day.” 

Not a lie to be found yet, just different truths that wouldn’t hurt. “You wouldn’t believe how many times he’s outgrown things. I bought him a whole wardrobe in April and they're already…” She sighed low. “Well, you know."

"Ha! That’s-” A laugh burst out loud and clear. “That'd be the Veder in him."

Sure. Her lip twitched just a bit as the screen flashed white, overexposed footage of some blurry gold thing in the sky, darting over a Dunkin’. That's what that is.

"—uze?"

"S-sorry.” Susan Veder shook her head, eyes still on the television as she answered the man on the other end. Yeah. I'm here."

“I said put the kid on for me. Unless he’s ducking me again."

Her mouth moved for her, a lie finally locked. “He’s at a friends.”

"...A friend’s.”

"Huh. That safe? I mean, with all this, I mean…”

"Since when do you even care?"

The remote dug into her palm as the words snapped out unfiltered; an arrow aimed at the oldest and ugliest wound between them. Quiet met her on the other end, barely even a breath in her ear as she waited for a defensive noise or the laugh she’d braced for. 

"...That…” Susan licked her lips again. “Rowan, I’m sorry. I should… I didn’t m-” Another lie almost slipped out, one she caught and shelved as she settled on a proper truth. “That was rude of me."

"No." Her former husband cleared his throat. "No, it was fair."

Fair. Two fingers pressed themselves into the space between her eyebrows, Susan fighting the urge to snap out another mouthful of hate. It settled in her back teeth, coating her tongue like thrush as she held the word tight. 

Twelve years of marriage, twelve years of that man reframing every single thing she’d brought up in that same smug cocky voice. From spending to cheating, he made it his job to treat every argument like a trap she was setting for him — Really, you're mad about that? Come on, Suze, I'm gonna need you to hear how you sound right now — like she was the insane one.And all it took was a divorce (one she hadn't even wanted), one girl ten years younger, and one new baby, for the man to sprout a tree of self-awareness. He got to be gracious now, and act like he was reasonable, and she got…

“...so how’s Maya? Susan let out a sigh as she lowered herself onto the arm of the couch. The pivot was obvious and she knew that Rowan knew it too, as if she cared how the twenty-three year old was doing. She didn’t want to know how his baby girl was doing either, a little girl she had always wanted too. "Is she — the baby's what now, fourteen months?"

"Maya… Maya’s good.” Rowan let out a sigh that had little to do with stress. “She's good. Ellie’s been teething so…”“That’s rough, the teething…”“Come on, you say that like Greg was a hassle about it.”“How…” She blinked, the phone pulled from her ear for a moment. “You remember…?”“Course I do, Suze.” Another laugh forced a half-frown onto her face. “All Greg’s came in at the same time and he didn’t even fuss.”“I…” The laugh hadn’t changed at all, past the added bit of depth. “So how’s Ellie handling the teething?”“Well, it’s been keeping Maya up. The nanny’s been helping out, obviously, but she’s st-"

Something made a noise on his end, the sound of a baby’s voice loud and high and another woman faint on the other end saying something Susan couldn’t make out but could still tell the shape of from her own memory. 

"Sorry. Sorry, I’m back.” Rowan’s voice came in closer now, the phone held higher on his end most likely. “Maya’s good, yeah. She's got her now."

"That's… that’s nice, Rowan."

"Yeah, no, it's good."

The footage changed, jerky footage filmed from the broken frame of a high window to show something moving over the street. Her eyes fought with her for a long second, until she realized it wasn’t just the cameraman that was jerky — it was the person moving, too. Whatever the cape was doing was too stuttered for flight, a white shape bounding across open air over flashes of blue-white light in open air; kicking off each one, dropping down a good bit, and then rising again.

A figure glowing gold, with a blue cape whipping in the wind; the picture stumbling as whoever was trying to follow lost him behind a roofline. Susan was standing up, unsure when she found her feet again. The footage had been barely six seconds, not enough for a graphic to even go over it. She only needed one to pick him out, even at a distance and with blurry footage; that heel-first bound he still used even without proper ground to kick off.

The camera lost him behind a building and found him again a block over, and the person filming made a sound, and Susan watched her son take a right angle in mid-air over a street full of glass.

Just a little over a week ago, that boy had promised.He’d sat at her kitchen table, pancakes stacked in front of him and promised her… ‘I promise… I'll always come back, Mom.’A promise she’d said okay to, without even asking for all the follow-ups she had bouncing around in her head and desperate for an answer. ‘Being White Knight doesn't mean I'm gonna throw myself at every scary dude in the Bay, Mom.’ He’d said that much too, a little bit after that first promise. ‘Either way, I'm sooo much stronger than I used to be. It's not the same.’

Nine days.

"Suze?"

"Mm-hm."

 "You still there?” Rowan Veder hummed low. “Went a little quiet on me there.”

"I'm here. I just…” She shook her head again, trying to track what exactly she missed. “What did you say?"

"...Nothing. Nothing, it’s just… you said ‘mm-hm’ twice.” He wasn’t even rude about it but Susan could hear the eyebrow raise and the little smile on his face. “Look, how bout I… uh, I’ll just call back later?”"Sure."

 “You’ll tell Greg I called, at least?”“Sure.”“...mm.”

She waited for him to hang up, because he always hung up first and made a habit of it. Even still, he hung on to the call a few good seconds longer than she expected. “...bye, Suze.”

The line went dead, Susan Veder nee Winger standing there with her phone in her hand.

It took three more seconds before she started pacing; living room to kitchen and back again, her socks going from hardwood to tile and tile to hardwood, around the island like she was a boat looking for someplace to dock. She’d already called him before this all even started, before she even had a reason to call and it went right to voicemail; a stupid recording of him going, you've reached Greg's phone.Greg is not currently a pho—

The keys were on the hook by the door.

And then what, Susan. If she even bothered driving downtown in the middle of a parahuman terrorist attack of the worst kind possible. And then what.

Was she going to wave with both her hands up? Call his name loud into a warzone and make herself a target so monsters who wore people’s skin would know exactly who she was and what she looked like? 

The screen cut to the anchor desk, the woman’s hand flying to her ear. "—eports now from PRT sources in the downtown sector that the parahuman known as Shatterbird has been confirmed de—"

Susan stopped dead in the middle of the rug, eyes on the TV again.

"Conflicting reports are emerging regarding the other members of the Slaughterhouse Nine but PRT channels are indicating that… as many as four members of the Slaughterhouse have been neutralized in the first fifteen minutes of the engagement with two confirmed dead. One of these deaths has been attributed to the independent cape known as White Knight, two currently unattributed, and one suspected neutralization by a member of the Protectorate ENE…"

Four.

Susan blinked as she realized she was sitting on the coffee table, unsure when that had happened exactly. Thoughts racing, she tried to understand exactly what was going on in her head. Four dead… 

That was a good thing.

In any world, that would have been amazing. Four of nine gone in a quarter-hour meant there were people in this city who were going to sleep well tonight and so many of them were children.

She should have put a hand over her heart and thanked God for something like this.

But four of nine meant her baby boy was still standing in the middle of the other five. Four of nine meant… One attributed to White Knight.

She turned that over in her head, the idea that her son had killed a person, and the anchor had said it with a smile on her face as she fought to keep the sob out of her voice. One attributed to White Knight.

Her son…

The same Greg that had cried at the end of Homeward Bound, who had to sleep with the closet door shut all the way until he was eleven, who couldn't take his own splinters out… had killed someone.

Her hand went up to the photo over the fireplace, the crooked frame in her grip as she stared at the image in it. A messy head of blond hair stared back at her, front tooth gone and eyes bright and eager. He’d been ten years old, and still wanted to know how much the Tooth Fairy paid per tooth because he wanted to ‘get his money’s worth’.

Even Rowan had laughed at that, beer in hand.

I miss you. The thought went out to the photograph and Susan swallowed her own bile, almost unable to believe she had let herself think that. Her boy wasn’t dead but she missed him anyway, that little him… 

The one who fit under her arm and giggled when she tickled him.

The knock came.

Three of them, quick and bright, forced Susan to still with her fingers on the frame.

Police. The first thought was the worst one and she couldn’t push out the image. ‘Mrs. Veder, is there somewhere we can sit down…’ 

She was at the door before she'd decided to be, deadbolt undone and the hallway suddenly full of afternoon light to show— “Hi!”

—a little girl on the porch.

Susan blinked down at a beautiful little girl no older than ten or eleven, with a head full of blonde ringlets — ringlets of the kind you had to put work into — framing a cute little round face looking up at her. A pale blue dress with a proper collar and a hem below the knee perfect for church or a christening… “Oh, hi?”Susan blinked past her, no adult on the curb or a car in her driveway. Her fear turned inside out into something else entirely as she crouched down slowly. “Hi, sweetheart. Are y—" She got herself down to eye level, hand on the doorframe. "Are you here with someone, honey? Is your mom—"

The girl just smiled up at her.