Roach Riding Into The Sunset

Roach grunted.
His body had reabsorbed the excretions of a few minutes before, and as he rolled on his back, his slimy half-wings folding under his weight, he inhaled sharply and blinked, compound eyes flicking to and fro.
Where was he?
His blissful ignorance lasted for a few glorious seconds, and then all the torment of the past few months came rushing back. Getting caught in the middle of Leviathan's attack. Triggering when his family died and he didn't. Sovereign. Getting dragged across the country by the Master as he tried to break him. Actually breaking. Returning to Brockton Bay. Holing up in an abandoned building.
Sovereign had instinctively taken control of him after they'd come under attack. He'd been sent to kill the capes who'd come to kill him. Instead, THEY'D killed HIM.
Roach ran a hand over his abdomen, where the cape had punched him and torn a hole almost clean through his body. It was still tender to the touch. It felt odd, almost as though the hole was still there. He'd probably never recover fully from that wound, but at least he was still alive.
He'd died for a moment there, as his powers failed, counteracting all of the adaptation that his body had gone through over those months of torment. But the Trump had left after only a few moments, and his powers had come back just in time.

Roach sat up. He felt a little better after gathering his thoughts. For the first time in a while, he couldn't feel Sovereign's power pressing against his mind. He stood up, then, stretching, and took a deep breath.
Then he smelled the smoke and looked up to see that everything above him was on fire.
Roach shrank down to the size of a mite and jumped down to the ground floor, snapping back to his actual size and running out of the building. He left by the back, just in time to dodge a bunch of PRT and police vehicles as they rolled up to verify Sovereign's death, and dashed down the street in a blur, picking one target after another in a bid to get as far away from the scene as possible.
So he was home. Back in Brockton Bay. But there was nothing left for him. His family was dead, and he hadn't been a sociable kid even back at Winslow. And even if he'd tried to re-establish old ties, how certain was he that his acquaintances of yesteryear wouldn't just call the PRT on him? He didn't know how bad his reputation was after months trailing in Sovereign's wake. He'd have to be a fugitive, stealing food and dashing across the country. Sleeping in underpasses or not at all.

The prospect was strangely exciting. For the first time in his short, miserable life, Roach felt free. He'd been too blinded by grief the first time, mad with misery from the loss of his family, and that had led him into Sovereign's arms. But now? Now he had powers, and his tormentor was dead, and the ache of loss had faded into a dull throb.
As he continued to run, darting from shadow to shadow, hiding in one of the many derelict buildings dotting Brockton Bay, Roach considered his options. He wasn't photogenic enough for the Protectorate, but they'd probably find a use for him. He discarded the thought of serving a villain: he'd done enough of that for several lifetimes. Ultimately his thoughts drifted back to the path that he'd chosen for himself in the first place: making his own way.
Yes. That worked. He'd make his own way, helping out where he could, and if one of the people whom he helped wanted to help him back, he'd accept that help gratefully, and hopefully make something of himself. Do some good. Kick some ass. Take some n-
"Lenny, the shower's- AAAAA!"
Roach jerked as a woman with matted hair and track marks down her arms stumbled into the room. The two of them stared at each other for a solid two seconds before the woman screamed at the top of her lungs and ran off. Turning, Roach ran to the window and jumped out. He hit the ground running. That was how he continued over the next few hours, until he'd left Brockton Bay well behind him. Some dumpster-diving took care of the rest. He wasn't eating as well as he'd been under Sovereign, but at least he was free. That was all that mattered.
It was late at night when Roach found himself atop a random tree on a random hill in the middle of nowhere. He could still hear the sound of cars nearby from the highway, but his location was secluded enough that he was sure no one would find him. In his shrunken state, a single leaf could hold him handily, and now he could lie on his comfortable plantbed and stare at the stars.