Chapter 27: Monica's Spiral
Ben's Danger Intuition woke him at 3:17 AM with wrongness that felt different from physical threat.
Not violence. Not robbery. Something else—chaotic, unpredictable, dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with weapons.
He dressed quickly and followed the sensation, his power pulling him through South Side's empty streets like a compass needle toward magnetic north. Three blocks from the Gallagher house, he found her.
Monica Gallagher was dancing in the middle of the street.
Barefoot. In January. At three in the morning. Her movements were frenetic, joyful, completely disconnected from the twenty-degree cold that should have been painful. She was talking to herself—or to the universe, or to voices only she could hear.
Ben's MacGyver Mind cataloged the danger signs automatically: inappropriate affect, pressured speech, lack of awareness of physical discomfort. Full-blown manic episode. Possibly psychotic features.
"Monica," he called out carefully.
She spun toward him, face lighting up with manic joy. "Ben! The fix-it man! I was just telling the stars about you. They said you have a beautiful aura. Gold and blue and purple all mixed together."
"It's cold out here. You should go home."
"Home? No, no, no." She laughed, the sound too loud for the silent street. "I'm going to liberate the furniture store. Did you know everything should be free? The universe told me. We're all just borrowing molecules from the cosmos anyway, so ownership is an illusion."
Ben's Danger Intuition pulsed warnings. This wasn't just mania—this was Monica heading toward a criminal act that would get her arrested or hurt.
"Liberate?" he asked, keeping his tone neutral.
"The furniture store on Archer. I've got helpers—Raymond and Linda and Michael from the shelter. We're going to break in and redistribute everything. Social justice through direct action." Her eyes were too bright, movements too quick. "Want to join? Your aura says you understand revolution."
She's planning a break-in. With homeless people she's recruited. In a manic state where consequences don't exist and reality is optional.
"That sounds important," Ben said, his Silver Tongue activating carefully. "But shouldn't we plan it properly? Make sure we don't get caught?"
"Can't get caught when you're doing the universe's work."
"The government might disagree."
Monica's expression shifted instantly—paranoid, suspicious. "Government. Yes. They monitor everything. Are you working for them? Is that why you're here?"
Shit. Wrong approach.
"No, I'm—"
"Your timing's too perfect. You always show up at exactly the right moment. That's what they do. Plant agents to observe revolutionary movements." She backed away, still barefoot on frozen pavement. "Stay away from me."
Ben's Danger Intuition showed him the situation deteriorating. If Monica ran, she'd either freeze or get arrested attempting her "liberation." He needed to redirect without triggering her paranoia further.
"You're right," he said, letting his Silver Tongue guide him. "They might be listening. Here, in the open. Too exposed. We should go somewhere secure to plan. Somewhere they can't monitor."
Monica stopped backing away. "Where?"
"Your house. Frank's there. He knows about government surveillance. Between the three of us, we can plan properly."
The logic was absurd—Frank knew nothing about government surveillance. But Monica's manic mind latched onto the idea, seeing conspiracy and importance where there was only desperation.
"Yes. Okay. Frank will know what to do." She started walking, still barefoot, apparently having forgotten shoes existed.
Ben followed, his Danger Intuition pulsing steady warnings. Every word felt like defusing a bomb where cutting the wrong wire would trigger an explosion.
The walk to the Gallagher house took fifteen minutes that felt like hours. Monica talked constantly—about cosmic justice, molecular ownership, the importance of redistributing furniture. Ben responded with careful noises of acknowledgment, not agreeing or disagreeing, just keeping her moving toward safety.
When they reached the house, Fiona was awake. Probably had been all night, based on her exhausted fury.
"Mom. Where the hell have you been?"
"Saving the world!" Monica announced. "And Ben agrees with me. Tell her, Ben."
Every eye in the room turned to him. Fiona, Lip, Ian, even the younger kids who'd been woken by Monica's volume. Frank was passed out on the couch, useless as always.
"I think Monica should sit down and warm up," Ben said carefully. "Maybe have some tea. Then we can all talk about... plans."
Lip appeared beside Ben, voice low. "What happened?"
"Found her planning to break into a furniture store. Convinced her to come home instead."
"Jesus." Lip ran a hand through his hair. "This is bad. Worse than last time."
The family fractured along predictable lines.
Fiona wanted Monica hospitalized—forcibly if necessary, medicated until stable, committed if that's what it took. Her fury was exhaustion wearing violence like a coat.
Lip analyzed the situation clinically—bipolar episode, probably mixed features, needed medical intervention but involuntary commitment required specific legal criteria.
Ian begged them to give her a chance—maybe she'd take medication voluntarily, maybe this time would be different, maybe love was enough.
Frank woke long enough to enable everything—Monica was fine, just energetic, medication killed the spirit, hospitals were prisons.
The younger kids watched in confused silence, too young to understand but old enough to feel the tension.
Ben stood in the corner, observing, feeling the future play out exactly as he'd known it would. Monica would promise treatment. Would seem to stabilize for a few days. Then she'd either crash into depression or disappear, leaving this family to pick up pieces they'd foolishly hoped wouldn't break.
Fiona pulled him aside during a lull in the argument.
"You knew," she said quietly. "Didn't you? That's why you warned Ian about bipolar disorder. Why you happened to find her tonight. You knew this was coming."
"I worried," Ben deflected. "Recognized patterns."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
Fiona studied him with complicated expression—gratitude for bringing Monica home, frustration with his evasiveness, exhaustion from carrying too much for too long.
"Does your intuition tell you if she'll stay?" Fiona asked.
Ben wanted to lie. Wanted to give her hope. But Fiona deserved honesty more than comfort.
"No," he said. "It doesn't tell me that."
The answer said everything by saying nothing.
Ben found Ian outside at 2 AM, sitting on the front steps, staring at nothing.
"Can't sleep?" Ben asked.
"Can't stop thinking." Ian's voice was hollow. "About what you said. About bipolar disorder. About how people can mean their promises when they make them but not be able to keep them."
Ben sat beside him. February cold seeped through the concrete steps, numbing his legs.
"Do you think she'll stay?" Ian asked. "Really. Not what you want me to hear. What you actually think."
This is where I choose between comfortable lies and painful truth. Between protecting his hope and preparing him for reality.
"I think she believes she'll stay," Ben said carefully. "Right now, in her head, she means every promise she's making. But her brain chemistry is working against her intentions. And without consistent treatment, that chemistry will win."
"So no. She won't stay."
"Probably not."
Ian was quiet for a long time. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with unshed tears. "It's not fair. That she can love us and still leave. That intention doesn't matter if your brain won't cooperate."
"No," Ben agreed. "It's not fair."
"How do you always know what's coming?" Ian looked at him directly. "Lucky Ben shows up at exactly the right moment, knows exactly the right things to say. It's like you can see the future or something."
Ben's Danger Intuition screamed warnings. This was the edge of exposure—Ian was smart, observant, had seen too many impossible coincidences.
"I recognize patterns," Ben said. "I've seen people with bipolar disorder before. Watched how it plays out. And I'm good at reading situations, anticipating what might happen. That's all."
"That's not all," Ian said softly. "But I'll let you keep your secrets. Because you've earned that. You saved my life. Helped when I needed it. Whatever else you're hiding, I figure you've got reasons."
They sat in silence, the cold working its way into Ben's bones. Ian cried quietly—not dramatic sobbing, just steady tears that he didn't bother wiping away.
Ben stayed. Bore witness to pain he couldn't fix. Sometimes that was all he could offer—presence without solutions, company without false hope.
Eventually, Ian went inside. Ben walked back to his garage through pre-dawn darkness, his Danger Intuition finally quiet.
Monica would leave. Soon. Ian knew it now, even if he didn't want to accept it. The manic episode would burn itself out or she'd disappear mid-crisis, and the Gallagher kids would be left with broken promises and the confirmation that love wasn't enough.
Ben had interfered—brought Monica home, educated Ian about bipolar disorder, tried to help. But some stories had to play out their painful conclusions because the people living them needed to learn lessons no outside intervention could teach.
He climbed into his makeshift bed and stared at the ceiling, cataloging the weight of foreknowledge that felt more like curse than gift.
"I know what's coming. I know she'll leave. I know it will break Ian's heart. And all my powers combined can't change that because some pain is necessary for growth, and preventing it would rob them of lessons they need."
The garage's cold seeped through his blankets. The Gallagher house's lights were still on, visible through his window. Monica was probably still manic, still making promises she'd break, still loving her children while her brain chemistry made that love insufficient.
And Ben could only watch, care helplessly, and hope that when the pieces finally scattered, they'd let him help gather them.
Even if his knowledge of the future made him powerless to change it.
Author's Note / Promotion:
Your Reviews and Power Stones are the best way to show support. They help me know what you're enjoying and bring in new readers!
Can't wait for the next chapter of [ Arrowverse: The Survivor's ]?
You don't have to. Get instant access to more content by supporting me on Patreon. I have three options so you can pick how far ahead you want to be:
🪙 Silver Tier ($6): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public site.
👑 Gold Tier ($9): Get 15-20 chapters ahead of the public site.
💎 Platinum Tier ($15): The ultimate experience. Get new chapters the second I finish them (20+ chapters ahead!). No waiting for weekly drops, just pure, instant access.
Your support helps me write more .
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/fanficwriter1