Chapter 20: "Part-Time Hero, Full-Time Son"
In which Evan makes a heartfelt decision, and the Mercers wonder if their son has been body-snatched.
By the time Evan Mercer proudly declared, "Mom, I've taken a part-time job," the Mercer household was already in a state of semi-controlled chaos—par for the course, really.
Garrick Mercer was in the kitchen, wearing a neon-orange oven mitt on one hand and a pair of anti-ecto goggles on his head. He was trying—and failing—to wrestle the lid off what he claimed was a "mystical ghost-proof thermos," but what looked suspiciously like a regular pressure cooker.
Meanwhile, Selene was unpacking a crate of ghost detectors that had mysteriously started humming the theme to The Twilight Zone.
So when Evan dropped his announcement like a ghost trap in the middle of breakfast chaos, he expected it to be lost in the noise.
Instead, everything stopped.
Selene turned toward him, blinking as if her son had suddenly spoken fluent Latin.
"A job?" she repeated slowly, as if testing the word in case it turned into a ghost mid-sentence. "Sweetie, if this is because of the food budget, you don't need to worry. We're just fine."
She placed a hand on Evan's cheek, her eyes softening.
"Really, you should focus on school and training. Doing too much might hurt you."
Now, normally at this point, Evan would've ducked away, groaned dramatically, or found some excuse to escape.
But not this time.
This time, he just stood there.
Still.
Grounded.
Like he actually meant what he was saying.
"Mom," he said, voice quieter now but stronger in a way that made Selene pause, "I want to work. Not because I have to. Because I need to. I've been... kind of coasting. Being lazy. Avoiding things that matter."
That earned him a blink from his mom.
Garrick, for once, actually set the pressure cooker down and gave his son a half-curious, half-terrified look.
Evan continued.
"If I don't make myself grow now, I don't think I'll turn out the way I want to. I'm scared of becoming someone who just hides from everything hard. I don't want that."
For a moment, Selene just stared at him.
She was used to seeing Evan sarcastic.
Flustered.
Avoiding anything that looked suspiciously like responsibility.
But this Evan?
The one standing straight, making sense, and saying things like I need to grow?
Whoever had possessed her son, they were being remarkably polite about it.
But then her expression softened again, a mix of pride and... something more.
A mother's instinct, maybe, telling her this wasn't just talk.
"Okay," she said at last. "But if I see you overworking yourself or slipping in school, you're quitting. No ifs, ands, or ghost-buts."
Evan grinned.
"Deal."
"And if this job turns out to involve working in a haunted dimension, you have to call first."
"Sure, sure," Evan said, already backing toward the door.
But then, before anyone could say more, he stepped forward, hugged Selene tightly, and kissed her cheek.
"I love you, Mom," he said.
And this time, he didn't sound like he was trying to avoid chores.
Then, with all the finesse of someone who had just realized he possessed emotions, he bolted.
Selene was left standing there, blinking in surprise, heart aching in the best way possible.
Behind her, Garrick sniffled into his mustache.
"Our little guy's growing up," he said proudly, pulling her into a bear hug.
She didn't even swat him away this time.
Somewhere inside Evan's mind, a very satisfied Asterion spoke.
"See? Progress."
Evan rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah. But if I end up folding laundry or working a cash register for twelve hours, I'm blaming you."
Asterion chuckled.
And oddly enough, that made Evan smile too.
Just as Selene turned back to her half-stirred pot of chili—a recipe that, for reasons still unclear, called for cinnamon, cheddar, and a splash of ectoplasm—Garrick Mercer burst into the kitchen like a human cannonball powered by raw enthusiasm and probably too much coffee.
"SELENE!" he roared, slapping a folder dramatically onto the counter with enough force to startle a nearby toaster into ejecting cold toast. "Mister Sebastian is in. He's investing. Our project is green-lit!"
Selene blinked, wide-eyed.
"Wait—the Mister Sebastian? The eccentric billionaire who believes Bigfoot owes him money?"
"The very same!" Garrick beamed like a man who'd just won the ghost-hunting lottery. "Turns out he loved our pitch! Especially the part about 'neutralizing cross-dimensional threats with high-yield containment fields and family-friendly design!'"
"Garrick," Selene said, the excitement bubbling up inside her like a science fair volcano, "this means we can finally finish the Interdimensional Gateway."
The two of them shared a grin that only mad scientists and parents with too many unfinished projects could understand.
The Gateway was the project.
Years in the making.
Equal parts obsession, invention, and very questionable zoning permits.
On paper, it was a state-of-the-art containment system for supernatural threats—because you never knew when a ghost warlord or mutant were-squid might show up needing a time-out.
But under the surface?
It was personal.
Selene's gaze drifted toward the window, her hands stilled over the pot.
The past crept in like fog—unwelcome but unstoppable.
It was supposed to be a fun weekend road trip.
College friends, cheap gas, and a borrowed van that made worrying noises even when parked.
The ghost town wasn't even on the map—just a half-cracked sign reading Red Rock Hollows and a creepy house that looked like it had binge-watched every horror movie in existence.
They'd joked at first.
Even dared each other to go inside.
But the moment the sun set, the house changed.
The windows glowed like angry eyes.
The floors groaned under invisible weight.
And then came the screams.
The kind that didn't sound like jokes.
They ran.
Garrick dragging her by the hand, blood pounding in their ears.
Their friends...
Didn't make it.
Selene could still hear the grinding of teeth from the attic window.
The wail of a voice that didn't belong to anything human.
Garrick never talked about that night.
But he didn't need to.
They both carried the same ghost.
That night had forged their path.
Their crusade.
Not just to study the supernatural, but to fight it.
To end it.
The Interdimensional Gateway wasn't just a tool—it was their answer to the question:
What if we'd had the means to stop it?
"I'll call Lena," Garrick said, already pulling out his phone. "She'll want to update the energy modulation algorithms!"
Selene smiled faintly.
Lena had surprised them.
Always the bookworm.
The calm one.
The sane one.
Until one day she'd come home with shaking hands and a new perspective.
She'd seen the Iron Nurse.
The ghost had first appeared in local legend—a nurse who died in a hospital fire but returned as a guardian spirit.
Skeptics said she was nothing more than a fever dream from overworked medical students.
But Lena had seen her.
She'd been helping at a university clinic when a power outage plunged the building into chaos.
Lena had been trapped with a panicked patient—and then, from nowhere, came a cold breeze, the smell of antiseptic, and a glowing figure.
The woman had calmed the patient, administered a sedative...
And vanished just as the lights returned.
Lena had come home pale and quiet, but with a new fire in her voice.
"Maybe not all ghosts are evil," she had said. "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't understand how to protect people from the dangerous ones."
Since then, she'd thrown herself into their work, building tools and writing theories Selene could barely keep up with.
Her daughter—her brilliant daughter—was trying to change the world.
Just...
In a slightly less explode-y way than her father.
Then there was Evan.
Oh, Evan.
The one member of the family who had always run the other way.
When he was younger, a ghost in the attic—just a flicker, just a shadow—had sent him screaming for the door.
He'd never spoken of it again.
It was like his brain had locked the memory in a vault labeled:
DO NOT OPEN.
He avoided the lab.
Dodged training drills.
Flinched every time they mentioned "ectoplasmic anomalies."
They'd tried, over and over, to include him.
Garrick even built a ghost-detecting skateboard, which technically worked if you didn't mind it launching you into mailboxes.
But Evan never came around.
Until this morning.
Selene closed her eyes, replaying the moment he said he wanted to work.
To grow.
To change.
There had been something in his voice—no, behind his voice.
Resolve.
And something else...
A little bit of fear, maybe.
But also...
Courage.
"Maybe," Selene murmured to herself, stirring the chili once more, "he's finally ready to stop running."
And maybe, just maybe, the scared little boy was beginning to fade.
Replaced by someone stronger.
Someone braver.
Someone finally beginning to understand what being a Mercer could mean.
The park was quiet in the early morning, dew still glistening on the grass as if the earth hadn't yet shaken off sleep.
Birds chirped half-heartedly, the way they do when they're not sure if it's too early to be enthusiastic.
In one of the open clearings, three teenagers stood in a rough triangle—worn sneakers, water bottles, and determination between them.
Evan arrived last, hoodie zipped halfway up, a pair of black training gloves in his back pocket, and a little more pride in his step than usual.
He wasn't limping today.
He wasn't hiding fatigue or bandaging bruises under his clothes.
For once, he felt…
Steady.
Strong enough not to embarrass himself.
"Nice of you to show up," Mara teased, leaning against a tree with her arms crossed—but not missing the subtle way Evan walked taller.
Evan chuckled, tossing his bag onto the bench nearby.
"You're one to talk. I thought Toby was the only one who sweated through his shirt before we even started."
"Hey!" Toby barked, sitting cross-legged on a yoga mat next to a complicated tangle of wires and two tablets. "That's hydration-based optimization. My body is just more efficient at... leaking."
Mara rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips.
Truth was, she was exhausted.
Her legs felt like pudding.
Her arms were jelly.
And the only thing keeping her upright was stubbornness and Evan's stupid, inspiring smile.
She glanced over at him now as he stretched, dropping into a deep lunge with a grace he hadn't possessed a few weeks ago.
Not long ago, Evan was the guy who tripped on his own shoelaces and tried to hide behind sarcasm.
Now he was the one setting the pace.
Pushing them forward—
without ever asking them to follow.
And that's why they did.
Mara had watched him throw himself into this new life with terrifying focus.
Read every book Garrick and Selene had forgotten they owned.
Memorized fighting stances.
Ran until he threw up.
Practiced his form in the dead of night when he thought no one was watching.
She had been watching.
And she had taken notes.
That's why she was here.
Why she pushed herself to her limits before the sun even hit the horizon.
Because if Evan could evolve from a supernatural-fearing slacker into someone willing to stand his ground, so could she.
"I'm ready," Mara said, stepping into the clearing and raising her fists—not to fight, but to train.
Evan grinned.
"Alright. Warm-up drills. Then pressure testing."
Toby groaned.
"That sounds like punching."
Evan clapped his hands.
"It is punching. Specifically, me punching you if you keep complaining."
Toby muttered something about training-based tyranny but got to his feet anyway.
The drills began—slow at first.
Basic footwork.
Quick jabs.
Partner coordination.
Mara's muscles burned, but she welcomed the fire.
Her mind sharpened with every movement, pushing past fatigue into a kind of clarity.
When she slipped up, Evan didn't scold her.
He offered tips.
Encouragement.
Even showed his own stumbles.
It was never about being perfect.
It was about being present.
And Toby?
He was quieter than usual, but focused.
His tech was evolving alongside them.
He was building wearable scanners, adaptive training simulations, and something he jokingly called The Specter Step—a kind of anti-ghost boombox shoe.
It didn't work yet.
But the concept was pure genius.
As they took a break, sitting in the grass and passing a water bottle between them, Mara found herself thinking again:
They're changing.
So am I.
She looked at them—not just her best friends, but her teammates.
Her family.
"I'm not gonna be the weak one," Mara said aloud, not realizing the words had escaped her thoughts.
Evan turned to her, confused.
"You've never been the weak one."
She met his eyes.
"Not physically. But I want more than just being brave. I want to be strong. The kind of strong that lifts others up. That leads."
Evan didn't respond immediately.
But the look in his eyes said it all—
recognition, pride, and something like relief.
"Then we'll get stronger together," he said softly.
Mara nodded.
Toby leaned back and gave a tired thumbs-up.
"As long as it doesn't involve more burpees."
The moment passed.
But the shift remained.
You ever have one of those moments where your brain goes full philosopher in the middle of something completely unrelated?
Like, one second you're watching your best friends try not to pass out from push-ups, and the next you're wondering if you'll all still be training when you're thirty, drinking protein shakes and arguing over who forgot leg day again?
Yeah.
That was me.
Right now.
I sat on a bench in the park, towel draped over my head like some ancient Greek thinker who accidentally joined a CrossFit cult.
My muscles ached.
Not the "ow, I stubbed my toe" kind of pain.
This was the full orchestra of soreness:
Violins of regret.
Cellos of doom.
And a timpani that screamed:
You skipped stretches again, idiot!
Mara was off to the side doing plank jacks like a warrior monk.
Toby was wheezing dramatically beside a tree, mumbling something about "acceptable cardio thresholds" and "unionizing the workout group."
Meanwhile, I was staring at the horizon like I expected enlightenment to just...
Arrive.
That's when Asterion decided to drop his daily dose of wisdom on me.
"Just as I'm testing you, this is a test for them. Patience. Endurance. Whether they continue when improvement stops being exciting."
I blinked.
"Okay, that sounds suspiciously like teacher-code for 'let's see whether they quit.'"
"Essentially."
Well.
At least he was honest.
But the thing was...
I got what he meant.
Kind of.
This whole training journey?
It wasn't a sprint.
It wasn't even a marathon.
It was one of those ultra-mega-super-marathons where people run through deserts, eat beetles for protein, and hallucinate they're being chased by sentient tumbleweeds.
Progress was slow.
Messy.
Sometimes invisible.
And that scared me.
Because what if Mara got frustrated and quit?
What if Toby decided to go full tech nerd and build a mech suit just to avoid doing squats?
Actually...
He would absolutely do that.
And okay—
What if I couldn't keep up?
What if I hit a wall and never made it past the level of "enthusiastic amateur wonder boy"?
I sighed and looked down at my hands.
They were scraped up from training, knuckles a little raw.
They didn't look that much stronger.
But maybe it wasn't about looking the part yet.
Maybe it was just about showing up.
Every single day.
And Mara was still here.
Even when her legs trembled.
Even when she muttered curses that would make a sailor blush.
Toby showed up too—even if he brought energy drinks and a Bluetooth speaker that only played lo-fi anime beats.
That had to mean something, right?
I remembered Asterion making it clear that he wasn't going to force either of them to continue.
It was their choice.
All of ours.
And yeah...
That was terrifying.
But also kind of freeing.
Because it meant every drop of sweat, every awkward punch, every stumble—
that was ours.
Earned.
Not owed.
So I stood up, legs still sore, brain still buzzing with way too many thoughts, and called out to Mara and Toby.
"Alright! Break's over. Back to work!"
Mara shot me a glare like she was about to throw her water bottle at my face.
Toby groaned.
"Define work in a way that doesn't involve motion or effort."
But they both got up.
They chose to get up.
And suddenly, the road ahead didn't seem so long anymore.
Just...
Longer than I'd like.
But I was okay with that.
Because I wasn't walking it alone.
And who knows?
Maybe Asterion had a few ancient cultivator cheat codes hidden up his sleeve after all.
A guy can hope.