Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prelude 

At six whole years old, Jimmy knew quite a few things about his stake in the world. The most pressing one right now (and the most pressing one at many other times) was that his older brother Grian was being annoying. He had turned 10 last month, which by itself was nothing for Jimmy to be upset about. No, that wasn’t the issue. The annoying part, was that much like other children who were around 10 years of age, Grian had manifested his powers.   

And they were really darn annoying.   

“Psst, Jimmy!” The mischievous voice of his brother hissed, directly into Jimmy’s ear. Jimmy slammed his hand over his ear, while Grian cackled at him from his place across the dining table.  

“ Mu-um! He’s doing it again!” the younger whined, “make him stop, I don’t like it!”   

Their mother, currently in the kitchen, offered little in the way of intervention as she busied with the plates and bowls that would soon bring out their dinner.   

“Awh but Tim, you always react the same way, it’s so good,” Grian joked. Then, in a perfect canned imitation of Jimmy, taking his little brother’s voice as his own, “ Mu-um! ” he wheezed again, voice returning to his own register, “literally the same every time!” He banged his fist on the table in delight while Jimmy scowled.   

“It’s not funny, Grian,” he tried, putting as much conviction in his voice as he could “you’ve only just got that silly voice, and all you do is make fun of me with it! It’s not fair!”   

Grian just smirked, took a deep breath, and cried in Jimmy’s voice “It’s not fair! ”  

“I don’t sound like that!”  

“I don’t sound like that!”  

“Grian!”  

“Gria-”  

“Boys!” Their father’s voice rippled through the dining room, filling the space in a supernatural blanket of noise and dampening any other sound. The man himself entered the room shortly after, carrying plates of food from the kitchen.   

“Try to keep it down will you, your mother and I could hear you through the wall!”   

Both Jimmy and Grian grumbled but did as they were told. Their mother hated loud noises, was notorious for it, in fact. She also seemingly always knew when they were going to happen.   

Jimmy once asked, after she balanced a large stack of his blocks that were about to topple, if she could predict the future. She laughed delicately, as she did all things, and told him that her official registered power was simply knowing when things would get noisy.   

“That was how your father and I met.” She had said, with a soft smile, “I could hear his voice before he ever spoke a word to me.”   

Presently, Jimmy stuck his tongue out at Grian across the table and swore to himself that once he got his own power, he would make sure that it was entirely Grian’s problem .   

Dinner itself was a predictably calmer affair, the two boys too busy stuffing their faces to argue with each other.   

“So, Grian,” started their mother, “are you all excited for tomorrow?”  

He chewed thoughtfully before answering “I guess, but isn’t it actually super boring?”  

Jimmy felt like he was out of the loop (he often felt this way), and spoke up, “what’s tomorrow? Why’s it boring?”   

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Jim,” his father instructed “Grian’s going to the Directorate’s office tomorrow to register his power. Just in time for school.”   

“But hasn’t he already had it ages?”   

Grian groaned and lightly kicked Jimmy under the table, “don’t be silly, Tim. If I went to register as soon as I got my power, I wouldn’t even know what it did yet, would I?”   

Their mother nodded and added “that’s right, lots of children take months or even years to properly register.” She smiled at Grian, who preened under the look. “Grian just figured out how to use his very quickly.”  

“Oh.” Jimmy hadn’t considered that. He just thought maybe Grian was being lazy or forgetting again. Like when Grian would promise to play football with him in the garden, and would conveniently have other things to do when the time actually came to go outside. Which reminded him!   

“When you get back tomorrow can we play football in the garden? You promised.” He gave Grian his biggest, saddest eyes (which he had been told by his mother were very convincing) and clutched his hands together at his chest “please-please-please-please-pl-”  

“Fine!” Grian huffed, “just don’t cry again when I score more goals than you.”   

“I don’t-”  

Grian put on Jimmy’s voice again, muscles in his neck noticeably clenching “ What, Grian! You kick too hard! I can’t be goalie if you -”  

“Grian.” Their mother chided, “that’s not very nice, please put your own voice back on. Let’s not argue at the dinner table.”   

Yep. Jimmy thought as he finished his dinner. Definitely going to make my powers Grian’s problem.  

At 10 years old, Jimmy was ecstatic.   

Shortly after getting his power registered, his older brother Grian had been scouted for an elite boarding school a few hours away from home. Deep down, Jimmy knew this was a good opportunity for him (their parents kept saying so), but he couldn’t help but miss his older brother during term times. Grian always came home for the holidays, of course. The big ones like Christmas, New Year, and the summer break. But this time it was special. It was finally May and Grian was back, just for the weekend, just for Jimmy’s tenth birthday.  

So, yeah. Ecstatic .   

His family huddled around the dining table, atmosphere warm, and sang him his ‘Happy Birthday’ while he grinned. He closed his eyes as he blew out the candles and made his wish.   

I wish for a really cool power.  

A lame wish, he knew. But it was what every 10-year-old wished for on their birthday! Jimmy had never been that creative.   

Grian ruffled his hair and snorted, “I bet you just wished for a cool power or something,” he deadpanned.   

Jimmy turned red and puffed out his cheeks, “well, what did you wish for when you turned ten? The same thing, I reckon!”   

“Nah. My wish was way more interesting.”   

Jimmy perked up in his chair and turned to face Grian “Yeah? What?”   

“Well if I tell you, it won’t come true, will it?” He smirked.   

Confusion fell over Jimmy’s face as he counted something out on his fingers “You wished it four years ago and it still hasn’t come true?” He asked, incredulous.  

Grian simply shrugged and folded his arms, the oversized red jumper he sported nowadays concealing his hands “Hasn’t had chance to yet.”  

“But you already know my wish, so now it’ll never come true...” It’s not like Jimmy really believed in the power of wishing on birthday candles, but he really did want a cool power to show off to his older brother. Maybe he would even get scouted for the same school, then they could hang out all the time again!  

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t going to anyway.” A grin grew on the older’s face... Jimmy knew that look. He hated it.   

“How do you know that?” He asked anyway, like a fool.   

“Because my wish was for your power to be terrible!”   

Their father swatted Grian lightly on the back of the head in reprimand “Don’t antagonise.” He turned to Jimmy, putting his hand in already messy golden blond hair, “I’m sure your power will be fine, Jim. Just don’t expect it right away-”   

“Yeah, yeah, I know!” He sighed, having heard this all before. They get taught in school, for goodness' sake! “Some people take longer than others, just because I'm ten now doesn’t mean I’ll get it right away. I know.” Hopping down off his chair, he grabbed Grian’s hand and dragged him to the back door, scooping up his tattered football on the way. “Who cares, lets finally play a game!”   

“You don’t want to cut the cake?” His mother called after the pair.  

“I’ll have some later!” Jimmy replied, already slamming the back door behind him.  

Despite pliantly allowing himself to be dragged out into the damp garden, Grian stood stiffly in the spot Jimmy had left him in. He was right at the border where the soft grass of the garden gave way to the thick foliage of the woods. It had rained recently, and the heavy scent of petrichor still lay heavy in the air.   

“How are you still so obsessed with football?” Grian called from his spot. “You’re not even that good.” The last part was clearly not meant to be heard, but it was a bit too loud for Jimmy to miss.   

Jimmy ignored him and got to work setting up loose bricks as goal posts. “I’m totally out-skilling you this time, Gri” He grinned and pointed at his brother, puffing out his chest “I’m nearly as tall as you now, too!”   

“Not a chance.” Grian’s voice sounded flat. Half-hearted. He looked like he was analysing Jimmy, somehow. Arms still tucked into his sleeves and against his chest, Grian’s eyes grew thoughtful and his posture became stiff. Jimmy ignored this, too.  

“I so am!” He bragged, starting to dribble the ball toward Grian, who still hadn’t moved.   

“Sure you are.”   

Not the response that Jimmy had been hoping for. Despite it sometimes getting to him, he really did like bantering with his brother. Even if it meant getting out-smarted a lot of the time. It was still fun to make people laugh with his blunders. But recently, Grian had been... subdued. Not so willing to engage.   

When Jimmy asked his mother about it, she pointed out that Grian was probably tired from school. That made sense to Jimmy, in a way. If he was at school literally all the time - not just during the weekdays, but at night and on the weekends too - he would probably be pretty tired. But sometimes, it seemed like more than that. Sometimes, like now, Grian got this distant kind of look in his eye. Like he had gone somewhere in his mind and couldn’t see Jimmy right in front of him. It was, if Jimmy was being honest with himself, a bit scary.   

Like a lot of scary things, Jimmy pretended it wasn’t there. He continued kicking the ball about, cheering obnoxiously when he ‘scored’ and shouting in exaggerated dismay when Grian ‘blocked’ his goal (by moving two inches to the left).   

After a while of this, Grian picked up the ball as it rolled over to him in a feeble attempt at a pass. The younger boy was about to protest at the stopped game, but once again saw something in Grian’s eye that told him to, whatever ‘it’ was, let it happen. Grian looked... intense.   

“Hey, Jim.” He said, focused solely on the peeling plastic of the old ball, “wanna try and find out what your power is?”   

The question was thrown out casually, but still left Jimmy feeling confused. He was once again washed with the cold feeling that he had missed something.   

The kids at school liked to call him stupid sometimes, always two steps behind in a conversation. Jimmy didn’t think he was stupid, just missing the... what was the word that his English teacher had used? Context . He felt like he was always missing context.   

The question itself just felt wrong .  

“I thought powers didn’t actually manifest on your birthday, usually.” He said, fidgeting nervously with his fingers, “like, this is just the closest time marker or something? I don’t think I have one yet, Grian.” He kicked at a bit of loose grass “I’d know if I had it, wouldn’t I?”   

“Mine did.”  

“What?”  

Grian placed the ball on the ground and used it as a kind of stool, resting his elbows on his knees, and made eye contact with Jimmy, “my powers came in on my birthday. You know this, you were there.”   

The younger boy scoffed, “yeah but, you’re you-”  

“Just try it.” Grian interrupted sharply, “try and throw your voice, or change the volume of mine, or-or mimic Mum’s voice or-”  

“I don’t know how to do any of those things!” Jimmy cried, frustrated at all the options that had just been thrown at him “And you know that’s not how it works! Those are all yours and Mum’s and Dad’s powers!”   

His older brother sighed, clearly frustrated that Jimmy wasn’t going along with whatever his plan was.   

“Jimmy, you’ve got to at least test it out.” He tried “Your powers will be similar enough to at least one of us that doing something with your voice is bound to work... eventually.” He looked to the side, like he wasn’t really sure of what he was saying.  

Jimmy knew it was a load of rubbish. Powers happened when they happened. You can’t force them. You can’t ‘test’ them. They just happen. And Jimmy’s hadn’t happened yet.  

“That’s a load of rubbish.” He declared “Powers aren’t always the same-”  

“I know that but-” Grian interrupted, but was cut off by Jimmy, who was himself growing frustrated at the lack of clarity. Why was Grian pushing it so hard?   

“My power will be mine . And then I can register it. And then maybe it will be good enough that they’ll think I’m special, too. Just like you are. And then I can go to your school. And-”  

“ No .”   

Jimmy flinched at Grian’s- no, it wasn’t Grian’s voice. That was very much a voice that Grian had borrowed from someone. It was frigid and imposing. It cut through him and surrounded him all at once. It was scary. Jimmy knew, immediately, he never wanted to meet the person that voice belonged to. It didn’t escape his notice that Grian had also been shocked (terrified) at the voice he’d chosen, eyes widened and flinching at the sound.  

They both just stood there. For a moment. Jimmy’s voice felt caught in his throat, like it had been properly stolen away this time. He couldn’t say a thing. He didn’t even dare to breathe.  

Grian’s shoulders stiffened and he once again avoided eye contact. Then, in one swift motion, turned to walk into the woods behind their home.   

“Sorry for shouting, Tim.” He murmured. Grian never apologised. “Don’t follow me for a bit. I’m going to calm down.”   

Jimmy watched as Grian disappeared into the dense foliage and thicket. He still felt like he couldn’t make a sound, some barrier between him and the rest of the world. Grian and him got into it a lot, sure. They were brothers, after all. But, for the first time ever, Grian had done something that had well and truly scared him.   

Jimmy had felt like he was in true, actual, danger .   

Once his brother’s silhouette was no longer visible against the tree line, Jimmy heaved in a shuddering breath. The gasp was loud and freeing, echoing back towards him in the grassy clearing of the garden. It began to rain lightly again, the pattering of raindrops on leaves serving to calm him down. He sniffed heavily, trying to stop the tears that burned his eyes. Jimmy returned to his body, and was immediately confused.   

That was- Grian- his brother wasn’t scary . Jimmy wasn’t scared of Grian . The very notion was ridiculous. Whatever had happened – whatever had made Jimmy react like that – had nothing to do with the sandy haired boy in front of him. That voice -  

At ten whole years old, Jimmy sometimes admitted he didn’t know all that much about his stake in life. Right that moment, however, he knew that his brother was just as scared as he had been. And he was alone. That was the most pressing thing right now.   

Jimmy gathered all the courage he could and forged onwards into the woods, following the path he thought Grian had taken as closely as possible. It was difficult to keep track of, since he only had a vague idea of the direction the older boy had gone, but the occasional muddy footprint or disheveled branch kept him pretty much on track.  

Belatedly, it did occur to Jimmy that he probably should have alerted their parents, instead of barreling ahead by himself. Sure, Grian was a teenager now and could probably be trusted on his own, but Jimmy knew their parents worried about him regardless. It was too late now, though, Jimmy reasoned.   

Grian always said ‘better to ask forgiveness than permission’ and this was a good situation for forgiveness.   

As he continued through the woods, the rain grew heavier and the path more obscured. Jimmy called out a few times, hoping maybe his brother would hear him and slow down. The longer he called, the heavier the rain fell. He climbed over a large, fallen log, the path all but forgotten in his search, and landed heavily on the other side. He gasped as he narrowly missed the short but surely deadly drop to the side of the landing. He took note to avoid it, squared his shoulders, and marched on.  

“Grian!” He shouted into the downpour, throat sore from the strain.  

Fallen leaves slipped under his sodden trainers every step he took, the mud underneath splashing up to coat his legs. Jimmy was starting to regret always wearing his football kit everywhere. It offered absolutely no protection against the weather and he was freezing. How long had he been walking?  

He saw another fallen log ahead of him, or maybe it was the same one? He didn’t know. He climbed over it, hands slipping on the drenched bark and moss.  

“Grian!” Jimmy was almost certainly crying now, not that anyone would be able to tell. This was stupid. He was stupid, just like always. He should have just stayed put like Grian told him, or gone to get their parents. Jimmy always rushed ahead. Jimmy always missed the hints. He never did as he was told.  

And Grian was always one step ahead of him.  

“Gria-” Suddenly, Jimmy’s voice failed him. The rain thundered down around him, the thick droplets creating static on the leaves and tree trunks. Snaps and rustles from the woodland creatures resumed in their melodies. Yet Jimmy’s voice was gone.  

Cold and deep, fear snaked down his spine and settled heavy in his stomach. He hugged his arms around himself and took a stuttered breath in. There was no sound to accompany the action. No sharp sweep of moving air to accompany the feeling of rapidly filling and emptying lungs.  

He took another step. The leaves no longer crunched beneath his shoe. He took another step, slipping again on the rain-slicked forest floor. Jimmy knows he yelped as he did so. The muscles in his throat contracted to perform the reflex. He felt the air push from his chest. He regained his balance, but had heard nothing.  

The rain thundered on.  

The search for Grian entirely forgotten, Jimmy turned around and raced back the way he’d come from. His rhythmic footsteps made no noise as he sprinted and vaulted across the forest. He snapped his fingers a few times as he ran, begging them to complete the crisp click the action provoked. That, too, made no sound. He kept running.  

Finally, he saw the first log he’d climbed that signaled the return to the path. Jimmy pushed himself harder, begging whatever latent athleticism he’d been exhibiting to carry him home faster. He reached an arm out for the log and planted his hand to vault it, launching his body to follow over. Then, he felt it. His hand slipped.  

Jimmy’s mouth formed the shape of a scream as he tumbled, heavy and silent, down the drop at the very edge of the path. He felt himself hit every branch, root, and rock on the way to the bottom, each impact as inaudible as the last. In a futile attempt to stop himself, Jimmy reached an arm out in front of him. Another stupid mistake.  

The white-hot pain of broken bone reverberated through his wrist, all the way up to his elbow. At the very least, this had slowed his descent, but it was absolutely not worth it. He felt himself scream and heave a sob and curled the limb towards his chest in agony. Each whimper and cry of pain leaving the air unmoved. Finally, he rolled to a stop at the bottom of the ditch.  

Somewhere far above, nestled in the canopies, a bird sang a beautiful melody to accompany the orchestra of rain.  

Not knowing what to do, Jimmy continued to lie there. He did this for a while. So long that the rain stopped. Not one to feel sorry for himself for too long, Jimmy sat up and looked at the almost vertical shelf of dirt and mud in front of him. Theres no way he could climb that with his arm the way it was.  

He huffed. Wait. He huffed  out a breath of air and heard the disappointment in the action. He laughed, quietly and hysterically to himself. It seems his voice had found itself again, and snapping his fingers on his good hand had yielded great results.  

Jimmy tried calling out a few more times, first for Grian, then for his parents, after a while for anyone. The Sun was setting by the time he realised that maybe no one was coming.  

“Great.” He muttered to himself, once again on the verge of tears, “happy birthday Jimmy...” Jimmy had absolutely no idea how he was going to scale the drop with a seemingly broken arm. Even moving to stand up was an exercise in torture, every movement jostling and sending shooting pains straight through him.  

Then, just as he was situating himself at the brink, squaring up to a particularly easy to grab root, he heard it.  

“ Jimmy?! ”  

It was faint, but it was there. Footsteps on the path, accompanied by-  

“Jimmy! Are you out here?!”  

“Grian!” Jimmy cried in response, almost hysterical “I’m down here! M-my arm it-”  

“Jimmy?” Grian’s head poked over the edge of the path. He looked... bad. Hair a mess and just as soaked as his younger brother’s, clothes sticking to his skin and eyes rimmed red.  

Jimmy burst into tears at the sight. He’d only come out here to look for Grian, and now here he was, cold but otherwise okay, while Jimmy nearly killed himself in the process.  

Grian’s eyebrows scrunched in sympathy, “Oh, Jim...” and he began to scale, much more gracefully, to the bottom of the ditch. “What happened?”  

“I-I was looking for you and-” Jimmy started, unable to stop the waterworks once they started. You’d think he’d had enough of wetness by now. “I couldn’t see you or hear y-you, and then I couldn’t h-hear myself at all, and it was so scary so I ran! Then it was too w-wet so I fell, b-but I could hear myself again s-so it was okay but my a-arm ...”  

Grian hovered by the younger boy as he spluttered, growing increasingly concerned by the description of events. “I told you not to follow me, Tim. This is exactly why-” he swore under his breath and put his head in his hands, pacing back and forth in the muddy ditch, “Mum and Dad are going to be so angry, this is why I never- wait a minute.” Grian stilled and turned, slowly, to face Jimmy.  

Jimmy tried in vain to stop his crying, still clutching his arm awkwardly to his chest, “what?” he asked, guarded. He just wanted to go home. He’d found Grian. He could go home now.  

Grian placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, causing Jimmy to flinch, and held piercing eye-contact. Both Jimmy and Grian had inherited their father’s brown eyes. Right now, Grian’s were empty and black.  

“What do you mean, you ‘couldn’t hear yourself’?” He probed, “Jimmy this is important.”  

Jimmy floundered for a response, “I-I don’t know! I was just walking and then my... noise stopped? I could hear other things, but I couldn’t hear... me.” Grian’s eyes held him in place, cold and analysing. But still, “Grian, please can we go home? My arm hurts, I-I think it’s broken and I’m tired... I’m really tired.”  

Something flashed in the older boy’s face and he seemed to snap out of whatever thought was holding him. The grip on Jimmy’s shoulder loosened, and Grian’s facial expression softened into something sympathetic.  

“Sorry. Of course we can, Tim.” He crouched low for Jimmy to climb on his back, which he did eagerly “You’ve still got birthday cake waiting for you, let’s go.” Grian made the slow, careful climb up the side of the drop, pausing along the way to make sure Jimmy had a solid grip, and that his arm wasn’t hurting too much.  

In the bleak meander back along the path to the garden, Jimmy still being carried piggyback, Grian spoke again. His voice was soft and regretful.  

“Tim. I think whatever happened to you today... might be connected to your power.”  

Jimmy winced, and whispered back “yeah. I know.” He dug his forehead into Grian’s back “it’s awful. I hate it.”  

 Eventually, the two made it home.  

They agreed not to tell their parents what had happened.  

When Jimmy went back to school the next week, he told everyone he didn’t know his power yet. He told them he broke his arm climbing a tree in the woods behind his garden, and his cool older brother came to save him. He told them his arm was in a cast for the next six weeks. He let every kid in his class sign it, even the ones that called him stupid. Sometimes, when those kids looked at him, he went quiet and he couldn’t explain why.   

He realised, a lot later on, that Grian’s tenth birthday wish had come true.   

Chapter Text

A worn leather sofa in the middle of a rundown apartment in the heart of the colloquially named ‘Traffic City’. This is where 24-year-old Jimmy finds himself at 9:30am on a Tuesday morning. Why?   

To watch the news.   

His eyes are glued to the TV as he watches the harried, yet beaming news presenter stand outside of the City Hall, giving the latest report on the queue behind her.   

“As you can see,” She shouts above the cheering of the stragglers behind her that spot the cameras, “the turn-out today at the registrar office is absolutely immense, following the recent Powered Individuals Protection Act,”   

The TV shows an arial shot of the hall, showcasing the line wrapping around the building. The people in the queue are laughing, cheering, holding signs and celebrating jubilantly. Jimmy holds his breath and catches the faces of every individual smile, his leg bounces along to the claps and cheers of the masses.   

The presenter continues her report “The people you see behind me today are here to amend their registered powers, or for some, register for the first ever time. This comes as the result of a Bill proposed a few years ago, offering full legal protections for those who had falsely registered, and those registering after the mandated timeframe for Powered Individuals Records.”   

Jimmy turns down the TV and grips his phone in his hand, Grian’s number displayed on the screen. Its more than just what the presenter is saying. It’s huge. It could mean everything for Jimmy’s future if he went down there today, if he joined those swathes of people queueing outside that office. It’s the real reason he took the day off work. It’s the reason his hands are shaking and sweating, and why he can’t bring himself to call his brother.   

Jimmy could register his power today, his real power, and his life of hiding and mediocrity could be over. It means no more looking for highly specific, highly safe jobs that fire him after probation is up. It means being able to get real, paid for accommodations from the Powered Individuals Bureau.   

He hovers over the call button as the news report continues. The reporter approaches a particularly loud and joyous man waiting in the line, sign in hand reading ‘POWERS FOR THE PEOPLE, NOT THE P.I.B’ and asks him “Sir, tell me about what this Protection Act means to you here today.”  

The man, on the older side, grins directly into the camera “It means I can get a real goddamn job without those big wig office dwellers telling me where to get it!” a chorus of jeers and affirming shouts join in, and the TV presenter laughs nervously, pulling away from the crowd.  

Shutting off the TV before the report continues, Jimmy stands from the peeling leather couch to pace the tiny room and stares intently down at his phone. Grian’s contact image smiles up at him without the judgement he knows the real life Grian would have.  

He can’t keep doing this all day. He presses the call button.  

Instantly, Grian picks up.  

“Tim.” Jimmy nearly fumbles the phone at the abrupt tone of voice, but recovers quickly.  

“Grian! Have you been watching-”  

“Yes, I’ve been watching the news.” He sighs “Everyone has.”  

“Yes, great!” Jimmy continues pacing, fiddling with the ends of his button up shirt, “well in that case you’ve seen all the people and stuff. And well, I was sort of wondering if maybe- I mean since there are so many- It can’t be a bad idea for me to-”  

Grian lets out a longer, deeper sigh which instantly serves to dampen Jimmy’s mood. The tinny phone mic does nothing to hinder the absolute world-weariness behind it.  

The words that follow are quiet, melancholic, “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Tim.” Even from so far away, Jimmy can tell that Grian’s got that look on his face again. The sad one.  

Even so, “I’ve been reading up on it. All the new laws...” Jimmy turns to look out his apartment window and laments the sight that greets him. A sad, brick wall of an adjacent building of equally broke, contact starved people looking for better lives. “I might be able to get help. Real help-”  

“I help!” Grian yelps in mock offence.  

“And I’m very grateful for that!” Jimmy walks into his kitchen (which is technically still part of the living room) and examines the cork board sitting above the limited counter space. On it is a detailed mish-mash of post-it notes, calendar dates that have been scribbled on, and note book pages.  

“But your schedule is already so packed what with your job, your... side job, and between that and making sure I don’t get myself killed walking down the road for groceries, you barely have time for yourself!”  

Jimmy plucks one of the post-its from the board and frowns at it. In Grian’s famously sloppy handwriting, it reads ‘TURN ON TRACKER APP WHEN LEAVING APARTMENT’ with ‘ DONT FORGET AGAIN ’ underneath... underlined... three times. Jimmy throws it away, knowing it will get replaced by another, similar one next time his brother visits. Which is often.  

“I absolutely have time for myself!” The older argues, peaking the microphone and making Jimmy hold his phone away from his ear.  

“Grian, I feel like you check in on me twenty times a day!”  

“Well, maybe I need to!”  

“You didn’t used to need to!” Getting frustrated at the turn of the conversation, Jimmy turns to get a mug out of his cupboard and turns his kettle on. A cup of tea will surely calm him down.  

Grian carries on arguing as Jimmy tucks his phone between his ear and shoulder, “That was before we knew- It was before I knew just how much danger you could be in without being able to ask for help. You know this. We’ve had this conversation.”  

The kettle slowly starts heating up, Jimmy adding the tea bag and sugar to his mug as it does so “And that’s why I think it’ll be a good idea for me to register properly. You won’t need to worry about me so much because I’ll have other people looking out for me too.”  

“Tim, the P.I.B do not ‘look out’ for people-”  

“Oh, here we go-”  

“I’m serious-”  

“So am I!” Jimmy yells, and the kettle comes to a boil. He huffs and pours the scaldingly hot water into the mug, and stirs. “I’m an adult. I don’t need my older brother looking out for me anymore. Things have changed now, you can see it if you went downtown and saw all those people who have been hiding, just like me.” He picks up mis mug and begins walking back to the couch.  

“Jim. You know they’re not like you.”  

He stops in his tracks, “no, I don’t kno-” his voice catches in his throat, by now a familiar feeling. The oppressive sensation of noise suppression washes over him, pressing in on his eardrums and sending a shiver across his skin.  

Somethings about to happen, but he doesn’t know what.  

Recognising the distinct wave of silence, Grian begins to panic “Jim? Jim are you there- of course you’re there-” some rustling and stomping can be heard from the other end of the phone “just- speak as soon as you can, I’m heading over.”  

Jimmy wants to protest, tell Grian to stay put and stop freaking out, but he can’t. He looks around for anything that might be causing this sudden bought of soundlessness, but can’t see anything awry. He turns in a full circle, phone pressed to his ear in one hand, mug filled with tea in the other. Jimmy figures it’s safe to at least finish his trip to the couch and tries to take another step.  

Tries.  

Foot catching on the edge of an already fraying rug, Jimmy’s lanky frame immediately plummets to the hardwood floor, hot tea spilling and soaking his hand. The tumble releases no sound into the air. His mouth forms what would be a startled curse at the pain from the burn as he scrambles back to the kitchen and turns on the tap to run his hand under cold water.  

He’s gotten pretty good at immediately treating his own injuries throughout the years, no time to panic when you know that no one is coming to rescue you.  

But this time, Jimmy remembers, there is someone coming. And he’s still on the phone.  

“- I’m just getting in the car okay so whatever's happened-”  

Testing for his voice, Jimmy clears his throat which immediately stops Grian’s frantic cajoling.  

“I’m fine, just spilled some tea.” He relays, flatly.  

The sound of the running water slowly filters into existence. Jimmy flicks some of the water from the ends of his fingers, appreciating the almost unnoticeable ‘fwip fwip’ of the droplets hitting the basin.  

There are lots of sounds that go unappreciated when you can always hear them. Jimmy takes no sound for granted, especially when he’s the one making it.  

“Please get out of the car. I’m fine, you don’t need to come over.”  

He hears a car door open and slam shut through the phone.  

“Hum for me, please.” Grian’s request would be sweet if it weren’t for the clinical way in which he asks. Jimmy looks to the corkboard which holds another, similar post-it note ‘HUM WHEN I CAN’T SEE YOU’. He starts humming a small tune that he’s heard a few birds whistle in the early mornings outside his window. Jimmy doesn’t know what such lovely birds are doing so far into this dingy, polluted city, but he appreciates them nonetheless.  

Jimmy hums through the noises of Grian returning to his apartment. He hears footsteps climbing concrete steps (the elevator must be broken again), keys rattling in shaking hands, a door open and close, and finally the keys being set on the counter.  

“Jimmy.” Grian sighs, “please don’t register today, at least. I know I can be... stubborn about these things but you have to understand it’s better to be as far outside of Their Eyes as possible.”  

Jimmy sighs, and turns off the tap. “You have to know I have no idea what you mean by that.”  

“Good!” Grian’s response is strangely chipper, “that means I’ve been doing a good job!” a beat passes then- “crap, I’m going to be late for a meeting with a client-”  

“You were going to come all the way here when you have a meeting?” Jimmy asks, incredulously. Grian’s day job as an architect doesn’t come up often in their conversations, but Jimmy knows it’s important to his brother.  

“Obviously.” Comes the unbothered response, the sound of previously discarded keys being picked up again chime down the phone, “I’ll talk to you properly about this later, okay? Just sit on it for a bit.”  

As usual, Grian hangs up without saying goodbye and Jimmy is left in his quiet, dingy apartment to stew on the disaster of a conversation.  

And to think, he’d been excited.  

Putting his phone on the counter, Jimmy goes back over to the living room to turn on the TV again, not being able to stand the silence. He makes it about two steps before putting his foot in the, now cold, spilled tea all over his rug. His frayed rug that he just bought from a second-hand shop that is now covered in cold tea, stinking up his apartment.  

He stands there for a moment, staring at it. Not for the first time, Jimmy finds himself wishing he could call his mother. She wouldn’t have been able to predict his fall; he makes no noise when he does so, after all. But she would have known what to say when he got back up again. Would have been able to give him the motivation he needed to clean up the messes he leaves behind.  

Tears begin to sting at his eyes, and Jimmy decides it’s time to go for a walk.  

“I’ll deal with you later.” He tells the rug, and turns to look at the corkboard of instructions.  

Since moving out of his brother’s apartment a few months ago, Jimmy has gained a small amount of independence. An amount that he hasn't been afforded since he was fourteen and his life went... poorly. The corkboard is the culmination of this independence.  

At twenty-two years of age, Jimmy had been frustrated at still living under his older brother’s watching eye, and began to put together a list of ways he could go about his day by himself, without having to have someone watch out for him. Y’know. Like a regular guy his age. Every viable instruction was presented to Grian, who would approve or amend the list.  

The best instructions made it to the corkboard, which was the first thing put up in Jimmy’s new apartment.  

He basically knows the instructions by heart at this point, but the routine of going over them is soothing, so he reads them off as he does them anyway.  

Step 1: Tell someone you are leaving.  

1a: make sure to include where you are going and a time-frame.  

Jimmy picks his phone back up and shoots a message off to Grian:  

Jimmy: Going for a quick walk. Probably will stop at the corner shop  

Step 2: Wait for them to confirm.  

This was always the most frustrating step. If the person he has messaged was busy, it meant not being able to leave until they had seen his message.  

There was an implied rule for the other party of not being able to deny Jimmy leaving his apartment, which he appreciated. He knew it wasn’t for control, only concern. But currently, Grian was probably driving to his meeting, so he’d likely have to wait for him to arrive wherever he was going before getting a response.  

...Frustrating.  

After a grueling fifteen minutes of mindless social media scrolling, his phone pinged with a reply.  

Grian: K. Stay safe.  

Jimmy grinned and hopped off his seat on the counter. Now for the fun stuff!  

Step 3: Prepare your safety equipment.  

When he’d written out the steps, Jimmy had laughed at Grian for writing it like that. ‘Safety Equipment’ painted a pretty elaborate picture for what was essentially a phone tracking app and a compact noise machine.  

The noise machine was also Grian’s idea, made by one of his friends he met in University. Mumbo? Jimmy thinks his name is?  

The device is small enough to fit in the palm of his hand and is designed to be a bit like a yo-yo. After some tests in relation to his powers (which all had to be done on the fly since they're so unpredictable) they managed to work out that so long as the part of the device that produced the sound wasn’t touching Jimmy in any way, his noise cancelling wouldn’t affect it.  

That meant a lot of careful electronic work on the inside to ensure the circuit wasn't touching the casing, which would be touching the wire... which touches Jimmy. Very complicated stuff that the blond didn’t fully understand. What he did know is that he got a cool gadget out of it, that he had decorated with stickers to look like a yellow and blue version of Captain America’s shield.  

So yeah, ‘Safety Equipment’ was a pretty apt title for Grian to bestow it.  

Step 4: Knock the door before you leave.  

The last step was added by Jimmy himself, and he could admit that it was born of somewhat superstitious behaviour. Knocking on wood for good luck and all that.  

That, and it was one last check to make sure there was no immediate danger. Like... walking out the door only to immediately fall down the five flights of stairs that led to his floor, for example. Not that he’s speaking from experience, of course! Jimmy had only fallen down the one flight. And that was enough, thank you!  

Taking a deep breath, Jimmy closes and locks his door, and knocks it a heavy three times for good luck. The deep sound of struck wood reverberates through the hallway, making Jimmy smile to himself.  

“Okay,” He whispers, jitters filling his voice, “let’s go register my power.”  

Chapter Text

One extra precaution Jimmy takes whenever he walks places is humming. Well, sometimes it’s whistling. Or talking to himself. Or snapping his fingers. Or- You get the point. He makes noise. Usually, whichever noise is the least annoying for those around him.   

Grian asks him to hum a tune, usually. Like he did on the phone earlier.   

It started at his older brother’s suggestion, shortly after the incident on his tenth birthday.  Neither Jimmy nor Grian had quite figured out Jim’s power yet, they just knew it had something to do with the ability to muffle sounds.   

“Is it like a force field?” Grian had asked, “is there an area of effect? Or is it just you?”  

Jimmy stared blankly, picking at the cast on his arm, “Uhm... I don’t know.”   

“Can you activate it at will or does something trigger it?”   

“...I don’t know.”   

“Are you able to-”  

“I don’t know Grian!”  

They found out more a week later. It was the day before Grian was going back to boarding school and Jimmy had been down about it. He had missed his brother and would miss their time together, even if Grian had been more intense since he started attending. Jimmy thought it would be a good idea to draw Grian a picture and hide it in his suitcase to find later when he got back to school and unpacked. Despite Grian claiming not to miss the younger boy when he was away, Jimmy knew he was lying. A drawing might help.   

Just as he was sneaking away from Grian’s room, the sandy-haired boy reached the top of the stairs and caught him red-handed.   

“Oi!” He cried, “what were you doing in my room!?”   

They gave chase. Jimmy remembers it clear as day... He was laughing and screaming as he ran from his older brother, constant noise and constant fits of giggles. Then, all noise was ripped from his throat. He had frozen, just like he had back in the woods, but this time Grian was right in front of him.   

“Tim?” Grian stepped forward. Instinctually, Jimmy stepped back. What a mistake. Grian’s eyes had widened, and his arm reached out, but it was too late. Jimmy’s socked foot slipped on the top step of the freshly varnished wooden stairs, and he fell.   

Jimmy thinks he remembers Grian shouting something, but that's where the memory gets fuzzy. He knows he hit every step on the way down, and that each impact was silent. He also knows that Grian was allowed to stay home an extra few days while Jimmy recovered from a concussion (and a re-broken arm) in the hospital.   

By his bedside in the pediatric wing of the hospital, he remembers his older brother’s grave expression when he gave him the instructions that he’s come to live his life by.   

“Whatever you do,” Grian had said, “keep making sound. Sing or snap your fingers if you have to, okay?” even in the whisper of his voice, Jimmy could tell he was upset.  

“Just...  Don't let any danger go unnoticed .”   

So, Jimmy hums to himself as he walks down the steps of his apartment building, hums as he (with some force) opens and shuts the door to the building, and hums as he makes his way down the busy streets of Traffic City.   

Theres a spring in his step as he walks today. Not only is he going outside for something that isn’t grocery shopping or seeing his brother, but this day might spell out the rest of his life!  

He passes by the local shops on the way to the registrar office, admiring the colourful signs and window paintings of each one, many of them decorated to match the recent turn into spring. He switches from humming to whistling to match the upbeat mood of the decor. Then, he notices a particular shop.   

“Well,” he mutters to himself, “I suppose I do have a reason to celebrate...” Jimmy quickly looks both ways (twice) before crossing the busy road, and veers excitedly into the quaint yet lively florists.   

The bell above the door chimes lightly at his entrance and Jimmy can’t help but incorporate the airy sound into his constant humming song as he browses the dense walls of flowers an d plants. This particular florist is familiar to Jimmy, he always makes a point to visit when he can as he knows they restock and revamp their displays regularly.   

“Who’s familiar humming can I hear?” A light and amused voice calls.   

Jimmy turns from his admiration of the lily display and sees the owner of the shop emerging from the back, wiping her hands on her filled apron.   

“Hi Lizzie!” He grins, “I love the new display, get anything exciting in?”   

“Thanks,” Lizzie replies as she takes her pink hair out of its utilitarian ponytail, fashioning it into her usual style as she continues, “we got some more peonies in for the spring and carnations since it’s Mother’s Day soon!” She grins cheekily and leans forward on the counter “all in pink, of course.”  

The blond giggles along with her, “of course!” He turns back to the wall of flowers, pondering the selection “I’m looking for something to celebrate, Lizzie. Do you have room for an order?”  

“From you? Always.” She rounds the counter and stands next to him, taking in the flower options for herself, “What’s the occasion? Did something good happen recently?” She steps forward and plucks a few freesias from one of the buckets.   

“Well, I’m actually going to-” Jimmy stops himself short, thinking maybe he shouldn’t tell his acquaintance about his technically illegal power registry status, “t-turn my life around!” He stutters out lamely. Nice save.   

Lizzie snorts and pivots her flower collecting, picking a few crocuses to add to the growing collection in her hands “Oh, I’m sure.” She says, then offers a searching look from the corner of her eye “This wouldn’t happen to involve that massive line outside the town hall today, would it?”   

He freezes, feeling a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck, “U-uhm... Well...” He can still talk, he’s not in any danger, he reasons to himself, “...Maybe?”   

Lizzie’s smile softens, a rare expression from the quick-witted florist “Well, I wish you good luck with that, Jimmy.” He thinks she sounds sad as she says it, for some reason.  

Lizzie’s pale blue skirt swishes behind her as she makes her way to the counter and wraps the bouquet.   

The flowers that Lizzie chose are bright and varied in colour, bringing in the feelings of spring and new beginnings. She’s wrapped it expertly, the tissue paper and ribbons offering a satisfying contrasting colour palette. Jimmy is in awe of how she can put something so beautiful together in such a short time.  

Just as Jimmy is about to pay, there's a crash from the back room, quickly followed by a shout.   

“Oh, for goodness SAKE!”   

Lizzie sighs, shoots Jimmy a mirthful look, and shouts back “Joel?! What happened?” Stomping can be heard quickly approaching the door behind the counter and suddenly, there’s Joel, Lizzie’s husband and co-owner of the florists, with his entire front covered in dirt.   

“Only gone and dropped another blummin’ pot!” He cries “Oh. Hi Jimmy.” he quickly acknowledges before continuing his rant, “I swear those new ceramic ones are somehow  allergic  to my gloves. There is  no way  anyone should be dropping that many pots!”  

“It’s fine as long as you’re the one reimbursing the cost of them.” Lizzie responds as she finally takes Jimmy’s payment, Joel's spluttering is ignored “I hope this bouquet marks a successful life turnaround for you, Jimmy!” She pushes it into his arms and he splutters around the petals.   

“Thanks!” Jimmy laughs.   

“Wait, what’s got Jim turning his life around?” Asks Joel, crossing his arms and leaning casually against the counter.   

Before Jimmy can say anything, Lizzie speaks up, her voice kept intentionally light “He’s making his way down to the registrar’s office today.” Despite the calm tone, she makes no eye-contact with anyone as she says this. Jimmy sees Joel’s eyes widen slightly as he looks back and forth between his wife and Jimmy.   

Joel clears his throat, shoots Lizzie a blink-and-you-miss-it concerned look, and returns to his casual posture “Well, I erm... Hope that goes well for you, lad.”  

“Right... Thanks.” Says Jimmy, taking a few steps back towards the door. He waves as best he can with his arms full of flowers and calls another “Thank you for the bouquet!” as he steps through the door. He uses the tune of the bell to pick back up his hummed song where it left off.   

When Jimmy was very young, especially in school, people would get mad at him a lot for missing things. He’d get the material of what was being discussed, but often missed the subtext, which lead to him being made fun of a lot. It was rough.   

Since he developed his powers, however, he’d had to become a lot more observant of his surroundings for safety reasons. He wasn’t sure if it was the powers themselves that made him more accident prone, or that bad things were just made worse because of them, but it made him develop a hypervigilance to danger regardless. Along with this hypervigilance came another skill; the observation of people. And though Jimmy often still missed important conversational subtext, he could pick up on some things a lot better now.   

One thing was certain; Joel and Lizzie had reacted strangely to the news he was registering his power.   

He has plenty of time to mull this strange occurrence over as he walks to the town hall, and comes to a few conclusions about why this might be.   

1: Joel and Lizzie think Jimmy is some kind of criminal.   

This is the least likely option... He hopes. He’s only known them for a few months, but due to his frequent visits to the florists, Jimmy likes to think he’s built up a positive enough rapport with the couple that they wouldn't immediately assume he was hiding his powers for nefarious reasons.   

He’d like to think they didn’t hold  those  kinds of biases.  

2: They held the same beliefs as Grian.   

This might be even less likely than the first reason. Jimmy had met few people as paranoid as his brother (though, to be fair he’d met few people in general since school). The idea that these two random people who owned a flower shop also just happened to believe in “The All Seeing Eyes of the P.I.B” was a bit far-fetched.   

3: They were criminals hiding from the P.I.B.  

Jimmy shakes his head and immediately dismisses the thought. His softly hummed tune jumps around with his laughter.   

4: They were scared of him.  

It’s no secret that for a lot of the people going to register their powers today, most were doing so because their powers were dangerous. The reason these recent law changes are such a big deal is the abolishment of the Track System.   

If the P.I.B sees your power as an asset to a particular field, primarily their Hero Department, you’ll be put ‘On Track’ to join that career. Usually with little choice in the matter. It was this system that got Grian into boarding school; his power had shown promise when he’d registered it, and the P.I.B had picked up on that.   

Jimmy wonders if that reputation... Had somehow made Lizzie and Joel think he was one of the dangerous types. Someone who was essentially draft dodging. He wonders if they think he could have been in the Hero Department, and had thrown the opportunity away out of fear... Or worse, selfishness.   

He wonders if they think he might secretly be a Villain.   

He hopes not.   

Finally, in the distance, Jimmy picks up on the commotion of the crowd. It was nearing mid-afternoon now, but the long queue that wraps around the town hall hadn’t dipped in numbers since the news report that morning. He takes his time appreciating the signs and celebrations of the gathered people as he makes his way to the back of the line, the joy at the sight filtering through into his whistled tune.   

Jimmy quickly takes out his phone and shoots Grian a ‘Just got home!’ text. He’d conveniently ‘forgotten’ to turn on his tracking app again, so there's no way to verify his location. What Grian doesn’t know won't hurt him!  

He reaches the back and begins what he knows will be a long, but worth-it, wait.   

After about 20 minutes of this, the line barely inching forward in that time, Jimmy decides to subtly eavesdrop on the pair who had joined behind him.   

“Honestly, d’yknow what those crazy conspiracy nuts are saying about this whole thing?” Asks the first person.  

“No, what?” Laughs the other “Another ‘The P.I.B always watches’ sham, I bet?”   

“Even better,” Says the first person, pausing for dramatic effect, “they reckon they’ve set this whole thing up just to catch Villains.” they say, “An entire law change and rights for everyone and all the help in the world... For the small chance that a Villain will be stupid enough to register their  publicly displayed power .”  

The two burst into laughter behind him, clearly finding amusement in the idea. Jimmy admits to himself that it does seem a little silly, for a Villain to try and register their power. Theres a public database of known Villains and their powers (or, at least, what people can surmise their powers being from firsthand accounts and news footage), so for one to just saunter into the registrar’s office and have it attached to their legal name is... Well. It’s stupid. Certainly seems like a good setup for a P.I.B trap, though.   

But... Why would a Villain want to register their powers officially anyway? He thinks about it some more and comes to a pretty sombre conclusion. Maybe a Villain would want to register their powers to get the same help that Jimmy is seeking for himself... Without risk of being Tracked.   

If they weren’t so markedly dangerous to the public, Jimmy might even start feeling sorry for them!   

He shakes off the thought and continues humming quietly to himself, content to admire the bouquet he holds gently in his arms.   

Another hour of waiting and Jimmy is starting to get hungry. It’s getting to the time he would normally have his dinner. The only positive is the fresh spring air, keeping the sunlight beaming down on him calming rather than boiling. Though that sun is starting to set, now.  

Suddenly, there's a commotion up ahead. The queue had moved significantly in the extra hour of waiting, but he was still a ways away from the actual front door and couldn't quite make out what people were riled up about. News seemed to travel down the line quickly, though, if the growing dissent was anything to go by.  

Jimmy noticed someone walking past the barriers in a hi-vis jacket, shouting out momentarily to the people waiting. He made his way into earshot.  

“Sorry guys! The registrar office has closed for the day!” He bellowed as he walked down, waving people away from the barriers, “You’ll have to come back tomorrow! They’re closed!”  

Shouts, grumbles, and moans rippled around Jimmy as he processed this. He was too late. Numbly, he walks away from the dispersing crowd and begins the trek back home, flowers in hand.    

“Come back tomorrow?” He mutters, frustrated, “Today was a  good day , I don’t know if I’ll  be able  to come back tomorrow.” his grip tightens on his bouquet as tears push at the backs of his eyes.   

The setting sun offers little warmth to him as it ducks behind the buildings of the city. It’s getting darker, and colder, and the office is farther from his apartment building than it seemed on the walk over there earlier. He continues humming, as is his habit, but it’s taken on a distinctly negative tone. There are less people around to hear it though, so who cares if it sounds a bit depressing. Jimmy’s depressed, he’ll hum what he wants, thank you!  

By the time he reaches the road that holds Lizzie and Joel’s flower shop, the sun is fully set, but he’s still a few blocks away from his building. He knows of a shortcut that ducks between a few alleys from here but... Ah who cares, he’s near tears and wants to get home as soon as possible. The bouquet he’s been carrying about for hours is already beginning to wilt, and he’ll hit himself silent before letting Lizzie’s hard work go to waste. He veers to the right.   

The alley is small and reeks of something... Off. Jimmy thrusts the flowers closer to his face and begins humming louder to counteract the bad vibes he gets from the place. He skirts around a dumpster for what he thinks is the restaurant he’s been to once and nearly fails at avoiding a dark lump of unidentifiable... Brownness on the ground.   

This alley connects to another, which he knows takes him to the road for his apartment building. Theres... Someone stood at the end of it.   

Jimmy can’t pinpoint when, but at some point, he’d stopped humming.   

Chapter Text

The moon reflects starkly off of the windows that line the darkened alleyway that Jimmy finds himself trapped in.  

He is stuck, and silent, and his eyes are still burning. And there, in front of him, is the unmistakable silhouette of one of the most wanted Villains in Traffic City.  

Jimmy skitters back behind the dumpster, unafraid to be clumsy since he knows there will be no sound to alert her of his presence, and peaks his head out to observe.   

Blood Moon stands, casual as anything, beneath a flickering streetlamp. Jimmy can see her tap her foot, impatient for something (crime? meeting a criminal? waiting for some poor unsuspecting fool like him to stumble across her path?) while the highly recognizable, ghostly apparition of her wolf winds between and around her legs.   

He doesn't know what to do. A dangerous Villain is standing between him and his way home and no one is coming to help him. He mentally curses his stupid power for not being more useful. If he could only turn invisible instead of just going silent, he'd be able to just sneak past her. Alas, that is not the case, so he leans away from observing the Villain and presses his heaving back to the exposed brick wall of the alley.   

Jimmy resumes his humming, the vibrations in his throat calming him down. As soon as he can hear a tune again, he'll know he's safe.   

Five minutes.  

Ten Minutes.  

Fifteen.  

He can feel his throat getting sore while tears stream down his face... Why won't Blood Moon leave! She's just been standing there, the whole time!   

Just as Jimmy is about to convince himself to run back down the other way (who needs to go home, anyway?), she speaks.  

"Tilly? What's wrong, girl?" Blood Moon questions. Her voice is softer than Jimmy expected it to be. He's heard her before, on the news and in clips on social media, but she sounds a lot scarier in those than she does addressing 'Tilly'.   

Jimmy almost makes the mistake of relaxing, then-  

"You smell something in the alley?"  

His heart turns to ice. This is it, he's dead. Blood Moon's wolf has caught his scent, something he knows no one has lived to tell the tale of.   

He hears the signature shimmer-slice sound of Blood Moon's wolf becoming wolves. Her power is deceptively beautiful, silvery-blue wolf manifestations, splitting and dancing, combining and separating, plural and one.   

Jimmy hears them slowly stalk the alley, splitting, fanning out, sniffing the air, and approaching his hiding spot.   

He's hyperventilating, thinking of something, anything, to do. There must be at least five of Blood Moon's wolves in the alley by now, if the intensity of their glowing is anything to go off of.   

He grips Lizzie's flowers tighter... and has an epiphany.   

The wolves are smelling the flowers; markedly out of place in a dingy and grime infested alley.   

That's just Jimmy's luck.   

He extends his arm forwards and places the gorgeous bouquet as close to the edge of his hiding spot as he dares, quickly shuffling back to the wall.  

As soon as the plastic wrapping leaves his hand, it makes a loud crinkling sound, settling into the concrete ground. The stems and leaves squeak against one another in their tightly wound hold, the petals rustling along with them.   

It's remarkable how loud something can seem in silence.  

Immediately, the closest wolf apparition snaps its head to the bouquet and lunges forward.  

Jimmy is sure, was he able, he would have let out a very embarrassing squeak.   

As it is, he can't be heard, and makes no sound as the wolf neatly picks up the flowers in its terrifying mouth, and trots back over to its master, the other apparitions snaking their way back to their source and combining once again into the larger, intimidating wolf of Blood Moon.  

Jimmy leans forward again to get a better look, and barks empty laughter at what he sees.   

Blood Moon turns at the return of her companion and lets out an excited, high- pitched squeal.  

"Awh, Tilly, you found me flowers?" She coos, leaning down to give Tilly thanks and attention, "Thank you so much, I love them!"   

Traffic City's top six, squealing and cooing at her dog. Jimmy really has seen the remarkable tonight.   

He's still in danger though, that much is clear.   

If only she would leave! Jimmy can't fathom what she's here for, it's been nearly twenty minutes of nothing. Just her, standing in her red hood and half-moon mask, under that flickering light.    

It can't get more dangerous than this, at least.  

"Phew! Sorry I'm late!"   

Jimmy should stop thinking things forever. Of course, another of the top six just popped up in this random alleyway. Makes perfect sense for his life.   

"And what time do you call this?" Blood Moon asks, all prior warmth gone from her voice.  

" Sorry ," replies North Star, not sounding sorry at all, "I got caught up with that pesky speedster, Trail Blaze."  

"The vigilante?" Blood Moon asks, incredulously.  

Jimmy is confused too, whoever 'Trail Blaze' is, they must not have been in the game very long. Villains, Heroes, and vigilantes usually have quite a bit of media coverage when they're active and Jimmy can admit he's become slightly obsessed with keeping track of them in the past. Not because he's a fanboy or anything, no. Of course not! It's just good to know these things. Despite not getting out much, his luck is atrocious. It's good to keep up with the local goings on, he thinks.   

What he means is, he's never heard of Trail Blaze before... so if this person is already giving North Star the run around, they must be pretty powerful.  

"Yes, the vigilante! He's massively annoying!"  

Or pretty annoying. That works too. Despite his smooth tone and persona, North Star has famously low tolerance for being messed with.  

Jimmy can hear the smirk in Blood Moon's voice when she asks "So, how'd you lose him?"  

North Star grumbles and admits, begrudgingly "I ran down an alley and cast the illusion of a brick wall behind me. He nearly broke his ankles trying not to run into it." He deadpans.  

Blood Moon laughs at North Star's tactics, throwing her head back with glee. He simply tuts and crosses his arms, waiting for her to be done.   

"Well, anyway," He cuts in, "do you have the information for me?"   

Blood Moon quickly sobers, Tilly growing lowly beside her even with the bouquet in her mouth.   

"Always straight to business with you, ey 'Star". Jimmy can't see either of their facial expressions, what with the angle of observation and the Villains' masks, but he gets the sense there's an air of bitterness between them.   

Blood Moon sighs, "Operatives have already been spotted lurking the registrar’s office." Tilly growls again, Blood Moon rests a calming hand on her head, "I sent a few Tillies to scout the area, but these guys are sneakier than they look."   

North Star curses under his breath, "Do we know if The Listener is connected? Or if they found what they were after?"   

Jimmy sees Blood Moon shake her head, and North Star curses again.   

"All we know is that the registration was closed early today. Then the Operatives moved in." She adds.  

"Closed early... So that means they found their guy?"  

Jimmy is now thoroughly confused... and suddenly a little grateful he didn't get to register today. Apparently those two randoms behind him weren't far from the truth and that the registrations were being used as a ploy to find someone... a particular someone.  

“I wonder what guy they’re talking about.” Says a gravelly voice behind him.  

Jimmy yelps – actually, out-loud, yelps – and scrambles away from the suddenly appearing stranger, bashing his elbow on the dumpster in the process. The ringing of the metal on bone is cacophonous, echoing around the alley and immediately alerting the two Villains to his presence.  

Jimmy hears a bark, a growl, and a shout.  

“Who’s there!”  

Footsteps, multiple footsteps that grow in number by the second, begin to stalk down the alley, and Jimmy’s breathing grows heavy.  

He’s never heard himself have a panic attack before, but he’s seen them in movies and on TV. Thought there was no way that’s what it really sounds like. He was so wrong. It's awful. The more he panics, the more he can hear himself breathe, the more he realizes how bad that is. Rise. Repeat.  

The Villains are getting closer.  

“Hey man, you need to calm down!” That gravelly, whispered voice from before is frantic and strained now, and Jimmy finally looks up to see who had spoken. “Don’t worry okay, I won’t let anything bad happen!”  

The man crouched in front of him looks frankly bizarre, but he supposes it's no more strange than the other masked Villains and vigilantes that roam the streets at night. His clothes appear to be somewhat steampunk inspired, but with more practicality in mind for jumping and sprinting. Heavy duty knee and shin pads, offset by the frankly odd choice of waistcoat and tie. Jimmy’s eyes flick to his face, only being able to see below his nose, the rest disguised by a full cowl that tapers, flame-esque, in the back.  

Thick, red, goggles obscure the man's eyes, but Jimmy can tell from the set of his mouth and jaw that the man is tense but trying to hide it for his sake. Or his own. Who knows. Vigilantes aren't exactly known for being personable around these parts. They mainly operate alone and against the law. They don't generally trust easily, or approach civilians they aren't directly helping.  

Does this guy think he’s helping?  

Between gasped breaths, Jimmy hisses “Something bad has already happened!” he flicks his eyes behind the man, seeing the blue glow of wolves get steadily brighter. Thank goodness this alleyway is so long.  

The red and orange clad vigilante winces and puts his hands up in a calming gesture “Just stay put okay, I have it handled.”  

Jimmy is about to ask him where exactly he’d even go to, when the man is standing and walking straight out into the villains' line of sight, hands raised and smirking. This idiot is going to get himself killed.  

He tucks his legs as far to his chest as he can get them and hopes that whatever this crazy guy has up his sleeve, he leaves Jimmy out of it. He can hear his heartbeat in his ear. He can hear his breathing, and the way his clothes scratch and scrape against brick and concrete.  

How?!  

“Hey North Star!” Taunts the crazy man, now in full view of the people who would surely kill him, “Ready for round two?”  

The wolves, for some reason, stop their hunt towards him. Blood Moon steps forward to stand amongst her pack.  

“How much of that did you hear, Trail Blaze?”  

Jimmy gasps again, then clamps a hand over his mouth. He’s so not used to making sounds in situations like this. Thankfully, it seems only Trail Blaze heard him. The vigilante subtly gives Jimmy a smile, making an ‘OK’ symbol with a hand he hides behind his back. This guy is the opposite of sneaky. Jimmy is in shock that someone like this could give North Star reason to be late for anything.  

Trail Blaze looks back to Blood Moon and shrugs casually, “Not much, just about someone finding their guy?” He places one hand on his hip and points to North Star with the other, “You seemed pretty eager to get rid of me earlier, lost someone important?”  

North Star clicks his tongue in contempt, “He’s bluffing, he doesn’t know anything.” He assesses, probably pretty accurately if Trail Blaze’s spluttering response is anything to go by, “Blood Moon this position has been compromised, let's go.”  

She whips her head around to face him, “But Sc- But Star !” The wolves growl and snap, but don’t move from their positions. “If he heard anything-”  

“He didn’t.”  

“I totally heard everything and I’m onto you.”  

“He’s obviously lying.”  

A shrieking growl erupts from Blood Moon, finally showing her famous temper, “I don’t care!” She reaches into her cloak, bringing forth a hand-held staff and jams her thumb into a button on the edge. The staff erupts from both ends, extending into a, elegant, yet terrifying scythe. She twirls it in her hand, brandishing it towards Trail Blaze.  

“Tilly, kill him.”  

Jimmy thinks he whimpers. He doesn't want to see anyone die tonight. That was not on the cards for him when he left his apartment this morning. He just wanted to do something with his life. Secure a good job. Get accommodations for his debilitating curse of a power. Now, he’s in an alley, his power doesn’t even seem to be working , and he’s going to watch an amateur vigilante bite it.  

Suddenly, Trail Blaze laughs. It’s hoarse, and strained, but dazzling all the same.  

“Kill me?” He challenges, “You’ll have to catch me first, suckah!” He tilts his head as if winking, then charges towards Blood Moon and North Star.  

All heads turn at once. Jimmy careens forward on his hands and knees to look around the edge of the dumpster. Why on Earth would Trail Blaze go towards the danger ? It’s not like the alley is a dead end! He should have gone the other way and had them chase after him, for goodness' sake. Sure, it would have revealed Jimmy’s position behind the dumpster but surely that’s still the smarter choice?  

When his head peaks around he’s half expecting to see Trail Blaze dead, impaled on Blood Moon’s scythe that he ran straight into. Instead, the scene is much more shocking.  

Both North Star and Blood Moon are turned away, facing the direction Trail Blaze had run, straight through their defenses and onto the street. In his wake, a perfectly straight line of rapidly dying flames, and the stench of burnt asphalt.  

“Blood Moon, you don’t have to-”  

Blood Moon charges down the street, her wolves reforming behind her into their singular giant form. As the wolf approaches her side, Blood Moon grabs Tilly by the scruff and mounts her back, brandishing her scythe as she rides.  

“... go after him.” North Star mutters. The remaining villain sighs, runs a hand exasperatedly through his sparkling blue hair, then takes off after them.  

Seeing the alley finally empty, Jimmy collapses backwards and freaks out. He curls into the tightest ball he can manage at his lanky size, grips his already frazzled blond hair, and cries. And wheezes. He gets a few ‘what the heck’s and ‘what is my life’s in there too.  

He doesn't hear any of it. Nor would anyone else, were they here. He’s silent again.  

Jimmy isn't sure how long he spends sat on the cold, frankly disgusting, ground, but after a while he begins to calm down. Sniffing and wiping his eyes on his sleeves, Jimmy uncurls himself from behind the dumpster and makes his way out of the alley that has officially changed his life forever.  

Well. It may have changed nothing, really. But that sounds just like everything else in his already pathetically boring and invisible life, so Jimmy wants to think that what happened here matters. What happened to him matters. He matters.  

If he says it enough, it could come true.  

Just as he is beginning to lament a silent walk home, a humming tune fades in to his awareness. It’s him, of course. Silence officially over and panic attack waned. Jimmy smiles to himself and keeps humming, then makes his way to leave. He spots something and gasps in delight.  

There, under the flickering streetlight, are his flowers from Lizzie. He makes his way to pick them up.  

Halfway down the ridiculously long alleyway, Jimmy is blinded by a flash of golden light. He lets out a startled shout that bounces and echoes on the walls. He blinks his eyes open to see Trail Blaze, back again and a little out of breath, picking up the bouquet on the ground.  

Lizzie’s bouquet. Jimmy’s hard-earned bouquet that if he doesn’t manage to bring home tonight might just be his very last straw.  

“Oi!” He shouts and sprints to the vigilante, quickly snatching the flowers from the startled man’s hands, “These are mine! I earned them!” He pokes his finger to the man's chest a few times for good measure.  

He’s not sure where the sudden burst of confidence has come from, but he’s speaking, and is apparently much taller than Trail Blaze than he appeared crouched behind a dumpster, so he just takes the win for what it is.  

Trail Blaze, flustered and spluttering, stutters out “Earned them? Wha-” he puts his hands up in surrender, “I-I wasn’t taking them! The doggies had them earlier so I thought it could be evidence or something!”  

Jimmy continues to lean over Trail Blaze, who is quickly growing more frantic. Jimmy can’t exactly see the vigilante’s eyes through his red tinted goggles, so he just glares in approximation of where they should be. He’s been told that his height can be intimidating.  

“Why don’t we just- Um-” Hands grip Jimmy’s biceps and shift him back a few paces. He goes easily but keeps his scowl. “There, that's better.” Trail Blaze sighs in relief, no doubt grateful for Jimmy no longer intimidating him with his height.  

“Who are you?” Jimmy crosses his arms, mindful of the flowers.  

The vigilante puffs out his chest, pointing a thumb towards himself with a grin, “I’m Trail Blaze, of course! The ‘T’ in team T.I.E.S!”  

“Never heard of them.”  

All of Trail Blaze’s bravado slides from his posture immediately, smile turning bashful as he scratches the back of his neck through the cowl. Man, this guy is fickle.  

“Heh.. Yeah. We’re new.” He admits, lamely.  

Jimmy raises and eyebrow and smiles, “Must be pretty new if you’re still falling for North Star’s illusions.”  

Trail Blaze squawks in indignation, “You heard about that?!”  

“Oh yeah,” Jimmy laughs, “I heard you nearly broke your ankles avoiding a fake brick wall.” He steps forward again, and lightly taps Trail Blaze with the bouquet, “If I painted a tunnel on the wall would you fall for that, too?” He jokes.  

Jimmy is really not sure where all this is coming from. Or, well. Yes, he does. He’s been talking to a dangerous vigilante for more than thirty seconds and is still able to make a sound. Forgive him for getting a bit overexcited about it. It’s not often he gets to properly tease someone without inviting any danger.  

Even with his brother he sometimes gets-  

Jimmy just wants to see where the limit with this guy is.  

“If someone dropped an anvil on your head, would you spring back up like an accordion?” He taps Trail Blaze’s head with the bouquet again.  

Apparently, the limit is a lot farther than this.  

Suddenly, Jimmy doesn’t want to test it anymore, and all the fight drains from him.  

It’s dark. It’s late. He wanted to be home at least two hours ago... and yep – his flowers are completely trashed.  

Jimmy looks down to the bouquet he’d been carting around with him all day. What once was a beautiful arrangement of crocuses and peonies, has been reduced to... Almost nothing. The wrappings are damp, dirty, and ripped. The stems and crooked and hold multiple bite marks from magic wolves, but worst of all, most of the petals are completely gone. A few pink stranglers hang on, clinging to their centers, but most are completely ripped, leaving only the stems to admire.  

His lip begins to wobble slightly, and he presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He refuses to cry in front of this stranger (he ignores that he already did, a little bit), so he plasters on a smile and looks back up the vigilante, who has taken to somberly observing Jimmy. Fantastic.  

“Um, excuse me-”  

“Why don’t I take you home!” Trail Blaze blurts out, shocking them both. The vigilante clearly hadn’t meant to say that, but barrels on regardless, “You look pretty shaken and I’m like eighty percent sure whatever dumpster juice -” he gestures to Jimmy’s hiding spot, “- that's staining your pants is making you like a scent beacon to Blood Moon’s wolves.”  

Jimmy blinks at him, lost of what to say.  

“I think they liked the flowers more, actually.”  

Trail Blaze laughs, grin stretching to show his pointed canines. Jimmy doesn't know why he notices that.  

“Well then that’s double reason to get you home!”  

He shuffles his feet, suddenly nervous, “Should I be giving a vigilante my address?”  

“Prolly not.”  

Jimmy huffs, “Well, at least you’re honest.”  

Trail Blaze grins, teeth flashing in the lamplight again, “One of my many charming qualities.”  

“And so humble, too.”  

“You, know it baby,” Trail Blaze drawls, leaning into Jimmy’s space.  

The blond flushes and, floundering for something to look at that isn't the vigilante’s sharp, sharp, canines, checks his watch.  

“Oh my gosh!” He wheezes, “It’s so late. I’m screwed.”  

“You are?” Trail Blaze asks, suddenly concerned.  

“Totally and utterly.” Jimmy whines.  

See, another wonderful quirk of his darling over-protective brother, is the check ins. He checks in when he leaves his apartment, and when he gets back. He also has a morning, lunchtime, and night-time check in.  

To anyone normal, and not cursed with Jimmy’s terrible affliction, this would seem like overkill. Jimmy himself once thought so too. But every rule has its reason, and Grian has always been vigilant about following and implementing new rules when needed.  

Jimmy thinks that if he went through every rule that he and Grian have made, he could recount with absolute accuracy the memory that led to that rule being created. What's the saying? Written in blood?  

Pretty much Jimmy’s whole existence has been carved out that way.  

And he just broke a rule. He’s been breaking them all day.  

“I’m screwed.” He repeats again for good measure.  

“So...” Trail Blaze tries, startling Jimmy from his impending breakdown, “What I’m hearing is you need to get home... fast?”  

“Yes. Very much so.” He nods his head frantically, flowers shaking in his grip.  

The vigilante nods and mutters something to himself that sounds an awful lot like very complicated math. It goes right over Jimmy’s head, but he thinks he hears something about “velocity” or maybe it was “animosity” he can’t be sure.  

Finally, Trail Blaze snaps his fingers in triumph, and smiles up at Jimmy with barely contained excitement.  

“How’d you like to get home in style, pretty boy?”  

“Um.” Jimmy says, intelligently, “Depends on what you mean by tha-” he breaks off in a shout as he is swept off his feet and into the arms of Trail Blaze. With no other choice, Jimmy flings his arms around the vigilante’s neck, whacking the flowers in his face in the process.  

Trail Blaze takes this in stride however and puts his feet in a bracing position. Jimmy screws his eyes shut but can hear the smile in his voice as Trail Blaze asks again.  

“Where are we headed?”  

He frantically rattles off the address to his apartment a few blocks away, shocked he can even manage a sound in what seems like an incredibly precarious situation.  

“Three.”  

Oh goodness. He’s not ready. He’d seen this man leave tracks on the ground with his speed. He’d outrun Blood Moon. He’s very clearly an unregistered individual.  

“Two.”  

But then again, so is Jimmy. He can’t be all that bad. He'd taken the attention of the villains to get Jimmy in the clear and had even come back to gather evidence. Clearly, he was a good guy. At the very least, Jimmy doesn't think this guy would get him hurt on purpose. He didn’t even say anything back when Jimmy was accusing him of being an idiot. But most importantly-  

“One!”  

Jimmy can scream in terror at his recklessness.