Chapter Text
They said death was the end.
They were wrong.
Taylor Hebert remembered dying. She remembered the last stand—Scion, golden, angry and wordless, unmaking the world piece by piece. She remembered fighting until she had nothing left to give. Remembered the victory, hollow as it was. Remembered Fortuna, in those final moments.
Taylor saved the world, with a bullet to the head as her only thanks.
A sharp bang. A flash of pain. And then—silence.
A void. Stillness so complete it almost felt like peace.
And then, she screamed.
New lungs, tiny and untested, dragged in air for the first time. She screamed not from pain, but from the sheer, overwhelming life of it.
Her second childhood was so much like her first, tiny mind too young to hold the memories of her last life. So they trickled in as she grew older, matching each year of growth with another.
She hadn't woken in a hospital bed, her mind crammed into someone else's skull. She hadn't been rewound or rewired.
She had been born, like all children did.
Her name was no longer Taylor Hebert.
Now, she was Taylor Grayson.
Daughter of Deborah and Nolan Grayson. Raised in a home filled with warmth and sunlight, laughter and late-night stories. There were soft blankets, gentle words, arms that held her close when she cried—and no expectations pushed on brittle shoulders
And her father?
Her father was Omni-Man.
A living legend. The hero who pulled astronauts from burning shuttles and saved entire cities on the daily. He flew faster than the speed of sound and smiled with the fondness of a dad who never forgot to care. She had known heroes in her last life, but none like him. None this real.
He wasn't without his flaws. Being a hero was a commitment, one that he couldn't, wouldn't shirk. Nolan wasn't present very often, but he was there when it mattered. A steady, stoic presence by her side
At first, it had felt like watching someone else's dream. Her past life—Taylor Hebert, the girl who controlled bugs, who became Skitter, then Khepri—was a ghost that hovered at the edges of her thoughts. The memories lingered: the pain, the battles, the choices. They didn't fit into this soft new world of warm pancakes and bedtime kisses.
And yet, she remembered.
She remembered everything, in time.
As she grew—crawling, toddling, talking—the distance between who she was here and who she had been before became more manageable. She learned how to draw suns with crayons, how to ride a bike with her mother's steady hand guiding her. There were no monsters in the closet, no bombs under the floorboards, no endless tension twisting in her chest like a wire about to snap.
Each passing year, she remembered a little bit more of who she had been.
This wasn't a cruel joke. This wasn't some twisted punishment handed down by a god with a sick sense of irony. This life was hers—built, not borrowed. Earned, maybe. Given freely, perhaps. She didn't care. It was hers now.
And her parents?
They loved her.
Not like Danny Hebert had loved her; distant and overwhelmed, struggling under the weight of everything he'd lost. Not like the capes and warlords and half-broken monsters who had "loved" her through loyalty or necessity or sheer survival instinct.
No. Nolan and Deborah loved her as their child. It was a love that was as unconditional as it was deep. It reminded her of better times, when her mom had still been around, and her dad was happier.
Deborah kissed her forehead every night, humming lullabies and asking about her drawings. Nolan spun her in the air and told stories about distant galaxies, noble missions, impossible rescues. He made her feel like flying was as natural as breathing, and maybe—someday—it would be.
Her father wasn't human. A viltrumite, they'd told her. Stronger than perhaps Alexandria, faster, maybe even just as durable. An alien race of super beings straight out of the comic books of her past life.
Taylor was half viltrumite. And that meant she was set to inherit it all, sometime in puberty. She worried, of course, about the parasites that granted powers. The passengers, taking root in her mind again. But this was different.
This was hers.
There were memories, of course. Flashes. Of the swarm. Of a mind stretched across too many eyes. Of being Khepri, barely human, barely herself. But those memories were distant now. Weaker. Her hands were steady. Her mind was clear.
Taylor was seventeen now. Mere months younger than she'd been when she'd died the first time around.
Still older than Alec when he died.
She shook her head as she opened her locker, pulling out her books for the day. Bringing back old ghosts was a bad idea. Not with the fresh start she'd been given.
When it came time to go to high school, she had found herself looking forward to it. Hard to keep feeling the same dread in a totally different universe, with friends and family that actually cared for her. Where the adults in her life paid attention.
Not that she needed their oversight.
There were no Sophias or Emmas here, not for her.
Taylor Grayson wasn't a gawky, awkward nerd with no friends. She was an intelligent young woman with wisdom beyond her years and a bright future ahead of her.
She even had friends.
"Hey, Taylor! Kill any criminals on the weekend?"
Even if they were annoying.
She glared at him. "William. What could have possibly lead you to that conclusion?"
William Clockwell. Taylor's best friend, well meaning busybody, and also openly gay.
Nothing could've put her new school life in greater contrast than that. No Nazis or gangs to harass or threaten him, and no teachers that would even consider turning a blind eye.
Oh, William was talking.
"-that piece you published about Mr Heartwell. You ripped into him, dude. I wouldn't be surprised if he quit, or got fired!"
People were starting to pay attention to his impassioned yelling, and Taylor could spot more than a few listening on with interest.
She huffed. "Shut up. It was the right thing to do. I don't care what they say, how much a teacher likes you should neverinfluence your grades."
William raised his arms in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Maybe point that glare somewhere else before we find out if looks really can kill."
Taylor rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Let's just get to class. Miss Chang already hates you enough without you dragging me down with you."
He shuddered. "She'd kill me if she thought I was corrupting her 'best student'."
As if on cue, the bell rung, and the students filling the hall filed off to class.
Nothing of any note happened until lunch.
William was telling Taylor about some guy named Rick that he'd met at a party during the weekend when a commotion broke out near the lockers.
Taylor perked up, eyes narrowing as she looked at its source.
"-and he's just such a great guy. You're not listening to me anymore, are you?"
William sighed, looking over at whatever had captured Taylor's attention.
"Oh, it's Todd. What's he doing with Amber?"
Taylor rose from her seat. "Nothing good, by the looks of it."
"What do you-"
But she'd already begun striding towards the pair.
"C'mon. Quit playin' games. I know you're crazy about me. Marcy told me."
Todd seemed like the typical jock, the ideal of the skinheads back in Winslow. He had it all: blond hair, blue eyes, a thick, squarish jaw and a muscular rugby player's build.
His target though, put that initial impression to question. A black girl with her hair tied up in a messy ponytail, expression twisted in annoyance. Amber Bennet, an acquaintance of Taylor's from her volunteering work, and newest member of the school newspaper club.
She turned around, stepping towards Todd.
"Well you are big and strong, aren't you?"
Not hearing the sarcasm in her words, he flexed a bicep. "You know it."
"And you think that makes it ok for you to harass me?"
Amber turned on her heels and began to stalk away.
Todd reached for her arm-
And Taylor was there.
Her hand snapped up, clamping around Todd's wrist with an audible crack of shifting joints as he grabbed onto Amber's shoulder. Maybe going to the gym was useless, if she was going to be handed super strength on a platter in less than a year.
But it was times like these that made it all worth it—and the off chance that she didn't inherit her dad's genes.
In a flurry of movement, Todd was on his face, arm pinned behind him by a knee in a textbook submission hold.
He tried to struggle free, but Taylor just leaned in closer, placing more weight on his arm.
"Don't."
"Ow! Fuck! Let me go!"
"Don't try that again."
"The fuck are you talking about, you fucking psycho?"
"I said don't try that again." Taylor repeated, quieter this time.
There was something hard in her tone. Not necessarily loud, nor theatrical, but with a hint of… finality to it. The kind of voice a person would have if they didn't bother with threats because they didn't need them.
Amber had stepped back, eyes wide. Around them, the hallway had gone still. Students watched in breathless silence, and of course, phones were already out and pointed at the display.
"Okay, okay!" Todd hissed, trying to twist free. "Fuck! I won't do it again, alright?"
Taylor got off his back, and he stumbled back to his feet, clutching his arm. He looked around, glancing between Amber and the crowd of onlookers. Pain and humiliation chased his heels as he did what cowards did when the attention wasn't flattering.
He ran.
Not far, but just enough to disappear down the hall, muttering something about "crazy bitches".
Taylor exhaled slowly, like a balloon deflating.
Amber looked over at her, lips parting. "Thanks. That was awesome."
"Just doing my civic duty, or something."
Amber gave her a small laugh, before raising her arm in a mock salute. "Well, I'll see you at community centre after school."
She turned away, back towards the lunch tables.
"Holy crap, Taylor."
William reappeared like a ghost behind her, and almost took a punch to the face for his troubles before Taylor reigned in the impulse.
Sometimes, he reminded her of a less funny Clockblocker. She didn't know what to think of that. She debated about actually punching him for the resemblance.
Instead, Taylor sighed. "Don't start."
"No. Nope. Sorry. Too late. I've seen you mad before, Taylor. But that looked like you were about to jump him or something. Real hero-like."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"I am extremely serious. Where did you learn to do that? How did you do that? Do you have super strength or something?"
"I took lessons," Taylor looked at him, deadpan. "And maybe he's just weak. What did you think I go to the gym for?"
William just rolled his eyes. "Sure."
Then—
"You know I'm your best friend, right? If you're a superhero, you can tell me. I won't snitch."
"No, I'm a supervillain that controls bugs and kills children." She said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.
The bell rang before William could muster up a reply, and they started towards the next class amidst the whispering of gossip already being spread behind them.
The day passed quickly after that, and soon she was walking home beneath a rapidly darkening orange sky, her backpack bouncing against her spine with every step.
Volunteering had been exhausting, but satisfying. Every grateful smile did wonders to assuage the distant, but ever present guilt within her heart.
Taylor paused on her front step, taking a slow breath. This was real, she'd been given another chance. It hadn't been taken from her.
She opened the door and stepped inside.
"Mom?" She called out, letting her bag fall to the floor.
"In the kitchen!" Deborah Gray's voice floated in from the kitchen, warm and clear.
Taylor wandered in to find her mother stirring a pot of something fragrant. She was wearing one of her novelty aprons—this one said WORLD'S OKAYEST COOK, with a picture of a kangaroo stitched to its front— and her hair was still drawn back in a bun.
"Hey sweetheart," Deborah said, smiling as she glanced up. "How was school? Do you have something to tell me?"
Taylor smiled back, sweat beginning to bead along her back
"Normal. And no, I don't think so."
Her mom raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Normal, hm? So you wouldn't know anything about that phone call I got from Principal Winslow?"
"I-"
Taylor was interrupted by a sudden gust of wind.
"What's this about a phone call?"
Nolan Grayson stood in the kitchen, leaning down to give his wife a peck on the cheek.
Deborah smiled, turning to look at Taylor.
"We'll continue this during dinner."
"…yes, mom."