Ron stepped out of Ava's room, closing the door softly behind him. A hollow ache settled in his chest. Why do I feel so damn heavy? he wondered. Was I too cold to her?
He sank into the living room couch, the silence of the apartment pressing in on him. His phone vibrated, breaking the quiet. It was Carter. Ron kept the conversation brief—mostly logistics and grunts of affirmation—before hanging up with an exhausted sigh.
A moment later, Ava emerged from her room. The air between them thickened with a visible, clumsy tension as she sat on the adjacent sofa.
This house feels full, Ron thought, but it's a crowded kind of awkward.
Ava stared at her lap, thinking the exact same thing. Finally, Ron cleared his throat. "So... how's Carter doing?"
"He's okay," she replied softly, her voice barely rising above a whisper.
"He's looking out for you," Ron said, leaning back. "For the whole family. He cares more than he lets on. He trusts you."
Ava looked down, a small, sad smile playing on her lips. "He had to become a father to us after our dad died. He's the best brother I could ask for. We trust him with everything... and I know he feels the same." She looked up, meeting Ron's eyes. "He trusts you, too. He talks about you more than you'd think."
Ron offered a faint, lopsided smile. "He actually just called me."
Ava's eyes widened. "What did he say?"
"He said if I make you cry, he'll break both my legs," Ron deadpanned.
Ava let out a genuine chuckle, the tension finally snapping. "That sounds like him. He likes to play the tough guy."
"I'd do the same if I had a sister," Ron said, his tone turning earnest. "If I were handing her safety over to someone else, I'd want that guy to know the rules."
Ava nodded, her expression softening. Ron stood up and placed a gentle, grounding hand on her head. "It's getting late. Go get some rest."
She gave a small nod and retreated to her room. Ron wandered into the kitchen, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He found a half-eaten burger in the fridge and finished it standing up, staring at nothing. It was 1 A.M.
When he returned to the living room, his gaze drifted toward Ava's closed door. Guilt, sharp and familiar, pierced through him. He thought of Dream. He thought of how he hadn't been there when she needed him most—when she was pregnant, when she had placed her entire world in his hands. Ron thought about a memory:
"Ron." Dream's voice was like a lullaby.
"Yes?"
"I want to tell you something." She leaned into him, her presence warm and fragile. "Let's leave Hero Town. Let's go somewhere far away and start over. Just the two of us."
Ron's hand rested on her hair, but his mind was elsewhere. "Dream... I need to know my past. I can't move forward until I know where I came from."
"I'll tell you everything I know," she whispered, pleading. "But let's leave this place behind. We can make new memories. Better ones."
Ron stayed silent. He didn't promise her a new life. He only patted her hair and said, "Just wait a little longer."
The memory hit him like a physical blow.
"I'm the worst," Ron muttered to the empty room, his fist tightening until his knuckles turned white. He collapsed onto the couch, flicking the TV on for background noise and pulling a random book from the shelf. He didn't read a single word. Sleep took him before the first chapter ended.
The next morning, Ava crept out to start breakfast. She froze when she saw Ron sprawled on the couch, the book resting awkwardly over his face.
He must've just passed out, she thought, a wave of sympathy hitting her. He needs the rest.
She quietly draped a blanket over him. As she filled a water bottle in the kitchen, Carter's words from a few weeks ago echoed in her mind:
"Ron's a good guy, Ava. He's just... complicated. Life dealt him a hand most people couldn't survive. Give him grace."
She remembered asking Carter why he stayed so loyal to Ron. Carter had paused, a strange, distant smile on his face. "I don't know. All my life, I've had this feeling like something was missing. But when I met him... it felt like we'd already known each other for a lifetime."
Ava sighed, looking back at the sleeping figure on the couch one last time before retreating to her room.
Training. The smell of ozone and sweat. Endless days of violence and nights of exhaustion.
Then, a shift.
Two years later. A brief moment of peace. Ron stood in front of a small child with bright, familiar eyes.
"Ines," he whispered. He reached out, a rare, genuine smile breaking across his face. "You look just like your mother."
Suddenly, a loud thud shattered the vision.
Ron's eyes snapped open. Ava stood over him, looking horrified; she had dropped her water bottle.
"I'm so sorry!" she stammered. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Ron sat up, rubbing his face as the image of Ines faded into the gray morning light. "No worries," he said, his voice husky. "You'll get used to it."
Later that day, they attended a gathering at a friend's place, but Ron remained a ghost in the room, his mind tethered to the past.
The following morning, the cycle repeated. Ron was back on the couch, trapped in another dream—this time, he was driving, the road stretching infinitely ahead of him toward a destination he couldn't reach.
The dream shattered not from a sound in the room, but from the jarring ring of his phone.
Ron jolted awake, heart hammering against his ribs. He grabbed the phone, his vision blurring.
"Ron," Carter's voice came through, sharp and tense. "Get to Bruce's base. Now."
Ron sat bolt upright. The haze of sleep was gone, replaced by the cold adrenaline of the present.