No. 62 Claremond Street

11 // All's Well That Ends Well

Three Months Later.

No. 62 of Claremond Street looks...still the same. The dull auburn porch still complains with a shrieking wheeze whenever any amount of weight's been introduced. The outer walls are a yellowish-grey. And the roof is just barely hanging on.

But the lawn has been mowed and weeded off, a sea of yellow - daffodils, marigolds, primroses and lilies - bordering the whitewashed fences.

Tony glances at this lawn from the kitchen window, nose scrunched up, brows crinkled. Yes, he doesn't like the way the lawn looks, but he's not cringing because of it this moment. He's found the sponge he used last month while scrubbing the grime off the window. It looks nastier than the dead rat he found at the attic two weeks ago.

"Anthony, are you done cleaning?" Grandma Sue's voice chimes in. She's in a full-length mirror now, made by her first grandson for her birthday last week, placed in the adjacent room for today's household chore supervision. Dressed in the same khaki uniform, but red hair braided, Sue sits on an ornate oak chair, gaze locked on her ticking pocket watch.

Tony shakes his head but says, "Yes, almost." He cringes the longer he stares at the sponge. He doesn't want to touch it.

A mischievous smile tugs at his lips. He can do something else.

Eyes squinted to the extreme, and a hand few inches away from the ghastly object, Tony takes in a deep breath. Just like how he's been doing in his daily power training sessions with Grandma Sue. He focuses harder, his hand growing cold by the minute. His grin grows when the sponge disappears the next moment.

Tony pats his own shoulder. Ha, he's done it again. Humming, he strolls out, placing his hands in his apron pockets while looking at the refurnished cabinets and freshly painted walls. The lawn and the kitchen has taken him and Tom the entire summer to clean this. For the first time, Tony regrets utilizing this time for cleaning; he wanted to play all sorts of games with his brother and their new friends.

Tony is exhausted by the time he's in the drawing room, plopping on the sole couch. He glances at the wall before him as he lays back. What was Mr. Ivy Man's dwelling place has now been filled with bricks and concrete, followed by a hurried layer of paint.

Tony sighs. The investigators from the ICJ still have no idea of why Michael killed him.

"Get off the couch," Sue's voice orders, making Tony jump. Right, the mirror's in front of him. "We have a lot more things to do today. So no rest till then."

Tony, who sits upright, groans. "But Grandma Sue, we've done so much already."

Sue crinkles her brows. "You've just done one room. There are a total of nineteen rooms in this house, and time's ticking. You need to set your house properly before school begins this Thursday."

Tony sighs. But before he can agree, someone steps in. More specifically, trudges in.

Tony has grown three inches taller this summer, but he's still way shorter than a Tom. The way Tom's slouched behind him, placing his hands over his shoulders, Tony feels like he's going to collapse under his weight.

So Tony shrugs his shoulders out of it. He tries to.

Tom exhales slowly, sweat highlighting the creases on his forehead as he says this, "We have 3 rooms left, Grandma."

Tony looks up. "What?"

Tom nods, a weary grin on his face. "I'll show them later, Grandma Sue. Let's take a break for now."

Sue shakes her head in disapproval as Tom plops on the coach, dragging Tony along with him. "You were supposed to follow the rules, Thomas. No superpowers allowed while cleaning."