Page 9 of Hero Worship

"Not your fault," Xavier said quietly. "You can't watch all of us all the time. And Shepherd knows how Xander gets."

I wanted to argue, to tell them I didn't need a fucking babysitter, but the words stuck in my throat. They were right. I was a mess. No wonder Ash looked at me like I was a problem to be solved.

Leo stared out the window, shoulders tense. The silence from him hurt worse than any lecture. He'd trusted me enough to take that pill, and how had I repaid him? By proving exactly why people shouldn't trust me.

The two-hour drive back to Liar's Corner stretched endlessly in front of us. Streetlights strobed across the windshield as we left Columbus behind, each flash making my head throb. The comedown was hitting hard, leaving me raw and exposed.

"Remember the night we stole Papa's vodka?" Xavier's voice cut through the quiet. "And you insisted we could make proper Russian drinking toasts?"

A weak laugh escaped me. "Da. And I kept getting the words wrong until Papa found us trying to toast the moon." The memory was soft around the edges. It came from simpler times, before I'd learned how to hurt myself in more creative ways.

"He wasn't even mad," Xavier continued, his voice gentle in that way that meant he was trying to pull me back from the edge. "Just sat down and taught us the right words. Said if we were going to be degenerates, we might as well be cultured ones."

Xion's hand found mine in the dark, squeezing once. We didn't do touch often, not since the incident, but sometimes...sometimes we both needed the reminder that we'd survived worse than this.

"Sir won't be mad either," Eli offered, though his fingers kept worrying at his cuff. "Worried, yeah. But he gets it. Hell, some of his alters have done way worse."

By the time we pulled up to the house, I was barely keeping my eyes open. The familiar sight of our mid-century farmhouse looked surreal in the pre-dawn light. Home. Even if I didn't always feel like I deserved it.

Xion helped me up the stairs while Xavier walked Leo to his car. The normalcy of it all— the creaky third step, the family photos lining the walls, the faint smell of Papa's piroshki from earlier—made my chest ache. How many times would they have to pick up my pieces before they got tired of putting me back together?

I caught the tail end of Xavier's quiet conversation with Leo through the open window. "Text me when you get home, okay?"

"I will. Promise." Leo's voice was soft but steady. Still trusting, even after seeing what a shit show tonight had been.

My chest tightened at the gentle concern in his voice. That's what real connection looked like, someone caring enough to check if you made it home. Would Ash ever worry about me like that? Or would he see tonight as proof that I was exactly the kind of mess he didn't need in his life?

"You good to take it from here?" Xion asked Xavier when he came back upstairs. He still had that watchful look he got sometimes, like he was calculating exit routes and threat assessments. Old habits died hard.

"Yeah, thanks, Ten." Xavier's voice was quiet but steady. "Tell Boone we said hi."

Xion’s expression softened slightly. "Text if you need anything. Boone's got us on standby for a job tomorrow, but..." The rest went unsaid.

I wanted to tell him I didn't need his protection anymore, that we were past that, but I just nodded, and he squeezed my shoulder once before heading out. The gesture meant more than either of us would admit.

Xavier's eyes met mine as the front door clicked shut, and his expression softened from worrying to something gentler. But instead of the lecture I deserved, he just helped me get my boots off and pulled the blanket over both of us like when we were kids. His silent support hurt worse than anger would have.

"I'm sorry," I whispered into the dark, not sure if I was apologizing for tonight or for being the kind of person who needed apologizing for.

"I know,bratishka," he murmured back. "I know."

Sleep pulled at me, but I couldn't stop seeing Ash's face, imagining his disappointment if he knew low I'd sunk. Training tomorrow was going to be hell. But maybe that's what I deserved. I deserved to face him with my sins written all over me, to let him see exactly what kind of mistake he'd made betting on me.

Papa's words echoed in my head as consciousness faded: "Solnyshko, you shine too bright to let anyone dim you." But what if I was the one doing the dimming? What if I was burning myself out, one bad decision at a time?

Pain woke me beforedawn, a familiar throb in my knee that no amount of prescription pills could fully silence. I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling of my spartan bedroom while memories of yesterday's encounter with Xander played on repeat. I’d always been able to read people like books, but that kid? He was written in a language I wasn't sure I wanted to understand.

It was a quarter to five when I finally gave up on sleep. Better to face the day head-on than lie here dwelling on things I couldn't change. Like how those desperate eyes had stirredsomething in me I'd thought long dead. Something that shared DNA with the dark legacy I'd inherited from my parents.

The training facility was empty when I arrived. My cane clicked against the polished floor, the knee already protesting the day ahead. I'd learned to push through the constant ache, but some mornings were worse than others. The silence felt like an old friend as I changed into workout gear, my movements careful and measured. Each twinge in my knee was a reminder of how far I'd fallen from grace.

I'd set up the training room the night before, wanting everything perfect for Xander's first session. The obstacles were arranged to test more than just physical prowess. They'd reveal how he handled stress, fear, authority. The kind of insights that had made me one of the FBI's top trainers before a bullet changed everything.

The gym equipment cast long shadows in the early morning light, each piece a potential tool for building strength or exposing weakness. I'd spent decades learning to read people, to understand what made them tick, what made them break. The course I'd set up wasn't just about physical prowess. It was about exposing the raw edges of someone's psyche, about finding the cracks that could either shatter them or make them stronger.

My father had used similar techniques, though his goals had been far darker. He'd studied people too, learning their weaknesses not to help them but to exploit them. The millions sitting untouched in my accounts were testament to how profitable that kind of manipulation could be. I'd spent my whole career trying to use those same skills for good, to be the opposite of everything he stood for. But watching Xander push himself to his limits, seeing that desperate need for validation in his eyes stirred something in me that felt uncomfortably familiar.

Six o'clock came and went. Then six-thirty. My jaw ached from grinding my teeth as I paced, cataloging the ways I'd make them pay for this disrespect. But beneath the anger lurked something darker—worry. Had he gone off the rails again? Found some new way to self-destruct? I recognized the pattern: pushing boundaries, testing limits, seeing if I'd abandon them like others had. But I wasn't going anywhere, and they were going to learn that one grueling training session at a time.

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