[AMY IN DISPATCH (2025)] CHAPTER FIVE

Mandy woke slowly, surfacing from sleep like someone rising through water. For one blissful moment, she lingered in that hazy space between dream and waking, stretching her limbs beneath her blankets, but letting her eyes stay closed.

Then she froze.

Something smelled… good. Suspiciously good.

The unmistakable scent of frying butter, and… was that cinnamon? Whatever it was, it wafted through her apartment, drifting under her bedroom door to pleasantly pool around her nose.

Mandy sat up.

“…No,” she muttered aloud. “No, absolutely not. It seriously cannot be something that happened, even with how strange my life is.”

Because if breakfast was cooking in her kitchen, that implied someone was in her kitchen.

And the only person who could possibly be in her kitchen was—

She rubbed her eyes. “It wasn’t a dream,” she said flatly. “Oh dear god, it wasn’t a dream.”

Resigned, she dragged herself out of bed and reached for the silk red robe hanging on the wall. It was soft, warm, and, more importantly, capable of making her look at least halfway like a functional adult in the morning. She slipped it on, tied the sash, and padded toward the hallway with all the energy of someone heading to their execution.

As she reached the kitchen doorway, she stopped dead.

Amy was humming.

Amy Dallon—Panacea, healer from another dimension and living food vortex—stood in Mandy’s kitchen wearing a borrowed pair of oversized blue pajamas covered in tiny cartoon clouds. Her hair was a brown, frizzy mess, sticking up like she’d fought a pillow and lost.

She was wielding a spatula with intense concentration, flipping something golden and steaming on a pan.

Mandy stared.

Amy turned, beaming. “Good morning!” she chirped. “I made breakfast!”

Mandy blinked once, then twice, slowly.

“You’re real,” she said, voice still flat.

Amy paused mid-flip. “…I hope so?”

Mandy rubbed her face. “You’re real, you’re in my kitchen, and you’re wearing my pajamas.” She looked at the stove. “…And you’re cooking.”

Amy perked up. “Yeah! I figured since you carried me across half the city and let me into your home, making breakfast was the least I could do!”

Mandy opened her mouth, then closed it. Her brain was still booting.

Amy resumed flipping pancakes—flawlessly, somehow—while continuing casually, “Also, I may have reorganized your spice rack, and your cabinets, and your fridge, and your cutlery drawer… and I fed your cat.”

Mandy blinked. “…I don’t have a cat.”

“Right, because I fed it.”

“You—what cat?”

Amy gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “The one that wandered in through the window. I think it lives here now?”

As if on cue, a small orange tabby padded into the kitchen and sat on Mandy’s foot like it owned the spot.

Mandy stared down at it. The cat meowed.

“…I need coffee,” she said.

Amy slid a mug into her hands with supernatural speed. “Already made!”

Mandy looked at the mug. Then at Amy. Then at the cat. Then back at Amy.

“…I definitely didn’t dream any of that,” she concluded aloud.

Amy grinned, lifting the plate she’d just finished loading with tall, fluffy pancakes. “Nope! Welcome to your new daily dose of chaos hosted by yours truly!”

Mandy took a long drink of coffee.

“God help me,” she muttered.

Amy held out the plate proudly. “So, breakfast?”

“Yes, Amy. Breakfast.”

The cat meowed approvingly.

Welcome, indeed, to chaos.

. . . . .

Breakfast, as it turned out, was excellent. 

That fact annoyed Mandy far more than it should have. 

She ate in silence at first, sitting at her kitchen table in her robe, sipping her coffee and chewing pancakes that were somehow better than anything she made herself. Amy sat across from her, legs tucked under her, radiating smugness while the orange tabby perched on the counter like an equally smug supervisor.

“So,” Mandy said eventually, setting her fork down. “You cook.”

It wasn't a question, but Amy still gave an answer, beaming. “Stress response! Also I wanted to feed you. It will make you less likely to hate me.”

In lieu of consoling the young woman, which was a difficult urge to stifle, Mandy hummed noncommittedly. “That's… unsettlingly effective.”

They finished breakfast without further incident, unless one counted Amy attempting to name the cat “Professor Paradox” and Mandy vetoing it on principle. 

By the time they left the apartment, they had both changed, with Amy given a jacket while Mandy transformed into Blonde Blazer, a warning about talking to strangers, and a firm instruction to stay within arm’s reach at all times. 

Flying, again, made Amy go quiet in that awed way that still tugged uncomfortably at Mandy’s chest. But she was able to maintain a steady speed, unwilling to let it be known to the young woman as the city passed by below them. 

Eventually, the Torrance SDN office branch came into view. 

Blazer touched down on the ground, setting Amy on her feet, and they headed inside. The tall blonde led her new charge through corridors, past briefing rooms and mission boards, until they reached her department floor. 

“This,” Blazer said, gesturing as they entered, “is my place of work.”

Amy absorbed it in silence for a full three seconds. Then she gasped. 

“You have a wall of emergencies.”

“Yes.”

“And a map that lights up.”

“Yes.”

“And are those people arguing over a—”

“Welcome to the SDN,” Blazer said dryly. 

Amy pressed her hands to her cheeks. “This is so much more organized than the PRT.”

“The PRT?”

“Parahuman Response Team. My world’s version of the SDN… in a fashion.”

“Right,” Blonde Blazer replied, guiding Amy toward her desk while nodding to co-workers along the way. 

“Morning, Blonde Blazer,” someone called. 

Mandy waved. “Morning.”

Amy also waved, though hers was enthusiastic. “Hi! I'm Amy! I'm not from this dimension!”

Several people froze while others stared at the brunette like she’d grown a second head. 

Mandy sighed, resisting the urge to palm her face. “We’ll workshop introductions.”

They settled into a small alcove, and Blazer pulled up a terminal. “Alright. There's something we need to talk about before you get too excited.”

Amy straightened immediately. “Am I in trouble? That’s a new record on my end..”

“No,” Blazer immediately denied. “But if you’re going to be working with us, there are… legalities.”

Amy’s shoulders slumped. “Ah. Bureaucracy. My old nemesis.”

“You’re seventeen, going on eighteen, right?” Blazer continued. “Different world, different standards, but here that means limited authority. You can't officially assist on missions, access systems, or receive compensation without credentials.”

Amy nodded slowly. “So…I need, like… school?”

“A GED or an equivalent,” Blazer said. “Something that establishes you as legally competent to work.”

Amy brightened a little. “Oh! That’s doable! I know everything there is to know about living things.”

Blazer paused. “You do?”

She nodded. “Yup. My power is kinda a cheat code when it comes to biology.”

Blazer considered that, then nodded. “We can work with that. SDN has partnerships with fast-track education programs. Given your… unique expertise, it shouldn't take long.”

“And then… I could help?”

“Yes,” Blazer said honestly. “With oversight. And limits. And a lot of rules.”

Amy smiled, smaller this time. “I have a complicated history with rules, but I like them enough. They make things less… angsty.”

Blazer felt something settle in her chest at that. 

“Good,” she said. “Because SDN runs on rules.”

Amy glanced back out at the floor, at the heroes and analysts moving about. 

“…This place helps people,” she said quietly.

Blazer followed her gaze. “That’s the idea.”

Amy nodded to herself. “Okay. Then I’ll do the paperwork. The tests. Whatever you need.”

She looked up at Blazer, her expression earnest. 

“I want to be useful while I'm here.”

Blazer met her eyes and smiled, just a little, but still as earnest as the young woman. 

“You already are,” she said. “But we’ll make it official.”

Amy beamed and the leader of SDN’s Torrance Branch felt her heart melt at the sight.