( closed starter for @hawknotguy):
Cassie woke up in a panic, something she hadnât done since her last nightmare. She felt some sweat roll down her forehead, reaching up and wiping it away with the back of her hand. Something had to be off. She usually didnât have nightmares if she watched some show on Netflix, but this was a different type of nightmare. She reached for her phone when she heard her mom calling, reached for it and slid the green button to answer. âHello?â She answered and felt her heart dropped. Her dad was dead. It couldnât be, she just talked to him the night prior and he sounded fine. Well, as much as Scott Lang can be fine, but still. He couldnât be dead and what was worst, the doctorâs had told her mom that her heart condition had worsen, which didnât make any sense to her. Since she had been doing what they wanted her to do and that was to take medication and work out, halfway. She said goodbye to her mom, dialed her dadâs number and reached his voicemail. âDad, itâs Cassie, please call me back. Mom said you were dead and we just spoke last night. Call me ASAP.â She hung up, quickly got out of bed and headed towards the bathroom as she texted Kate. Get here ASAP, itâs urgent. She sent out the text and splashed cold water onto her face. This canât be happening. She wiped away the water and threw it into the laundry basket. Once she heard the door open and closed, she ran to her best friend. âWe have a big problem and I need you to slap me, so I can wake up.â
Kate was panicking, just a little. Then again, when wasnât she? There were the phantom Clints, the real one (if that was what he was) clearly going off the rails, her motherâs reflection peering back at her from every surface. In life, Kate had looked enough like Eleanor that their childhood pictures were nearly indistinguishable, and Kate now looked very much like Eleanor then. Same dark hair, pale blue eyes, determined jaw. But Eleanor wore her hair short and angular, as if to mask any of the softness around the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were steely, but in a sad, beaten kind of way. The look of a woman who had known her time was up a long while before it finally ran out.
She stared at Kate through the bathroom mirror, silent and unblinking. Why didnât you help me, Katie? Kate stared back, and then splashed her faceâher motherâs faceâwith cold water, and then there she was again. Long hair pulled back, chin nicely bruised, a good scab forming on her right temple. âIâm sorry, Mom,â she said. I couldnât then. Iâll make it up to you now.
The sound of her own voice, far too loud in her echoey apartment, was interrupted by the chirrup of her phone. An SOS from Cassie. Monsters? Boys? Thugs? Aliens? All urgent, all possible. On my way, she texted, and grabbed her wallet and a bow and quiver, just in case, and headed out, shaking off the ghosts. They wouldnât be helpful right now.
She arrived at Cassieâs to find the door unlocked, so she let herself in warily, ready to draw, only to find no monsters, no thugs, no aliens, no boys. Just Cassie, asking for a slap. âIâm not going to hit you, Cass. Whatâs going on? What happened? Whose ass do you need me to kick?â
