"He doesn't know I'm a cape, okay, but he noticed I had like video games and could go with people to the movies and didn't have to fucking ask him for textbook money and now I don't fucking get to keep it, okay?"

Boots looks away.

"...can I help? Can't you, like, emancipate? Get the Protectorate to help you, like, leave?"

"He doesn't know I'm a cape and I'm pretty sure the minute he finds out he's going to actually kill me. If I had money he didn't know about I could just move out. I don't think he'd follow me to school."

"Kill you? Why? And—can't you just stay at the PHQ, tell someone about it and not go back home?"

"You know the Youth Guard is a parents organization, right?" Boots shakes his head. "I don't - I don't know why I just have a feeling. He's not made of fucking diamond like that breaker you made up, anyway, it's mostly okay these days."

"Wow. Shit. That—fuck. Can't you—no, that wouldn't—argh."

Boots shrugs, looking at his hands.

"...when do you turn eighteen?"

"In like a year and a half."

"Shit, that's a long time." Think think think. "Would he go after you, if you disappeared?"

"I don't know. Probably not if I just kept sending the checks."

"Hmm. What's the non-cape law like, in New Hampshire, about emancipation of minors, do you know?"

"Dunno."

"I could try to look into that, for you, maybe there's legal aid available. I'm, um, emancipated myself, I have some experience with that, the fact that you have a source of income helps a lot, but I'm not sure how that interacts with the Protectorate. And with your power, too, I don't know if he leaves many bruises or scars that could serve as evidence of abuse?"

"Not unless he's really pissed off. And I don't want to - go around proving it, anyway, I'm not some cute little victim, the kinda people who help snotnosed six-year-olds with shit parents don't feel good about themselves for helping people like me."

"Right, didn't mean proving it in the future, just, maybe you had something on you already that could be used. And yeah, you have a point there. This is... complicated, I'd have to maybe talk to a lawyer or something, not mentioning you of course, not until I was pretty sure of what I was doing and you agreed and gave me your permission."

"You have a lawyer hiding somewhere? Anyway you can't say the part where I'm a cape or it'll be really fucking easy to narrow down."

"I don't, and obviously not mentioning the cape part. I think I'd just look into precedent and stuff, see if anything like this has happened before. I mean, surely it has, the Wards program has been around for twenty years."

"Something like that. The part where I'm a cape is kind of a big deal though." Pause. "I never told anybody before. Figured the first thing you'd ask would be, like, 'why don't you kill him' or something."

"...I'm generally against killing people, even horrible people. I mean, if their horribleness includes killing more people, then sure, but, in general. Also there'd be the thing where, you know, you could be arrested and stuff."

"You killed a guy. And all that happened to you was you had to join the Wards and I already joined 'em, on purpose and everything. I think about that a lot."

"It was an accident," they sigh. "I'm—not sure how that would go, honestly. They might cover for you, but it's slightly different, your dad isn't a drug dealer—is he?"

"Don't think so," says Boots thoughtfully.