Willful Thinking (Invincible/DC | Green Lantern OC-Insert) - Chapter 22 (Patreon)

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Oscar Ward

“Firstly, what should I call you? Green Lantern, Oscar, Mr Ward, or Ozzy?”

I smile. “Just Ozzy’s good.”

“Ozzy it is, then.” He crosses his legs. “So, why do you think you’re here?”

Why am I here? It’s a good question. I could say it’s because I want to get Cecil off my ass a little bit, and it’d be true. In part, at least. But nobody’s forcing me to be here, in this random room somewhere in the GDA headquarters. Sure, it’s in its own wing, separate from most things and almost residential in feel. I’m not even distracted by these beanbags I and the therapist guy are sitting on. He’s dressed in smart casual, legs crossed, with a notebook and pen in his lap.

On the other hand, I’m dressed in a dark green shirt and some black tracksuit pants (ring-made, of course).

“I’m here because I want to be,” I say, tasting the words. They’re mostly true.

He smiles. “I see. And why is that?”

“Because I got a few billion people killed.”

To the therapist’s credit, his expression doesn’t change. “A few billion?”

“Give or take. I don’t actually know what the population of Techia was. I probably should. Feels a little disrespectful not to, now that I think about it.”

“Techia was the planet? And you believe you’re responsible for what happened to it?”

“I mean, I just said that.”

“You said you got them killed. I’m asking whether you believe you were responsible. Those aren’t inherently the same thing, even if you take it that way.”

I sink a little deeper into the beanbag. “...There was a Viltrumite mole in the Coalition of Planets. He had access to pretty much everything worth knowing. Stuff related to Earth, probably. Or at least, eventually, so I came up with a plan to expose him.”

“Did it work?” the therapist asks.

“Perfectly.” I rub my palms against my trousers. “We fed different information to different people and waited to see what leaked. The mole was from Techia. Viltrum didn’t like that, so they decided to make an example of his entire planet by blowing it up. If I knew they were going to blow up a planet, I obviously wouldn’t have…”

I stop, and he waits without filling the silence. It drags on.

“Okay, that’s not true.”

“What isn’t?”

“I don’t know that I wouldn’t have done it.” I stare down at my hands. “That’s sort of the problem.” He says nothing again. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I don’t like it. “The mole knew about Earth. Or could have learned about Earth. And about Gelderia joining the Coalition. Leaving him there because I was scared Viltrum might retaliate could’ve gotten even more people killed. The leader of the Coalition said he’d make the same call again.”

“Would you, Ozzy?”

“Yes.” I look away, feeling ashamed of that for some reason. Even though I’m not looking at him, I can hear his pen moving across the page.

“And that bothers you.”

“Would it be better if it didn’t?”

He chuckles. “I didn’t say that.”

“No, but everyone keeps trying to make me feel better about it.” I shift upright, the beanbag crunching beneath me. “I know I couldn’t have known that was what they’d do. But I also know I put the plan in motion, and if you put me back in that room with everything I know now…”

I trail off, eventually frowning at the unsaid. That was the issue, wasn’t it? All this time, I’ve been able to bank on foreknowledge to account for as much as possible. I’ve been able to do so much because I could see it coming. The one time I couldn’t, billions died. That’s not on me, and I know that… but it sure feels like it is.

“Do you believe you’re holding yourself responsible for an outcome you couldn’t reasonably predict?” the therapist asks.

“I predicted retaliation.”

“But did you predict the destruction of Techia or control Viltrum’s response?”

“No, but—”

“Then, and I say this in spite of your guilt, justified or otherwise: I don’t think you got those people killed, Ozzy.”

“Mhm. Right.”

“You disagree?”

I shrug. “Does it matter?”

“Does being harder on yourself make your interpretation more accurate?”

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out immediately. “No,” I eventually say. “But, like, my choices led to the outcome. I couldn’t have made a better choice, not really. Is it right for me to just… move on like they didn’t all die?”

“Being part of a chain of events that led to a catastrophe—one you were trying to avert for Earth and Gelderia—is different from being morally responsible for every decision made by others in that chain.”

I frown, opening my mouth again.

He only continues when I fail to reply. “I think, and I believe it’s fair to say this, that you did the best you could with the information you had at the time. Not to say that you shouldn’t learn from this. But saying ‘I should have stopped it,’ isn’t helpful.”

“Still doesn’t make Techia any less gone.”

“No,” he says.

I glance over. “I… get what you’re saying, though. And I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

【—〄—】

The first super-strength exoskeleton is completed a few days later. The actual engineering mostly flies over my head, but there was something said about distributing force through the entire frame instead of letting whichever joint happens to be doing the lifting explode. It’s sleek and dark, with artificial muscle fibres contracting alongside the wearer’s own, and an unreasonable amount of effort going into making sure Test Subject No. 1 doesn’t liquefy themself the moment they do something in the suit.

And I helped! Mostly by letting the ring do the talking, trying to translate Gelderian bullshit into slightly less incomprehensible bullshit for Rudy. More important is that it works. Not to the degree of my tech jacket-laced ring. The Gelderians have had God knows how long to refine these things, but between their tech and some sleepless nights, we’re headed in the right direction, I think. There’s still the self-repairing aspect to deal with, which we haven’t exactly got started on yet. Safe to say it’s a lot harder than asking my ring to Ctrl+C, Ctrl+V the interesting bits.

There are several other problems. Rudy explained to me before noticing my eyes glazing over and graciously deciding to talk to the ring instead. But hey, the prototype makes whoever’s wearing it a lot stronger, which is all that matters. Imagine the Immortal wearing one of these? Maybe versions for Mark and Nolan eventually, too. As powerful as they are, I’d sleep a little better if they were stronger. …Mass production is a long way away, though.

Rudy’s made sure to beat that into my skull. Prototype first, testing second, iteration third, and then I can fantasise about all the things we’ll be able to do.

…Wait, that came out wrong.

Yawning, I look at the dark metal frame standing in the middle of Rudy’s workshop. He’s hunched over his desk on a stool, legs dangling above ground, with one of the forearm pieces opened up in front of him, surrounded by enough loose components to make me very glad he knows where they all go. I contribute by sitting nearby and trying not to fall asleep. Every so often, he asks the ring questions that I can’t make heads or tails of before he continues fiddling.

“Do you know what my therapist said to me?” I ask to fill the silence.

He doesn’t even look up. “You’re seeing a therapist?” A tiny screwdriver disappears into the armour. “When did this happen?”

“I only did it to reassure Cecil.”

“Ah.” He finally glances up, lifting the goggles from his face. Rudy stares at me for another second, then slides the goggles back on. “And what did your therapist say, if you wouldn’t mind sharing?”

“Oh, nothing too crazy. I apparently have a saviour complex.”

“Unsurprisingly,” he says with amusement. “You’re a superhero, which isn’t exactly a career for the average person. What else did you talk about?”

I sigh through my nose. “We talked about… a lot. But he basically told me that being involved in the chain of events that got a planet blown up isn’t the same as being responsible for the people who actually decided to blow it up.”

“I… think I agree?”

“Yeah. Everyone does. I mean, I agree too mostly. Viltrum did it, not me, blah, blah, blah.” I wave a hand. “He made sense. I’m not saying he didn’t. I just… I don’t know, man.”

Rudy hums softly, leaning away from a sudden shower of sparks. “Perhaps whether or not you’re responsible isn’t particularly useful right now.”

I blink. “Huh?”

“Of course, I am not saying that you shouldn’t determine how much responsibility you bear. It may not be productive to keep asking yourself the same question when you already know you don’t have an answer you’re satisfied with.” He reaches into the open forearm and adjusts something. “If you believe you failed to anticipate that a planet was destroyed… by Viltrum?”

I nod. “Yep.”

“Well, are you not doing your best to ensure such a thing doesn’t happen again in helping me develop this exoskeleton?”

“Help is a strong word,” I say. “I’m sitting here.”

“Your presence is treasured, Oscar.”

I snort. “No, my ring’s presence here is treasured.”

“Is that not one and the same?”

“Jesus, Rudy.”

“...Was that insensitive?”

“A little.”

“My apologies.”

I chuckle. “Nah, you’re good.”

He nods and keeps working, eventually closing up the forearm. Then, he sits back. “Ring, rerun the previous stress simulation with the revised load distribution.”

“Commencing.”

Green light spills across his desk as a little holographic model of the exoskeleton appears between us. Rudy watches numbers race beside it. I then watch the tiny fake man get punched in the chest hard enough that his entire body lights up. But, unlike the last time, he doesn’t explode.

“The frame survived,” he says, slowing. “As did the pilot. See? You’re doing something about it, Ozzy. One can’t prepare for everything that might happen, but at the very least, preparing for everything one can is good enough.”

I stare at the suit for a while. At the start of all this, it was mostly parts scattered across Rudy’s workshop. And sure, we’ve only got Prototype 1 done, but maybe one day, a Viltrumite comes screaming down from the sky expecting Earth to be a walk in the park, that it won’t be thanks to the suit.

I smile a little at the mental image. “Thanks, Rudy.”

“You’re welcome. Although I should clarify that I wasn’t attempting to provide additional therapy. I am not licensed for it in any way.”

“Nuh-uh. Too late, bud! I’m telling Cecil to replace the other guy with you.”

“Rudy, we’re getting lunch,” Amanda announces as the workshop doors slide open. Rex and Kate follow behind her, the latter two already arguing about something.

“—because Chinese food is objectively better.”

“You said pizza five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, and then I remembered Chinese food existed.”

Rudy sighs. “We’re almost finished; can’t you wait—”

“No,” she says firmly. “I’m hungry.”

I smile when I see Rex and Kate. “Hey, guys! Who wants to test out a super suit?”

“Me!” Rex’s hand shoots up.

“You don’t even know what it does,” Amanda says. “It could explode.”

“Don’t care.”

Rudy turns on his stool. “It shouldn’t kill him.”

“Shouldn’t?” Kate repeats. “Rudy, if there’s even a chance of that happening, maybe use one of my clones? You know, like the genius you are?!”

“Quit hating. Ain’t no way I’m missing out on this,” Rex snorts. “Suit me up, guys.”

A few minutes later, we’re downstairs in one of the Guardians’ training rooms.

Rex rolls his shoulders as the armour settles around him. He’s wearing his costume underneath it, sans the weird ski mask goggles combo. Sleek dark plates overlap from his neck down and leave only his head exposed. He flexes experimentally and then jumps. He nearly hits the ceiling, coming down hard enough to buckle at the knees, arms windmilling before he manages to stay upright.

“Okay.” He looks at Rudy. “That’s fucking cool.”

“Please don’t do that again without warning. This is the only prototype we have. Even if it’s durable… just be careful,” Rudy sighs, which is funny considering they look like older brother and younger brother despite acting the complete opposite.

“Alright. Hit me.” I walk onto the mat, rolling my neck. Green light floods across my body, and the casual clothes I’m wearing switch to my Green Lantern armour, though I leave the helmet this time.

“Fucking finally!” Rex grins. He closes the distance much faster than I’m used to seeing from him. His first punch comes straight for my face, and I lean aside, only for his other hand to catch me in the ribs.

“...Huh. I actually felt that.” His face lights up as he immediately tries to punch me again. I take the hit to the chest with a raised eyebrow and then catch the follow-up inches away from my face. “I said that I felt it, not that it hurt. Now, grit your teeth.”

Rex slumps. “Damn it.”

I punch him relatively gently. He still goes tumbling end over end until his back slams into the padded wall.

“Fuck.” Rex slides down about a foot before the suit catches against the padding. “I thought you said this was supposed to make me as strong as a Viltrumite!”

“No, we said we’re building to that eventuality,” Rudy says slowly. “This is a prototype. You’re about as strong as Bulletproof with that on.”

“That’s not nothing,” Kate says. “I’d definitely appreciate being more than cannon fodder.”

“You’re not cannon fodder,” I start to say before she gives me this withering look. “...Okay, maybe a little bit, but don’t talk about yourself like that! It’s demeaning.”

“Is it demeaning if it’s true?”

Rudy stops to think. “Yes, it is. I’m afraid we can’t give you this prototype. Unlike your suit, it’s not threaded with your biological material. If you duplicate with the exoskeleton on, you, the original, will become a target for those who incorrectly assume killing you will stop your clones.”

Kate pauses. “That’s actually a really good point.”

“Can I keep it?” Rex asks from the floor.

“No.”

“Why not?!”

“Because it’s a prototype.”

“I’ll test it long-term!”

“You just did.”

Amanda walks over. “Hello? We’re supposed to be getting lunch.”

I walk past them towards the exit. “I’m with Rex. Let him wear the billion-dollar alien supersuit to lunch. See how stupid that sounds?”

Rudy and I give him a look.

“Fuck both of you.” He starts taking it off.

“Don’t worry. You’re still approximately one Bulletproof,” Kate says, walking over to Amanda after patting his armoured shoulder.

“I so wanna hit you.”

“Not in that suit, you’re not.”

Rudy points at Rex. “She’s correct.”

…So, Prototype 1 isn’t killing any Viltrumites. But this is good news, I think, on that frontier. 

“Chinese?” Kate asks as we head for the door.

“Pizza,” Rex says immediately. Unfortunately, everyone else votes on Chinese food, so he loses on account of democracy.

“Cheer up, buddy.” I sling an arm around his shoulders. “Maybe I’ll let you wear the supersuit again if you eat all your vegetables.”

“I will fucking explode you.”

【—〄—】

After a fun afternoon out with some friends, mostly just shooting the shit… is the dreaded Grayson dinner. Okay, it’s not dreaded exactly. Debbie’s a sweetheart, and this’ll be the first time seeing her since Allen happened. But I have a feeling it’s going to be awkward. From what Mark told me, Nolan flew off into space with Allen, and seeing we returned together, I don’t think that Debbie has had much time to come to terms with Nolan in Nolan’s presence. Don’t tell me I’m meant to be social glue here? I hope not, but fuck it… 

Worst comes to worst, I eat my food in the awkwardness and leave.

“More rice, Ozzy?” Debbie asks.

“Yes, please.”

She smiles and reaches for my plate. It’s been maybe fifteen minutes. So far, so good. I know you’re not supposed to say that for fear of jinxing yourself, but it’s really fine. There’s mostly been small talk so far, though Nolan’s been a bit quiet. All things considered, I think dinner is going fantastically. Mark catches my eye from across the table. I give him a thumbs-up.

“So,” Debbie says, returning my plate. “How was space?”

“Honestly? Better than I expected.” I take the plate back. “There were some low points, obviously, but I got to see a bunch of alien planets, spent a couple months on one, got a medal, helped end a war, met a princess, got my own space station—”

“You got a space station?” Debbie asks.

“Technically Zoe and I got a space station. Fifty-fifty split. We haven’t discussed custody arrangements yet.”

Debbie laughs. “What are you even going to do with a space station?”

“I dunno. Cecil probably wants to fill it with spies or some shi—thing. But the coolest thing I got by far is this.”

I hold up my hand and let the green light start from my fingers. Lithe black and green armour crawls over my clothes, finishing off via a Gelderian helmet. I open my eyes right as the HUD flashes to life in front of my eyes.

Debbie leans closer. “That’s new.”

“Yep! It’s an alien supersuit. Gives me super-strength and lasers and cleans me, too.”

Nolan’s eyebrows lift slightly. “You acquired a tech jacket?”

“Legally, mind you!”

“I didn’t suggest otherwise.”

Mark snorts.

I dismiss the armour and go back to my food. “The Gelderians gave it to me. I helped them out; they helped me out. Lovely people. Their cuisine was good, which I can’t say for the majority of the planets I visited. Had this great meat pie thing.”

Nolan finally looks up properly. “Galactic cuisine is hardly terrible. It’s just not to the human palate, I think.”

“Nolan.” I turn to face him.

“Yes?”

“Have you had kanzlok?”

“Once or twice. Why?”

“I tried it. It was gross! They wriggle around, still alive while you eat them.”

Debbie looks sick. “...Okay, not at the dinner table please.”

“We’re technically still talking about food,” Mark says, queasy-looking but more amused than not.

“Earth might lag behind the universe when it comes to tech, but our food is second to none.”

“That is an extraordinarily human thing to say,” Nolan replies, chuckling. “There are civilisations thousands of years older than humanity.”

“I counter: jerk chicken.”

“Yes.”

“Different species possess different palates.”

“C’mon, Mark. Is that a cop-out answer or what?”

He snorts into his drink. “I dunno, Dad. He might have you on this one.”

“I’ve eaten on hundreds of worlds in my time.”

I wave a hand dismissively. “Debbie, what’s his favourite meal?”

“Uh…” She looks delighted to have been dragged into this… I think? “The pasta at this one Italian restaurant in Venice? Or was it Naples?”

Nolan gives his wife a betrayed look. “Debbie.”

“What?” She’s laughing now. “You always have thirds!”

“I require significantly more calories than either of you!”

“Oh, now it’s about calories? That’s what you said on our third date before admitting you loved it.”

Mark and I exchange a look. Are they… flirting? Nolan actually smiles at her, and Debbie tries to hide hers by taking a drink. His foot nudges mine beneath the table. I look over. Mark tilts his head towards the door.

“So!” He abruptly puts down his fork, plate cleared. “Ozzy and I are gonna go see William.”

“We are?” I ask.

Debbie looks at him. “Right now?”

“Yep.”

“What about dessert?”

“What is it?”

“Apple pie.”

“...Can’t we see William tomorrow?” Mark kicks me. “Ow! I mean—we made plans. Very important plans. But could I get a slice to-go, maybe?”

Debbie laughs again. “Go. I’ll save you some to pick up when you get back.”

“Thanks,” Mark says, running around the table to kiss her cheek. I stand more slowly, looking between Debbie and Nolan. Maybe I am the social glue. I get to revel in the feeling until Mark drags me out of the dining room. I manage a wave over my shoulder before the hallway swallows us, then wait until we’re outside before pulling free.

“Okay. What the hell was that?” I ask.

Mark takes off into the air.

I stare up at him. “Mark!”

“What?”

“Where are we even going?”

He looks down at me like I’m an idiot. …Right, William’s house. Passing over a few streets, Mark lands on the pavement ahead of me, already walking up the path by the time my feet touch down.

“You could’ve waited,” I mutter, walking up to the door. He knocks, and a few seconds pass before it opens, revealing a woman I’ve never seen before. Ginger hair, freckles, green eyes, maybe late thirties or early forties.

“Mark!” she says brightly. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

He laughs. “Hey, Ms Clockwell. Is William home?”

“He’s in his room. Come in.” Her attention moves to me. “And you are?”

“Oscar. Hi.”

“Oscar?” Her eyes widen. “Oh! William’s mentioned you to me before. Nice to meet you! I’m his aunt.”

Of course you are.

“Nice to meet you, too.” She steps aside, and I follow Mark inside, immediately directing my eyes towards the hallway, slightly guilty. I have a girlfriend. A very attractive girlfriend. Really should stop looking at William’s Pixar mom of an aunt.

“William!” Mark shouts upstairs. “We’re stealing you!”

“Why?!”

“Time to fly!” I call.

Footsteps hammer against the floor upstairs, and, like five minutes later, we’re standing in the back garden while William stares suspiciously at the green cape hanging from his shoulders.

“You’re sure this is going to work?”

I make a so-so gesture. “Probably.”

“Probably?!”

“I’m kidding. It’ll definitely work. Promise.”

Mark folds his arms. “You sound really reassuring.”

“Hey, I’ve never given someone a magic flying cape before. This is new territory.”

William grabs the edges and looks over his shoulder. The construct itself is pretty simple. Cape, little clasp around his shoulders and enough reinforcement that it won’t choke him if something goes wrong. The actual flying is being handled by the ring.

“Okay,” I say. “Think up.”

William looks at me, then upwards. The cape lifts, and because he’s attached to it, so does William. His feet leave the grass by maybe a foot before he immediately drops back down.

“H-Holy shit!”

“Congratulations. You have successfully conquered twelve inches of the sky. Jump higher next time, maybe?”

“Shut up!” This time William rises above our heads. His legs kick instinctively before he realises he isn’t falling, and then he’s laughing. “Oh my God!”

“Dude, lean towards where you want to go!” Mark says encouragingly. 

“WHOA—!” William shoots across the garden. He jerks sideways before hitting the fence, shoots upwards instead, and disappears over the roof.

Mark and I stare after him.

“Maybe I should’ve explained the controls better,” I muse. “Eh. He’ll figure it out.”

William reappears above the house, whooping loudly enough that I’m pretty sure the neighbours are about to come outside. Then again, this is the same neighbourhood where Omni-Man routinely breaks the sound barrier. Pretty sure Mark fell from the sky and nobody came outside. William circles his house once, gets noticeably more confident on the second pass, and then shoots off above the neighbouring gardens.

“Should we maybe follow him?” Mark asks.

I look at William. “Why? Seems like he’s got this down.”

“Just to be safe.”

“Admit it, you just want to go flying.”

Mark sighs. “You know, man… William’s my best friend. But it’s like ever since I got my powers, I’ve kind of been drifting away from him. Not on purpose. Still sucks, though. Besides, when else will I get to go flying with him?”

“Whenever. You just need to ask me.”

“If I don’t take you up on that, I’m sure he will.” He starts to float. “Last one to William owes the winner a favour. Pretty sure he’s headed downtown. C’mon!”

Mark blasts off immediately.

“Cheat! You didn’t even finish talking! At least give me a countdown, damn it!” I chase after him as best as I can, spending the rest of the evening flying around, which isn’t exactly how I thought I’d be spending my evening, but I’m pretty happy by the end of it.

Flying just for fun is something I’ll definitely be doing more of!

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