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Superheroes weren’t real but superpeople were.
Nobody really knew where it started, who it started with. It was more like a myth now, nobody really believed it. The gene was so rare that anyone with abilities was hard to come by and most people didn’t understand so they kept it to themselves.
Doctors and scientists were sure it was passed down from mother to child like a recessive gene. Not everyone in the family got it but occasionally, rarely, someone did.
Brendon was one of them. His mother told him when he was very young that each ability was different, there was no way to know or predict it until he had figured it out himself. When he was older, she confessed that she was one as well.
“What is yours?” He asked.
Brendon was twelve then, finally thinking he might know what his ability was, as dismal as it seemed to be.
“I can see soulmates,” she said, smiling at him. He scrunched his nose. “I see red strings on everyone’s pinky. I don’t know who their match is until I see them in the same room,” she explained and Brendon held his hand up, looking at his fingers. There was nothing there but he didn’t doubt that she could.
“Yes, even you have one,” she said.
Brendon saw numbers above people's heads. Some were ridiculously high and some were low and for a long time, he didn’t know what it was. Not until he saw his grandmother dying.
Her timer read as 2 days and he watched it drop until it read 2 hours.
She died two hours later, holding her children's hands while she laid in the hospital bed.
He didn’t know why that happened to be his ability, he didn’t quite want it but he had got it.
At first, he liked to make himself sad. Not on purpose, more to see, curiosity. He went to the hospital, claiming he wanted to pass out candy to the cancer kids. They let him in, smiling because they thought he was a sweet young boy who wanted to help.
He talked with this one boy who had twenty-three hours left.
Brendon left the ward crying his eyes out.
He made a promise to himself after that that he wouldn’t seek out death. He didn’t want to spend every day of his life with this ability hating his life and what he could do. Instead, he decided to use it as one last hoorah.
He saw an old lady who had forty-eight hours left. She was standing outside the flower shop, pointing at some daisies. He didn’t know what would kill her but he knew it wasn’t long. He went into a flower shop up the road and bought a small bouquet before he approached her.
“‘Scuse me, ma’am?” He said to get her attention, smiling politely at her, “I bought these for my mother but I forgot that she was allergic, I thought that you might enjoy them,” he said and she put a hand over he heart, her smile at him was blinding.
“These are just absolutely beautiful,” she said, reaching out to take them with a shaky hand.
Brendon walked away from her, still feeling sad but no tears this time.
Brendon met a girl in high school. He probably would have loved her if he’d been given more time. Her numbers were limited and getting smaller each day. He didn’t know what was causing her numbers to be so low. She didn’t have any diseases, nothing wrong with her health.
He knew by now, her hours would be down to the tens and he rushed to her house. Brendon really thought that he could save her, save them and their relationship too. Brendon learned that their times weren't just old age and diseases. Her house was on fire and he knew, deep down, she was in the building. He called 911 and left because there was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do.
He realized at a young age that he couldn’t save anyone. He tried that and it only left him crying in his room at night. He couldn’t save them but he could make them smile if only for one last time. He made peace with small kindnesses. There was a homeless man who would die the next day and Brendon bought him a meal and offered it to him. At least when he died, however, he died, he would go with a full stomach.
Brendon made sure he worked hard in school so he could get a good job. He wanted to have the money to be able to afford his small kindnesses. When he was twenty-three, he landed a very good job, it paid well and he enjoyed what he did. He was happy.
The biggest downside as he got older was dating. His mother always knew, obviously, but it made the idea of dating kind of dismal for him. After he came out as gay, he had gotten his first boyfriend. He brought the guy home to meet his parents, excited because back then, the optimist he was, he thought that it would last forever.
His mother was polite, she always was but she pulled Brendon aside, her head shaking.
“Baby, he isn’t your soulmate,” she whispered and Brendon felt something in his stomach tighten. He liked the guy, he really did. Maybe it wasn’t marriage material but why couldn’t he enjoy the time with him? Enjoy the moment without having this hanging weight of less than perfect? “I just want what's best for you,” she whispered, pinching his cheek like she always had to lighten the mood. Brendon brushed her hand away.
“Then do me a favor,” he said, upset as he spoke, “Don’t tell me if they’re my soulmate or not, I don’t want to know.”
His mother frowned but nodded anyway.
Even after he asked her not to, she was still blatantly obvious. Coincidentally, every time Brendon brought a guy home to meet his parents, she never made enough food for the two of them. Even if he had texted saying he was coming by with someone for dinner, she only made enough for her and her husband. She was never rude, not blatantly but she never asked questions, didn’t bother to get to know Brendon’s new boy. She smiled at them and left the room. Brendon was lucky if he saw his mother again before leaving.
It was always the same but life moved on.
He was a few minutes late to work, not that his boss would really be mad but he didn’t like showing up late regardless. He was rushing down the street, trying to dodge as many people as he could. Every number he saw was high and he didn’t have to worry about it.
He was almost to his building when he ran into a taller man. He was wearing a white shirt that was now tragically stained with the coffee he had just bought. Brendon looked up to apologize and realized his number had gone down from some twenty thousand to twenty-four hours. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together and realize that Brendon, in some way, had drastically shortened this guys life. But Brendon was late so he kept moving. He made it two steps before he realized he hadn’t said he was sorry, that he just ruined this guys shirt and he never made the effort to apologize. He felt like a dick. He turned around and the guy was walking the way he’d been going. Brendon followed him, watching as he turned into a building.
Brendon saw as he approached the building that there was a resume on the ground, crumpled up and discarded. There was a coffee stain on it and Brendon knew it must have been the guy he had bumped into. He looked up at the building and frowned. Was he on his way to a job interview? Had Brendon just ruined his shirt on the way to it?
He felt bad. That had never been his intention. He saw a small coffee cart up the road and bought a small mocha. Brendon didn’t know what the guy liked but he thought it would be a good start to an apology. He needed to get this guys number back up. It was his own doing, after all.
He saw the guy not even ten minutes later, the numbers not having gone up. He looked at Brendon, standing on the sidewalk in front of the door to the building and it took a moment for him to recognize Brendon. When he did, it was obvious. He scoffed and turned to walk down the way he had come from a few minutes before. Brendon hurried after him.
“Hey, I’m really sorry about earlier,” he started, holding the lukewarm coffee in his hands. He extended it to the man, offering a half smile to him when he looked.
“What’s this?” The guy asked and Brendon shrugged.
“I was in a rush because I was late to work and I bumped into you,” he looked at the guy's shirt and the coffee stain there, “I got your coffee all over you so I bought you a new one. I don’t know how you take it but, I tried?” He offered and the guy thought for a minute before taking it.
“You were late to work and you still waited for me to get out of a job interview to give me a… coffee?” He asked and Brendon could hear the flawed logic.
“And to apologize, don’t forget that,” he said and he thought that the man might have cracked a smile.
“Dallon, by the way,” he offered and Brendon smiled.
“Cool. I’m Brendon.”
Brendon was walking in the direction of his own building and it seemed that Dallon was following him for the reason of having nothing better to do.
“How did it go?” Brendon finally asked, cringing as he looked at the ruined shirt. Dallon hung his head then.
“Didn’t even offer to call me once they’d decided, just said no,” he said and Brendon could hear the pain in his voice.
They walked past Brendon’s work and he didn’t go inside. He knew his boss would be annoyed with him for not showing up but he was a hard worker, he wouldn't get into too much trouble.
They found a bench and sat and just talked about absolutely nothing. The more Dallon talked, the more Brendon had a growing suspicion that the reduction in numbers meant nothing good. He didn’t want to assume anything but he didn’t want to just let it be and always wonder.
It couldn’t have been a coincidence though, that Brendon was sure of. That his numbers would drop so low as he was on his way to his job interview? That it was because of one ruined shirt and one ruined job interview? No, that wasn’t the complete reason and he was well aware.
“So, your job?” He asked, prompting Dallon to talk, wanting to figure out if the horrible thought in his head was true or not.
“I got laid off a couple of weeks ago. Budget cuts and stuff. I won’t have enough money for rent next month and I applied to basically every place in this city, even part time. Nobody called me except this place,” he explained and Brendon felt guilt rise up in his throat. His suspicions only got worse.
“Can I take you out to dinner? As an apology?” Brendon asked and Dallon gave him a quizzical look.
“I thought the coffee was an apology?” He asked and Brendon thought for a minute, nodding again before shrugging.
“Double apology. It’s the least I can do,” he explained and Dallon nodded.
“Sure.”
They went to a nice restaurant. Brendon had the money to spare, it wasn’t like it was too extravagant. Brendon kept looking up at the timer, hoping that it would go down. The hours were ticking down, not even pausing. At this rate, he would die mid-day tomorrow and Brendon didn’t know how to handle that. He couldn’t be a babysitter, couldn’t invite himself over to a strangers place, couldn’t even invite Dallon to his own. How could he even phrase that? ‘Hello, I think you’re going to die soon, want to chill?’ He didn’t think that would go over well.
Dallon was quiet, polite all the same and Brendon couldn’t figure out if Dallon was just a quiet person or if it was what had to do with the timer. Maybe both but it’s not like he could outright ask.
Brendon paid the bill and they were leaving the restaurant and Brendon knew it was time to say goodbye. The pleasant conversation, the good food, none of it was enough.
“Can I ask a favor of you?” Brendon tried and Dallon was confused but nodded, “I have a friend, really good company. If I put in a good word and give you his number, can you call him?” He asked and Dallon stood there, silent for a minute.
“Look, you don’t have to do that for me,” Dallon started, rubbing the back of his head. Brendon glanced back up to the timer, knowing that he didn’t have much longer to live. Whether that was self-inflicted or just a coincidence, Brendon felt the weight of it on his conscience. Maybe it was selfish of him, to be doing all of this for his own piece of mind but if it really was his fault, before of the shirt and the coffee stain, he couldn’t live with himself.
“No, I do. I ruined your job interview and it’s the least that I could do. This guy owes me some favors and he’s a good guy, it’s a good company to work for,” he explained and Dallon sighed before nodding. Brendon pulled out a receipt from his wallet, writing his friends number on it and then his own, “My other favor, as soon as you find out, call me,” he said and Dallon laughed uncomfortably but nodded.
“Okay then.”
That was it. They went their separate ways and Brendon still felt guilt weighing on his shoulders. He wished he had gotten more time to talk to Dallon. He had had a good day, a nice dinner. Dallon seemed like the type of person that Brendon would enjoy to be around. That thought was dangerous for him in this situation.
It was mid-day and he was at work, barely focused on what he was supposed to be doing. Brendon called Spencer, needing someone to keep him company that night. He had a feeling that his efforts did nothing.
“Can you come over tonight?” He asked and Spencer agreed.
They were childhood friends and Spencer found out a long time ago about Bredon’s ability. He had thought it was creepy for a long time but came to realize Brendon tried to do good with it.
Brendon opened the door when Spencer knocked and the first thing Spencer saw was the bottle of vodka Brendon was carrying around.
“Why?” He asked and Brendon huffed, shutting the door once Spencer was inside.
“He was supposed to call me when he found out. His timer ran out hours ago,” Brendon said, tears welling up in his eyes. He took a couple chugs of the vodka, swallowing and cringing after he did.
“So you’re drinking?” Spencer asked and Brendon nodded.
“I don’t want to think about that tonight. I messed it up for him, I can’t,” Brendon explained.
“I don’t support this. I’m only staying because you obviously need a babysitter tonight,” Spencer said, sighing and flopping down on the couch.
Spencer was there to keep Brendon company, keep his mind off the fact that he blamed himself. Spencer changed the topic when it came up, talking about shows and music instead of Dallon.
Brendon was sprawled out on the floor when his phone rang, he tried to mumble something but Spener rolled his eyes. Brendon had stopped being coherent an hour ago. Spencer was just glad he hadn’t gotten sick.
“Hello?” Spencer asked when he answered.
“Brendon?”
“No, this is Spencer. I am a friend of his. Who is this?” He asked, staring down at Brendon who had rolled to his side, staring up at Spencer. He was drunk but curious.
“This is Dallon. He had told me to call when I heard about the job and well, I forgot,” he said and Spencer's eyes widened, letting out a deep breath for Brendon.
“Oh, Dallon, he mentioned that to me earlier. So you got the job?” Spencer asked, repeating it out loud for Brendon’s sake. Brendon sat up shakily, eyes bleary as he looked at Spencer.
“Tell ‘m he’s a fuckin’ asshole,” Brendon mumbled, leaning back against the couch when it was too hard to sit up on his own.
“Brendon’s there?” Dallon asked and Spencer hummed.
“We had gone out to a bar and he got a little too drunk. I was the designated driver so I was babysitting. Didn’t think he should be answering the phone like this,” Spencer lied, not sure that he could adequately explain or if Brendon even wanted him to.
“No, no, no, tell ‘m I thought he was fuckin’ dead,” Brendon said, head lolling back to the couch and he stared up at the ceiling.
“Brendon was wondering if you’d like to go out for dinner again? He says he had a great time,” Spencer said, knowing Brendon a little too well for his own good, “He wanted to ask about the interview and such. Sounded like he was asking you out on a date but you should call tomorrow and ask yourself,” Spencer tried and Brendon smacked his leg weakly but didn’t argue the words.
“Oh? Yeah, I can call him tomorrow. Can you tell him thank you?” Dallon asked and Spencer smiled, agreeing before hanging up.
It wasn’t long before Brendon passed out. Drunk or not, they both knew that there was a weight lifted off his shoulders.
They did go on that date and Dallon apologized to a sober Brendon. He thanked him for the job opportunity and Brendon kept glancing up at the timer, each time it was too high for Brendon to do the math to figure out how many days it added up to. More than enough in Brendon’s mind.
They went on a few more dates, a couple more after that. Eventually, they became boyfriends and Brendon wasn’t sure how that happened but he wasn’t mad about it.
“Mom, I’m bringing my boyfriend over for dinner,” Brendon said, hearing the knock on his door, “I’ll see you soon.”
There was a part of him that hated how obvious his mother was. Even if he didn’t want to know, in a sense, it was relieving. It lessened the blow on his heart when things ended, when he knew there was someone better somewhere. He hated that she made it that obvious, though. He still enjoyed the time.
They showed up and his mother smiled as she always did. She shook his hand and glanced at the two of them.
“Come in,” she said politely. Brendon took a deep breath before following Dallon inside. “Do you have any allergies? I didn’t know so I made spaghetti, it’s not very fancy, my apologies,” his mother said and brendon froze in the living room, staring after where his mother walked into the kitchen.
“No, thank you for asking though,” Dallon called, turning and smiling at Brendon. “She’s so nice.”
“Yeah, she is,” Brendon mumbled, smiling even though it felt fake. “Stay here a minute?” He said and Dallon nodded.
Brendon shut the door behind him when he entered the kitchen.
“What the fuck was that, mom?” He asked and his mother turned to him, glaring.
“Language. You may not live here but you will respect my house,” she said sternly and Brendon sighed.
“Seriously, mom. Why did you do that? You never invite anyone for dinner. You’ve made it a point not to,” he said and she sighed, looking down, “No, mom,” he said, standing back when he realized why she was being so nice.
“I didn’t say anything, Bren,” she started, a smile pulling at the corner of her lips, “Maybe I am wrong but the string seemed short,” she said and Brendon groaned.
“Why would you invite him to dinner though, mom? I asked you not to do this shit. Sorry but I- really? I’ve asked you so many times not to,” he started, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Calm down. I invited him to dinner so we could get to know him, that’s all,” she said, both of them realizing how ridiculous this conversation was.
“Thanks a lot. The one thing I asked you not to do and you had to go and do that,” he said, stopping when the door opened and Dallon walked in.
“I’m sorry, he, uh, asked me to get some plates. I didn’t realize it was a bad time,” Dallon started. Brendon looked up and his timer was down to a couple of hours. He glanced at his mother out of the corner of the eye because she knew what he was looking at. He grabbed plates from the cabinet, carrying them in one arm. He grabbed Dallon by his own arm, pulling him out of the kitchen.
“Come on, Dallon.”
Dinner was the most awkward thing Brendon had ever been a part of. His parents were trying to keep Dallon engaged in the conversation, Brendon too, but he couldn’t focus on that. His eyes were mostly locked on the timer, minutes ticking by and it never went back up. He counted the hours and it would be sometime around midnight.
His mother kicked him under the table when he stared a little too long.
Dallon wouldn’t meet his eyes, eating mostly silent, only speaking up when he was asked something. The conversation died and they ate dessert in silence. Brendon was the first to break it.
“We should get going,” he said, his mother giving him a look. She knew why he was looking at the clock. She knew that Brendon was panicking. She walked them to the door, catching Brendon’s arm before he walked out the door.
“I know that you’re mad at me. It’s him, I am sorry if I’ve been cold to the others and over-zealous here. Your strings are connected and I know what he heard sounded bad. Tell him. Tonight,” she whispered quickly before shoving him out the door.
Dallon was waiting for him on the porch, leaning against the railing. It was easy to see how upset he was, Brendon felt guilt again.
“Can you just take me home?” Dallon asked and Brendon nodded.
The drive was quiet, just like dinner. Brendon was too anxious to even put music on to make it less awkward.
“Brendon, this isn’t the way to my place,” Dallon said, watching as Brendon turned the wrong way.
“I know.”
“Please, I just want to be alone right now,” Dallon said and Brendon looked over to Dallon, first his face and how sad he was and then his timer and how painfully low his numbers were. Brendon thought about the red string that spanned the distance between them in this car, how short it was because they were meant to be together. Brendon didn’t care. He had to explain everything because he couldn’t risk anything happening. Was there even a do-over on soulmates?
“Look, I owe you an apology,” Brendon said with a sigh.
“After tonight? You owe me a little more. Was I really that bad? You actually asked your mom to not invite me to dinner? Was it some way to let me down easily? ‘So sorry, my mom said I can’t see you anymore, take care!’” Dallon said in a nasal voice, probably imitating someone who had said something like that to him before.
Brendon didn’t answer, parking his car and walking inside. Dallon was following but it was obvious that he wasn’t happy. When Brendon held the door open, an hour had been added to his time. It was enough to try and talk his way out of things.
“Have you heard of the superhero myth?” Brendon asked, sitting down on the couch. Dallon stalled for a minute, deciding if he should sit down or not. He did finally.
“Everyone has. It’s a myth,” he said, watching Brendon’s face. He bit his lip for a second, trying to figure out how to go about it.
“It’s not a myth. It’s just extremely rare now. Most people think it’s weird and they don’t like the thought of someone being special when they aren’t,” he said and Dallon raised his eyebrows. “Sorry, just, yeah, they are real. It comes from the same bloodline. You get it from your mother. It isn’t every generation, most, though.”
“So you?” Dallon asked, watching as Brendon nodded, “Your mom?” Brendon nodded again.
“Look, I know what you heard today sounded bad. My mom, she can see soulmates. She says its like a little red string that connects people together by their pinkies. Her and my dad are connected. The first time I brought a guy over, she told me that we weren’t soulmates. I was so mad that I couldn’t just enjoy him. I asked her to never tell me. Today, she invited you to stay for dinner. She never does,” He said and Dallon leaned back, crossing his arms.
“So, you’re mad that she asked me to stay for dinner?” He asked and Brendon realized how dumb that sounded.
“I just wanted it to be normal. I just wanted to date you and then years down the road, understand that you’re my soulmate,” he said, watching as Dallon opened and closed his mouth a few times. He raised his hand, looking at his pinky and then Brendon’s.
“So you see it too?” He asked and Brendon shook his head.
“No, mine is different,” he said.
“What is yours?”
It was the one question Brendon wished he could avoid.
“I can see the time until someone dies,” he said and Dallon swallowed.
“So is mine like some couple of years?” He asked, trying to make a joke out of it.
“Sometimes the times change but usually not,” he said and Dallon froze.
“What makes it change?” He asked, looking down to his hands.
“A personal choice,” he mumbled, looking down at his lap.
“So you talked to me out of pity? You didn’t buy me coffee or ask me out cause you wanted to talk to me, you just wanted to fix things?” Dallon asked and Brendon could hear how his words sounded, how they could be taken like that. He tried to stutter out words for a moment before stopping, gathering his thoughts. It didn’t do much good.
“Yes- No, Dallon. That’s not what it was. I felt bad, yeah, but we sat and talked and I genuinely had a good time. The job was an apology but, Spencer and I hadn’t gone out drinking. I got drunk because your timer, I knew it and I wanted you to call and let me know how it went so I knew you were alive. I was upset when I thought you weren’t,” he tried, glancing up at Dallon’s timer again.
It was down to three hours.
“Stop looking above my head. Is that where it is?” He asked and Brendon dropped his eyes to Dallon’s face and nodding.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sighing and closing his eyes.
“That shit is just a myth. Prove it. How long do I have? Twenty years? Forty?” He asked and Brendon opened his eyes, looking up. He couldn’t meet Dallon’s eyes.
“Please don’t make me say it,” Brendon pleaded, his voice weak. He had done this so often with the children in the hospital.
“You’re lying then,” Dallon said. Brendon knew that he was being egged on, that Dallon would keep going until Brendon was pissed and shouted the number in his face. The thought alone broke Brendon. He didn’t have to have Dallon go that far, he didn’t want it to go that far.
“Three hours,” Brendon said, closing his eyes. Dallon froze and the tension in the air was palpable. Dallon knew that it wasn’t a lie or some big dramatic explanation to get him out of Dallon thinking he didn’t want him around.
“I need to think about this all,” Dallon said, standing up and pacing for a moment before walking to the door. Brendon hated that he felt tears come to his eyes. He hadn’t ever been emotionally invested in someone on the edge of death.
“Please don’t go. Stay here, I-” Brendon started but it was useless. Dallon was shaking his head, hand reaching for the door and Brendon realized, that was it. There was nothing more he could do. Just like the children in the hospital, just like the rule he had made so long ago. He couldn’t change the timers. Maybe temporarily but Dallon’s timer was just under two hours now. He couldn’t always fix things and he’d promised himself that years ago that he’d never try. This time, it hurt more. The children were sad, they crushed his heart but he didn’t know them. They were faces of bald kids stuck in bed. This was someone he had feelings for, someone he had grown close to. He didn’t know how to let go of the emotion he felt when he saw Dallon’s name come up on his phone with a message attached.
The door closed behind Dallon and Brendon had to remember how he had carried on with things before. He didn’t even know where to start.
The TV was on, trying to find a show to distract himself. It had been an hour or so when he heard a knock on the door and he could feel his heart racing. He opened the door and looked long enough to see Dallon’s face before he dropped his eyes to Dallon’s shoes. He couldn’t bring himself to look up. He didn’t want to see how small the numbers were.
“Hi,” was all Dallon said and it felt so inappropiate given their last conversation.
“I’m sorry about everything,” Brendon mumbled, getting that last apology in before it was too late.
“I thought about what you said and it hurt at first but I get it,” Dallon admitted and his voice was soft, comforting. He didn’t sound mad anymore, “I’m not mad at you for what you did and I believe you when you said that everything after that first day wasn’t pity, that you genuinely wanted to be with me,” he said and Brendon sighed out of relief. He felt somewhat better that Dallon knew he was being honest before.
“Good,” was all he could manage.
“Why wont you look at me? Are you avoiding me cause of the timer?” Dallon asked and it sounded like the concept was still weird to him, almost hesitating when he asked about the timer.
“Yes,” Brendon admitted, for the first time in his life, curiosity about someones impending death didn’t win. He didn’t want to know.
“Look at me,” Dallon said, his words firm. Brendon felt like the tears were coming.
“Please don’t,” Brendon pleaded, for the first time in a long time, he hated his ability.
“Brendon, look at me,” Dallon said again and there was no way he could argue it. He obviously wasn’t getting out of this one, not when Dallon stood there, his feet firmly planted in place. He was determined, that Brendon could tell.
So he did. He looked up to Dallon’s face, hesitating for a moment before his eyes glanced above Dallon’s head to his timer.
“Oh, thank God.”