Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Morgan calls their ancient landline on a Saturday. 

“It’s ready,” she says, then hangs up. 

“Do you think she was this brusque before the Blacktop?” Nicholas says into the dial tone. 

“Who fuckin’ cares, dude! Let’s go get my body god damn fi-na-lly .”

Static Man can barely stop himself from fuzzing out all over the place like a bad connection. He knows he’s probably being really annoying, but—a body, y’know? He wants it so bad he’s just a loose mass of sparks leaving random scuff marks and scorch marks all over the furniture. He’s half-expecting Nicholas to snap at him, but instead Nicholas just has something like a smile softening his mouth. Relieved, maybe. 

It’s hard to predict Nicholas’s moods sometimes, even after more than four years of living right on top of each other. He just has to be so goddamn inscrutable all the time, like grad school totally destroyed his ability to say anything like a normal person. It's always gotta be framed in some roundabout syntax or some metaphorical shit. Sometimes, talking to Nicholas is like running headlong through a maze: you’re never sure whether the next turn will take you to a dead end or another winding corridor, or whether you’ll wind up exactly where you started, but you know you have to keep moving or you’ll never get anywhere at all. 

Honestly? It kind of sucks. If they’d met like normal people, at a house party or whatever, Static Man probably would have bailed after twenty seconds and never talked to Nicholas again. He wouldn’t have gone out of his way to avoid Nick or anything, would most likely have said hey if they passed each other on the street, but there are absolutely zero non-magical paths that would have brought them here: with Nicholas as the one steady point in Static Man’s life, everything else turning towards him like a flock of hungry compass needles as the junk and noise of living gets pared away.

For a seriously long time before the vassal thing but after the Payphone thing—the first Payphone thing—Static Man’s entire existence had been pretty much just ricocheting from one high-intensity situation to another. He’d go interesting places, meet interesting people, and reduce most of them to a thin paste. Exhausting, yeah, but boredom and silence weren’t really on the radar. 

It’s way better now that he can remember what downtime feels like, for sure. But downtime also means time to get stuck in his own head until he’s climbing the damn walls. It’s like its own special kind of crazy, the number of nights he’s spent staring up at the ceiling, waiting for Nicholas to be done reading a spellbook or a Murakami novel or whatever. He’s taken to roaming around the outer limits of the tape recorder’s pickup, which means he’s accidentally blinked out of existence a couple times, but he’s gotten pretty good at noticing when he starts to hit the edges. It helps that a little while back, Nicholas bought a fancy omnidirectional mic that probably cost more than Static Man’s first car, so he doesn’t have to worry about staying on one side of the recorder or anything. 

Nick’s like that. Most of the time, he’ll bulldoze right over anything not directly related to his lofty sorcerer goals, but then he’ll turn around and do something weirdly...sweet. Nice, for no reason. It doesn’t happen a lot, so it always knocks Static Man for six. 

Whatever. Pretty soon, he won’t need to rely on Nicholas to exist in the world, which will be dope as hell. 

———

The I-80 makes for a pretty drive, lots of trees crowding close to the roadside. They don’t see any birds but they hear them, chk-chk-chk , somewhere high and close throughout the day as they drive past weathered barns looming like solitary shambling mastodons in the fields. They briefly pick up a radio station from Detroit, which at least has music from this decade, but for the most part it’s endless commercials, religious stuff, and over-produced pop ballads from the 90s and 00s. 

The afternoon sun starts to warm the car enough that even Static Man notices, so he winds down the window and sticks his head all the way out like a dog. A bug flies right through his head and he bursts out laughing, unable or unwilling to explain when Nicholas shoots him a quizzical look. 

It breaks the mostly-comfortable silence they’d had going on; after a minute, Nicholas says, “Do you think you’ll manage alright without the powers granted by your metaphysical composition? I don’t know precisely what Morgan’s composed, but it seems more than likely you’ll be an ordinary person again, and it’s been a while since you’ve had that experience.” 

“Well yeah, dude, that’s all I fuckin’ want. With all the freaky situations we’ve gone through, I’ve—” had enough , he was going to say, but it sticks in the static where his throat should be, buzzing all wrong. 

He’s never going to be done with all of this, not until he’s nothing more than a ghost story they tell to baby cultists. It’s one of the incredibly few things they’ve got in common: the endless, obsessive pull to what Nicholas calls “the esoteric arts” and Static Man calls “weird shit.” 

He’s been quiet for too long. It’s probably way too obvious. One of the best and worst things about Nicholas, though, is that he’s pretty okay with letting things marinate for a while. Finally, Static Man says, “I’ll miss stuff, yeah. You know. Ice in winter’s heart .” He lets his voice boom spooky and echoing, pauses for Nick’s little snort of amusement with satisfaction. 

“But I’d rather...I’d rather be able to take it down a notch, you know? I’ll still be able to be, like, involved .”

He doesn’t mean to keep going, but there’s a gnawing uncertainty inside him that makes him continue anyway, too pathetically defensive. “And, uh. You’re not gonna ditch me immediately, right? I might not be able to, like, dissolve your enemies’ bones anymore, but I can still run errands or whatever. I still know stuff.”

“Static Man…” Nicholas’s face pinches up. It’s really unattractive. “Of course I’m not going to ditch you.”

"Yeah. I mean, hey, I’m sworn to you, we’re basically married. No homo."

"Wh—Are you serious ? Are you—"

"What, it's just a joke, lighten up. It's like, ironic, at this point. Gen Z is all post-sexuality, post-gender or whatever."

"I really don't know why I bother being surprised." 

Nicholas’s jaw flexes, and Static Man starts to get a little nervous despite himself. Nicholas looks a hell of a lot like his dad when he gets like this—something about the scowl. Static Man's kept that little observation in his back pocket just in case he ever wants to go nuclear. See, he does have some sense of decorum and appropriate behavior, thank you very much Nicholas Waters.

"No, I mean, I'm chill and all. Just, it's not my thing. I mean, not that I like, wouldn't ever, I'm open-minded and shit, but I'm definitely, you know, just, uh."

He's running out of words and Nick is giving him a really weird look. Nick doesn't look imminently homicidal (static-cidal?), just a normal amount of pissed-off as far as he can tell, so it's probably all good. Almost definitely. 

"Arthur, if you'd be more comfortable with your own motel room, we certainly have the funds available." His voice is almost toneless. Sometimes that means he’s pissy and sometimes that means he’s dangerous, but Static Man can never figure out which it is until too late.

"That's not what I—no, dude, we're fine, I'm totally comfortable with, like, everything. So super comfortable. Let’s make out, I’ll prove it."

Finally, Nicholas does show a sliver of human emotion: he rolls his eyes as he shifts lanes, and Static Man relaxes a little.

"Right. In that case, keep an eye out for somewhere to spend the night; it’s going to get dark soon.”

———

Around dusk, they cross the state line into Ohio and find a Motel 6 near Akron. 

Nicholas checks for bedbugs, as usual; Static Man makes fun of him, as usual. It’s like a meaningless little ritual all by itself. 

———

He glances through the open door at Nicholas, who somehow manages to look imposing and regal even brushing his teeth in a faded blue t-shirt. The harsh bathroom lights paint gold over his features, dragging long shadows from his eyelashes. 

For most people who survive long enough to get more comfortable with weird shit, they get kind of casual about it after a while. Not too casual—there’s always gonna be pure obsidian knives and whatever, and there’s some details you really, really can’t fuck up no matter what—but if you accumulate enough power, you start to see things in a more functional way. The blood and chanting stop being unholy artifacts of demonic vibe check, and start to seem more like those little IKEA wrenches: it’s just about finding the right tool for the job, and about knowing if you absolutely definitely need meltwater from the first snowfall of the year or if you can get away with sticking a porcelain bowl of crushed ice in the fridge overnight. Your grocery lists start looking like: milk, eggs, toenail of a recently widowed poet. You start working it into the rest of your everyday life, bit by bit, as you either get better or you die.

Nicholas blew right past that and into terrifying-demigod territory way too fast. Sometimes Static Man gets all nostalgic remembering the overwhelmed Bambi-eyed version of Nick and Christine he'd met back in that hotel room, the first time. It had been kinda adorable, seriously. Static Man had been the mystical badass with all the answers, oh-so-generously dispensing wisdom and doing favors for two baby ritualists who’d been trying so hard to bribe him with fast food and friendship. 

And now he's the errand boy for one of them, who even after four fucking years hesitates whenever he has to refer to Static Man as a friend. Hell, half the time Nick goes with "colleague" like Static Man processes his freaking invoices or whatever. 

It’s fine. Not like it’s going to matter for much longer now anyway.

Nicholas comes out of the bathroom, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Any objections to me turning off the light? It’s been a long day.”

“You’re in charge. Whatever you want, boss.” 

He’s being a passive-aggressive asshole, and he knows it. Of course Nicholas is too smart to take the bait, just gets into bed and flips the lightswitch. 

———

The next day, they roll up to Morgan’s place in Chicago. She opens the door and nods at them: she looks worn out but solidly real, like she belongs in the world again. She doesn’t smell like tacky grease and miles of road dust anymore.

“Come on in,” she says. “Meet your new...you.” 

“Hell yes,” says Static Man, and dives through the doorway in a crackling swoop. 

———

The body is on Morgan’s dining table. 

His body. 

It’s no Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, but it’s not half bad. It even kind of looks a little bit like he used to, but older. Like if he had a big brother or something. He knows Morgan did a little Facebook-stalking for photos to feed to the ritual, but it’s still pretty damn impressive.

She hasn’t said anything, but she’s watching him carefully, fiddling a little with her sleeves. 

“Damn, girl. This looks really, really good. Shit. It’s a real body and everything.” Static Man hovers as close as he dares. He can see the tiny hairs on the body’s skin. He’s trying to see if he can spot pores as Nicholas turns to Morgan.

“What do we need to do to complete the ritual? Or can he just...enter the body?” 

It’s cool of Nicholas to say “we,” Static Man thinks. He didn’t have to do that.

“Like anything’s that easy,” Morgan snorts. “Bring your recorder over here. Whatever you’ve been using to make him exist continuously for at least thirteen days and thirteen nights.” 

When Nicholas does, she pulls down the sheet to reveal a cracked-open chest cavity. If Static Man had been expecting anything at all, he would’ve expected bones and organs—human stuff. Kind of a dumb thing to assume, he guesses.

Instead, it looks like layers and layers of metal strings wound around ivory buttons set into thin wooden panels, sometimes wrapped in fat coils and sometimes strung taut from one button to another, gathered around an empty space in the middle like an abstract sculpture of a fucked-up bird’s nest. Static Man can see the thinnest strings shivering constantly, just a little.

Morgan pulls out a screwdriver from god-knows-where, and starts taking the back plate off Nick’s recorder.

“Whoa whoa whoa, what are you doing,” Static Man says, alarmed. “Are you—”

“Relax.” Morgan rolls her eyes. “This is the easy part. Now shut up, I need to make sure this integrates correctly or you’ll end up as a hurdy-gurdy zombie cyborg.”

Even though he can clearly see her hands moving deftly in and out, quick and sure, Static Man doesn’t really get what she’s doing. Maybe if he knew fuck-all about machines or music or whatever, he would; then again, maybe not. She’s chanting quietly, though he can’t really make out what she’s saying. It doesn’t sound like English, anyway.

Finally, she steps back. 

“Was that…Chinese?” Nicholas asks, because he’s a nerd who hates not knowing shit. 

“Cantonese, actually. It’s got a lot of distinct tones, and I needed a tonal language. Now I’m gonna need some blood.”

Nick holds out his hand immediately, because he might be a nerd but he’s also a really good dude sometimes, and Morgan does some complicated shit with the wires and a small copper tuning fork while he bleeds. It doesn’t take long before the wires start to glow, pulsing cherry-red incandescent as Morgan layers vibration over vibration faster and faster until the noise—the song—the song—

———

Static Man opens his eyes. 

There’s a cobweb in a crevice of Morgan’s ceiling fan. The table’s kind of killing his back. The windows are dark.

“How are you feeling?” asks Nicholas quietly. 

“Cold,” he says, in a stranger’s voice. 

“I’ll get you a blanket.”

———

Even just wearing clothes is sensory overload at the moment, so he ends up in boxers—mandatory, according to Morgan—wrapped in a bedsheet, sitting on her couch and trying to get used to being in the world again. 

He’s got a tattoo now, which is a new experience. It looks kind of badass, actually. Like some kind of abstract tribal thing on the inside of his left wrist. Morgan had been really specific about not ever getting any other tattoos anywhere on his body or injuring the skin in that area in particular, and Nicholas had said “Maybe we can get you some kind of protective cuff or bracer?” which sounds like probably a good idea even if he might end up looking like he just stepped out of a Hot Topic in 2003. 

Eventually, he notices that his mouth tastes like rust, so he reaches for Nick’s glass of water on the coffee table. He’s about to toss it back, when a thought hits him.

“Hey, can I, like...eat and drink in this body? And other stuff?” 

“ Other stuff ,” Nicholas repeats dryly. 

“Don’t be a dick, you know what I mean. I’m just trying to protect your delicate Victorian sensibilities.” 

“Probably,” says Morgan. “The wires aren’t really there. I mean, they’re there in the City, so you’ll probably function a lot differently if you go back there. It...should still hold together, regardless. But I wouldn’t spend too much time in the City, just in case. Point is, you’ve got internal organs, and you shouldn’t be setting off any TSA sensors at the airport.”

Nicholas is staring at the body with renewed interest. “That’s fascinating. Does he have a heartbeat?” 

Morgan shrugs. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Uh, hi, I’m right here?” says Static Man, annoyed. It would be just so super great if having a body meant being treated like a freaking person for once, even if he is now the least-powerful being in the room. 

“Oh,” says Nick. “I—of course.” He leans over to put his ear to Static Man’s chest, which is not what Static Man meant, but there’s no way to say that without sounding like a whiny, possibly homophobic kid. 

Even through the thin cotton sheet, even with a carefully light touch, Nicholas is warm. It’s probably just Static Man’s imagination that Nick’s hair tickles a little. Psychosomatic or whatever. 

Nicholas makes a low, thoughtful noise. Static Man shifts a little.

“Yo, that doesn’t sound like a good reaction, dude. Am I gonna have to go see the wizard, or what?”

Nicholas leans back, and Static Man tugs the sheet a little tighter around himself. “No, you’ve got a heartbeat. Actually, if I’m not mistaken, you have two, and one of them does sound a bit...static-y. Like feedback, perhaps. Or an echo of sorts.” 

“Huh.” He snags the glass of water and takes a drink, the liquid chill waking up every cell in his body in one long swallow. He can’t remember if it was like this for his old body, but he thinks it can’t have been, because his new throat feels hyper-sensitive to every drop. He imagines he can hear the tiny rivulets sliding down vibrating wires and splashing into his stomach, although that’s obviously not happening at all; it’s just that ingesting liquid through a clenching flesh tube is such a weird concept when you really think about it.

“Use a coaster,” says Morgan.

Chapter Text

Morgan doesn’t have a guest room, but she lets them stay the night in her living room, Nicholas on an air mattress and Static Man on the couch. 

Despite the fact that he hasn’t really slept like a person in about six years—or maybe because of that—he’s restless, shifting around, trying to find a position that will let all of his new body parts settle. If Nick weren’t here, he thinks he might have tried jerking off. Maybe not, though; the thought is a little uncomfortable. Fellas, is it gay to touch a dick that is sort of yours but sort of not? Ha ha ha .

“Can you stop that,” says Nicholas, slightly muffled in his blanket. Static Man flinches in surprise, and hates how startled he is and how little he can hide it. He’s just really raw right now, everything a little too sharp and intense.

“Sorry,” he says into the darkness. “Think I forgot how the whole sleeping thing works in a real body. When there’s, like, bones and shit to figure out.”

Nicholas sighs. His voice is blurry and slow in the way it gets when he’s tired but trying not to be too bitchy anyway. “Well, can you forget more quietly?”

“Would you maybe—um.”

“What?”

“Never mind, it was just a dumb idea.”

“Static Man, I’m not going to coax it out of you. Say it or don’t.”

Static Man doesn’t make a sound for the length of several slow breaths. Then, real quiet in case Nicholas is asleep already: “Could you, like. Sing that lullaby you always, you know. If you want. Or not, it’s fine.”

Another silence, long enough that Static Man is convinced that Nicholas did drift off after all. And then his low, familiar hum, winding through the darkness, settling around Static Man like a physical touch. He shuts his eyes; it feels a little like the lullaby is vibrating through his metaphysical wires in some other dimension. Between one note and the next, he slips into sleep.

———

On the drive out of Chicago, Lake Michigan glittering beyond the driver-side window, Nicholas asks, “So, now that you’ve got a body, what are your plans for the future?” 

“Oh, dude, don’t get me started. I missed food so freaking much. Hey, can we stop by McDonald’s or something? I want to get some disgustingly greasy fries in me, ASAP.”

Nicholas is still facing forward, eyes on the road like a responsible nerd, but the corner of his mouth quirks upwards. “Sure, we can do that. Though I actually meant that this pursuit has been your raison d’être for as long as I’ve known you. Do you have any sense of what’s next, now that you’ve finally achieved your primary goal?”

“Nah,” he says. “The vassal contract we drew up still has like six months left, right? I could use a little time to get back on my feet, now that I actually have feet again. Play it by ear. Now that I actually have ears again.”

He’s pretty sure the subtext here is that he’s not all that useful to Nicholas anymore, but he’s not going to be the first one to bring it up. Frankly, he’s made a few enemies through all the killing and stuff, which seems like a much more relevant issue now that he's no longer invulnerable. A super powerful sorcerer's protection probably isn’t the worst thing in the world to hang on to for a little while.

They find an Arby’s at the next exit, and Static Man’s practically bouncing up and down, elbowing Nicholas and pointing out everything he wants. There aren’t any other customers, so the exasperated way Nicholas shushes him is totally uncalled for. 

“S’weird,” he says, once they’ve had a chance to sit down with full trays and start tearing into the roast beef sandwiches.

“Static Man, I feel obligated to remind you that talking with your mouth full is now something you are physically capable of doing.”

Obviously, Static Man ignores that. “I guess I didn’t realize how much my, like, devouring capabilities made me appreciate fast food. Getting a full load of grease and salt in like two seconds was fuckin’ amazing, dude. Doing this the human way seems kinda slow now.”

He takes another bite. It’s good, it’s definitely good, but for some reason he’d thought that having a body would make everything way better, rainbows and orgasms everywhere. Which is so stupid, because it’s not like this is his first body. 

It’s an adjustment period. It’s—not normal , maybe, they left nomal in the rear-view mirror a long ways back, but expected .

“You know, I just thought of something,” Nicholas says. “Do you want to be called something other than Static Man, now?” 

“What, like....Dave Smith or some shit?”

“Or Arthur. But we could certainly go with Dave, if you prefer.” 

"I guess..." he says, letting out a long breath. "I kind of stopped being Arthur a while ago, you know? It’d feel weird to go back to that. Or...not weird, just. I didn’t always, like, love being Arthur.” 

He scrubs the heel of his hand over his eyes. Funny how some physical impulses are still there, even if it feels a little off. “Ah, that sounded super sad, man. I just meant, I was definitely down to switch names when I finally got some real power of my own. Fresh start and all.”

“If you’d like to talk about it…”

“No! Nope, definitely not.”

The tattoo on his wrist aches a little, so he doesn’t use that hand as much. It takes a while to finish the food; they end up throwing away a lot of the curly fries.

———

Nicholas isn’t wrong. He does feel like an idiot every time Nicholas says “Static Man” in public, but he still answers, because what else is he going to do. 

Thing is, “Static Man” is the guy who fucks people’s shit up. Knife in the dreaming, yadda yadda. He’s final-boss-level, not just powerful but casual with it. The jokes and attitude are as much the Static Man Brand as the multitude of teeth. He’s scary and badass and doesn’t need anyone, ever. 

Arthur wasn’t like that. So, out with the old, in with the new. 

If the goddamn Payphone hadn’t told Nicholas that goddamn name, it wouldn’t be dogging his silences like this, riding shotgun in his shadow. But now, even though it’s pretty rare for Nicholas to actually say it, the knowledge will be out there in the world until Nicholas kicks the bucket. 

Static Man could speed up that bucket-kicking. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it. But it seems like kind of an overreaction, and he’s trying not to do irredeemably shitty things to people he—to people in his life. Not anymore. 

He probably doesn’t have a lot of fresh starts left in the deck. 

———

On the way back to New York, they make a detour down to Pittsburgh to hit up an occult leather-crafter Static Man’s crossed paths with a couple times. Jamie’s a creepy bastard sometimes, but he’s the best at what he does, and Static Man doesn’t want to take any chances with the new body. 

“Probably easiest if we, uh, don’t tell him exactly who I am.” He’s got his elbow propped up on the car window, drumming his fingers rhythmically but aimlessly. He does that a lot nowadays; it’s probably just part of settling into the ability to touch things again. 

“Understood. I’m going to venture a guess that for now at least, the fewer people who know about your new incarnation, the better.” 

Nicholas isn’t letting him drive because he’s a paranoid control freak and Static Man “still flinches at unexpected stimuli sometimes” and “will probably need some time to redevelop road-safe reflexes” or whatever. So there’s not a lot to do except stare out the window and try not to think too far into the future. 

Jamie is, predictably, the worst. He’s clearly heard a lot about who Nicholas Waters is and spends a lot of time standing just a little too close, smiling in a way that he obviously thinks is somehow appealing, and generally bringing a weirdly intense energy to the space. And Static Man knows from intense energy. 

Jamie doesn’t even stop when Nicholas says, “I’d like to commission something for my...friend, here,” and drops a casually proprietary hand on Static Man’s shoulder. Static Man is like 99% sure that Nicholas isn’t even thinking about how that looks and sounds to anyone who doesn’t know that the word Nicholas isn’t using is “minion,” not “boy toy,” but come on . If they’re going to roll with a wacky 90s-sitcom gay-panic misunderstanding, at least it should get creeps like Jamie to back the hell off, even if there’s nothing super specific that he can call out. It just gets on his nerves, the way Jamie is almost-but-not-quite flirting in an oily, calculating way, like Static Man’s a complete non-presence.

They get through it intact and Jamie agrees to ship them the cuff when it’s ready in a few days, definitely not more than a week. Nicholas doesn’t seem to be reacting either way to whatever the hell it is Jamie’s trying to pull, but he does write down the PO Box number, not their actual address. Score one for paranoia, Static Man thinks, and can’t stop himself from shooting a smug look at Jamie.

———

When the cuff arrives, it doesn’t fit.

Well, not exactly. It laces up nice and snug around his wrist and everything, but there’s jagged black not-ink clearly protruding from both sides, even though they definitely took detailed measurements and Jamie’s not the type to fuck something like this up. It’s why everyone puts up with his bullshit in the first place. 

Nick grimaces. “I didn’t want to say anything, because I wasn’t sure, but...it does look like the tattoo’s been growing, doesn’t it?” 

Static Man shrugs, because he doesn’t want to admit that he’s been avoiding looking at the thing as much as possible. 

They call Morgan, of course. They text her a couple photos of what Static Man’s wrist looks like now, and she’s quiet for a long time. 

“Guys, I...let me look into some stuff. Try not to, uh...I’ll get back to you. Soon.”

Static Man meets Nicholas’s eyes, biting down a wild, bitter laugh that wants to shake his throat. “So much for being a normal person, huh?”

———

It gets worse. Now that he’s actually freaking paying attention, he can tell that the arm under the tattoo feels different than the other one. It tingles when he’s around anything really magical, and given that he’s currently living in an extremely powerful sorcerer’s inner sanctum, it tingles all the damn time. It’s not exactly unpleasant, just strange. Definitely not a human feeling, from what he remembers of human feelings. 

Nicholas spends a lot of time in his study, fucking around with forces beyond mortal ken. Static Man doesn’t ask. He’s not sure what would be worse: learning that Nicholas is spending all his time working on Static Man’s problem, or that he’s working on literally anything else at all. 

When Morgan calls again, it’s not good, because when has any of this ever been easy for them?

“So, remember how I said those wires exist in the City? Well, apparently the resonance I was using to tune them was a kind of extrusion of one of those god-things, and it’s making you really sensitive to anything that that particular entity’s touched in our world.”

“Okay…” says Static Man slowly. “So how do I stop it?”

“I’m still working on that. But the bad news is that we definitely have a time limit; I don’t know what’s going to happen when the marks spread more. It’ll be, um, expensive to stop. I know that much.”

“Yes,” says Nicholas. “I’m...we’re familiar. Sacrifice is the only currency.” He says that last part quiet, automatic.

“God, Nicholas—Static Man, I am so, so sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I really—it was experimental—I mean, I know that’s not an excuse—”

“Hey,” Static Man cuts in, more to swerve away from hearing how upset she’s getting than anything else. “Don’t worry about it. Nicholas and I will figure something out.”

“But—”

“Oh no, signal’s cutting out, must be leftover weirdness, talk to you later!” He grabs the phone and hangs up. 

Nicholas gives him another one of those inscrutable looks. Somehow, the shadows under his eyes look a lot worse than usual. “You know that’s not going to stop her freaking out, right?”

“Uh, you know that it’s super hypocritical for Nicholas goddamn Waters to accuse anyone of not wanting to deal with other people’s emotions, right?” 

He immediately regrets saying it, because Nicholas knows that he knows how low a blow that is. And yeah, right on cue, Nicholas’s face goes totally blank. Without another word, Nicholas gets up and leaves, and Static Man drops his forehead onto the kitchen table, wishing his entire life were a different thing.

———

A week passes, and another. Morgan calls back, a few times; Nicholas takes the calls in his study. 

The not-ink crawls up Static Man’s arm, over his shoulder. The initial design on his wrist had been simple and geometric in a precise way, clearly utilitarian, but it’s been growing in trippy organic-looking furls and curves. He can’t decide if it looks planned or not: whether it’s a cunningly woven snare or just a monster clawing its way across the body.

He thinks it might be spreading to his back. He hasn’t checked.

He hasn’t been too psyched about mirrors in general. It’s just too weird to be reminded that he can make facial expressions without even thinking about it. He feels naked every time he sees his own eyes, which is just so incredibly stupid he hates himself for even having that thought. So, he doesn’t spend too much time around mirrors.

They try ritual after ritual, and it’s becoming pretty obvious that Nicholas is in fact spending all of his time on this bullshit. More than once, Static Man has been shaken awake in the middle of the night, to Nicholas’s low insistent voice telling him that they think they might’ve found something, come on. He never has to say: your body is a ticking timebomb . Or: you’re running out of options . 

After they extinguish an actual literal fire thanks to a ritual going tits-up yet again, Nicholas mutters, “We should have simply cut off your arm when we first noticed it. Maybe we’d have had a chance, then.”

“What the fuck, dude,” Static Man snaps. “You are not talking about cutting off my fucking limbs. I just got this thing.”

“Yeah, well, three limbs is better than none, which is how it—”

Nicholas cuts himself off abruptly. “Sorry. Static Man, I’m...sorry.” He pauses. “For...everything, not just losing my temper.”

Static Man exhales, gusty and deep, and sits down amid the smouldering wreckage of what used to be their living room. He pushes his marked-up hand through his hair; he can hear the marks singing faintly when they’re close to his ear. When they eventually make their way up his shoulder he’ll probably hear them all the time.

“Shit. It’s fine. I’m not mad. At you, anyway. I’m pretty pissed off at this entire goddamn situation. Fucking Payphone.”

“Fucking Payphone,” Nicholas agrees, and sits next to him. 

Static Man bumps Nicholas’s shoulder companionably, and they stay there for a little while as grey morning light slowly fills the room. 

———

Turns out the reason Morgan hadn’t come to check out the weirdness in person the first time they called is that she’s been growing a diagnostic creature of some kind. Eventually, she turns up on their doorstep, beat-up plastic cat carrier in one hand and two instrument cases in the other. 

She looks like she hasn’t slept in two weeks. Nicholas actually looks like that too, but it’s been a little less obvious because Static Man’s seen him every single day. 

The creature is definitely not as cute as some of the other ones she’s made. When she takes it out of the carrier and gives it a little shove, it scuttles over to climb Static Man’s body, prodding him with its snout and snuffling wetly. 

“Feels like it’s either gonna take a bite out of me or start humping my arm,” he says. Nobody bothers to respond. 

The creature clambers off him and back towards Morgan, who picks it up and raps sharply on its back. Its chitinous plates flip outwards to reveal layers and layers of vibrating membrane, which Morgan pokes at, frowning. 

“Static Man, have you been eating food? When was the last time you ate?” she asks.

“Of course I—huh.” Static Man thinks back. “I’ve snacked a little, but I guess I haven’t really been doing regular meals? I haven’t been, like...hungry, or anything. Food’s actually one of the few things that’s been less intense since the new body.”

Morgan hums thoughtfully, running her fingers over the creature’s membranes. “It’s something. I don’t know. I need to work on this.”

Static Man knows a dismissal when he hears one, but it turns out it’s a lot more awkward to leave a room when you can’t just treat the laws of physics like speed limit signs on an empty highway. It takes him a minute to pick his way through the ritual debris on the floor so he can flee somewhere he doesn’t have to think about what happens if this doesn’t work.

———

Nicholas comes to find him after a while. 

“We’re going to figure this out, you know,” he says. “Morgan and I have some ideas.”

“Great!” says Static Man. “Ideas. Fuckin’...great.” 

A muscle in Nicholas’s jaw twitches. “I’m not sure you appreciate how much we’ve both invested in this so far.”

“Just...I mean, shit, Nicholas. I know this isn’t what you signed up for, okay? It’s not exactly what I signed up for either. All this fucked-up monkey’s paw crap was supposed to be over by now. It’s been basically my whole freaking life at this point.” 

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Not—it’s not your fault, dude.” He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be having this conversation with that expression on Nicholas’s face. He doesn’t— “Listen, no offense or anything, but I’ve kinda spent the last few years basically handcuffed to you. I’m gonna go walk around a little bit. Uh, by myself.”

“Understood. I’m sure it’s not, ah, the most…”

Static Man cuts him off with a wave. “Let’s just get some space, dude. Okay? I’ll—I’ll be back tonight.”

———

Sometimes, he gets into the habit of acting like they’re buddies in an odd-couple sitcom or something. Like Nick is the nerdy uptight guy and Static Man is his much cooler party-bro good-times roommate, getting him to loosen up one hilarious 22-minute misunderstanding at a time. It’s easy to fall into those rhythms and let the familiar storylines drive for a while, playing to the imaginary laugh track. 

Well, it’s easy until it’s not. 

Static Man takes longer than he’d meant to, just wandering around like some dumbass tourist, being totally ignored by everyone around him. It’s pretty great. 

He was kind of expecting the song wrapping around his arm and shoulder to be drowned out by the noise of the city, but it’s not. If anything, it gets more obvious. It sounds like a constant whining, or maybe wailing coming from far away, almost atonal and messy enough to be random. It’s not random, though. He’s abso-fucking-lutely sure about that. Knows it all the way down to the soles of his feet. 

Somehow he ends up walking through Prospect Park. It’s getting to be near autumn, everything still mostly green but looking a little yellow around the edges. He takes a deep breath and the cold air punches into his lungs like a solid thing.

He gradually notices that his gait has shifted to something with a quick, dragging rhythm, fitting in with the gaps and pulses of the song. It must look fucking insane. Most people don’t pay him any attention, god bless New York City, but there’s a few here and there who watch him with a funny look. Intense. Not like they’re staring at the freakshow, like there’s something else they see. 

He doesn’t get home until about three in the morning; there’s a light still on in Nicholas’s study. He doesn’t go in.

Chapter Text

He mostly stops sleeping.

That’s—dangerous, right? He’s pretty sure it’s supposed to be, like, a way to permanently fuck up your brain or something.

The music is always there now, faint and syrupy like one of those old-timey victrola things crossed with a theremin or something. It doesn’t feel like he’s listening to it anymore; it feels like he’s singing it from his skin. Feels like he’s breathing it, in-out, in-out.

It’s not bad. None of this has been too bad, honestly, which is...probably not a great sign. He hasn’t talked to Nicholas about that part yet, even though Nicholas probably won’t make him talk about his feelings or whatever. It’s just kind of an abstract thing to bring up.

When he does sleep, his dreams are clogged with bright feathers. There is a high voice somewhere that sounds like melting copper, sweet and shifting. 

———

“Come on,” says Nicholas. “We’re going to the City.”

“Uh,” says Static Man, blinking groggily. For a moment he thinks he’s still dreaming, and is terrified he’s somehow trapped them both in some nightmare hellscape, because that’s the way his life usually goes. But with the way Nicholas is gripping his arm impatiently, it’s probably just the real world. Or whatever you call it. 

He sits up and doesn’t bother to cover his yawn, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders, still luxuriating in the ability to do that . There’s faint moonlight coming through the blinds. “What time is it?”

Nicholas doesn’t bother to answer, just stalks off, clearly expecting Static Man to follow.

Well, what else is he going to do? 

———

As he’s shivering in a parking lot outside Home Depot, Static Man comes to the sudden weird realization that recently, Nicholas has actually been, like...super nice. Could be pity, which isn’t the greatest feeling in the world, but Nicholas hasn’t ever really been the type to do pity. It’s kind of why they get along at all. 

“What are you doing?” snaps Nicholas. “Let’s go. This is for your benefit, remember.”

Okay, he’s not suddenly Little Miss Sunshine or anything, he’s still kind of grouchy. He’ll probably be exactly the same in another thirty years, cussing out kids and waving his cane around.

Static Man glances over at Nicholas, at his pinched, familiar face, about a billion times more familiar to Static Man than his own: the faint and not-so-faint scars, the way shadows slant unevenly down his throat, the five o’clock shadow starting to form. Touching him always feels weirdly like pawing at one of the permanent exhibits in MOMA, like Nicholas is some modern art piece that Static Man’s too dumb to understand, but something that he’s spent enough time with to know all the details instantly and completely. Like alarms are going to go off at any second because everyone else knows to respect the tape on the floor that tells you this far and no farther . Like Static Man is getting away with something he shouldn’t be.

He’s definitely not pretty, the way movie stars and models are. He’s not ugly either, but somehow all the middle-of-the-road features that should add up to an average guy become something luminous at unexpected times. It feels weird to notice, but there’s no way not to.

Static Man’s not a total idiot, okay. He knows there’s stuff he’s not dealing with, not thinking about, but as long as he pretends it doesn’t exist, he can keep not having to deal with it. So it’s fine. He opens the car door and gets in.

The world shimmers around them as the radio crackles to life, consonance and dissonance with the engine, and they drive into the City.

———

“No, I don’t want to—to seal the ritual, I want to fucking get rid of it!” Static Man growls. The growl has harmonics in it that he’s ignoring like a champ. 

“Is there anything else? Any other options available?” Nicholas sounds annoyingly calm. Pushy, but in control. 

The eyeless bartender looks thoughtfully at them, drying a glass in two of its hands. “I can introduce you to the rune-eater,” it says. Its mouth is deeply unpleasant when it moves. 

———

The rune-eater turns out to be this shockingly normal-looking chick. Like, goth as hell, kind of an over-the-top cyberpunk vibe, but after the bartender, it’s a relief. 

Static Man nudges Nicholas and mutters, “Hey, at least she’s easy on the eyes.”

Nicholas ignores him. “I believe Stefan has informed you of our purpose?” he says, not really a question.

“Yes. I will taste.”

She puts a hand on his arm, and he automatically leans in a little—not with intent or anything, it’s just kind of what you do when a hot girl touches you and smiles—which means he’s totally flat-footed when her fingers turn into some kind of liquid metal that shoots along the markings on his skin, burning like acid. 

He thinks he’s screaming, but it’s all very far away.

When it’s over, he almost collapses. Luckily, Nicholas is there to prop him up, and Static Man doesn’t even care how much he looks like a weak little bitch, curling into Nicholas and panting raggedly. 

“Was that completely necessary ,” Nicholas bites out. 

She doesn’t even bother answering, just hums and licks her goddamn lips like she’s savoring Static Man’s meltdown, leaning back and letting her freaky translucent eyelids droop.

He can actually tell that the song on his skin is angry and frightened, which is...new. He’s not used to thinking of it as something that can have feelings.

 “Well?” Nicholas says.

“It’s not in you. It is you; it is your becoming.”

“Amazing,” Static Man mutters. “Always gotta love when words like ‘becoming’ start getting thrown around. Great sign.”

She drums her fingertips lightly on her jawline, and Static Man can’t help noticing that she doesn’t actually have fingernails, just silvery points that reflect the light oddly. “I can separate it out. Oil, water. Create a boundary.”

“Yes! Yes, fuck, that. Let’s do that.”

“Wait,” Nicholas snaps. “Stop. What will it cost?”

He’s right to ask. Static Man should know better by now. 

She laughs; it’s not a comfortable sound. She bites off the tip of her index finger and chews it thoughtfully. The sound it makes when she swallows it is definitely going to join the rogues’ gallery of Static Man’s nightmares. 

“You know this story. Red pill, blue pill. Refusal of the call.”

Nicholas grimaces, his grip on Static Man’s arm loosening slightly and his voice takes on a gratingly familiar lecturing tone. “I refuse to accept that Joseph Campbell is in any way relevant here. His misogynistic and blatantly imperialist—”

“Shut up, Nicholas,” Static Man says. He has to, or they’ll be here for an hour while Nicholas goes on about folktale structure and like, psychoanalytic whatever. “C’mon. Just give us a straight answer. What’s it gonna cost?”

“One life. Not two. If you shut your eyes, you will not re-open them.”

If someone had asked Static Man five minutes ago whether he’d be willing to give up magic in exchange for…well, for not being magic, he’d have said yes in a heartbeat. Obviously. Why the hell else would he have spent the last seven or eight years trying to get rid of all the goddamn mystical bullshit that had him by the throat?

But for some reason he’s not saying yes. He’s not saying anything. 

“Does that mean he wouldn’t be able to be involved in, say, further rituals?” Nicholas asks. He sounds like some professor, like all of this is just some theoretical exercise. 

“Hm...a flimsy and wrong understanding.” She blinks at both of them, one after the other. “I take his ties to power. Now, yesterday, tomorrow. Sorcerer like you, so much power in your shadow…he meets you, speaks to you, it is a tasty meal.”

“And if he says no? If you don’t…take his ties to power?”

She shrugs. There are too many bones in her shoulders. “He will be as he is. Now he is of the god. He will seal the ritual, or I will consume it, or he will die.”

There is a silence, and Static Man realizes they’re probably waiting for him to say something, but his throat feels like a knot of muffled wires. It feels like she’s already eaten his voice. 

“I think we’ll need to talk about this. But thank you,” says Nicholas, at last. 

———

They go back to the car and sit for a while. Nicholas may have opened the car door for him. Static Man doesn’t really remember. 

“I thought I’d be married by now,” Static Man blurts out. It’s not what he meant to say. He hadn’t even known he was thinking it. 

He pushes ahead, not looking at Nicholas, words shivering uncontrollably out of him. “I thought—I mean, at first I just kind of assumed, you know, when I was growing up? You hit thirty and bam, wife and kids. I dunno. Even when I started learning about the, the weird shit, it was like…oh cool, this is a fun extra. And then Payphone happened, and I was so fucking mad at it for taking away my shot at a normal life, and now…”

He trails off. Nicholas says, slowly, “A wife and kids probably aren’t out of the question, you know. Regardless of what you choose.”

Static Man shuts his eyes and tips his head back. “Jesus fucking christ, Nicholas. It’s not about that. If I let that freaky bitch eat my powers, I probably will just, fucking, marry some random chick who thinks I’m a normal dude named Arthur. Two point five kids and a golden retriever in the suburbs. It—”

He cuts himself off before he says it sounds so fucking lonely. Being Arthur for real, no takebacks, waking up screaming from feathered dreams he can’t remember, and going back to sleep every night next to someone who will never know the best and worst parts of him. 

He can see it all unspooling in front of him like a flickering drive-thru screen. Getting so furious at the neighbor that he wants to disassemble their corporeal being bit by bit, and knowing viscerally how that would feel, and not understanding why. Some guy at his cubicle-farm job hinting at some weird culty hobbies, and Arthur going, cool have fun. The world reduced to a treadmill of soccer practices and graduations and fishing trips. 

He’d forgotten how much he expected that, once. Hadn’t really thought about it. He’s been quiet for too long.

“It’s not, um. I don’t.” He’s losing coherence, and the music on his skin is surging, swirling. He feels like he’s gonna be sick. “I don’t, okay! Fuck! It’s just, I can’t, I—”

Nicholas pinches his nose. “In all honesty, I’m probably not the best person to be talking to about...this. I’ve never really been inclined to, ah, pep talks, I suppose.”

Static Man’s music screams, you’re all I’ve fucking got, dude. Nicholas might not be able to understand it in the same way that Static Man does, but he sighs. 

“Yes. I know. Alright, then; for what it’s worth, here’s my particular perspective. I can’t make any choices for you, nor can anyone else really understand what you’re going through. While that’s essentially true for everyone, I would venture a guess that your situation is particularly unusual.” 

“Yeah, I doubt there’s a freaking monster support group,” Static Man snaps. Nicholas doesn’t acknowledge that, just keeps talking, which is probably smart.

“But what I do know is that…” Nicholas sighs. “When I was a teenager and...and terrified of coming out, even in a relatively accepting environment, all of my focus was on what I could lose. I didn’t realize at the time that yes, some pathways are closed for me now, but many more have been opened. It may be worth considering what it is you stand to gain, here.”

Well.

The thing is, though.

The actual thing is—

Magic, weirdness, esoteric woo-woo or whatever the hell you want to call it...it’s not something you can layer on top of a normal life. You can’t treat it like, say, secretly being in a stormtrooper LARP every third Saturday of the month. Static Man tried that when he was younger and dumber. It rewrites you from the ground up, and Static Man can’t think of a single scarier thing in the world. 

But Nicholas is looking at him, way more patiently than he deserves, and he has to say something.  

“We’ve both seen what happens to idiots who think they can outsmart the system and just fuck around a little bit,” Static Man starts, slowly. “Like, how many jumped-up office drones have we seen trying to hop in the shallow end for some bullshit promotion at Happy Capitalist Inc. or something like that? And see, I kinda always figured that the reason I survived as long as I did, being involved and everything, is...I’m not really that sensitive to this stuff, y’know? I’ve never been, like, a natural.”

Nicholas raises his eyebrows at that. “I admit I’m somewhat surprised you feel that way, given that you have literally been a supernatural creature for almost a decade at this point.”

“Yeah, but…” Static Man waves an impatient hand. “That’s all other people’s stuff. Other entities, anyway. It's different."

"How is it different?" Nick's voice is even.

"It just—it’s different, okay? The other stuff was still me, even if I was stuffed into static like a hand in a sock puppet. This is like...I don’t know. I don’t know who I’m going to be on the other side of this.”

Nicholas doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. The unspoken then don’t do it, dumbass is hanging in the air.

“But if I...stop now,” Static Man says slowly, “I won’t remember you. I won’t be able to, even if we—if we meet like normal people.”

“Yes,” says Nicholas. He looks calm and lighthouse-steady, like he somehow always does. 

“And if I do seal the goddamn ritual, I’m never going to be a person again.”

Nicholas hesitates, eyes flickering over Static Man’s face. “You’re a person, Static Man. You’ve always been a person. You just won’t be human anymore.”

“Christ, you pedantic dickweed, I don’t fucking—”

“It’s an important distinction.” Nicholas leans closer and grabs Static Man’s wrist, close to where Morgan put the very first sigil. His hand is very warm. “You’re a person.”

For a horrifying second, Static Man thinks he’s about to cry for no goddamn reason. He opens his mouth uselessly to say something, anything, and then he actually is crying, fuck. 

Predictably, Nicholas looks deeply uncomfortable. He hates this, Static Man knows he hates this, but the rasping sobs keep pushing past any attempts to shut the hell up. He spent six years without anything resembling tear ducts and now it feels like he’s bleeding, that the sound is gushing out in ugly liquid gouts from an opened vein. 

He jams his sleeve in his mouth to stop it happening and then Nicholas is reaching across the console to pull him into the world’s most awkward hug. 

Some incredibly humiliating stretch of time later, Static Man lifts his head and manages to get his shit under control. He kind of shoves at Nicholas’s shoulder to communicate okay, we’re done now, and rasps, “Fuck it, you know? What’s humanity ever done for me, anyway?”

———

So, that’s that. Sealing the ritual turns out to be simple—the ritual ingredients are expensive as shit in real American dollars, and it hurts like a motherfucker, but more straightforward than almost anything else they’ve done so far. 

He’s really gonna owe Nicholas after this, he thinks as Nicholas draws the saffron circles around him. Probably. Things aren’t exactly even between them, never have been, but hell if Static Man can ever tell who’s ahead. 

On the edge of the outermost circle, Nicholas starts chanting, and Static Man lets go of his last human future.

———

Static Man opens his eyes. 

The living room of the brownstone is both familiar and alien. He can feel the resonances of every powerful thing here, or maybe he always could. 

“How are you feeling?” asks Nicholas quietly. 

Static Man sits up, and takes a breath, and is a monster. “Good,” he says. “Yeah. Good.”

Chapter Text

It’s not a big adjustment after all. Mostly, he feels like a fish that’s stopped trying to fly. 

Nicholas goes back to working on his own rituals almost immediately, and Static Man weirdly kind of misses being the sole focus of Nicholas’s attention like he’s been for the past month or so. Not that he’d ever go through all of that shit again, but there were some parts that didn’t completely suck.

Now, he’s been more or less left to his own devices whenever he’s not helping out with the rituals. He’s still figuring out the limits of what he is, but it feels like something that’s going to take a while. Years, maybe. 

Which is actually A-OK with him; for the first time in a really long while, he’s not running down some invisible clock.

Sometimes when he looks into mirrors, which he’s been trying to do more just on principle or maybe spite, the song loops back on itself and harmonizes into something rounded and pleased. It’s…nice.

His life settles into something bizarrely domestic. Not quite golden-retriever-and-picket-fence domestic, but definitely the most stable it’s been since he first became a thing made of static and teeth. He does the grocery shopping because now he can, and Nicholas forgets; Nicholas cooks because he’s the only one who actually has to eat food to survive, and also Static Man nearly burned down the kitchen the last time he tried cooking. Neither of them is very good at cleaning, so Nicholas hires someone who doesn’t ask questions about the occasional bloodstains.

People look at the music manifesting on his skin and assume he’s some punk poser with too many tattoos and a bluetooth speaker tucked away somewhere. Static Man can’t even remember why he was so wigged out about losing a sense of normality, because the world seems to have just shifted a little to accommodate him and kept going without losing a beat. It makes him feel small, but in a good way. Nicholas probably wouldn’t get it.

Nicholas is making new rituals, some of which are getting significant buzz in very specific circles. Static Man’s been keeping an eye out just in case, but so far Nicholas has stayed clear of anything even remotely related to immortality. 

The dynamic’s changed a little, too. He can’t really put it into words, but it’s like they’d just figured out how to think about each other, the way other people react to them, the sorceror and his mystical sidekick. Aladdin and the Genie, or Sabrina the Teenage Witch and Salem the cat. Something like that. It’s not like it was his life ambition to be the equivalent of a talking animal companion, but it was an easy role to step into. He got to bring the pizzazz and not think too hard about anything else. Now, they’re mostly just two guys in their early thirties who live together in Bed-Stuy, and it’s different. 

The contract’s going to end soon. Neither of them bring it up.

———

He overhears Nicholas talking to Christine one night. He’s not eavesdropping, exactly, but he’s spent almost a decade listening to whatever the hell he wanted, and it’s hard to remember that normal people have boundaries sometimes. It’s a Worm Moon and it’s been raining all day, which means that Nicholas can go down to the basement and call Chris on the 2005 Motorola Razr he keeps for this exact purpose.

“It was simply…easier, before,” Nicholas is saying to the cracked black screen.

Christine snorts audibly on the other end. “Dude, I think you’re forgetting what we went through. I was there, remember? We killed our dad and stuffed an extradimensional goldfish down some asshole’s throat? Any of this ringing a bell?”

“No, I meant with Static Man. It was—he was incredibly useful. And I owed him a debt. Now that neither of those things are exactly true, I’m not sure where we stand or what our…what the future will look like.”

“No shit. Welcome to having a functional adult relationship, bro.” Chris is definitely laughing at him, but Nicholas is smiling like he’s in on the joke. “Think of it this way: how would you feel if he left? Like, if he moved out to Boston or SoCal or something, and then some rando mentioned him to you. What would you say?”

“I’m assuming this is outside the context of an interrogation room setting? Because I don’t think that’s entirely outside the realm of possibility.”

“Don’t be an ass, you know what I mean. Would you be like, ah yes, my old chum Static Man? Or would you be like, never heard of the dude?”

“Are there any other options?”

“You know there are.”

“I miss you,” Nicholas says, still smiling but with his voice soft and vulnerable the way Static Man’s only heard a handful of times, and Static Man suddenly can’t get out of there fast enough.

———

The Messenger still sings through him sometimes. He’s not a priest or a follower or anything; he feels more like a prism filtering out beauty and horror, horror and beauty. The City is always there, shining half-muted through his skin. He thinks if he goes back—when he goes back—it’ll feel like coming home. He’s in no rush.

———

He’s going through some crates of artifacts with Nicholas on a sunny Wednesday afternoon, trying to sort the real stuff from the fake stuff, when he looks over and thinks, I could kiss him, right now . His song shifts to something a little more syrupy with the thought, just turning it over. Letting the possibility build. 

Believe it or not, this is honestly the first time he’s ever actually thought about it for real, head-on. If he had thought about thinking about it, he’d have expected to be more freaked out.

He’s tried pretty hard not to be weird about the gay thing over the years, to be a super-chill straight ally, and in his head that kinda meant shutting down any thoughts that got too specific. In retrospect, that might’ve been sort of a weird and unnecessary play. Like, maybe not the kind of thing that dudes who are one hundred percent hetero probably need to do. 

But still...he thinks some part of him always knew they were heading down this road. Maybe there were exits they could’ve taken, ways they could’ve been different, but not anymore. And if he’s not even going to be a freaking human anymore, then what’s he holding onto? 

He waits a second to check if any emotional crises are going to happen, but apparently not.

“Hey,” he says.

Nicholas says “Hm,” but that might just be addressed to the super creepy doll he’s examining carefully. They are definitely, definitely going to burn that thing no matter how powerful it is.

“Hey,” he says again. “Nicholas. Over here.” 

Nicholas looks up and Static Man sees himself reach out, the song on his skin speeding up in trills and graceless grace notes. Nicholas just looks confused as Static Man puts a hand on his arm, and then his eyes go wide like a concussed deer.

Static Man kisses him. The world doesn’t end. 

It’s clumsy and a little bit awful; it’s been a really, really long time since Static Man kissed anyone, and it takes him a second to figure out how to make it work in this body. And then Nicholas drops the doll to grab Static Man’s shirt and pulls him closer, and it’s—

Well, the world doesn’t end. 

“Wait,” says Nicholas, pulling back. “I don’t, ah. Perhaps this isn’t…the best idea.”

“You kissed me back, dude!”

“I,” Nicholas starts, then stops. Flushes. “I…yes, I suppose I did.”

"Well, that's real fuckin’ embarrassing for you," Static Man says. 

Nicholas huffs, sounding almost annoyed. “Did you ever even think about...this kind of thing before?”

“Well, maybe this body came with the gay pre-installed! Or maybe the real gayness was the friends we made along the way, does it matter?”

“I just want to be clear, your plan is to shed the last vestiges of your humanity while also trying out your first—let’s say non-heterosexual relationship?” 

Nicholas’s voice is clipped but neutral, waiting, and Static Man knows he’s supposed to say he’s one hundred percent certain about who he is and what he wants, but there’s no way he could sell a lie that big. On the other hand, Nicholas’s mouth is tight around the corners in a way that means he’s actually scared, and Static Man wants to get rid of that fear more than anything in the world.

“I don’t know,” he says helplessly. “I mean, we haven’t killed each other yet, so that’s probably, like, true fuckin’ love.” He means it like a joke but it comes out too serious and he wants to bite off his own goddamn tongue. 

Nicholas laughs anyway, a weird dry chuckle, and shit. Maybe it is...something, anyway.

“And that’s not enough to give you any second thoughts?” Nicholas asks, raising an eyebrow. 

He grins at Nicholas and takes his hand, slotting their fingers together and liking how his own pulse kicks up, how the markings on his skin sing out at the contact. “Nah,” he says. In the end, it’s that simple. “Let’s give it a shot.”

The song rises, and rises, and everything in him is music.