Some days, you forget he’s Invincible.

Not because he isn’t strong. God, he’s stronger than anyone you’ve ever known, but because of the way he holds Terra.

Right now, he’s lying on the living room floor, sprawled out like he’s been punched in the gut by Battle Beast again. Terra sits cross-legged on his chest, her tiny fists tangled in his hair as she lectures him with all the wisdom a four-year-old can muster.

“And then, you have to say sorry to the bug. Even if you didn’t mean to step on it.”

Mark nods solemnly, eyes wide. “Even if it was already dead?”

“Especially then,” she says with a scowl that is all yours.

You’ve seen him bleeding, broken, screaming in rage. You’ve seen him shoulder the weight of the universe. But this? This is the hardest thing he’s ever had to learn. How to just be.

How to be her father.