Weightless (Dispatch x Reader) Chapter 2: Fast Forward
Author’s Note: ⚠️ Trigger Warnings: body modification, chronic pain, medical treatment, scars, sensory distortion, exhaustion, and cursing.
Titania , once Y/n L/n, is a hero whose power to alter her size and mass comes at a brutal cost. Beneath the strength and size is someone still learning to balance power with humanity, a protector who’s forgotten what it means to simply live. Ch.1 |
Location: SDN, Torrance Branch — 03:47 a.m. Status: Active Operations — (Y/n L/n) on Dispatch Duty.
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“Reaper, I swear to God - we do not have time for this bullshit. The caller reported a possible gas leak on the 13th floor. Take the fucking elevator.” I said over comms as I pinched my nose in annoyance, looking back at the screen. Static crackles faintly in my headset. “Yeah, great idea! Let’s cram into a metal coffin hanging by four cables rated for half our gear weight. What could go wrong?"
“For fuck’s sake, Reaper—” “Elevator malfunction rates go up twenty percent during building fires. Twenty. Percent. You wanna gamble on that, be my guest” “There isn’t a fire this is a possible gas leak” “Elevator cables fail in 0.01% of rides, right? That’s one in ten thousand. Odds get worse under stress.” “Talking about your stress?” There was a pause as I heard faint huffing in the background and the rhythmic thud of boots on metal steps. “I...am…on...thirteen” I heard Reaper trying to catch his breath over the mic. “See? Here in time.”
I rolled my eyes, redirecting my focus to Spectra as she traced a possible cybersecurity breach downtown.
“Next time,” I muttered, “You’re taking the damn elevator.” Spectra snickered over the comms, the faint static crackling between bursts of laughter. “I was gonna take bets on whether you’d actually get on an elevator before lunchtime. Looks like I lose again.”
Torque’s voice boomed through the channel, reverberating like he was leaning back in his chair. “Remember last month? That stairwell in the warehouse district? You climbed three flights just to avoid one elevator ride! I put fifty on you taking the lift that day—wasted!”
Cinder’s chuckle came next, smooth and teasing. “Don’t forget the cargo lift incident. Dude stayed on the loading dock for twenty minutes because the metal box ‘looked unsafe.’ Then he carried a full supply crate up six flights just to prove a point.”
Oh, for fucks sake I began slamming my forehead into the desk. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered briefly, and the faint hum of the air conditioning made the room feel warmer than it should. All of B-Team was on the channel.
Whisper’s voice cut in, dry as ever over the comms. “Statistically, Reaper has spent more time running stairs than we have on actual missions. That’s… dedication, I guess.”
Reaper huffed audibly, irritation threading through the static. “I… prefer control… over gravity and cables.”
Sharp cackle from Spectra. “Control, right. Sure. Whatever keeps you from hugging the elevator shaft, buddy.”
Torque chimed in mock-serious, the edge of laughter barely restrained. “Next time, we should just carry him in a backpack. Cheaper than letting him walk the entire building.”
Cinder rattled lightly in the channel. “I vote we get betting slips for every mission. ‘Reaper elevator gamble’ highest odds, guaranteed payout.”
I was done. My repeated forehead slams had stopped partly out of concern for the coworkers in the cubicles next to me, the dull clatter of keys was lessened and a low murmur of voices made it clear some were already staring. Forehead red, I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling the slight thrum of tension in my shoulders, then snapped over comms, sharply and calmly. “Knock it the fuck off, everyone, and focus on finishing your tasks before the end of day.”
Comms went dead immediately.
Spectra finally muttered, a grudging note of respect in her tone. “Fine… but only because the cardio’s already done.”
After wrapping up with B-Team, it was already creeping past 5 a.m. The office was quiet now as most of the night shift was leaving and the day shift was starting to filter in. My watch vibrated softly against my wrist as I stepped into the break room, its sterile glow cast over the tiled floor.
I yanked open the fridge, wincing as a sharp burn crawled from my arm up into my shoulder blade. The cold air bit against my skin. Breakfast, if you could call it that, was just whatever leftovers I’d shoved in from the night before.
I took a seat and pulled out the small orange bottle from my back pocket. Twisting the cap off and shook four white tablets into my palm before swallowing them dry.
I looked up to see Chase shuffling in, leaning slightly against the open doorway. How the hell had I not heard him?
I smiled faintly. “Hey, old man.”
He glared. “Watch it. I’m only thirty-nine.”
“Funny… didn't you qualify for early bird specials last week at Mario’s? Didn’t hear any complaints.”
“Ha! Stop evading the question. You’re not due in the med bay for another hour.”
I paused, setting my fork down, feeling the burn of fatigue in my shoulders. “Picked up another dispatch shift last night. Someone called out, figured SDN could use the help.”
Chase raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “And here I thought you were trying to catch up on sleep instead of burning yourself out before sunrise.”
“Please… don’t tell Blazer,” I muttered, glancing down at my untouched breakfast.
“Too late. Already knows. Also knows you’ve been skipping your physical therapy.”
I froze mid-forkful, the burn in my shoulder suddenly sharper traveling down my arm. “She… what?”
Chase smirked, leaning casually against the doorway. “Relax. She just reminded me she’s keeping tabs. Figure you’d like to know someone’s watching out for you. Whether you like it or not.”
I rubbed at my shoulder, feigning irritation. “Great. Just what I needed, an audience for my suffering.”
“Hey,” Chase said with a mock-serious tone, “someone’s gotta keep you honest.” taking a seat next to me. He leaned back slightly, giving me a look that brooked no nonsense. “Come on, kid. Talk to me. What’s going on? Haven’t seen you this down since you were ten, refusing to tell me where you’d hidden my shoes so I wouldn’t leave. Took me an hour to track down where you were holding them hostage.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at my lips remembering how I hid them behind the dryer.
Chase didn’t push, just waited, arms crossed, eyes sharp but patient. I looked down, sleeves pulled up, and caught sight of my arms. The scars stretched across my skin like fault lines, ranging in width and color, hues of silvers, deep reds, bruised purples tracing a map from my neck down to my feet. Light glinted off them unevenly, highlighting every ridge and crease. “You ever… stop feeling like yourself?”
Chase raised an eyebrow and snorted. “Kid, I haven’t felt like myself since the first time I hit Mach 2.”
I felt my throat tighten. “They keep saying I’ll recover. That my cells just need to ‘recalibrate.’ But what if this—” I gestured to my arms, the scars, “what if this is as good as it gets?” I paused before continuing.
“I used to be a force,” I whispered, the words slipping out like something fragile. “I was the first one in, ready and unbreakable. Now I can’t even look at my reflection without feeling like I’m staring at someone else. Yamada says it’s progress, but I don’t feel whole. Every scar hums like it’s waiting for me to change again, and I don’t even know if I’ll survive the next one.” I leaned back, staring at the ceiling tiles. The hum of the vents filled the silence steady, mechanical, almost like breathing. Four months into SDN and I was still pretending it all felt normal. Pretending the world hadn’t shifted underneath my feet when my body stopped listening to me. “I miss it,” I admitted, barely more than a breath. “Not just the size, the strength. The way everything felt smaller when I was her. Like I could hold the whole damn city together if I had to.” I let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Now I can’t even carry a file box without my fucking body lighting up like a live wire.” My fingers brushed over one of the faint scars, tracing the uneven lines. “They say this is the new beginning. Stability. Safety. But it doesn’t feel like living, Chase. It feels like I’m playing house in someone else’s skin.” I paused, eyes unfocused, watching the thin blue light from the break room’s vending machine flicker across my arm. “I tell myself I’m lucky... But there’s this quiet part of me that keeps wondering if the world will even forgive me.”
Chase leaned back, taking in what I had to say before looking at me straight and leaning in.
“You think you’re the only one who’s broken?”
I looked up, surprised at the edge in his voice.
“I used to run across continents,” he said, staring into distance, I could feel the nostalgia dipping off. “Could circle the globe in minutes. Just like that." He emphasized, snapping his fingers. "But every sprint took months off my life. Didn’t realize it ‘til it was too damn late. Now, I get winded climbing the stairs.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “I used to think speed was what made me untouchable. Turns out, it just made me burn out faster.” He paused “We all lose pieces of what made us feel invincible, kid. The trick isn’t getting them back. It’s figuring out what’s left… and making that count.”
I stayed quiet, the words hanging there like smoke. He wasn’t trying to comfort me. He wasn’t trying to fix it. He was just… telling the truth.
His voice dropped low, steady. “You think dispatch is a retirement home? It’s the second chance nobody else gets. You and me…we may not be out there in capes anymore, but we still save lives every damn day.”
I felt my eyes glisten, blinking hard to steady myself. “It’s not the same.”
“No,” he said softly. “It’s realer. Out there, people cheered. In here, nobody sees us and we still do it anyway. That’s the part that makes you a hero.”
Silence fell again, but it was gentler this time.
I exhaled slowly. “Do you think I’ll ever get better?”
Chase looked at me for a long moment. “I think,” he said finally, “you’ll stop needing to be who you were. And start becoming who you’re supposed to be.”
I sat with that for a while. The hum of the vending machine. The faint buzz of the overhead light. All of it settling into a strange kind of peace.
When Chase finally stood to leave, he gave my shoulder a reassuring pat. “Get some rest before your shift,” he said over his shoulder. “And get me something from the vending machine while you’re at it. I’m fucking starving.”
I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head as he walked out of the break room. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Location: SDN, Torrance Branch — 9:04 a.m. Status: Med Bay — (Y/n L/n) on Medical Duty. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Flambae was already fussing over a small mirror, looking at the burn off area that had singed his eyebrows.
“I don’t see how this qualifies as an emergency,” I muttered, setting my medical kit down.
“That’s because you don’t care about appearance,” he shot back, voice sharp. “All you do is wear baggy clothes, and I’m pretty sure you’re just rotating the same three outfits.”
I looked down at my blue SDN shirt layered under a compression long sleeve that hung far past my wrists and jeans that were three sizes too big. The medical belt cinched around my waist was barely helping keep my pants up. “Keep it up and I won’t help.”
I raised an eyebrow, careful not to touch too roughly as I examined the area along his brow and hairline, checking to see if burns were present. “I feel bad… for that guy, having to put up with you.”
He shot me a glare that could’ve set off a fire alarm. “Excuse you. Feel bad for me.”
I leaned back slightly, studying the pattern of the singed hairs and seeing it was slightly inflamed. I already knew that Flambae was possibly wasting my time knowing he was fireproof but I decided to help him anyway “Knowing you,” I said, voice low, as I stayed focused “Kinda hard to, Matchstick.”
He scowled, but the corner of his mouth twitched. The faint smell of antiseptic and charred hair hung in the air as I dabbed at the area with a sterile pad, careful to soothe without stinging.
“Stop fucking calli—OW! The fuck kind of nurse are you?” Flambae yelped, jerking his head back as the antiseptic stung against the raw skin.
I didn’t flinch. “Medic and no,” I corrected dryly, holding the pad steady as I dabbed at the burn with deliberate precision. The tang of alcohol still clung to his singed hair, mixing with the sterile scent of the Med Bay.
I leaned back slightly, letting him flinch under the sting, and continued. “Look, your eyebrows will grow back. And since I can’t medically cure you from being a douche, here’s my professional recommendation: quit picking fights. That being said…” I paused, meeting his glare with an unflinching stare. “…as myself? Yeah, you definitely deserved this. And the other guy? He was definitely holding back.”
Flambae groaned, leaning back further. “Wow. Thanks for the moral support, doc.” A soft knock at the door drew both of our attention. Blonde Blazer.
“Hey—oh, sorry, didn’t expect you to be with a patient,” she said, stepping inside.
“It’s fine,” I replied, tossing a container of minoxidil towards a scowling Flambae. “He was just leaving.”
“Whatever,” he muttered, flipping me off as he hopped off the bed, the faint squeak of his boots fading down the hall.
I turned back to Mandy, letting a small, tired smile play on my lips. “Just a difficult patient. Anyway, what’s up?”
She closed the door behind her with a soft click, and I felt that familiar spike of tension
Fuck.
The hum of the Med Bay seemed louder suddenly, the faint antiseptic scent mixing with the lingering burnt hair.
“Been hearing about the extra shifts you’ve been taking… and skipping your physical therapy,” she said, stepping fully into the room, her gaze steady and unflinching.
“Look—” I started, already bracing myself. She raised a hand to pause me, her movements calm but deliberate, “I’m not reprimanding you. I’m not judging you. I understand that you have to deal with this in your own way. This… It's a major life adjustment.” She paused, letting the weight of her words hang in the air. “So I want to offer a deal of sorts.”
I shifted on the edge of the chair, the medical belt digging slightly into my waist, and waited. She smiled “We have a new dispatcher for the Z-team and I want you to train him, you know show him the ropes that kind of thing”
“Mark quit? Damn… I thought this one would actually stick this time,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair and feeling the lingering burn crawling down my back.
“Well…” Mandy began, her tone careful, like she was trying to soften the blow, “…let’s just say he didn’t exactly make it past the probation period.”
I leaned back slightly, letting out a low whistle. “Figures. And having your car totaled would also play a role.”
Mandy gave a nervous smile. “Yeah… that probably didn’t help morale.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, rubbing at my shoulder again. “But then again, we aren’t your typical company. If things went smoothly around here, I’d probably start worrying.”
She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “True. You definitely have a knack for keeping it interesting.”
I smirked, remembering the chaos. How I’d had to put the fear of God into Punch-Up and Golem just to get them to apologize properly, Golem sulking like a toddler while Punch-Up muttered under his breath, arms crossed and scowling the entire time. Sparks from the demolished car still danced in my memory, the sharp tang of burnt metal lingering in my nose. Somehow, amidst all the yelling, the fire, and the wreckage, I’d managed to drag some semblance of accountability out of them.
“Exhausting,” I muttered, more to myself than to Mandy, shaking my head. “My monkeys, my circus”
Mandy crossed her arms, giving me that look, the one that meant she’d been waiting for the perfect moment to ruin my morning. “Speaking of which, you’ll be helping him get on board with the new protocols. So you can stop volunteering for extra dispatch shifts.”
“Why do I feel a but coming on?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“But,” she said with that too-sweet smile, “you do need to start showing up to your physical therapy appointments. Or you’re on suspension.”
I blinked “I thought this wasn’t a reprimand!”
“It’s not,” Mandy replied, entirely too calm. “It’s a friendly reminder from someone who’s tired of filling out your overtime forms and covering for you with Dr. Yamada.”
I groaned, dropping my forehead into my hands. “Friendly reminder, my ass. Also, Yamada can go suck it.”
Mandy didn’t miss a beat. “He’d write that in your chart too, you know.”
I shot her a sideways glare. “Good. Maybe then he’ll finally stop calling it ‘muscle re-acclimation therapy.’ It’s just torture with nicer lighting.” Mandy smirked, crossing her arms. “You know, most people would kill for the chance to recover their abilities at all.”
“Yeah, well,” I muttered, “most people haven’t experienced their body practically tear itself apart from the inside out.”
Her expression softened, but just for a moment. “You could make this easier on yourself, you know. Show up, do the therapy, stop acting like every medical order is a personal insult.”
“I am showing up,” I said defensively.
Mandy arched an eyebrow, arms crossing. “Sitting in the waiting room for five minutes and then ghosting because ‘Dispatch needed you’ doesn’t count.” She even threw in the finger quotes for good measure.
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “You know, I miss when everyone just listened to me.”
Mandy laughed under her breath, shaking her head as she moved toward the door. “Tell that to Yamada. He’s still convinced you’re gonna start a fight in his lab one of these days.”
I gave a humorless smile. “If he decides to try that thing with my shoulder blades again, I might.”
That earned me a genuine laugh this time, quick, bright, and gone too fast. She sobered after a second, leaning against the counter beside me. “Seriously though, Y/n. We both know this place runs because you refuse to quit. But there’s a difference between holding the line and burning out.”
She turned toward the door, her shoes clicking softly against the linoleum, then paused halfway through. “Don’t forget to swing by my office at 10:30. That’s when our new dispatcher will be clocking in today.”
“So what’s this guy’s name, anyway?” I called after her.
She glanced over her shoulder with the faintest smirk. “Robert Robertson. Remember, 10:30.”
And just like that, she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft hiss.
I blinked, staring at the empty space she’d left.
“…What kind of fucking name is Robert Robertson?” I muttered, rubbing my temples. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Taglist: @ilovebtsstuff @levisungjingwoo2099 @luluxx118 @gutterwitch10v3 @napptimee29 @liv1246 @yingking13
