The moonlight filtered through the curtains of Dick's room, casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor. Outside, the world was silent, settled into the deep, rhythmic breathing of a neighborhood at rest. Everyone was fast asleep—or so it seemed. Nolan was likely downstairs, tending to the enigmatic responsibilities that came with being the world's most powerful man, but in his own room, Dick found the concept of sleep offensive.
He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling as if the white plaster held the answers to his internal crisis. His mind was a chaotic loop, replaying the moment his Viltrumite heritage had finally sparked to life. It should have been a moment of pure triumph, the fulfillment of a lifelong shadow he'd lived under. But there was a snag—a defect, as the world might see it. He couldn't fly.
He could crush steel with his bare hands and take a bullet to the chest without a bruise, yet the simple act of defying gravity remained just out of reach.
Dick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could hear the faint scuttle of a beetle in the garden three floors down and smell the ozone of a distant storm brewing miles away. But right now, all those heightened senses were doing was keeping him awake, amplifying the silence until it felt heavy.
Frustrated, Dick kicked off his sheets. He needed air—real air, not the recycled warmth of a suburban bedroom.
He slipped out of his window, his movements fluid and unnervingly quiet, and climbed onto the shingles of the roof. He expected solitude, but as he crested the peak, he found he wasn't the only one seeking the night sky.
Mark was perched on the edge of the roof, his legs dangling over the gutter. He looked up as Dick approached, and for a long moment, the two brothers just stared at each other, blinking in the silver light. Somewhere in the distance, a lone cricket chirped a steady, rhythmic beat.
"Trouble sleeping?" they asked in perfect unison.
"Yeah," they replied, again at the exact same time.
A beat of silence passed before both broke into a quiet, stifled laugh. The tension that usually hummed between two teenage boys with the weight of the world on their shoulders dissipated, replaced by the easy familiarity of brotherhood.
"I was thinking about going for a walk," Mark said, standing up and stretching his arms. "Well, a soar, actually. I need to get the blood moving."
Dick leaned against the chimney, looking skeptical. "You sure you can even get that high without stalling out? You're still a bit… wobbly."
Mark flashed a confident, slightly cocky smile that was all Nolan. "Watch me. I've got the hang of it now. It's like… thinking where you want to be and just being there."
But as Mark looked at his brother, the pride in his eyes flickered. He knew Dick's struggle. He knew the frustration of having the engine of a supercar but no wheels to drive it. A surge of brotherly guilt—and perhaps a bit of inspiration—hit him. Mark reached out a hand toward Dick, palm up.
Dick looked at the hand, then up at Mark with a flat, deadpan stare. "Gay."
Mark's face immediately crunched up in annoyance. "Seriously? I'm trying to be a good brother and offer you a ride, and you just had to ruin the mood, didn't you?"
Dick sniggered, the sound sharp in the night air. "Sorry, sorry. It was right there. I couldn't help it."
"Whatever," Mark huffed, though a smile played on his lips. "Get on. Unless you'd rather stay here and count the shingles."
Dick hesitated. He hated being the passenger, hated the vulnerability of it. But the lure of the sky was too strong. "Fine. But if you drop me, I'm telling Mom you stole her 'special' chocolate."
"Deal," Mark said.
Dick took his brother's hand, and with a sudden, jerky lurch, they were airborne. It wasn't the smooth, cinematic takeoff of a superhero movie. It was wobbly and frantic, like a baby bird learning to use its wings. Dick gripped Mark's arm with enough strength to bruise a normal human, but within seconds, the clumsiness vanished. They shot upward, the suburban lights of their neighborhood shrinking into a shimmering grid of orange and white.
The experience was exhilarating. The wind whipped past them, cold and sharp, filling Dick's lungs with the freshest air he'd ever tasted. He couldn't help it—a wide, manic grin plastered itself across his face. For the first time, he understood why his father spent so much time in the clouds.
"Not bad, right?" Mark yelled over the roar of the wind.
"It's alright!" Dick shouted back, his voice full of mock indifference despite his eyes being wide with wonder.
They were ascending rapidly, pushing higher than Mark had ever gone. Below them, a commercial airliner cruised by, its lights blinking like a slow-moving star. The sudden wake of the plane caught them, sending them into a brief, stomach-turning spin. Mark fought for control, his face set in a mask of pure concentration.
In his excitement and determination to prove his skill, Mark didn't notice the change in the atmosphere. The deep blue of the night was fading into the black of the void. The air was thinning, turning into a wispy, freezing nothingness.
"Mark… Mark, slow down," Dick gasped. His enhanced lungs were burning, searching for oxygen that wasn't there.
Mark didn't respond. He had gone completely still, his eyes glazing over as hypoxia set in. They had reached the border of space, where the oxygen was too low even for a fledgling Viltrumite.
"Mark!" Dick barked, but his brother was out cold.
Gravity, ever the cruel master, reclaimed its prize. The upward momentum died, and for a terrifying second, they hung in the weightless silence of the upper atmosphere. Then, they began to fall.
Dick's heart didn't just race; it leaped into his throat. They were plummeting, the wind screaming past them as they gained terminal velocity. Mark was a dead weight in his arms, his head lolling back.
"Mark, wake up! Wake up, you fucking idiot!" Dick screamed, slapping Mark's face with enough force to crack a sidewalk. He shook him, swayed him back and forth, desperate to jar his consciousness back into the room. The ground was rushing up to meet them—a dark, unforgiving tapestry of forest and road.
Mark's eyes snapped open just as the air became thick enough to breathe. He saw the ground approaching at a hundred miles an hour and panicked. Instead of flying, his instinct went into survival mode. He let out a high-pitched scream and wrapped Dick in a bone-crushing hug, squeezing the air out of him.
"Fly! Mark, fly!" Dick wheezed, but Mark was too far gone in his terror to remember he had wings.
Dick realized then that if they hit the ground like this, they'd both be fine thanks to their durability, but they'd leave a mess of the scenery. He forced himself to stay calm. He'd studied physics; he'd seen skydivers. Using Mark's body as a rudder, Dick shifted his weight, maneuvering through the air like a human parachute.
Just before impact, Dick wrenched himself around. He flipped Mark, positioning himself beneath his brother, and braced for the end.
BOOM.
They hit the asphalt of a deserted backroad with the force of a meteor. A massive crater blossomed outward, the road buckling and shattering under the force of two Viltrumite bodies. Dust and debris filled the air, settling slowly over the wreckage.
When the smoke cleared, Dick was standing in the center of the crater. He was breathing hard, his clothes torn and covered in grit, but he was standing. In his arms, he held Mark in a perfect, bridal-style princess carry.
Both brothers were trembling, their adrenaline levels off the charts. Mark looked up at Dick, his eyes wide and watery, and whispered, "My hero."
Dick stared at him for three long seconds. Then, he simply let go.
Mark hit the bottom of the crater with a dull oof.
"I'm going to sleep," Dick muttered, turning and walking away into the night. He'd had quite enough fresh air for one lifetime.
—---
The sun had barely begun to peek over the horizon when the door to Dick's room creaked open. He was in a deep, dreamless sleep, his body finally recovering from the nightly scare, when a firm hand shook his shoulder.
"Richard, get up. It's time," Nolan said, his voice calm but brook no argument.
Dick groaned, his eyelids feeling like they were made of lead. He squinted at his father, who looked perfectly groomed and alert in his casual clothes. "Five more minutes?"
"Training doesn't wait for five minutes," Nolan replied.
Dick begrudgingly sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stumbled to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, trying to shake the cobwebs of exhaustion. Today was the day. The day things got real.
—---
Nolan led the way, flying effortlessly through the morning sky. Below him, Mark was doing his best to maintain a steady altitude, though he was yawning every thirty seconds. Dick was draped across Mark's back like a sack of potatoes, occasionally nodding off and jolting back awake when Mark hit a pocket of turbulence.
They traveled far beyond the suburbs, crossing over hills and rivers until they reached a vast, emerald-green meadow. There were no houses, no roads, and no witnesses. It was a place where they could be what they truly were without fear of discovery.
The trio landed, the soft grass cushioning their feet. Dick hopped off Mark's back and began stretching his limbs, his muscles popping and groaning.
"So," Mark said, trying to sound more awake than he felt. "What's the plan, Dad? Punching through mountains? Lifting tanks?"
Nolan gave them a small, knowing smile—the kind a predator gives its young before a hunt. "Nothing so theatrical. Today, you'll be sparring."
The silence that followed was absolute. The brothers looked at each other, then back at their father.
"Against… you?" Dick asked, a hint of genuine worry in his voice.
Nolan let out a short, sharp laugh. "Oh please. You two aren't on that level yet. Not even close. No, today you fight each other."
He walked a few paces away, acting as the boundary. "You need to gauge your own strengths and capacities. You need to know what it feels like to hit someone who can actually take it, and what it feels like to be hit back. Learn to harness your power. Once you can do that, then maybe—just maybe—you'll stand a chance against me."
Both brothers nodded. The weight of the moment settled over them. This wasn't just a game anymore; this was the beginning of their transformation into something more than human.
Mark and Dick moved to opposite sides of the clearing, keeping a careful distance. They dropped into their stances—Mark's a bit more open and instinctive, Dick's more grounded and calculating.
Nolan stood between them, his eyes sharp. "Ready?"
Mark cracked his knuckles. Dick tightened his jaw.
"Begin," Nolan commanded.
And with a roar of displaced air, the spar began