Chapter 29: "Jogging with Ghosts and Unpacking Trauma in Sweatpants"
In which my childhood bully says something almost nice before totally ruining it.
Back at the Mercer household—also known as the supernatural world's least favorite Bed and Breakfast—Garrick and Selene were seated at the kitchen table, surrounded by blueprints, ghost detectors, and a half-eaten plate of nuclear-green waffles.
You know.
Typical Tuesday.
"Well, Selene," Garrick said, tapping the butt of his beloved ghost blaster like it was a family heirloom—it wasn't, unless you counted third-degree burns as inheritance—"last night was… something."
Selene took a careful sip of her extra-strength ghostproof coffee.
"Something is one word. Catastrophe is another."
Outside, the smoking remains of what used to be a perfectly good suburban home still lingered in the air.
Courtesy of one DJ Ghost and Garrick's impromptu Ghostbuster Gone Wild routine after the emergency call brought the Mercers into the mess.
"Did you see Evan?" Garrick said, puffing out his chest like a proud walrus in a hazmat suit. "Our boy wasn't scared. Not one bit. He stood his ground and used music to force a ghost right out of that guy!"
Selene raised an eyebrow.
"Garrick, he nearly got incinerated. Again."
Garrick blinked.
"But he didn't!"
He pointed enthusiastically.
"That's the point. He's learning, Selene. Our little guy is out there fighting poltergeists and singing them into submission."
Selene couldn't deny it.
Last night, Evan had acted like a hero.
A strangely effective, karaoke-fueled, occasionally-on-fire hero.
And even though Garrick's eventual entrance into the situation had been more Michael Bay than Mission: Impossible, the remaining supernatural activity had been contained and the fire hadn't spread beyond the house.
Also, half the neighborhood now believed Havenbrook had been visited by aliens.
So...
Success?
"I'm proud of him too," Selene admitted, sliding several notes across the table. "But I asked him about what's been happening lately."
Garrick leaned forward.
"And?"
"He said he has a mentor."
Garrick blinked.
"A mentor?"
He scratched his chin.
"Like a gym coach or like Mr. Miyagi?"
"More like someone who's been training him privately."
"Who?"
"He wouldn't say."
Garrick's eyes widened.
"Is it that martial-arts guy from Channel Five? The one with the exploding dumbbells?"
Selene gave him a flat look.
"No, Garrick. That man has been banned from three states."
"Oh."
He looked genuinely disappointed.
They sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the situation.
"He's changing," Garrick said finally.
His voice was uncharacteristically soft.
"He's not the same clumsy little noodle we used to trip over in the hallway."
"True."
Selene crossed her arms.
"He's stronger. Faster. More focused."
She frowned thoughtfully.
"Honestly, it's a little eerie."
Then:
"But in a good way. Like when the toaster finally stopped launching bagels into orbit."
Garrick nodded solemnly.
"It's time."
Selene looked at him.
"Time for what?"
Garrick slammed one fist onto the table.
A nearby ghost detector squealed like a pig on fire.
"Time to train him the Mercer way! Weightlifting at dawn! Anti-ectoplasmic sparring by noon! Full diagnostic run of the ghost gauntlet by bedtime!"
Selene raised an eyebrow.
"You mean the one that electrocuted you unconscious last month?"
"Exactly!"
Garrick grinned.
"Character building!"
Selene wasn't entirely sold.
But she was worried too.
Evan wasn't dipping his toes into danger anymore.
He was doing cannonballs off the high dive.
If someone was mentoring him, they were clearly doing something right.
But the Mercers were supernatural hunters.
Protecting people—
especially their son—
wasn't just a profession.
It was personal.
"Alright," she said at last. "We ease him into it."
Garrick's grin widened.
"No full ghost gauntlet yet."
His grin weakened.
"Light cardio. Controlled sparring. Basic diagnostics."
Garrick pumped one fist.
"Mercer Family Training Camp: Activate!"
Outside the kitchen window, a neighborhood cat cautiously approached the Mercer RV.
It stopped.
Hissed at the faint hum coming from underneath it.
Then wisely left.
It hadn't been that long since Asterion Ardyn—
ancient cultivator, mentor extraordinaire, former Sect Head, and living proof that the universe had a strange sense of humor—
had entered my already not-particularly-normal life.
And I'm not even being dramatic when I say I was a completely different person now.
Okay.
Maybe slightly dramatic.
But still.
If Old Evan met Current Evan?
He'd probably assume I'd been replaced by an evil clone.
It wasn't just the new muscles.
Or the martial arts.
Or the fact that I could now run across half the park without collapsing and seeing my ancestors.
It was...
purpose.
Yeah.
I know.
Big word alert.
But seriously.
I felt like I was finally moving forward instead of dodging responsibility and hoping every difficult thing in my life would eventually get bored and leave.
And today?
Today was Heroic Community Service Day™.
No, it wasn't an actual holiday.
Though I'd absolutely support that if it came with free smoothies.
It was an Asterion-requested mission.
Apparently helping people earned points.
Points unlocked skills.
Skills unlocked cool things.
So basically, ancient cultivation had somehow become a morality-based video game.
I called Mara and Toby.
Correction:
I begged Mara and Toby.
Surprisingly, they agreed.
Mara probably because helping people could be framed as punk social activism with emotional growth.
Toby because I promised chili fries.
Heroism tastes like debt.
We started at the local park, where we found a half-collapsed swing set and a group of squirrels holding what looked suspiciously like a gang meeting.
While Toby distracted them using a peanut-butter granola bar—
he called it "animal diplomacy"—
Mara and I tightened bolts, repainted rusted supports, and replaced a sign that previously read:
ENTER AT YOUR OWN PERIL
Progress!
Next came helping Mrs. Lopez cross the street.
You'd think escorting one elderly woman across an intersection would be easy.
You would be so wrong.
Mrs. Lopez moved at approximately 0.0001 miles per hour and stopped repeatedly to glare at pigeons that she claimed were "looking judgmental."
But I smiled.
Offered my arm.
Waited.
And tried not to spontaneously combust beneath the collective stare of every driver at the intersection.
Then we helped hand out food at a local shelter.
That one...
hit differently.
There was no fighting.
No supernatural threat.
No armor.
No heroic entrance.
Just handing someone a meal.
Listening.
Helping carry boxes.
Watching someone's expression brighten because they'd been given something they needed.
That felt...
real.
Powerful in a way punching ghosts wasn't.
"I feel like a better person," I said later as we collapsed onto a bench covered in paint, granola crumbs, and possibly an unhealthy amount of self-satisfaction.
Toby sipped his smoothie.
"Yeah."
He nodded thoughtfully.
"You're almost tolerable now."
"Gee, thanks."
Mara smirked.
"Seriously, though."
She looked at me.
"What's gotten into you lately? You're... not the same Evan."
That made me pause.
Because she was right.
I wasn't the same kid who used to hide behind sarcasm whenever something became uncomfortable.
I was starting to understand that stepping forward mattered because things were difficult.
Helping people wasn't just something heroes did because someone handed them a mission.
It was a choice.
And...
it felt good.
"I guess..."
I looked down at my hands.
"I'm trying to figure out what kind of hero I want to be."
Mara tilted her head.
"Hero, huh?"
Toby nudged me.
"Well, if this hero thing comes with better Wi-Fi and front-row seats to supernatural Thunderdome, I'm in."
I laughed.
Somewhere inside my mind, I could almost feel Asterion approving.
Probably while also preparing ten new ways to make tomorrow's workout miserable.
Not long ago, I was a barely-passing student with supernatural problems.
Now?
I was a kid with a cause.
And yeah, okay—
I still had math homework due Monday.
And my left sock smelled like haunted ketchup for reasons I do not want to discuss.
But for once...
I wasn't just reacting to life.
I was actually living it.
So picture this.
It's sunset.
The sky's going full orange creamsicle.
I'm on my way home after a long day of heroic smoothie-sharing and mentor-approved good deeds.
And who should appear from the distance like an unwanted gym teacher?
Derek Holt.
Yes.
That Derek.
My personal nightmare since childhood.
Slayer of self-esteem.
The human equivalent of a wedgie.
He was jogging.
Which wasn't surprising.
Derek looked like the kind of person who did push-ups between shampoo and conditioner.
But he was also carrying a weighted backpack like he was training to climb Mount Ego.
He slowed when he saw me.
I slowed too.
Mostly because old instincts still expected a shoulder-check into the nearest mailbox.
Then it happened.
"You're looking good, Mercer."
I blinked.
"What?"
No punch.
No insult.
No sarcastic laugh followed by a headlock.
Just...
words.
Slightly compliment-flavored words.
"You heard me," Derek said.
He looked me over like he was evaluating a gym rival.
"Looking fit. Your arms don't look like wet noodles anymore."
"Uh..."
I stared at him.
"Thanks?"
Then narrowed my eyes.
"Are you okay? Did you hit your head on a protein bar?"
Derek frowned.
"What? A guy can't praise another guy's progress?"
He adjusted one strap of the weighted backpack.
"I respect strength."
"Okay."
I nodded slowly.
"That's cool and everything, but what's your actual problem with me, Derek?"
His expression hardened.
"I mean, I figured maybe you'd eventually stop acting like a psychopath because you have a thing for Lena."
Derek stiffened.
"This has nothing to do with Lena."
"Uh-huh."
I folded my arms.
"Right. So the years of torment were what? A hobby? Extreme emotional cardio?"
"I've already told you."
His voice sharpened.
"I treated you like that because you were a disgrace to your family."
...
Hold.
Up.
"Come again?"
Derek rolled his shoulders like he was warming up for a TED Talk entitled:
How to Justify Years of Being a Terrible Person.
"Your dad—Garrick Mercer—is a legend."
I blinked.
"He's brave. Strong. I've seen what he can do."
Derek's jaw tightened.
"And you?"
He looked me over.
"You used to be scared of dodgeballs and ran like a duck wearing two left shoes."
"Okay."
I pointed at him.
"That's... kinda true."
Then:
"Still harsh."
"I respected your dad," Derek continued.
There was genuine intensity there now.
"And then I'd look at you and see someone wasting everything he'd been given. Hiding in the background. Afraid to fight."
His hands curled into fists.
"It pissed me off."
I stared.
My brain tried to process this like a pop quiz written in supernatural hieroglyphics.
"So..."
I pointed between us.
"You bullied me for years because I didn't live up to your idea of my father's legacy?"
Derek didn't answer immediately.
He just glared toward the road.
Jaw clenched.
And suddenly...
I saw it.
The anger.
The disappointment.
Not exactly in me.
More in what he'd decided I should've been.
For Derek, everything boiled down to strength.
Power.
Performance.
He looked at Dad and saw a hero.
Then looked at me and saw...
a failure to live up to that image.
So instead of giving me a motivational speech like a normal human being, he chose public humiliation.
Because apparently emotional intelligence wasn't included with the muscles.
"Well," I said finally, "thanks for the unsolicited character development."
Derek grunted.
"Don't get soft on me now, Mercer."
He adjusted the backpack.
"I'm still watching."
Then he started jogging again.
Just...
left.
Like some grumpy motivational poster with abs.
I stood there.
Processing.
Childhood betrayal.
Accidental respect.
Years of unresolved emotional garbage.
That was a lot for one sunset.
But one thing seemed clearer.
Derek didn't hate me for no reason.
He hated what he thought I represented.
Weakness.
Wasted potential.
Not trying.
That didn't make what he'd done okay.
Not even close.
But at least now...
I understood where some of it came from.
Too bad for him.
I was done not trying.
You'd think walking home while an ancient dead cultivator casually manifested beside you would be terrifying.
At this point?
Honestly, it barely cracked my top ten.
Asterion walked beside me in spiritual form, visible only to me.
No dramatic floating.
No glowing superhero pose.
Just hands tucked loosely behind his back while I trudged down the sidewalk replaying my extremely weird conversation with Derek Holt on a mental loop.
"I mean, we were neighbors," I muttered.
Asterion glanced over.
"We used to have barbecues."
"Hm."
"I taught him how to ride a bike."
Asterion's mouth twitched.
"He cried once because a bee landed on his juice box."
I pointed emphatically.
"And I punched the bee."
Asterion stopped walking.
"You punched a bee?"
"It was heroic!"
I raised my hands.
"I was five and fearless."
Asterion stared at me.
"What happened?"
"Life."
That actually got a laugh.
Then I sighed.
"And now he calls me a disgrace to my entire family."
Asterion resumed walking.
"People change."
"Thanks. Very helpful."
"I hadn't finished."
"Right."
We walked another few steps.
"Things rarely unfold the way you expect," Asterion said. "People grow apart. Sometimes for good reasons."
He glanced at me.
"Sometimes for very stupid ones."
"Derek specializes in those."
"So I've noticed."
I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets.
"I just don't understand it."
Asterion remained quiet.
"We were supposed to be friends."
That came out softer than I intended.
"Best friends, probably."
I kicked a pebble down the sidewalk.
"Then suddenly everything turned into this."
Asterion looked toward the darkening sky.
"I understand more than you think."
I glanced over.
"You do?"
For a moment, he didn't answer.
Then:
"My brother and I were close when we were young."
Oh.
This was rare.
Asterion didn't talk about his family much.
"We grew up together. Same home. Same expectations."
His expression became distant.
"But as we became older..."
He paused.
"I kept moving ahead."
I remembered what he'd told me before.
His brother living in his shadow.
"People compared him to you."
"Constantly."
Asterion nodded once.
"And comparisons change things."
His voice stayed calm.
"They create resentment where there doesn't need to be any. Pride. Distance."
He looked forward.
"My brother loved me."
A pause.
"And there were times he resented me."
I stayed quiet.
"I loved him too."
That part sounded heavier.
"But understanding someone doesn't always mean knowing how to repair what has changed between you."
"Dang."
I glanced at him.
"That got deep fast."
Asterion gave me a dry look.
"You asked."
"Fair."
We kept walking.
"So..."
I thought for a moment.
"You're saying Derek and I might've just reached a point where neither of us knew how to be friends anymore?"
"Perhaps."
"That's depressing."
"It's life."
"Even more depressing."
Asterion smiled slightly.
Then his voice softened.
"Sometimes people aren't ready to have the relationship they could have had."
I looked over.
"They may meet again later as different people."
His gaze shifted toward me.
"Better people, hopefully."
"So..."
I hesitated.
"I'm supposed to forgive Derek because he had some weird issue with my past self?"
"No."
Immediate.
Firm.
That surprised me.
Asterion continued.
"Understanding someone doesn't excuse what they did."
That settled something.
"He hurt you."
Asterion's voice remained matter-of-fact.
"You don't have to pretend otherwise."
I nodded slowly.
"But understanding why may help you decide what you want to do next."
I thought about that.
Understanding Derek didn't mean pretending the bullying never happened.
Didn't mean trusting him tomorrow.
Didn't mean suddenly going:
Hey, buddy! Remember that time you slammed me into a locker? Good memories!
It just meant...
I didn't have to carry exactly the same anger forever.
After a few moments, I asked:
"You think we'll ever be friends again?"
Asterion looked ahead.
"Maybe."
"That's useful."
"It depends on him."
That made me listen.
"If he changes. If he takes responsibility for what he did."
Then:
"And if you decide you want him back in your life."
I blinked.
Right.
My choice too.
Asterion's mouth lifted faintly.
"Fate creates possibilities, Evan. It doesn't require you to accept every one of them."
I smiled.
"Look at you. Actual wisdom."
"Occasionally."
"Don't let it go to your head."
"I'm nearly a thousand years old."
"Your head has had plenty of time."
He laughed.
As we turned the corner toward home, I felt...
lighter.
Still confused.
Still irritated.
Still fully prepared to punch Derek if he tried stuffing me into another trash can.
But lighter.
Maybe the future wasn't just going to be ghosts, vigilante missions, training, and trying not to accidentally set buildings on fire.
Maybe there was room for other things too.
Healing.
Second chances.
Or at least understanding.
Even for former best friends who grew up into part-time jerks.