"Do what you can, with what you have, where you are" Theodore Roosevelt.
The next morning crept slowly, the soft golden light of sunrise bleeding through the blinds. Marcus lay on his back, already awake before his alarm, staring at the ceiling, fingers laced behind his head. It was a weird contrast—this body that barely fit in the bed, these small hands, and the huge, loud thoughts rolling around in his 22-year-old mind.
He was alive.
He had a mom.
He had a dad.
And a brother.
He knew he had a mother and a brother in his old life, his dad left to go grab the milk at a young age so he never met him—but he couldn't remember their faces. Just impressions. Warmth. Laughter. Silence. Then… nothing.
But here? Debbie Grayson was real.
He saw her as he wandered into the kitchen, rubbing fake sleep from his eyes.
She stood at the stove, hair in a loose, tired bun, wearing a simple oversized T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. No makeup. Just… real. Her features were soft but worn—eyes that had seen too many late nights and held too much patience. She was beautiful in a way few women ever were. Beautiful because she cared.
She turned, spatula in hand, and smiled.
"Well, hey, sleepyhead. You hungry?"
Marcus blinked. He hadn't even opened his mouth yet.
"I made pancakes and eggs. Mark's still brushing his teeth. He moves like a sloth in the mornings."
He smiled, chest tight with something he didn't expect to feel. She sounds like a mom.
And when she placed the plate in front of him and ruffled his hair, he had to look down just to hide the sting in his eyes.
Breakfast was loud, messy, and… perfect.
Mark stumbled into the kitchen, still brushing his wet hair, one sock on, his shirt backwards. He scarfed down three pancakes like it was a race.
"Mark," Debbie sighed, "chew."
"I am," he lied through stuffed cheeks.
Marcus took slower bites, studying everything. The dynamic. The routine. The comfort of it all. Nolan entered in his civilian clothes—button-down shirt, slacks, coffee in hand—and gave Debbie a quick kiss on the cheek.
"You're beautiful," he said casually.
"You're late," she replied, smirking.
"Only to the galaxy," he said with a wink. And walked back upstairs to grab something.
The morning light streamed into the kitchen as Marcus and Mark sat at the table, spooning cereal into their mouths. The TV murmured softly in the background, playing a cartoon neither of them were really watching.
Debbie moved around the kitchen in her robe, sipping her coffee, watching them with that familiar "mom radar" look—half loving, half suspicious.
She finally leaned on the counter and asked, casually but carefully, "So… what did your dad talk to you about last night?"
Mark nearly choked on his cereal. "Oh! It was awesome, Mom! He told us we're half Viltrumite and that we're gonna get powers and I might even get super speed or flight or laser eyes or maybe—"
"Mark," Debbie interrupted gently, raising a hand, "slow down."
He grinned sheepishly, still bouncing in his seat with excitement.
She turned her eyes to Marcus, whose expression was much calmer. "And you, Marcus? How are you feeling about it?"
He swallowed his bite, met her eyes, and gave a careful nod. "It's… a lot. But I'm okay."
Debbie's smile was faint but proud. Then her face shifted—serious, maternal, protective.
"Alright. Listen to me, both of you."
She walked closer, crouching a little so they were eye level.
"What your dad told you… that stays here. In this house. No one else can know, okay? Not your friends, not your teachers, not even your best friend in the whole world. This isn't like telling someone about your favorite color. It's dangerous."
Mark's smile faded a bit. "Dangerous how?"
Nolan entered the kitchen right on cue, fixing his tie, and picked up where Debbie left off.
"Because the world isn't ready for what we are. People fear what they don't understand. If the wrong people found out about you two, they could try to hurt you… or us."
Marcus already knew all this. But he looked between them and nodded solemnly, playing his part. "We won't tell anyone. Promise."
Mark hesitated, then held up his hand. "Yeah. Pinky swears."
Debbie gave a soft laugh, but there was relief in it. "Good. Because if anyone finds out before you're ready… it could change everything."
Nolan ruffled their hair—firm with Mark, gentle with Marcus. "We'll help you through this. One step at a time."
And in the background, Mark whispered to himself under his breath, "I hope I get laser eyes."
Marcus just shook his head, smiled and tried not to laugh.
So, this is what a family's supposed to feel like…
The school bus honked outside. Debbie ushered them out the door, backpacks bouncing as they ran.
Marcus turned to see her and Nolan standing together on the porch, waving.
"Have a great day, boys!"
As the bus rolled down the street, Marcus leaned on the window, watching them shrink in the distance.
Something settled in his chest. Something heavy.
I could get used to this…
Second grade was exactly as he remembered.
Loud. Sticky. Underwhelming.
"...and that's why two plus two is four!" said the overly chipper teacher at the board, proud like she just solved nuclear physics.
Marcus sat silently in the back, arms crossed. His desk barely fit his knees.
He sighed.
I can't believe I have to go through this again. I already beat this game. Twice. With DLC. And now I'm stuck doing the tutorial all over.
The kid next to him was picking his nose. Another one was trying to eat glue. Mark was giggling with a kid named Kenny about superheroes.
And Marcus? He was stuck in an academic purgatory of crayon-level thinking and finger-paint logic.
Puberty again? Acne again? Voice cracks? The emotional instability of middle school? The awkward transition to deodorant?! LORD HAVE MERCY.
He wanted to slam his face into the desk.
But he had a plan.
At recess, he walked straight up to Mr. Kessler, their homeroom teacher.
"Mr. Kessler?"
The older man looked up from his clipboard. "Yes, Marcus?"
"I'd like to be moved up a grade."
Kessler blinked. "That's… a bold request. Especially with your grades Marcus"
Marcus winced as he realized that he was correct; before this fact, Marcus was a player for Cs& Ds. He quickly recovered and stated, "I possess abilities beyond those of my peers," Marcus asserted with confidence. "I have been reading at a sixth-grade level in both reading and mathematics. I believe I would excel in a more challenging class."
Kessler raised an eyebrow.
"…Do you know what a hypotenuse is?"
Marcus leaned in. "Pythagorean theorem. A squared plus B squared equals C squared. Let's not play games, Mr. Kessler."
The teacher blinked, then gave a slow nod. "Alright then. I'll speak with the principal."
Step one: make waves. Step two: get out of this baby sandbox.
That night at dinner, the table buzzed with the usual family noise. Mark was mid-sentence, waving his fork like a sword as he told Debbie about how he won four races at recess.
"I was so fast, Mom! And then Kenny tripped and got dirt in his mouth, and it was like pfft—"
"Mark," Debbie warned, "chew first."
Marcus matched the energy perfectly, remembering how the real Marcus would've acted.
"And I got an extra chocolate milk from the lunch lady cause I held the door open for five people."
Debbie raised a brow. "Only five?"
"Small class today," Marcus shrugged with a grin.
Then suddenly—WHOOSH.
The wind screamed through the kitchen.
A blur flew through the dining room, a gust of wind sending napkins and the saltshaker tumbling.
Mark gasped. "DAD?!"
Nolan reappeared behind his chair, already changed into his superhero suit.
Marcus didn't see him move. It was like he skipped frames in real life.
Mark jumped up. "That was awesome! You didn't even tell us you could do that yesterday!"
"I did and I can do a lot more," Nolan chuckled.
Debbie rolled her eyes, collecting the salt shaker. "Could you maybe do less at the dinner table?"
Nolan vanished again—WHOOSH—and returned seconds later in his civilian clothes.
Mark's jaw dropped. "No way."
Seeing it on a screen was one thing. But real life? The sound. The wind. The feeling of something inhuman happening right in front of you…
The animation did NOT do it justice.
While Mark told Debbie about how he might have super speed too, Marcus sat quietly, watching them.
And it hit him like a slow, quiet wave.
These are my parents now.
Sure, Nolan had ulterior motives. And one day, the truth would come out. But for now, for today, they were just a mom and dad who made dinner and asked about school.
A single tear slid down his cheek.
Debbie turned, eyes soft. "Sweetheart? What's wrong?"
Nolan tensed, voice serious. "Is someone bullying you?"
Marcus smiled quickly, wiping his cheek. "No. I'm just… happy you guys are my parents."
There was a pause.
Then Debbie leaned in, hugging him around the shoulders.
"We're happy you're our son."
Nolan nodded, placing a strong hand on Marcus's shoulder. "You'll do great things, son. I can feel it."
After dinner, Debbie washed dishes while Nolan read a paper on the couch. Mark had run upstairs, muttering something about drawing comics.
Marcus approached quietly.
"Mom?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"…If I bring my grades up… can I start self-defense classes?"
She turned, raising a skeptical brow. "You? Mr. 'C's get degrees'?"
He winced.
"That's the old me. New me wants to level up."
She laughed. "You bring up those grades and we'll talk."
Nolan chimed in from the couch. "I think it's a great idea. A Viltrumite should learn discipline."
Mark popped his head in. "Why waste your time punching air when you could be reading Invincible Man #1?"
Marcus smirked.
Because I've already read it, kid.
That night, in bed, Marcus stared at the ceiling again—same spot, same quiet house.
But this time, he wasn't just adjusting.
He was planning.
I'm not wasting this life. I'm going to stand out. I'll graduate early. Master my powers. Learn to fight. Be ready for everything this world—and the Viltrumites—throw at me.
Because he wasn't just some kid anymore.
He was Marcus Grayson.
And he had a universe to save.