Chapter 25 : Aftermath
Late May 2016 — DEO Medical Bay — One Week After the Factory
The mandatory psychological evaluation lasted three hours.
Dr. Hamilton—the DEO's resident psychiatrist, a woman with silver-streaked hair and eyes that saw too much—asked questions designed to crack open skulls and peer inside. How did confronting his father make him feel? Had he considered the possibility that mercy was weakness? Did he experience intrusive thoughts about alternative outcomes?
I answered honestly. Mostly.
Yes, the confrontation stirred complicated emotions. No, I don't believe mercy is weakness. Yes, I sometimes think about what would have happened if I'd killed him.
What I didn't say: I think about it because I could have. Because stopping his heart would have been easier than extending my hand. Because the power to end threats permanently is seductive in ways I never anticipated.
Dr. Hamilton marked something on her tablet. "You're cleared for active duty. But I'm recommending continued sessions. Weekly, for at least the next month."
"Fair enough."
"Mr. Schott." She set down the tablet. "What you did—choosing mercy when violence would have been simpler—that's not a sign of weakness. It's a sign of character. Your father spent decades convincing himself that strength meant hurting others. You proved him wrong."
I nodded. Didn't trust myself to speak.
"That said," she continued, "processing trauma takes time. Be patient with yourself. Lean on your support network. And if you find yourself struggling..." She handed me her card. "My door is always open."
DEO Desert Facility — Training Room
J'onn found me three hours later, running power drills alone.
The training room's walls were reinforced to handle Kryptonian-level impacts. I'd requested permission to use it after medical clearance came through, needing to feel my abilities respond to my commands. To confirm that the events at the factory hadn't broken something essential.
Tennis balls launched from automated turrets. I deflected them without conscious thought—Phase 2 instinctive now, vectors bending around me like I was the center of a localized physics exception.
"Your form has improved." J'onn's voice came from the observation deck. "Less wasted motion. More confidence."
"Surviving my father's death gauntlet was good practice."
"Indeed." He descended to the training floor, the turrets automatically pausing. "Though I suspect the improvement predates that particular trial."
I caught the last tennis ball mid-deflection, holding it rather than sending it bouncing off the walls. "You've been watching my training sessions."
"Monitoring. There's a difference." He stopped a few feet away, his posture suggesting concern rather than judgment. "You've pushed yourself hard since the Indigo incident. Harder than advisable, according to my observations."
The Indigo incident. Three days of migraine after interfacing with a Coluan AI. The memory of infinite data streams and her malevolent presence still made my head ache if I thought about it too long.
"I needed to know I could handle what was coming."
"You anticipated confronting your father?"
"I anticipated something." I set down the tennis ball. "The powers keep growing. The threats keep escalating. Sooner or later, I was going to face something that required everything I had."
J'onn nodded slowly. "And now that you've faced it?"
"Now I need to be ready for the next one."
He placed a hand on my shoulder—the gesture that had become familiar over months of mentorship. "The meditation techniques I taught you. Have you been practicing?"
"When I can."
"Practice more." His grip tightened briefly. "Power without peace leads to destruction. I've seen it happen too many times. Don't let your abilities outpace your wisdom."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Speaking from watching civilizations fall because their strongest members forgot how to be still." He released my shoulder. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we'll work on advanced mental disciplines. You've earned more challenging instruction."
I smiled despite myself. "That sounds suspiciously like a compliment."
"It's an observation. Take it however you wish."
Winn's Apartment — 11:47 PM
The knock came after midnight.
I'd been staring at the family photo for two hours. Me at eight years old, grinning at the camera. My father behind me, hands on my shoulders, smile bright and genuine. Before the patents. Before the betrayal. Before he learned to build bombs from children's toys.
He was happy once. We both were.
The knock repeated. I set down the photo and opened the door.
Kara stood in the hallway, still in her work clothes from CatCo, hair slightly disheveled from flying across the city. "I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about..."
"Me too."
She didn't wait for an invitation. Just stepped inside, looking around my apartment with the familiarity of someone who'd been here a hundred times. Her eyes landed on the photo in my hand.
"Is that—"
"Him. Us. Before." I set it on the coffee table. "I keep looking at it, trying to figure out where everything went wrong. When the man in this picture became the monster I faced last week."
Kara sat on the couch, curling her legs beneath her. "It wasn't one moment. It never is. It's a thousand small choices, each one taking you a little further from who you wanted to be."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Watching my aunt." Her voice softened. "Astra was brilliant. Caring. She fought to save Krypton when everyone else was pretending nothing was wrong. And somewhere along the way, she convinced herself that the only way to save people was to control them."
I sat beside her. Close, but not touching. "Do you think she can be redeemed?"
"I don't know. I hope so." She looked at the photo. "Do you think your father can?"
"No." The answer came without hesitation. "He had chances. Dozens of them. Every time someone tried to help him, he chose revenge instead. At some point, the choices become who you are."
"That's... harsh."
"It's honest." I met her eyes. "But it doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying with Astra. Your situation is different. She still believes she's doing the right thing. My father knew he was hurting people. He just didn't care."
Kara was quiet for a long moment. Then she reached out and took my hand.
"You're different too," she said. "Since we met. You're more... yourself. Like you finally figured out who you wanted to be and decided to become that person."
If only she knew.
"The powers helped. Having something real to offer, instead of just being the guy who fixes computers." I squeezed her hand. "Having you helped more."
"Me?"
"You believed in me. From the beginning, before I'd proven anything. Before I even believed in myself." I smiled. "That matters more than any superpower."
The apartment was quiet except for the distant hum of city traffic. Outside, National City glittered like a scattered handful of stars, oblivious to the two people sitting in the dark discussing loss and hope and everything in between.
"I keep thinking about what would have happened if you'd chosen differently," Kara said softly. "In the factory. If you'd killed him instead of showing mercy."
"Would you have blamed me?"
"No. But I would have been sad. For you." She turned to face me fully. "The mercy you showed—that's who you are, Winn. Not the powers, not the tactical genius, not any of the things that make you useful in a fight. Your heart. That's what makes you... you."
Something shifted between us. A barrier that had been holding, barely, for months.
"Kara—"
"I know." She squeezed my hand tighter. "I'm not ready. For whatever this is. There's too much happening, too much I haven't figured out about myself. But I want you to know that I see it. Us. The possibility of something more."
"I can wait."
"I know that too." She smiled—soft, vulnerable, beautiful. "That's part of why I trust you."
We talked until sunrise. About Krypton and the father who'd sent her away to save her life. About the fear that she'd inherited her aunt's capacity for absolutism. About my powers and where they might lead, what I might become if I wasn't careful.
By the time light crept through my windows, we'd said more to each other than in all the months before combined.
Kara stood at the door, hand on the knob, hesitating.
"We're going to be okay," she said. "Both of us."
I believed her.
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