Chapter 4
The World Never Stops Turning
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Brockton Bay, Massachusetts
Brockton General, front entrance
November 22nd, 2008, Saturday
11:08 AM…
The world hadn't stopped turning.
That was the first thing Alessa noticed as she stepped out into the crisp November air, her cane clacking softly against the pavement. The hospital doors hissed shut behind her, and with them, a little over two weeks of pain, fear, and sterile routine.
The sky was the same dull gray Brockton always wore this time of year. Cars still honked. People still walked the sidewalks like nothing had happened. Like her dad and her hadn't nearly died.
She shifted the strap of her duffel bag higher on her shoulder and took a careful sip from the coffee cup in her other hand—lukewarm now, but still better than the sludge the hospital cafeteria served on the regular.
Alice was already at the curb, practically bouncing with nervous energy, her ridiculous Hello Batty hoodie zipped halfway up and a scuffed old minivan idling beside her. Belinda stood on the other side, arms crossed, giving off the vibe of a woman who didn't just run her household—she commanded it.
"Ready?" Alice asked, eyes flicking down to the cane and the slight favoring of Alessa's right leg.
Alessa nodded. "As I'll ever be."
Belinda opened the back door. "Let's get you settled before the rain starts."
The Watson house wasn't far—just a few blocks away, nestled between a pair of shuttered storefronts and a quiet mechanic's shop. A narrow two-story building with sun-faded paint, wind chimes on the porch, and a front garden that somehow survived the salt-laced wind.
Inside was warmer, richer.
Worn leather furniture. Dark wood. Shelves lined with old books, vinyls, and framed photos—some of Alice, younger and beaming with purple hair; others of people Alessa didn't know but felt comforted by just the same. The smell of cinnamon and coffee lingered in the air, anchored by something that reminded her of applewood smoke.
"You've got the guest room upstairs," Belinda said. "Bathroom's just down the hall. And no, Alice isn't allowed to sneak in and draw eyeliner mustaches on you while you sleep."
"Hey!" Alice protested, grinning. "I only did that once."
"That I know of." Belinda chuckled back, her laughter heartwarming as it was amusing.
Alessa just smiled, letting the warmth of it all settle over her bones. Her life hadn't just shattered, it'd shifted. Tilted toward something new. Something… survivable. It was far from ideal of course, but... it also could've been so much worse. And while she wasn't a fan of the fact she'd have to owe someone a favor, likely a big one in the not so distant future, that her dad would be taken care of until he came out of his coma was a huge relief all on its own. Didn't mean she wouldn't worry of course, but... for the moment she could just breathe and slowly get the rest of her life in order.
As she eased onto the couch later that evening, cane resting within arm's reach, Alessa caught her reflection in the darkened television screen. The limp was still there, subtle, but real. She knew people would see it, hear the tap of her cane, and write her off as fragile. As harmless. And maybe… that wasn't such a bad thing. It annoyed her, sure given the number of pitying glances she'd already noticed, the muttered assumptions she'd overheard, but if it meant keeping Alice and Belinda out of the crosshairs of whatever her life was becoming? She'd carry that weight a while longer. She'd use the illusion of weakness the same way the Forge, assuming it wasn't some grand delusion spawned by her slowly breaking sanity anyway, had gifted her strength: carefully, and with purpose.
Tomorrow would come, but tonight, she was safe.
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The living room buzzed with low chatter and the quiet hum of an old floor heater kicking on again.
Alice was curled up at one end of the couch, knees tucked under her hoodie, a sketchbook balanced on her lap as she absently flipped channels. Belinda sat in a worn recliner nearby, glasses perched on her nose as she sifted through a battered folder full of paperwork from school.
"You know," Belinda said without looking up, "if you two are gonna commandeer the living room every night, we might need a snack tax."
Alessa, tucked into the corner of the couch with a blanket over her legs, raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you made those cookies earlier? Bribery?"
"Negotiation," Belinda replied. "You two get cookies. I get an hour of peace and maybe, just maybe, help organizing the filing cabinet from hell."
Alice groaned. "Aunt B, nobody wants to battle the filing cabinet. It eats people."
"Only the weak." Belinda chuckled back without missing a beat, giving her niece a playful smirk at the same time.
Alessa simply chuckled, sipping steaming cocoa this time instead of coffee, the liquid filling her with a warmth that went beyond the physical. The television had landed on some home renovation show neither of them were watching, but the background noise was oddly soothing. Familiar.
There was no talk of powers. No strange notes, no whispered offers, no Capes, no PRT.
Just a home.
Just living.
Dinner that night was a simple affair—baked chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans, with just a hint of rosemary in the air.
Before the meal began, Belinda bowed her head and reached across the table, taking Alice's hand. The gesture was quiet, respectful.
Alessa noticed, her fork pausing just inches from the plate.
"We always say grace," Belinda said gently, not looking up. "You don't have to join in."
Alessa hesitated, then nodded, quietly grateful that they weren't going to force the issue even if it did make her feel a little awkward and out of place. Even so, she softly said without complaint, "I'll wait."
They spoke the prayer softly. Nothing performative. Just gratitude, thankful for food, safety, and second chances. While she wasn't a believer, in much of anything that she couldn't see and touch for herself, Alessa still found herself silently agreeing with all of what they gave thanks for. When they finished, Alessa quietly began to eat as she did her best to push her lingering awkward feelings aside.
Thankfully, conversation flowed easily. Alice cracked jokes about her science teacher's comb-over and made exaggerated noises about the quality of the potatoes. Belinda chimed in with dry wit and maternal eye-rolls.
Alessa found herself smiling more than she expected. Found her shoulders loosening.
She wasn't related to either of them. Not by blood. But sitting here, laughing over dinner and letting the smells and sounds of a lived-in home surround her, she felt like she had an actual family, outside of her dad anyway, than she had in a long, long time. People that genuinely cared and wanted what was best for her. Something she'd never had thanks to how her mother had... well, it wasn't worth thinking about, not right now. Even that tangential thought was enough for Alessa's right hand to curl into a bloodless, trembling fist though before she took several, calming breaths that the others thankfully didn't notice. Needless to say, the less said about her mother, the better, something her dad would have agreed with if he were conscious to talk about her.
Later that night, after teeth were brushed and cocoa mugs rinsed and left on the counter, Alessa found herself alone in the guest room. The mattress was softer than she expected, the sheets smelling faintly of lavender. She sat on the edge for a long moment, cane resting against the nightstand, her thoughts buzzing too loud to ignore.
She stared at her reflection in the dark window. At the faint outline of her face, the exhaustion under her eyes. The small curve of a healing scar just below her collarbone. She traced it absently, then pulled the blanket over her legs, the one still wrapped in bandages to keep it in alignment as much as possible so it healed the right way. The lingering ache from her burns was thankfully all but forgotten, but Alessa could still feel them if she focused on them hard enough. Could still remember the brief flash of pain as the explosion washed over her moments after it'd done the same to her dad before unconsciousness claimed her.
She rapidly shook her head and pushed those less than cheery thoughts down, hard. Tomorrow would be hard enough without her adding to it by reliving that night. Visiting the ruins of her home. Seeing with her own eyes what the fire and the blast had left behind. Belinda had offered to go in her stead—to collect what little had been salvaged—but Alessa had refused.
She had to see it.
She needed to.
Sleep didn't come quickly, but eventually, it found her. Outside, the wind rustled the chimes on the porch. And inside, the house exhaled around her like a tired, old guardian, watching over the broken girl who was, for now, just trying to make it to morning.
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Residential area, the Watson Home
November 23rd, 2008, Sunday
8:14 AM…
Sunlight streamed through the curtains, catching dust motes in golden suspension as the warmth of morning crept slowly into the room. It didn't stay that way however as the peaceful quiet was shattered by a yelp.
"Cold! You little goblin!" Alessa shot upright, swatting blindly as a half-melted ice cube slipped down the back of her shirt that thankfully wound up somewhere behind her moments after she'd sat up fully, courtesy of a grinning Alice standing over her with a paper towel and the world's most smug expression.
"Rise and shine, cripple queen," Alice said cheerfully, dancing back a step to avoid the pillow Alessa flung with surprising speed.
"You're dead," Alessa growled, already groping for a second pillow. "The cane comes next."
"I'm helping you build upper body strength!" Alice cackled as she darted out of the room.
The brief scuffle left Alessa panting but laughing, something she hadn't done this early in the day in weeks. Her heart thudded more from the adrenaline than from real annoyance, and despite herself and the fact she'd have to get her revenge sooner or later for this little declaration of war, she grinned.
Downstairs, the smell of toast and coffee drifted up. Belinda's voice called out, calm and commanding as ever. "If you two break anything, you're paying for it in dish duty."
Alessa took a breath, letting it settle. Her body still ached in spots. The cane would be a necessity for a while longer. But the teasing, the smells, the light, this felt like something close to healing.
And soon, they'd go to what was left of her house. See what had survived.
But for now, she could enjoy the warmth. The noise. The mess of it all.
Just a little longer.
For the moment though, while it was a pain to get herself dressed with her still recovering body holding her back, Alessa felt proud to be able to do her own morning routine without needing assistance anymore. Those first few days especially in the hospital had been... aggravating as it'd been painful. She was too independent to ask for help lightly, a necessity with how things had ended between her dad and the woman that birthed her, but again, Alessa did her best not to dwell on that as she got herself put together for the day. Sure, it was a bit tricky, getting her jean pants up and over her ass, mostly due to her still bandaged leg, but that was also the worst of her struggles although she did wince a little whenever she bent the wrong way while getting a red, comfy sweater on, thanks to the lingering, mostly healed burns that felt more like a bad sunburn than anything by this point.
Downstairs, Belinda had already set the table, a plate of scrambled eggs and toast set aside for each of them. Alice was already halfway through hers, spinning her fork lazily like she was contemplating a war crime.
"Morning, Sunshine," Belinda greeted Alessa, a mug of coffee already waiting at what would no doubt end up being her usual seat. "Sleep okay, hon?"
"Better than I have in a while," Alessa admitted as she lowered herself carefully into the chair.
"Except for the ice cube," Alice muttered, entirely unapologetic.
"Oh, you're not off the hook," Alessa replied, grabbing a piece of toast and crunching into it menacingly. "I'm just biding my time. Revenge is a dish best served cold... like that damn ice cube."
Alice grinned around a mouthful of eggs. "Then I'll sleep with one eye open. Worth it."
"You always do anyway," Belinda added dryly, sitting down with her own coffee. "Both of you, try not to kill each other before we get through breakfast."
There was laughter, warmth, and the comfortable rhythm of a small, found family sharing a quiet morning.
But even as they joked and plotted and passed around the butter, Alessa couldn't shake the steady thrum building in her chest. Today, she would return to the wreckage. Today, she'd see the ashes of her old life with her own eyes.
But not quite yet.
For now, she had eggs. She had toast. She had Alice and Belinda.
And that, in its own way, was something to be immensely grateful for.
The morning stretched on gently, unrushed. There was no need to dash out the door, no looming appointments. Belinda, it turned out, had quietly bowed out of her usual churchgoing some time ago—something about growing disillusioned with the sermons more than the faith. She didn't bring it up unless asked, and Alessa respected the distance.
Instead, the house hummed with quieter energy. After cleaning up the dishes and sharing another round of coffee—hot chocolate for Alice—they settled around the living room. Alessa pulled her backpack close and unzipped it to retrieve a few folders and textbooks. Homework wasn't going to do itself, and she was already nearly three weeks behind. She'd done a fair amount of it at the hospital of course since boredom would've otherwise driven her even more insane, but she still had enough of it left that Alessa was dreading trying to do the rest.
Alice scooted closer, nudging Alessa with her knee. "Need help catching up? I saved all the notes. Even highlighted the important stuff."
Alessa raised an eyebrow. "With glitter pens, I assume?"
"Obviously. There's a color code. Purple means doom is imminent."
Despite the joke, the help was genuine, and appreciated. Though she'd been a strong student before everything went to hell, a lot of the material felt distant now, like trying to read through fog. But Alice made it easier. Between her snark and surprisingly solid explanations, Alessa found her footing again.
They worked side by side on the couch, the TV murmuring low in the background with some harmless sitcom rerun. Belinda, settled in her armchair with a book and a cup of tea, kept the atmosphere cozy but watchful, occasionally chiming in with encouragement or the answer to a trivia question they couldn't resist shouting out.
It was, in many ways, the most normal morning Alessa had had since the fire. And that, more than anything, was what she needed.
Not fights or revelations. Not headlines or hospital rooms.
Just this.
A place to breathe.
A place to rebuild.
One quiet moment at a time.
They didn't dress in black. No one cried. No one clutched tissues in shaking hands. It wasn't that kind of mourning.
Instead, Alice helped Alessa into her coat while Belinda double-checked the backseat of her car for anything they might need. Silence ruled more than anything, heavy but respectful, broken only by the creak of old stairs and the metallic click of Alessa's cane.
She said nothing when the car started. Said nothing as they pulled away from the cozy house that had become her safe haven. Said nothing when familiar streets rolled past like scenes from a play she'd forgotten she was in.
It wasn't until the car slowed to a stop—just shy of the yellow police tape still faintly fluttering in the wind—that she finally spoke.
"I remember the smell."
Belinda turned off the engine.
"It was worse that night," Alessa murmured. "Like metal and burnt sugar. And something else. I couldn't place it."
She didn't know how she knew that, maybe it was merely a phantom memory, something her mind had conjured up to help cope with... everything?
Whatever the truth of the matter, it didn't change the immense weight that had settled in her chest.
They sat there for a moment. Then Alice reached over, gently taking her hand.
Alessa squeezed back, not trusting herself to say more.
She stepped out slowly, the cane digging into gravel as they made their way up the short path toward what used to be her house.
Or what was left of it.
The walls were gone, collapsed inward or charred beyond recognition. Bits of frame jutted up like broken ribs. A skeletal ruin, painted black and gray with only hints of its former shape.
Her stomach clenched, breath hitching as they reached the edge of the caution tape.
Belinda didn't ask if she wanted to turn back.
Alice didn't joke.
They just stood beside her. Quiet. Solid.
Letting her take it all in.
A single red scarf fluttered near the wreckage, caught on what had once been a coatrack. Somehow untouched.
Alessa moved toward it slowly, ducking under the tape.
No one stopped her.
No one could.
Not today.
Thankfully, no one tried.
There were a few boxes near the remnants of what had once been the living room, clearly set aside by the authorities. Most were weather-worn cardboard, lids damp from morning dew. Alessa approached them slowly, heart in her throat. Alice and Belinda hung back, letting her have this.
Inside the first box were photos—some scorched at the edges, others surprisingly intact. Her and her dad at the beach. A birthday party. A snapshot of them in the kitchen, her face scrunched up mid-laugh, her dad's arm around her shoulders. She traced a finger over the plastic film of one photo, tears blurring the image.
The next box had small belongings. A few of her books. Her dad's old watch. A cracked coffee mug with a dumb pun printed on it. Familiar. Tangible. All that remained.
And one box set apart, heavier than the others, filled with strange-looking parts and damaged equipment. None of it labeled. None of it familiar to any first responder. The police must've thought it belonged to a Tinker. In a way, they weren't wrong.
But that box would wait.
For now, she knelt beside the memories. Clutching a photograph to her chest.
And finally let herself cry since that night at the hospital with Alice at her side.
The ride back to the Watson house was quiet. Not stifling, not awkward—just subdued, like the world outside had dimmed its volume to let them feel without interruption.
Alice held the boxes on her lap, arms curled protectively around them, painfully aware of their worth to her best friend, so letting anything happen to them was out of the question while Belinda drove with one hand steady on the wheel and the other resting near Alessa's knee. No words passed between them for a long stretch, but they also didn't need to.
When they got home, the three of them worked together to carry everything inside. There were hugs, soft and grounding, and murmured reassurances that whatever came next, they'd face it together.
Because even if Alessa's old world had burned away, she wasn't alone in the ashes.
At some point before lunch, Alessa found herself seated alone in the living room for a few quiet minutes. Belinda was prepping food in the kitchen. Alice had gone upstairs to dig through her laundry.
A faint breeze ruffled the curtains and Alessa sat there, cane within reach, the coffee long gone cold beside her on the end table.
In her lap was a photo. Slightly charred at the edges but still intact, its surface glossy and warm in the sunlight.
She didn't remember picking it up from the box of salvaged belongings. Maybe she'd done it without thinking. Maybe she just needed to hold onto something real for a while.
The photo showed her and her dad at the beach. She couldn't remember which one.
Just that the wind had been strong that day and her hair had looked ridiculous.
He had his arms around her, smiling in a way he hadn't in a long time. Alessa stared at it, unmoving, letting the world go soft and blurred at the edges.
Eventually, Alice returned and flopped down beside her with an exaggerated sigh.
"You're brooding," she noted, peeking at the picture. Her voice softened at the same time she put a hand on Alessa's upper arm. "That was a good day, huh?"
Alessa didn't answer right away. She didn't need to, but she shakily nodded all the same.
She otherwise just let the moment exist, the photo trembling ever so slightly in her grip.
When Belinda had been in the kitchen, making tea, Alessa could never say, only that when the older woman entered the living room, a mug of what smelled like soothing chamomile in hand, she slowly looked up, and silently, but gratefully, accepted the tea. It wouldn't fix anything, but that didn't stop Alessa from appreciating the gesture all the same. Besides, helping someone through such a traumatic, emotionally draining experience like she'd been through?
That was just what family did for each other, blood related or not.
Later that afternoon, Belinda coaxed Alessa into taking a bath.
"You'll feel human again, trust me," she said with a gentle smile that brooked no argument.
The bathroom steamed up quickly, the water almost too hot at first, but that was exactly what Alessa needed. She lowered herself in slowly, her injured leg twinging in protest as it eased beneath the surface. The ache in her arms and side melted into the warmth like ice pressed against fire. She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
For a while, she just sat there.
The water lapped gently against the sides of the tub, its faint perfume a blend of lavender and eucalyptus from something Belinda had added when Alessa wasn't looking. Her hands floated just under the surface, fingers twitching with the smallest movements. Her thoughts drifted, then settled. Not gone—but quieter.
The warmth crept into her skin, muscles, bones. And then, with no warning at all, a memory hit her—sitting on the counter as a child while her dad made pancakes on a cold winter morning. She remembered the smell of cinnamon, the way his humming filled the kitchen, the sound of a spatula tapping against the pan. The soft heat of his palm ruffling her hair.
A sob rose in her throat, but she somehow managed to swallow it back.
Not now. Not yet. She'd cried enough for one day anyway.
Instead, she sank a little deeper into the water, allowing the memory to pass through her like the ripples on the surface.
It wasn't peace.
But it was a beginning.
That night, Alessa found herself sharing the bed with Alice. It wasn't strictly necessary, she could have slept alone, but when Alice had quietly asked if she wanted company, she didn't say no.
And it helped. Just the presence of someone else. The warmth. The occasional snore, not that Alice would admit to having snored of course. Even so, despite the fact her friend was sawing logs at a volume that was probably close to deafening, Alessa drifted off to sleep more easily than she expected, and when the morning came, she would tell Alice that it had made a difference because it genuinely had.
Tomorrow, the Forge box would come out.
Tomorrow, she would begin to take stock.
And tomorrow, she'd, hopefully, be able to start making plans.
In the corner of the room, tucked under the desk near her backpack, sat a plain cardboard box. It was nondescript at first glance, the kind anyone might use to move books or seasonal decorations. But inside it lay the pieces of a future she hadn't yet begun to imagine. The strange, anachronistic components of what she would come to know as the Celestial Forge. Gadgets, tools, and a PDA that hummed faintly with stored data. The customized blueprint gun. The strange alchemy tools. Even a little plushy-sized brain-creature with stubby limbs that chirped softly in its sleep, curled up under a bundle of wiring like it was nesting.
Alessa would open it in the morning.
But for tonight, it could rest too.
They all could.
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End Notes: Yeesh… I might feel like crap still, but these Forge chapters are coming out a lot more easily than I thought they would. Still, hopefully you all are having a fun time, but for the moment, our girl's got 400 CP stockpiled, so the next time she rolls will be quite the sight I imagine. At any rate, take care and stay safe everyone