Chapter Text
Cold air whipped around as Grian walked briskly down the dark street, pulling his saddle bag tighter.
The chipping concrete buildings were a welcome sight after the long day it had been. Streetlamps cast the sidewalk in an ominous red light, buzzing quietly as he passed underneath one, then another.
Grian couldn’t always hold in his laughter when friends made comments about the lighting. Creepy, they’d say. Straight out of a slasher film.
It hadn’t been meant that way, he remembered. Something about the human eye adjusting easier in red light, and local animals not getting as confused by the deep shade. But, over time, their purpose had shifted; now they were used for scaring away outsiders, for keeping the place clean of anyone that didn’t know the twists and turns well enough to traverse it. The ominous decor was for their safety, really.
He spotted symbols on passing walls; carved or painted with uneven handwriting, shaky lines making the vague shapes of campfires and rivers. Good camping spot, they said, encrypted for anyone who didn’t understand. Clean water. Good people.
Red lights and shaky scrawl; kindness disguised as hostility.
Darkness seeped out of the alleyways, amplified by every unseen footstep and laboured breath. It was a long walk home, he reminded himself. The breaths were his. No one else’s.
He quickened his pace.
Abruptly, as he dreamed of microwave ramen and terrible movies, he stopped in his tracks at the click of a trigger.
“Hands up.” Came a gruff voice from behind him.
Grian turned around with a drawn-out groan. His uniform was horribly itchy, Maui and Pearl were waiting for him at his flat, and he truly couldn’t have cared less about the firearm in his face.
“Can we do this later?” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ve got a meeting with my microwave that I cannot miss.”
His comment was met with an awkward pause, then sheepish laughter as the person lowered their arm.
“Ah, sorry, Grian. You looked different from behind.” Etho said, tucking the weapon back into his inner pocket.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard the spiel.” He waved him off. “‘I don’t have my glasses!’ ‘Why weren’t you wearing the pants you usually wear?’ ‘Is that a new haircut?’” He said, mimicking the tone of everyone that had mistakenly tried to mug him in the last few weeks.
“Man, rough day?” Etho said conversationally, moving up to walk side-by-side with Grian in the direction of his flat.
The red lights made him look downright inhuman, with his nearly black eyes and pure white hair. His mask didn’t help either, decorated with gleaming white teeth, drawn on by Bdubs’ excited hand. The cheap paint chipped in certain places. It was unnerving, but more charming than anything else.
“You can say that again.” He grumbled. “They’re cutting the first-aid classes.”
Etho let out an affronted gasp. Grian knew he was playing it up for his sake, but he felt the corners of his mouth quirk up regardless.
“Seriously?” He asked, voice returning to the stone-coldness it usually held. “That’s the only redeemable thing about these backwater jobs, and they’re cutting it?”
Grian nodded, frustrated as exhaustion weighed down on him.
“I know. I’d quit if I could, cross my heart.” He punctuated the sentence by miming an X over his heart, right where his nametag sat. “Apparently they’re getting rid of it everywhere. ‘Waste of resources’, they say.”
Etho scoffed, the simple sound laced with a venomous disbelief that only came out when Grian mentioned his job.
“Right.” He said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his murky green bomber. “And that’s code for, ‘we don’t care about people’s health as much as their money’.”
Grian laughed, one gritty, barking tone.
“Tell me about it. Next they’re gonna pull the fire extinguishers out of the walls because it’s a waste of space.” He grinned viciously, no doubt a borderline crazed look under the red lights.
Etho snickered next to him and faced the road ahead.
They walked in companionable silence for a few blocks, something that only Etho could allow him. Bdubs would have been chatting up a storm if he was the one walking Grian home, and neither Skizz nor Tango could close their mouths if they were eighty feet underwater. It was a nice change, and Grian thanked his lucky stars that at least one member of the gang knew how to shut up.
The moment was ruined when a ringing erupted from Etho’s pocket, and he patted himself down with a pinched brow until he found the phone and pressed answer.
“Trouble?” He asked without hesitation.
From the other side of the line, Grian heard Bdubs’ too loud voice shouting something along the lines of, ‘Yeah, nice to see you too, asshole.’
Etho sighed, no bite in his words as he asked again.
“What happened?”
Once again, Bdubs responded in the most infuriating way he could imagine. The words were muffled, but Grian could still make out the muttered complaints about politeness and proper conversation etiquette.
“Alright, I’m hanging up on you.” Etho deadpanned, though he made no move to shift the phone away from his ear. Bdubs must have believed him though, if the offended yelling was anything to go by. Etho looked over at him with an exaggerated eye roll, and Grian laughed under his breath at the familiar banter.
“Then what do you want, gremlin?”
His rant began the second Etho asked, and he rambled on as they approached Grian’s flat and said their goodbyes. Etho gave a lazy salute and walked into the shadows of the nearest alley, still arguing through the busted speaker as he went.
Grian couldn’t help the fond sigh that escaped his lips as the sounds of their banter faded out of earshot. They were criminals, sure—the entirety of B.E.S.T. was, but Grian couldn’t even hold it against them.
It was a hard knock life in the slums of the city, but they all made do. They had to.
Grian had to.
His gaze trailed over the symbols carved into the cement steps leading up to his door. A crude top hat, and a cross with a smile in the upper right box. A gentleman lives here, they communicated. Doctor here won’t charge.
He couldn’t help but laugh when the code had first shown up on his front steps. No doctor lived there; just a tired DMV worker that had an unfortunate fascination with the human body, and he certainly wasn’t a gentleman.
The slightly morbid fixation had taught him things, of course, and as soon as that information spread, he was branded as something he wasn’t.
A nurse.
A healer.
Someone who could help.
He scoffed at the irony of it all.
His keys stuck in the lock as they always did, protesting as he jiggled them around until it gave. The door swung open on squeaky hinges, and he flipped the light switch near the doorway before his eyes could adjust to the darkness.
“I’m home!” He called out to the empty apartment, shutting the metal door behind him.
Two fluffy heads poked up from behind the couch, and Maui and Pearl skittered over to him excitedly as he lowered himself to the ground.
“Aw, my precious little babies.” He cooed, scratching behind their ears as they nudged their heads into his palms. “Well done, staying hidden! Seems like the practice is paying off.”
He got to his feet with a grunt. The cats circled around his legs like piranhas, jutting in front of his feet just before he took a step.
“Geez, trying to collect life insurance?” He muttered as he made his way to the kitchen.
The barren wasteland of his fridge seemed to mock him from across the tiny room. He didn’t bother opening it; there would be nothing for him anyway. Pearl bumped her bowl into his ankle with Maui close behind, and he opened up the cabinet to grab their bag of food.
Their bowls were filled quickly enough, and he snagged a packet of ramen for himself. It was too late to call it dinner, so he settled for ‘midnight snack’ and got to work. Grab a bowl, fill it with water, throw the noodles in. Two minutes in the microwave before mixing in the flavour packet and cooking for two more, and suddenly he had a healthy and nutritious meal after his long day at work.
Grian laughed at the idea as he shuffled into the living room and clicked on the TV.
The “doctor” in him cringed at the ingredient list on the back of the packet, but it didn’t matter anyway. They were thirty cents each, and his stomach could always suffer if it meant his wallet didn’t need to.
Flipping through channels proved to be boring and mind numbing. All the good stations had been taken over by a live broadcast of a squabble happening in the main city, with supers jumping around on rooftops in pursuit of the villains they chased.
He squinted to see anything through the deafening darkness and bright glares of the streetlamps, but he only caught glimpses of the neon costumes that paraded around the city.
Grian sighed. Maui and Pearl hopped up onto the couch and snuggled into his sides, which made everything slightly less unbearable, but the bright colours of the heroes’ suits still gave him a headache.
“Boo!” He yelled half-heartedly at the screen, giving the super-powered nuisances a thumbs down.
He knew they couldn’t see him, of course, but it offered the slightest bit of payback for replacing his favourite channels with rubbish news he couldn’t care less about.
The window cracked open and a voice piped up from the other side, accompanied by a bright face poking through the opening.
“Are we insulting the super dweebs?” Skizz asked with far too much excitement.
“Yes, Skizz, we’re insulting the super dweebs.” Grian sighed.
He hurried through the open window and onto the couch next to him, sprawling out like he had nowhere better to be. Impulse poked his head in a moment after, rolling his eyes as he joined them in the living room.
“Skizz, you know that’s not why we’re here.” He chided, though it didn’t dampen Skizz’s grin.
“Aw, chill out, homie buddy! I’m just trying to catch up with my dude Grian!”
He punctuated the sentence by punching Grian in the arm. He returned the gesture with twice the force, smiling contentedly at the yelp Skizz let out.
“Alright, alright! Rough day, I get it!” He said, putting his hands up in a show of surrender. Pearl rolled over onto her back and nudged Skizz’s elbow, clearly asking for scratches, and he was happy to oblige.
Grian turned his attention to Impulse, as he usually had to do if he wanted any real information.
He noted, distantly, that he was wearing his uniform, if he could call it that. It was the outfit he wore when he was on the run, trying to avoid being seen. Warm black clothes from head to toe, and heavy-duty boots with squishy soles to dampen his footsteps. Impulse was never much for sneaking around, but he certainly preferred it to a head on confrontation, and he had the gear to pull it off.
“Did you need something?” He asked, shoving a bite of cold noodles in his mouth. “Stitches rip again?”
Impulse chuckled, lowering himself onto the arm of the couch.
“No, no, we’re all good. Skizz just wanted to come see you.”
Skizz responded with finger guns and an obnoxious grin, and Grian resisted the urge to punch him again.
“Right.” He said disbelievingly. “You definitely didn’t injure anything?”
“No, Mr. Grian Sir, everything’s fine.” Impulse sighed. “And really, I should be the one getting on your case, shouldn’t I? You need an actual meal one of these days.”
He gestured vaguely at the bowl in his hands, and Grian could do nothing but shrug.
“Any alternatives that won’t send me into bankruptcy?” He asked.
Impulse winced. Grian hadn’t bothered to sugarcoat the sentiment; he knew everyone within a square mile had the same problem. Health was a luxury that few people in the Fritz district could afford. If they could afford it, they wouldn’t be there in the first place.
“Yeah… guess not.” He exhaled hard through his nose. His form seemed to glitch out of the space before reappearing a moment later, blinking in and out in time with his anxiety.
People all over the city had powers, just like Impulse’s teleportation. Grian thought it was more of a hinderance than a gift, but he couldn’t exactly speak from experience.
He placed his bowl on the coffee table and scooted over wordlessly, a silent invitation for Impulse to join him. He obliged with a small smile, shuffling into place between him and the couch arm. Skizz took the movement as an invitation for him as well, and he draped himself across Grian’s legs and plopped his head comfortably in Impulse’s lap.
“Isn’t this just the sweetest?” He asked with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Three buddies, all hanging out, not a care in the world…”
Impulse laughed while Grian scoffed.
“Right, not a single care.” He rolled his eyes. “Not like there’s a villain attack going on less than a mile away.”
He winced at the flick to the side of his head.
“Oh, come on, you couldn’t care less about them.” Skizz said, far too loud for the late hour as he waved his worries away. “You’re just jealous that they get to eat things for more than five dollars.”
Grian’s body slumped against the cushions, melting down until he was practically horizontal.
“I’m just saying, they could tone it down a notch!” He complained, waving his hands around frustratedly and almost whacking Impulse in the face. “There’s no way they’re all that nice in real life, and their costumes give me a migraine.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Impulse repress a wince. Grian used to feel bad for making comments like that; his friend had been a hero once, and some part of him clearly still related to the idiots on TV.
He didn’t feel guilty anymore, after the countless times that Impulse had assured him it wasn’t a problem. There was a reason he left, after all.
“Some of them are.” He defended, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced of it himself. “Astral was always nice off camera.”
“Oh yeah, I remember her!” Skizz exclaimed. “She’s not on the news much anymore, is she?”
Impulse sighed. A strangely melancholic expression flashed over his face, but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by an easygoing smile.
“She isn’t one for the spotlight, I guess.” He mused, glancing back at the TV.
The fight had long since ended, and the broadcast had shifted to interviewing the heroes still lingering at the scene. Some hero wearing orange and blue took up the camera, answering questions with a shining smile.
“Phony.” Grian muttered. “Who even is that guy?”
The hero wasn’t one he’d seen before. His eyes were barely visible behind a thick visor, but Grian could see the tightness in his smile.
Lying wasn’t something the Fritz district took kindly to. Bright costumes and brighter smiles were one thing, but fake enthusiasm always felt like sandpaper against Grian’s skin.
That was the one thing he appreciated about heroes like Astral. She was cheerful, but she never said things she didn’t mean. It was always entertaining when she parkoured away from interviewers without a word, simply because she didn’t want to talk with them.
“Oh yeah, what’s his name? Hot guy?” Skizz piped up, tapping Impulse on the shoulder.
“Hawkeye, legally.” He responded with a chuckle. “But yeah, that’s what most people call him.”
“Huh. Why is that?”
“Well…”
Their conversation continued, but Grian tuned them out.
He wished he could consider himself a patient person, but even tempers were few and far between in the Fritz, no matter how useful they were. Heroes were one of the things that made his blood boil in an instant, all high and mighty with their government funding and horrible fashion sense.
This hero, it seemed, would be no different.
His shiny, perfect, horribly fake smile made Grian’s skin crawl, and his deep laugh grated on his ears. He talked smoothly, as though nothing could be wrong in the world as long as he was around.
For someone who could see exactly what was wrong with the world, it was infuriating.
“G? You okay?” Impulse asked quietly.
Grian blinked back to reality. The broadcast had ended and Skizz had grabbed the remote, now flicking through channels to find something interesting. He rambled on as he usually did, but worried glances were periodically thrown Grian’s way.
“Yeah, yeah. Fine.” He said shortly. His jaw ached. He hadn’t even noticed he was holding it closed. “I’m fine.”
The night moved on slowly. Eventually Skizz and Impulse filtered back out the window, saying goodbye and encouraging him to get some rest before they shut it behind them.
Their words were easy to ignore; he already knew he wouldn’t be sleeping much.
He couldn’t take his mind off the stupid smiley hero from the broadcast. His irritating voice played on repeat in Grian’s head, throwing out impossible promises like they meant nothing.
We protect everyone, he said. The crowds fawned over his response, the heroic, selfless answer that he had no doubt scripted beforehand, but Grian heard the unspoken condition.
Everyone who can pay.
The agency and everything associated with it never failed to make him sick.
Only one hero was assigned to the Fritz; Poltergeist, a born and raised Fritz local who went off to become a superhero, only to be reassigned to the district she grew up in. Most residents used her agency name when she was on the job, but everyone knew her out of costume just as well.
Pearl had been a constant presence for as long as Grian could remember. The only time she had been anywhere else was during her training period, and she was quick to go back once it was over.
The bitter realization almost made him laugh.
Nobody gets away that easy.
It was the final thing that crossed his mind before he fell into a cautious sleep.