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“Absolutely not.”
“You haven’t even seen the production schedule yet!” Johnny protested.
“And I don’t need to,” Sue said. “Johnny, the answer is no.”
“I have charts!” Johnny said, shaking a manila folder in her face. “And sketches!”
“And I am very, very pregnant,” Sue pointed out, gesturing to her belly. “And rapidly losing my remaining patience.”
“It’s a brilliant idea!”
“That’s what you said about the Coppertone campaign,” Sue reminded him.
“You loved the Coppertone campaign!” Johnny protested. Sue leveled him with a look and he deflated. “Okay, so you hated the Coppertone campaign. That’s not the point.”
“Isn’t it,” Sue said under her breath. Then, louder, “Johnny, the baby hasn’t even been born yet. You cannot launch a – what did you call it?”
“Line of young men’s and infant “uncle-and-me” athleisure,” Johnny said, smiling. He held up the folder again. “I repeat: I have sketches.”
Sue smiled back, strained, and nodded.
“I don’t want to see them,” she said, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.
“Sue!” he protested. “It’s a great idea! Think of all the uncles out there who have been waiting for a line of functional yet comfortable athletic wear that they can match to their favorite niece or nephew!”
“And how many uncles, roughly, would that be?” Sue asked.
Johnny held up a hand.
“Admittedly,” he said, “we haven’t conducted market research yet.”
Sue sighed in exasperation. Johnny dangled a bag of chips in front of her like a bribe—which, admittedly, it was. But he was also being a loving and caring brother getting his sister her favorite pregnancy snack of the week.
It was a seventy-thirty thing.
She snatched the chips out of his hand.
“The answer is still no,” she said.
“Sue!” he whined.
“N-O,” she said, enunciating it sharply. “No, baby brother.”
She punctuated the statement with a crunch of chips.
He flopped across Sue’s shins in protest.
“Johnny,” she said, a warning note in her voice. “Get off. You’re heavy.”
“I’m lying here until you approve my idea,” he told her, crossing his arms over his chest and staring up at the ceiling.
A forcefield shoved him unceremoniously to the ground. He scrambled up into a sitting position, pouting, and Sue raised her eyebrows.
“Baby brother,” she said, her voice firm. “We are not launching an, and I quote, “uncle and me” line of young men’s and infant matching athleisure. Do you know why? Because it’s ridiculous.”
“The air quotes are hurtful,” Johnny told her.
“I told you she wouldn’t go for it!” Ben’s voice floated from down the hall.
The matching uncle-and-baby clothes would have been cute, but Johnny got it. Sue was feeling a little territorial over the whole matching outfits thing. (Even though they all wore matching outfits all the time. It was kind of their whole thing.) It was her first kid, her first time being a mom. She wanted all the matching outfits to go to her.
That was fine. He understood. He penciled in the uncle-and-me collection for the next baby.
Johnny leaned back, chewing on the end of his pencil.
So the uncle and baby athleisure line was a no-go. He had about a million other ideas.
He wondered how Sue would feel about a Human Torch branded line of organic baby food?
He snapped his fingers. HERBIE beeped at him.
“Herbert, start a new log.”
He knew how it was supposed to go. Johnny loved space. Johnny loved women. Johnny loved brown-eyed photographers with permanent frowns who didn’t care how famous he was or how many people were in his fan club.
But Johnny had never loved anything like the tiny baby in his arms.
“Are you crying?” Sue said, groggy and fond.
She was lying in the ship’s tiny medical bay, looking exhausted. Her hair was sweaty, her face was pale. She had never, ever been more beautiful. His perfect, impossible sister, and her perfect, tiny baby.
“No,” Johnny said, his voice all choked up. “Yes. He’s beautiful, Sue.”
Suddenly, holding his nephew, none of it seemed to matter anymore. Space giants, silver women, their desperate flight through space—none of it was important. All that mattered was the baby in his arms.
Sue smiled, tired, and reached up to wipe a tear from his cheek with her thumb.
“Don’t cry on Franklin,” she teased.
“You really named him after Dad?” Johnny said, his voice hoarse. “Really?”
“Mm-hm,” she hummed. She smoothed Franklin’s downy hair back as Johnny huddled closer to her. “We talked about it before we knew. Franklin if it was a boy, Evelyn if it was a girl. Reed and I agreed.”
“Franklin,” Johnny said, staring down at the baby in his arms. He blinked back tears, but it was pointless. They spilled down his cheeks anyway. “Hi, baby Frank. I’m your favorite uncle, Johnny.”
“Hey,” Ben called from the pilot’s seat. “Let the kid decide who his favorite uncle is gonna be.”
“No, I’m calling dibs on it,” Johnny said, all choked up, and Sue had to dab the tears away from his cheeks again with the backs of her knuckles. “I’m the favorite uncle.”
“He’s all Storm,” Johnny declared proudly. “He got nothing from your side.”
He dangled his keys in front of Franklin to make him giggle. His smile lit up his whole tiny perfect face. They were in Reed’s lab, Franklin in his bassinet and Johnny sitting cross-legged in front of him.
Reed looked deeply tired.
“Did you need something, Johnny?” he asked.
“Nope,” Johnny said, popping the P. “Just borrowing your baby. Do you have a problem with that?”
There was a long pause.
“I feel like I should,” Reed finally said, which Johnny interpreted as “please steal my infant, favorite (only) brother-in-law.” He picked Franklin up, bouncing him a little, and flashed Reed a bright grin.
“We’ll be back!” he said, winking with a harmless shower of sparks. Franklin giggled brightly at the sight, trying to reach for them with his chubby little fingers. Johnny hefted him safely out of the way.
Reed heaved a long sigh.
“In one piece, please?” he said.
Johnny tossed him a salute.
“Don’t worry about a thing, brother-in-law,” he said, beaming.
“You realize that just makes me worry more,” Reed muttered to himself as Johnny waltzed out the door.
He took Franklin down to his garage, located in a sub-basement of the Baxter Building. All his own cars were down there, along with a few prototypes for the Fantasticar that hadn’t worked out. Johnny still liked them, though. They were good memories, the four of them laughing, sitting on the garage floor with a hunk of flying junk five feet away, eating sandwiches Ben had whipped up.
Johnny felt like he needed the good memories more than ever.
It was safe here, and quiet. In Johnny’s garage, he couldn’t see or hear the protestors gathered outside, shouting, waving their signs.
OUR CHILDREN MATTER JUST AS MUCH AS YOURS.
ONE LIFE FOR MANY.
FANTASTIC FRAUDS.
HAND OVER THE BABY AND WE ALL LIVE.
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Johnny murmured to himself, pressing his nose to Franklin’s head. “Don’t you worry.”
The cultists worried Johnny more than the protestors. He usually had the TV playing in a corner while he worked, but now every channel was either talking about them, or about Galactus. He held Franklin closer, swaying a little as he watched the coverage of the so-called Galactus cult trying to summit Everest, believing that the mountain would keep them safe.
Since the Fantastic Four, apparently, wouldn’t.
Or couldn’t.
Johnny inhaled sharply and turned off the television. He fumbled at his workbench, snagging something he’d ordered on a whim. It was a teeny, tiny, baby-sized pair of aviators, the perfect fit for Franklin.
“What do you think about these, buddy?” Johnny asked, slipping the sunglasses onto Franklin’s face. He broke out into a gummy smile, little hands reaching for them, and Johnny grinned. “Yeah, cool, right? You like your Uncle Johnny’s style.”
Franklin giggled, and everything else seemed to slip away. The angry chants outside the Baxter Building, the threat of Galactus closing in every single second, the way the world felt wrong and off-kilter. It didn’t matter.
“When you get older, I’m going to teach you all about cool stuff, like hotrods and motorcycles,” Johnny said, shaking Franklin’s little hand. “And fashion. Definitely fashion. Your dad can’t dress.”
“But his mom’s pretty good at it.”
Johnny didn’t jump.
“His mom’s a sneak,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.
Sue faded into sight in a rainbow oil spill shimmer, her eyebrows raised.
“You’re not taking the baby racing,” she said.
“Of course not!” Johnny scoffed. “He’s a baby, Sue. He shouldn’t go racing until he’s like, five, six years old.”
Sue’s eyebrows climbed higher as she crossed her arms.
“Seven?” Johnny tried weakly.
“Give me the baby,” Sue said, holding her arms out.
“But you haven’t even seen the tiny leather jacket yet!” Johnny protested, pouting, even as he held Franklin out to Sue.
She hefted Franklin against her shoulder.
“Does it have flames on it?”
Johnny shifted guiltily.
“Maybe.”
“Oh, no,” Sue said, laughing a little grudgingly, like she didn’t expect it. She still looked exhausted, stretched too thin, but at least now there was light in her eyes. “Nice try, baby brother, but it’s not happening.”
Johnny shrugged, leaning against his workbench.
“Made you smile, though,” he said.
“The tiny sunglasses are really cute,” Sue admitted after a grudging second.
Johnny lit up—figuratively.
“We can call my people!” he said. “Get a brand deal for baby Ray-Bans!”
Sue laughed, shaking her head.
“Bye, Johnny,” she said, making Franklin wave his tiny hand at him.
“Just think about it a little bit!” he shouted at her back.
It was the night after Galactus had been defeated, and Johnny couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t even close his eyes without seeing Sue, sprawled and lifeless on the asphalt.
Sue was asleep in her and Reed’s bedroom, safe and sound. Reed had made sure to check her out thoroughly, to make sure she was really fine, and she was. Johnny knew that she was, if Reed said so. But that didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t sleep.
Reed was with her. Last Johnny had seen, lingering in their doorway with Ben, he’d been sitting on the edge of their bed and gently carding his fingers through her hair. There had been a small, slight smile on her face, and his eyes had been wet.
“Let’s give them some time alone,” Ben had said, his voice gravelly in a way that had nothing to do with him having rocks for vocal chords.
“Yeah,” Johnny had replied, swiping at his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”
He knew that Ben wasn’t sleeping, either. When Johnny had gotten up for his third “I’m just getting a glass of water” jaunt, he’d still been sitting out on the couch, keeping watch like some giant sentinel. Like a story he’d told Johnny once, about a creature made out clay, created to keep his people safe.
Usually, no one made Johnny feel safe like Ben did. Tonight, not even his rocky, reliable presence could settle him.
Ben was still sitting on the couch, the television’s volume down low. The light caught on all the craggy lines of his face, casting them deeper than usual, like the Grand Canyon carved against his skin. Johnny remembered being caught underneath him in the shuttle, Ben trying futilely to shield him against the radiation they all knew would cut through them both like a hot knife through butter.
The shields had failed, and they were doomed.
He remembered Ben, red-faced, his skin looking like it was cracking apart beneath his helmet. “It’s gonna be okay, Johnny.”
He lingered in the doorway for a long moment, just watching Ben watch television. Part of him wanted to join him, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sit still, and it always bugged Ben when he fidgeted too much.
He slunk around the back of the couch instead, careful not to make too much noise, and headed for the nursery.
He expected Franklin would be asleep. He was a good sleeper, usually, but instead he found Franklin giggling to himself in his crib, little hands reaching for something.
"Hey, buddy," Johnny said. "What are you doing up?"
Franklin’s little hands were grabbing for his mobile. Johnny leaned over his crib, his arms crossed on the railing, and Franklin’s gaze caught on him. His face broke out into a brilliant grin.
Johnny didn’t know how he could be so happy and still feel like his heart was breaking.
“Come here, little man,” he said, lifting Franklin up out of his crib. He bounced him a little, running careful fingers over his head. “You like that mobile, huh, Frankie?”
Reed had made it for him, careful and attentive, every detail needing to be just right. Perfectly constructed constellations cascaded like dazzling confetti, next to miniature planets, all sized to scale, and a tiny version of the shuttle that had made Franklin’s family who they were.
Franklin giggled, staring up at it. His chubby little hands reached up, trying to seize the leg of the little Reed doll that dangled among the stars. That part had been Johnny’s idea; little doll versions of each of them. The Ben one even said “It’s clobberin’ time!” when it squeezed, much to his chagrin.
“Reaching for the stars, buddy?” he said. “Yeah, you’re just like your dad. Your mom, too.”
He stayed like that for a long time, just gently swaying with Franklin in his arms, spinning the mobile so he could look at the stars and planets and his family. There was a nightlight shaped like HERBIE in the corner, spilling a golden light across the carpet, and out in the hall he could hear Ben grumbling as he watched another late night show.
“This putz again? Can’t tell a joke to save his life. Who does he think he is?”
Franklin’s hair smelled like blue raspberry bubble bath. Johnny held him until the mobile lost its fascination, until Franklin started to fuss with sleep.
“It’s okay, buddy,” Johnny said, rocking Franklin. His voice was too thick, his eyes too wet, but it was okay, because there was only Franklin here to see. “We’re okay, see? Everybody’s okay now.”
Franklin smacked his lips together sleepily, curling against Johnny’s chest.
“S’okay, Frank,” Johnny whispered. “Uncle Johnny’s here. You’re safe now.”
He settled Franklin in his crib, pulled the blanket up, made sure his Thing doll was propped up in the corner like a watchful sentinel, just like the real deal out in the living room, still swearing at two bit comedians.
Johnny watched Franklin for a long time, looking at his peaceful, sleeping face, trying not to think about him balanced on Galactus’ huge palm.
Tomorrow, there would be damage control and clean up, endless interviews lined up for all of them. Johnny needed to be on his game. He needed to go and get some sleep. But he couldn’t bring himself to move from the side of the crib.
It started slow. His eyes prickled, his throat felt tight. Then his chest started heaving, and he pressed a hand over his mouth to stifle the sobs that suddenly wouldn’t stop. The tears slipped down his cheeks, burning hot, and Johnny couldn’t stop them.
He wanted to go home, even though he was home. He wanted his sister even though she was just in the other room. He wanted a guy with brown eyes and deceptively strong arms to hold him and promise him that everything really was going to be okay now.
Johnny sat on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest and his face buried against them, and cried until the sun came up and a new day broke.
It was Christmas, and the world hadn’t ended. Johnny couldn’t ask for very much more than that.
He still did, of course, in the spirit of the holiday and everything.
(“A custom flame-shaped ruby tie pin?” Peter drawled over the phone. “Exactly who do you think either of us are?”
“How do you feel about Gucci?” Johnny asked, twirling the cord around his finger.
“I’m getting you a keychain,” Peter said, and hung up. It was, Johnny reflected, the thought that mattered.)
The Baxter Building was all decked out for the holidays. Maybe it was the sheer relief, but it felt to Johnny like they all threw themselves into the holiday season harder than ever. There were garlands of holly and multicolored lights, blue tinsel dangling from every banister and wreaths on every door.
Johnny begged and pleaded but Reed stubbornly insisted they couldn’t outdo Rockefeller Center when it came to the Christmas tree. Sixty feet, he said, was just too big, even for the Baxter Building. So Johnny settled and didn’t even complain all that much when Ben hauled a twenty foot tree into their solarium.
The star was silver that year, to remember the sacrifices that others had made.
Johnny stared at it for a long moment after Reed placed it on top of the tree, and then scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve.
“No Hanukkah bush, Benjy?” he asked.
“Get lost,” Ben said.
The past three years, the Baxter Building’s holiday party had been a glittering, star-studded affair. Hollywood actors, diplomats, bigwigs—it was the place to be seen, the party to be at if you were someone who was anyone.
This year, though, with the weight of everything that had happened hanging over them, they opted for a smaller party. Family and close friends only. Just them, Lynne and her family, Ben’s new girlfriend, and Johnny’s own special someone.
It shouldn’t have made him nervous. Reed and Sue both liked Peter, and Ben was slowly coming around. He would have come around faster if either he or Peter could have stopped baiting each other, granted.
Reed’s cousin and his wife and kids had even come to visit for the holidays. Johnny had never met them before, but Reed was his family, which meant Reed’s family was his family—or something like that, anyway. They lived in Scotland, Reed said, and they hadn’t seen each other since long before he and Sue’s wedding.
They were quiet and reserved—Reed’s cousin was a minister, apparently, and his wife ran a local shop. They didn’t talk a lot, but then Johnny figured they were tired from the long trip, or maybe just shy.
Also, they had just saved the world. That was probably pretty intimidating to normal people. Not that Johnny’s boyfriend was intimidated even a little bit, but Peter was a freak, so he didn’t count. Johnny decided not to let it bother him, instead reveling in the gifts he’d gotten everyone. He had more for Christmas morning, but he could never resist breaking a few presents out early for his family.
The expensive coat he’d caught Sue staring at in a store window, the one she said she didn’t need because she already had enough coats. A silk tie patterned with little microscopes and atoms for Reed. The Belgian chocolates he knew Lynne coveted.
After a long debate with Sue, complete with a flashcard demonstration on his end, he’d gotten Franklin a couple very safe, age appropriate baby toys, and not a car. (“It’ll be vintage by the time he can drive it!”)
Or a motorcycle. (“Also vintage!”)
Or a pony. (“If you get him a pony, you’re the one cleaning up after it,” Sue said.)
He had gotten Ben and Peter matching Hanukkah sweaters out of love. Really. Their matching appalled faces were just a bonus.
“My two second favorite guys!” he crowed, snapping a photo of them. Ben grimaced; Peter stared down at his blue and yellow menorah sweater with something like existential dread.
“How can you have two second favorite guys?” Ben asked.
“Wait,” Peter said, finally taking his eyes off the dreidels embroidered on his sleeves. “Who’s your first favorite?”
“Franklin,” Johnny said blithely. “Obviously.”
He snapped a second photo.
“That’s what I like to see,” he said. “Those looks of disgust are adorable.”
Peter looked like he wanted to flip him off, then glanced at the baby in Sue’s arms and thought better of it. His aunt had raised a real gentleman.
“Where’s Stretcho on this favorite guy list?” Ben asked, raising his rocky brows.
Johnny thought about it for a second.
“Third favorite guy,” he said, shrugging.
“You cannot have two second favorite guys,” Peter protested as Johnny clicked the shutter again. He was beautiful when he was indignant.
“Reed, you don’t mind being my third favorite guy, right?” Johnny called across the room.
Reed lifted his glass towards him.
“By all means,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “It’s steep competition.”
Johnny turned to Ben and Peter and gestured, raising his eyebrows.
“Am I a joke to you?” Peter said.
Johnny smacked an obnoxious kiss against his cheek.
“Yes,” he said. “Every day.”
He let Peter wander off, probably to talk about nerd things with Reed, and decided he’d run the circuit himself. Franklin had been fussy since the day before, so with Sue handling him, the hosting duties mostly fell to Johnny. That was fine; he’d learned from the best, after all.
So he took drinks and snacks around, made sure the room stayed the perfect toasty holiday temperature, and made small talk. Or he tried to, anyway.
Reed’s cousin Hamish and his family were—well. Johnny didn’t want to use the word “weird.” Reed was weird, and Johnny loved him. Johnny was weird, too, and had been since the first moment he’d transformed into a man made out of living flame. Weird wasn’t bad.
But they were strange. Their eyes seemed to dart around the room. At first, Johnny thought maybe they were just taken aback by the Baxter Building, with its high ceilings and huge windows, all of Reed’s little modern conveniences. But now he wasn’t so sure.
They stared at Franklin a lot, both Hamish and his wife.
Johnny could understand it, he guessed. The whole world knew that Galactus had wanted Reed and Sue’s baby. Naturally, people were curious to know what exactly was it about one tiny baby that held more temptation than an entire planet's energy.
He could understand it, but he didn’t like it.
“Hey!” he said, a touch too brightly, stepping in front of them to block their view of Sue and the baby. “How are you guys doing? Need anything? Refill? Snacks? Ben makes a mean stuffed celery.”
“Oh, we’re fine, thank you,” Muriel said with a smile that looked strange around the edges. She leaned to the side so Johnny sidled over a step.
“You sure?” he said. “What about the rumaki, have you tried that yet? Or the cheeseball? Or, hey, we’ve got a fondue set I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to break out!”
“That's so kind. No, really, don’t trouble yourself,” she said.
“It’s no trouble at all!” Johnny said. “Sure I can’t tempt you with a deviled egg? Or maybe a pig in a blanket? If they’re cold, I can heat them right up for you.”
He winked, sparks scattering from his eyelashes. Hamish and Muriel didn’t seem that excited about the offer.
“Or maybe you don’t like hot food,” Johnny said. “What about some homemade onion dip? Or we’ve got a Jello that’ll knock your socks off—that’s Sue’s specialty.” He paused, waiting for laughter. “Get it? Because Jello, it’s translucent, and Sue… Sue can turn invisible? No?” Still no laughter. Johnny clapped his hands together. “Okay!”
“Oh, it’s just that we really couldn’t,” Muriel said. “Everything’s been just so—much.”
Johnny glanced around the room. He guessed maybe it was overwhelming, but they really had toned it down this year. And with Ben around, they always had to make sure there was enough food to feed a horse. Peter wasn’t a whole lot better, and Johnny had no idea where he put it all.
So food was out, and the decorations didn’t seem like a very good topic of conversation either. One thing was for sure, though; Johnny wasn’t going to let them ruin Sue and Franklin’s Christmas Eve.
Johnny grabbed the ottoman and pulled it closer, settling down in front of Hamish and Muriel.
“So,” he said, too brightly. “Tell me about Scotland!”
They told him about Scotland.
By Johnny’s estimation, they told him everything about Scotland. And Johnny sat there and listened, because he loved is sister and his nephew, and he only almost fell asleep maybe three times tops.
Hamish also talked about his church. He really loved his church, but it didn’t sound like any that Johnny had ever attended.
“What’s, uh, the name of your congregation?” Johnny asked, for lack of anything else to say. He glanced around the room and, with a wave of relief, saw that Sue had left, probably to put Franklin to bed for the night.
Hamish pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“The Church of Korgo.”
“Oh,” Johnny said. “I, uh. Hadn’t heard of it. Peter!”
He snagged Peter by his elbow as he walked past, grinning at him with desperation.
“Hey, hi,” he said. “Help me in the kitchen?”
Get me the hell out of this conversation, he tried to communicate through Morse code by rapidly fluttering his eyelashes.
Either the message got through or Peter was feeling especially cooperative, because he flashed Reed’s cousins his best my aunt says I’m a nice boy smile and let Johnny drag him away.
He breathed a sigh of relief once they were sequestered away in the kitchen, groaning and dropping his forehead onto Peter’s reliable shoulder.
“You doing okay, champ?” Peter asked, rubbing a hand down Johnny’s back. “The cousin delegation got to you?”
“So many sheep,” Johnny groaned. “And they didn’t even want to try the onion dip.”
“Poor baby,” Peter said, his Queens accent full of mockery. “And you worked so hard pouring the Lipton’s soup mix into the sour cream.”
Johnny pinched his hip. He leaned back, heaving another sigh. Outside the kitchen, he could hear Lynne telling Reed good night, and Rachel telling Ben she’d see him soon, and then the whoosh of the elevator doors. Ben’s rumbling voice said something about showing Reed’s cousins to the guest suite. For a moment he just swayed with Peter in the kitchen, savoring the end of the night.
“Good party, hotshot?” Peter asked.
“Great party,” Johnny said, leaning forward to kiss him quickly. “You showed up.”
The smile that curved at Peter’s lips was secretive and just for them. This was what he needed, Johnny thought. This funny, weird, normal guy to hold him back down to earth.
They broke apart when Ben wandered into the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of his Hanukkah sweater.
“That’s enough, lovebirds,” he said. “Come on, help me with the dishes. It’s no fair to leave them all to the little guy.”
HERBIE beeped in agreement. Johnny had done his bit, though, making sure Sue had a peaceful evening, so he just lounged while Peter joined Ben at the sink.
“Hey, you work in the news,” Johnny said to Peter, leaning back against the counter. “You ever hear of something called the Church of Korgo?”
“Korgo?” Peter repeated, his thick brows drawing together. “Sounds like some kind of monster movie.”
“Yeah,” Ben rumbled. “Think I caught that one down at a drive-in out in Jersey.”
“It’s the name of Hamish’s congregation,” Johnny said. “Nah, never mind. It's probably nothing.”
The conversation shifted after that, Peter and Ben talking idly, while Johnny let himself drift, anchored only by their comforting voices. He startled when a hand brushed his elbow. He realized that Ben had lumbered out of the kitchen, and that it was just him and Peter now. The lights in the living room were turned down low, and everything was cast in the glittering glow of the Christmas lights, the sparkle of the ornaments on the tree.
“You all right?” Peter said. “Want to go to bed?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Johnny mumbled. “You know it's Franklin’s first Christmas tomorrow morning? It’s a pretty exciting day.”
“Sure,” Peter said. “You just look a little out of it.”
He touched Johnny’s cheek, gentle. He was always gentle with Johnny, like he was worried he could break him somehow. Like Johnny wasn’t the superhero between the two of them.
“Reed’s cousins just got under my skin,” he admitted.
“Odd ducks,” Peter said, propping his elbow up on Johnny’s shoulder. “You sure you're okay there?”
“Mm,” Johnny said, turning his face and leaning over to kiss him right on the bump of his nose. Normally, Johnny wouldn’t have thought a photographer could get punched in the face that often, but Peter was uniquely irritating. It was one of the things he loved about him. “Fine now.”
It was the night before Christmas, Johnny reflected groggily, and not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
Except that wasn’t true.
At first, Johnny wasn’t sure what woke him. Peter was still pressed up against his back, his face hidden between Johnny’s shoulder blades and one long arm tossed over his waist. The lights of New York shone through Johnny’s floor to ceiling windows, a beautiful neon show. And it was snowing.
Fat, white flakes drifted down from the sky, painting the city like a beautiful snow globe. Johnny wanted to smile.
There was a weird feeling in the air, though. A kind of pressure, like his ears were stuffed up. He wrapped his hand around Peter’s wrist and shook him a little.
“Do you feel that?” he asked.
He got a grumbled, wordless reply. Johnny frowned. His fingers flexed at Peter’s wrist.
“It feels like…”
Then the feeling expanded, painful pressure, and then release, like a bubble popping. A wave of power swept over him, so strong it pressed him flat to the mattress, sent him scrambling to cover Peter, fighting against a force that felt like it wanted nothing more than to force him down or throw him to the floor.
The windows rattled like a gale force hurricane. The sound of breaking glass echoed outside of the room. The building shook to its foundation. Every alarm in the building went off at once.
And all Johnny could think was, Sue.
It was over as soon as it started, leaving him gasping with relief as the sensation lifted.
Peter shot straight up in bed, gripping Johnny’s arm.
“What the hell was that?” he said, breathless.
“I think,” Johnny said, the beginnings of anxiety seizing him, “that was my sister.”
The door flung itself it open, or—no, Sue had flung the door open with a forcefield, because there she was, framed in the doorway, dressed in a pink and green silk dressing robe with her hair all over the place. Her eyes were the size of dinner plates.
“Get up,” she said, her voice filled with that kind of grim calm that meant something was really, really wrong. “Franklin’s missing. And so are Reed’s cousins.”
The thing that nobody understood, not even Reed, was the depths of Johnny’s connection to heat and fire. Reed knew intellectually, of course, about what Johnny could do, what his limits were—but he would never knew how it felt to be able to pick out the familiar heat signatures of his family in the Baxter Building even with twenty stories between them.
Just like Johnny would never know how it felt to stretch his body like elastic, or what it meant to be trapped in a rocky form, or to shove a space god back using only his force of will.
They all had different gifts.
The point was, Johnny could feel heat, and every single person felt a little bit different.
Franklin felt like nobody else on the planet. And that meant that Johnny could track him.
They traveled down, down, down to the lowest level of the Baxter Building’s basements. Johnny never came here; nobody did. It was storage for one of Reed’s failed experiments, and so secret they never talked about it.
Now, though, there was a giant hole in the middle of the concrete floor. A giant, deep, apparently fathomless hole. Johnny shot a spark down into it and watched as it disappeared into the gloom.
“It’s a tunnel,” Reed said.
“You’re telling me,” Ben said, waving a hand at the floor, “two normal, middle-aged people with no powers managed to tunnel their way through our concrete floor all the way to Timbuktu in the middle of the night in about three hours? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Reed glanced up at him and shook his head.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all,” he said. “No one tunneled down. Something tunneled up.”
“Is Franklin down there?” Sue asked breathlessly.
He was. Johnny could still feel the faint trace of him.
He didn’t wait for anyone else. He flamed on and dove.
Controlled falling wasn’t quite like flying. Johnny sank deeper and deeper into the gloom, the only light his own flames, and as he fell, his anxiety grew. He flamed off when he finally touched down against the ground, save for one hand, which he held out in front of him.
When the light revealed a face very close to his own, he nearly screamed.
“Harvey!” he shouted, hand pressed to his chest. “Don’t do that.”
“Jonathan,” Harvey sniffed. “If anyone has the right to be shocked, it’s me. What are you doing in my territory? On this night of all nights?”
He was wearing his usual goggles on top of his head and a houndstooth jacket, along with—what looked like a Rudolph sweater vest. Johnny was going to circle back to that one.
“Harv,” Johnny snapped. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Au contraire,” Harvey said. “I think you’ll find that until you give me a satisfying explanation as to why the Fantastic Four have broken our agreement and tunneled down into my territory that you have nothing but time. Inside a holding cell, that is.”
Johnny almost laughed, except nothing was funny when Franklin was missing.
“First, we didn’t tunnel down into your kingdom, something tunneled up, and if I were you I would want to do something about that,” Johnny pointed out, counting down on his fingers. “Second, I’m here because Franklin is missing and I tracked him down here. And third—try it, Mole Man.”
“Susan’s boy is missing?” Harvey said, apparently deciding to ignore the other two things.
Johnny explained as succinctly as he could, and Harvey’s frown grew deeper by the moment.
“That is troubling,” he said when Johnny finished. “Still, for a member of the Fantastic Four to invade Subterranea—”
“You said you trust Sue,” Johnny said. “Well, then help me get her son back.”
Harvey visibly wilted.
“If you do this for me,” Johnny said, “then I promise you can menace me later.”
Harvey looked up, expression brightening. Johnny held up a finger.
“Once! You can menace me once, Harvey.”
“Ah, ah, Jonathan,” Harvey said. “We have a deal. Not that I’d ever let any harm come to Susan’s tot in my kingdom, of course.”
“Of course,” Johnny repeated under his breath.
When they found Franklin, he was with Hamish and Muriel in a cave surrounded by torchlight. As angry as Johnny was, it was almost something of a relief. At least he hadn’t been left alone, underground, where anything could have happened to him.
He just hoped Reed didn’t expect his cousin and his cousin’s wife back un-flambeed.
Franklin was also lying on something that looked like a stone altar. Johnny hated Subterranea.
He was, unfortunately, grateful for Harvey; when Hamish and Muriel tried to stop him from grabbing the baby, Harvey’s staff blocked their path.
“And what do you two surface dwelling low lives think you’re doing with Susan’s innocent child?” he demanded theatrically.
Johnny didn’t roll his eyes, but it was only out of sheer relief that Franklin was, apparently, fine. He giggled and reached for Johnny’s face when he picked him up.
“You have ten seconds to explain before I barbecue this entire place,” Johnny said, holding Franklin safely against his chest. “That’s merciful considering what my sister will to do to you when she catches up.”
“Wait, you don't understand! We need the child!” Hamish said. “Korgo is coming!”
“I’m so sick of this,” Johnny shouted. “What the hell is a Korgo?”
There had been, ever since he picked up Franklin, a strange, rustling noise coming from the walls of the cave. It was growing louder and louder, rhythmic, like a drumbeat.
Then the walls started to shake. Harvey lowered his staff, looking around the cave suspiciously. He jumped back when one wall exploded in a shower of rocks and debris. Johnny twisted his body to shield Franklin.
Tentacles, huge and bright teal in the torchlight.
Franklin giggled and clapped his hands together.
“What,” Johnny said, breathless, as he held Franklin close, “the hell is that.”
“That,” Hamish said, adjusting his glasses, “is Korgo.”
It turned out it was called the Church of Korgo because Korgo was a subterranean network of Johnny didn’t even want to know what, but he knew it was sentient, it had tentacles, and it liked eating little kids. One from every generation. One child every twenty-five years.
Hamish and the rest of his congregation had apparently been sacrificing children to it for years. In exchange, the congregation seemed almost blessed -- no sickness, no crime. A utopia on Earth. And all they had to do was keep feeding it sacrifices.
Galactus had wanted Franklin.
They figured that if Galactus wanted him, Korgo would want him, too—and that maybe whatever it was that made Franklin so special would keep him full for years and years, perhaps even a century, so they could spare their own.
Johnny did what any self-respecting superhero and loving uncle would do: he set Korgo on fire. He poured it on hot and fast, pushing himself, trying to feel along the pathways it had wound its way through underneath New York, like some kind of eldritch subway system.
It took more effort than he expected. Whatever Korgo was, he was huge and at least somewhat flame resistant. By the time Johnny got it to shrink back away from them and back into its tunnel, he was exhausted and panting, smoke curling up from his shoulders. His flame still tingled at his fingertips.
Harvey collapsed the tunnel afterwards. Johnny hoped it would be enough.
“I’ll return these two to the surface,” Harvey said, jerking a thumb at Hamish and Muriel. “Consider it in the holiday spirit.”
“You’re all heart, Harvey,” Johnny said. He bounced Franklin, fussy now, and hushed him. “Come on, buddy. Be good for Uncle Johnny, okay? It’s just a quick ride back up to the surface.”
He took off. He didn’t want Sue to worry a second longer than she had to.
“Give Susan my regards!” Harvey shouted after him.
The fight with Korgo—the huge network of tentacles beyond just what Johnny could see—had collapsed the tunnel leading back to the Baxter Building’s basement. Johnny grit his teeth and shifted Franklin closer.
That was fine; he just needed to find another way.
“It’s like an adventure, huh, buddy?” he said.
Franklin gummed at his t-shirt.
“That’s the spirit,” Johnny said. “I don’t care what Sue says. When we get out of here, I’m definitely buying you a car.”
He really should have asked Harvey for a map.
If he could break into the subway system, he figured, then it would be easy enough to get home. All he needed to was a little luck. And a whole lot of control.
It was a careful balance. Enough flame to fly, but not enough to let the heat touch Franklin. He hadn’t expected to be flying around for what felt like hours.
It was too much heat. Too much tight control. He was still out of it from the forcefield shockwave that had ripped through the Baxter Building earlier, Sue’s emotions bursting out of her in a terrifying show.
Johnny couldn’t blame her. The thought of losing Franklin after everything they’d done to keep him safe was enough to terrify him, too.
But combined with pouring it on for Korgo, he was exhausted. It didn’t matter; he was the Human Torch. He had to push himself harder, faster. He had to keep his nephew safe. He could see a glowing red light up ahead—something electric. Something on the surface.
All he had to do was make it that far, and then he could collapse. His vision went black around the edges, but that didn’t matter—all that mattered was Franklin, and the red light up ahead that promised his nephew’s safety.
Something snagged on the shoulder of his suit and yanked him up towards the light.
The subway tracks looked like they’d been ripped apart by someone’s bare hands. That was all Johnny could think when he found himself sitting on the platform at Grand Central, Franklin still held securely in his arms and a crowd gathering around them.
“That,” Johnny said, breathless and clutching Franklin to his chest, “is going to take forever to clean up.”
He adjusted his hold on Franklin and plucked at the shoulder of his suit. His gloves came away covered in silvery strands, so fine they were almost invisible.
“Is that… spiderwebs?” he wondered out loud.
“Johnny!”
His head snapped up.
“Sue!”
She was running towards them full force. She flung her arms around the both of them as soon as she reached them, rocking them both, and Johnny breathed a sigh of relief.
“We’re okay,” he promised, leaning his head on her shoulder.
Beyond the safety of Sue’s embrace, Ben was herding the onlookers away—“It’s Christmas, don’t you bums have anything better to do?”—and Reed was nearly sagging with relief, his whole body gone limp. Peter was standing not too far away, looking rumpled and wide-eyed. He flashed Johnny a shaky grin when Johnny wiggled his fingers at him in a sad little wave.
He didn’t really feel like it was over until they were back at the Baxter Building, hours later. Harvey, true to his word, had delivered Reed’s cousins back to the surface, and then there had been police, and questions, and Johnny had to try to explain what a Korgo was, as if he even knew.
“No more family reunions,” Sue told Reed. “Ever.”
Reed grimaced.
“Yes, dear,” he said.
But now they were back home, gathered around the Christmas tree in the living room. It was still beautiful, even if Sue had accidentally shattered half of the ornaments with her mind. HERBIE made hot cocoa, and Ben criticized the number of little marshmallows he put in it, and Peter and Reed were bickering somewhere down the hall as they tried to rehang a door that Sue’s forcefield blast had knocked off its hinges.
Johnny sat on the floor with his nephew in his lap and his sister sitting behind him and felt incredibly, immensely grateful for his strange, wonderful, perfect family.
“Johnny?” Sue said, leaning forward.
“Yeah, sis?”
“You’re the best uncle,” Sue said.
Johnny laughed, tired but happy, and shot a grin over his shoulder at Ben. It must have been the holiday spirit, or the sheer relief that Johnny and Franklin hadn't both fallen prey to some kind of eldritch subway monster, because Ben just grumbled under his breath and didn't say anything.
“It’s pretty easy to be the best uncle, Sue,” Johnny said, kissing Franklin’s chubby cheek. “When you have the best nephew.”