#080823

Even with the blanket pulled up nearly to his pecs, Scott can see most of the letters. Property of Xornoth, it reads. Somehow, it’s not even the one that makes him the angriest. The one on his back, the one that reads curious little bird, is one that he can hardly stand to look at, and the most confusing one is the small, even surgical scar just behind his ear. He loves Jimmy though, and loving Jimmy means loving all of him.

Impulsively, Scott presses a kiss to Jimmy’s shoulder. His partner starts, surprise quickly giving way to a smile.

“Hey, you, don’t go starting things again,” Jimmy tells him, poking Scott in the chest with his phone. Scott gestures to it, the question that had been nagging at him for so long coming to the front of his mind. He pushes it aside once again.

“When’s Lizzie coming by?”

Jimmy grimaces. “Don’t know. She didn’t much like me ignoring her last night, so she’s decided to ignore me.”

Scott had never had siblings, so he doesn’t know if this is a normal sibling relationship or not. Well, probably not ‘normal’, exactly, what with their past and their powers. But Jimmy doesn’t seem to find her behavior out of the ordinary, so Scott has to assume that it isn’t.

Which still, of course, brings him to his question.

“Can I ask you something? No obligation.”

No obligation is a system that works for now, but certainly has its flaws. They’d set it up on literally the second day of their relationship—if one of them asks a question with that clause, the other doesn’t have to answer if they don’t want to. Of course, Scott’s done his best to impress upon Jimmy that he has no obligation to answer any question, but that’s something they’re working on.

Scott never wants to pressure Jimmy into answering a question just because he forgot to add those two words that meant Jimmy didn’t have to answer. Hopefully, in time, they can progress beyond a need for it.

“Go for it,” Jimmy responds, and Scott can see on his phone that he’s closing the social media account he’d been browsing in favor of opening up his sketchpad app. He draws a couple of smiling turtles while Scott tries to figure out how to word his question.

He ought to have it figured out by now, seeing as he’s imagined asking it countless times. Now that it’s finally time for an answer, though, all proper words seem to have fled his brain.

“So . . . the fight. The big one, at the end of—everything. When you—and Lizzie—” Scott cuts himself off as he feels Jimmy stiffen beside him, finger frozen on the screen. “Sorry, it doesn’t matter,” he amends, reaching for his own phone.

“Wha—no, it’s fine!” Jimmy sits up, sheet slipping down to his waist, revealing the painful-looking ropey scar that curves down his side. He takes one of Scott’s hands in his, smiles with what appears to be a considerable amount of effort.

It feels stupid now, though. Stupid to bring up that day, or that time in general. Still, Jimmy wants to try to answer, so Scott makes himself finish the question.

“What did—well, you were fighting Lizzie, there at the end of the overall fight, just before—um, she said something to you. Can I know what she said?”

Jimmy starts to answer, stops. He doesn’t seem . . . distressed, so to speak, other than the crease in his brow and the tense grip on the sheets he has. He frowns, lips turning in an adorable little pout that Scott is struck by the urge to kiss right off his face. He restrains himself.

“When, exactly?”

He hadn’t wanted to specify. Scott has this terrible feeling that the moment he brings up any particular points of the fight, Jimmy will be thrown into a flashback or panic attack. Still, he asked, and the words on his back make Scott hesitate in spurning any question from him.

No obligation is a system that he needs right now, too.

“Um, well—they had ordered you to—you know—so you attacked Lizzie, and you had her on the ground—” he runs a hand down his face, trying to figure out the kindest way to word it— “Well, you were about to . . . take her out, and then—I was too far away to hear, but I saw her lips move. And you stopped the attack.”

He’s monitoring Jimmy for any signs that he should stop, but so far the man is relatively calm, nodding along with the story. He’s still frowning, though.

“I was told to kill Lizzie,” Jimmy says, and Scott flinches. Jimmy doesn’t seem to notice, because he continues his train of thought. “And then when I had her on the ground, and I went to hit her again, she . . . said something? And I stopped?”

“Yeah,” Scott tells him. “Yeah, she said something, and you, like—froze, almost, then jumped off her. And that’s when—you know. The next part happened.”

Jimmy doesn’t answer. Instead, he absently draws something on his phone, eyes lost in a distant gaze. Finally, his face clears and he nods.

“Right, right,” he says, adding a dot to his drawing. His face turns rueful when he looks up to meet Scott’s eyes. “I think I remember. She, uh . . . she didn’t say anything.”

That can’t be right. Scott saw it, he saw her speak. He opens his mouth to continue arguing his point, but apparently something in his face tips Jimmy off and he pats Scott’s arm gently.

“Maybe she did say something, but I didn’t notice. I wasn’t looking at her. It hurt too much to look at her. All—all I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears. . . .” Jimmy shudders, taps his phone a couple of times.

Scott really should stop pressing. He really should apologize and do something to help Jimmy feel safe. He really should get up, fix them both something to eat, and move on.

But he’s always needed to be right. One of these days, that arrogance is going to kill him.

“What made you stop, then?”

Jimmy squints his eyes shut, takes a deep breath. Scott starts to say something—an apology or retraction, he’s not sure—but Jimmy speaks before he can.

“I was killing her,” he says, voice utterly devoid of emotion. “And I knew I would do it. And I knew they would keep telling me to kill. For the rest of my life, I would just be a weapon. Killing the people I care about.”

He opens his eyes and stares out into the middle distance, expression unreadable. Scott doesn’t move.

“You were defeated, and I was about to kill my sister, and something broke inside. And finally, I decided that—that I’d rather die trying to stop them than kill so many people. They—they were going to make me kill so many . . . I killed for them without a thought and soon there would be no more thoughts to have . . . I had—I—”

A tear slips down Jimmy’s cheek, and Scott holds out a hand. Jimmy takes it instantly, collapses onto Scott in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” Scott murmurs into his neck, holding Jimmy as tightly as he dares. “I shouldn’t have pressed. I’m sorry.”

“Feelin’ floaty,” Jimmy mumbles, adjusting so that his hands curl around Scott’s shoulders.

“That’s okay. What do you need?”

Jimmy shrugs.

“Okay. Do you want to shower?”

The apprehension that ripples through Jimmy’s body is palpable, and he seems to shrink against Scott, nails digging into Scott’s shoulders. “No, n-no—”

Scott swallows, tears of his own building at the fear in Jimmy’s voice. “We won’t, then. Um—your journal is at Lizzie’s, but if you want to keep drawing on your phone—”

“Lizzie’s okay,” Jimmy mutters to himself, his grip loosening. “Lizzie’s okay and Scott’s okay and I’m okay.” He breathes deeply, clearly still upset, but beginning to recover.

There’s an almost imperceptible buzz through the air, and Scott braces himself—Jimmy gasps—the lightbulb in Scott’s bedside lamp pops out, bounces off the table and lands on the carpet with a soft thump.

“Mm, good job,” Scott praises, planting a kiss on Jimmy’s cheek. “Nothing’s broken, it’s all okay!”

For once, Jimmy seems to believe him, lifting his head to reveal a hopeful smile. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” Scott reassures him. “It was a good way to redirect your anxiety without hurting yourself. Remember that you feeling safe is a higher priority than any accident that occurs.”

Jimmy sighs, and Scott continues. “I’m sorry for pressing. I should’ve stopped when I noticed you were distressed.”

“No, I wanted to talk about it,” Jimmy says, picking up his phone from where he’d dropped it, hands still trembling. His smile turns sly. “Had to prove you wrong.”

“Oh, that’s—now I’m going to ask Lizzie about it, I know I’m right—”

Jimmy’s laugh isn’t quite right, and the tension in his jaw belies any attempts at acting calm, but he’s okay. And really, that’s all that matters.

Scott does ask Lizzie, later, when Jimmy isn’t around. She fixes him with the same blank stare that Jimmy had, confused until he goes into further detail. When she finally understands, she laughs, claps him on the back.