Brian laughed a little as Isaiah’s apology poured out of his mouth. It seemed Brian wasn’t the only one who felt the need to ask forgiveness for minor errors, though it seemed Isaiah did so out of social awareness, while Brian did so compulsively out of a need to excuse his own perceived guilt. ”Don’t worry. You probably just didn’t hear me. I tend to be kind of...quiet. You’re not being rude. It’s just me.” He desperately didn’t want Isaiah to feel like he was being rude. That would imply his very presence was making someone feel bad, and he really really couldn’t handle that.

”Don’t be hard on yourself BB.”

“BB?”

“You know, like baby, but cuter.”

“Brian is not an infant.”

”Indeed.”

He shook his head, as if to shake off the voices. He focused intensely on the dogs, and found they brought a smile to his face. It was so easy to make a dog happy. They craved your approval, your attention. All you had to do was smile at them and their tail would start wagging. So much simpler than a human. He would get a dog if he had the money and the confidence to have responsibility over a living creature’s wellbeing. Maybe, in the far future, when he got a job and a better apartment, he’d get a cat.

Brian nodded in agreement at Isaiah’s comment about raising a dog. ”It’s definitely nurture over nature. No dog is born bad. Isn’t that right, girl?” He cooed, scratching Athena on the back of the neck. Immediately, his face went red. Was it weird to baby talk another person’s dog? He tried to recall instances when he’d seen someone coo at a dog that wasn’t their own, then realized he didn’t have enough experience in the “real world” to make that judgement. He just bit his lip nervously and hoped he did the right thing.

He laughed appropriately at Isaiah’s remark about his father. ”No, I’m not bothered at all.” I’m not that delicate. He thought.

“Yes you are.”

Brian shook his head again, and again turned his attention back to the dogs. Unfortunately, he’d seen one too many guns living in the back alleys of San Francisco. After he’d gotten his powers, he’d been able to confiscate these guns, crush them into a little metal pulp. He figured it was the least he could do to keep murder and mayhem off the streets. He didn’t like guns, he didn’t like any kind of violence, but he wasn’t scared of it anymore. After the Event, there was very little that could harm him besides his own mind.

Brian’s heart sank as the dogs ran off ran toward the frisbee. His immediate thought was that they didn’t like him, and thus ran away, but he realized that was ridiculous. Just another bad thought barreling its way into his brain. Quickly and efficiently, he swept it aside, priding himself on his ability to manage his own mind.

He looked at Isaiah. He should say something, silence was uncomfortable. He was told people liked to talk about themselves, so he supposed he should ask Isaiah something about himself. He umed and ahed for a few seconds trying to think of a question. Finally, he landed on, ”Have you always lived in San Francisco?” Picking up on Isaiah’s comment about his dad. He figured it was a vanilla enough question.

Isaiah Moore

Brian really did admire the relationship this man had with his dogs. It must’ve taken a lot of time and dedication to train the animals like he did.

”I wish we had doggies like that.”

He’d heard rumors around the psychiatric ward’s proverbial water cooler that there was a facility somewhere in Texas where they give you a puppy and you’re supposed to train it and raise it throughout your treatment, and then you'd get to keep it when you left. It was supposedly supposed to teach the patients about responsibility and self assurance and provide them with a therapeutic companion. He didn’t know if this place really existed, but he always wanted to go there. If anything, it sounded much better than the state sponsored shitholes he’d stayed in when he was younger.

He flinched internally when the man wrinkled his nose at his mention of cats, but quickly relaxed when he realized he was being hyperbolic. He was joking. ”Fair enough.” He said, scratching under Athena’s chin. ”Everyone has their preferences."

”He doesn’t like kitty cats! How dare he!” Clara expressed angrily.

”Respect the man.” Sasha countered. ”He can like what he likes.”

”Whatever.” Clara pouted.

“I bet he’s drowned a bag of kittens.”

Don’t say stuff like that. Brian requested respectfully.

“Or what?” Dennis challenged

He’d ignore him. That’s what he would do, ignore him. Voices always seemed to vanish when he had something else to focus on, so he honed in on Athena, Cesar, and their owner. Mindfulness, being in the moment and all that.

An animal shelter. That seemed like a good idea on the surface. He’d get to spend time around animals and it might even provide some structure to his life. But it would be a responsibility, and he wasn’t quite sure he was ready for responsibilities. And he’d have to interact with all those people at the shelter. He could barely interact with this one man at the dog park, how could he take a multitude of them? Still, the idea seemed enticing. He’d have to talk about it with his therapist. ”That’s a good idea. I’ll...think about it.” He said.

It seemed the man didn’t hear his question. Could he sit? It would be weird to ask again, wouldn’t it? His back was really starting to ache. The words of one of the therapists at the MNRU rang through his mind. ‘Take the initiative.’ Don’t wait for someone to tell you to do something, just do it. He didn’t need permission for every little action he wanted to take. So, as casually as he could, he took a seat on the bench, careful to keep a good bit of distance between the man and himself. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from excusing his actions. ”Sorry, I hope you don’t mind me um...sitting. My back was starting to hurt.”

He smiled as Cesar wandered over to him. He could tell the dog still wasn’t as readily sociable as Athena, but he reached a hand out anyway and let him sniff his hand, then pet his head and scratched his side. ”So many people think pitbulls are dangerous. I’ve always thought that was ridiculous.” One of the best therapy dogs he’d met was a pitbull, she was just as sweet as all of the other dogs, if not sweeter. Though he didn’t divulge the information that he’d been in contact therapy dogs. He had to at least pretend he was normal.

Isaiah. He liked that name. It had a calming sound, like a gentle gust of wind. Maybe he was overthinking the name, but for some reason it stood out to him. It wasn’t a particularly common name, and it had an awful lot of vowels, which he liked.

“Weirdo.”

He ignored Dennis’ hateful comment, as he planned to do. Instead, he focused on Isaiah’s extended hand, for a second forgetting what exactly to do with it. Then he remembered Isaiah expected him to touch it. He was getting better at physical contact, but he still wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. Still, he ceased petting the dogs and gave Isaiah’s hand a hasty, limp shake, letting go as quickly as he could. He gave Isaiah a little smile, as if to apologize for his poor handshake.

Friend. That word reverberated throughout his mind. He didn’t have many of those. There was Sky, but that was just in the hospital, and after that stunt he pulled during the attack on the MNRU, he doubted she ever wanted to talk to him again. And of course there was Adri, but every specialist he knew told him she was a bad influence, and looking at things objectively, he’d have to agree. Friend? Could he be making an actual friend? He had to slow down on that assumption. Last time he jumped to the friendship conclusion he’d ended up high on shrooms and heroin. Still, he had hope. ”You’re not being rude at all.” Brian assured him. ”In fact, you’re probably one of the nicest people I’ve talked to in a long time.” Outside of a professional setting. He resumed petting the dogs, alternating between Cesar and Athena.

Isaiah Moore

He held his breath. Had he said the right thing? Was this how people were supposed to act? He’d just gone up to a stranger and talked to them. Just talked. Is this what normal people do? I mean, he supposed. How else did people make acquaintances, friends, boyfriends, husbands? Ha, there was a thought. Getting married. Maybe, one day, he’d find the right person. Oh look at that, a hopeful thought. He smiled a little. Thank the lord for Wellbutrin...Bupropion...whatever.

”You’ll get a hubby one day, Brian!” Clara encouraged.

Thanks. He replied. That’s another thing they’d taught him in therapy. How to nonverbally communicate with his voices. He still wasn’t entirely used to it. He was far more accustomed to mumbling to himself like the freak he was, but practice made perfect. He was slowly but surely getting better at it. He just had to remember to keep practicing.

Oh my god. This man was talking to him like he was a normal human being. Like Brian wasn’t some psychotic freak of nature. It was such a new experience. Refreshing. He felt giant weight lift off his shoulders. He immediately relaxed. He had done the right thing. It wasn’t weird for Brian to be talking to him. It was a normal thing to ask to pet someone’s dog. He may have gone about it a little...strangely. But he made it there. He talked to someone like a normal person and they treated him like a normal person. What a victory.

”Congratulations, Brian.”

”You did good.”

Brain smiled.

He listened intently as the man talked about his dog’s coat, almost giddy at the normalcy of it all, but careful to keep a calm, interested look on his face.

“Booooring.” Dennis chimed in.

”I think it’s extremely interesting.” Sasha vehemently disagreed. ”Her coat is gorgeous. You should tell him that.” She said. ”And I told you she was female.”

He watched with interest as the man let out a low whistle. The German Shepherd turned to look at him, but so did another dog, a pitbull. He let out another whistle and the German Shepherd came bounding over. Athena - he introduced her as.

”Yay puppy!” Clara exclaimed.

Given the man’s permission, he slowly reached out and stroked the dog’s head, feeling that growing sense of calm and confidence that came along with petting an animal. ”Her coat is gor-um...beautiful. Her coat is beautiful. Soft.” He said. He sensed the man's pride in his canine, he assumed complimenting her was the right thing to do, as Sasha suggested. “Is that also your dog?” He asked, pointing at the pitbull. ”I noticed they looked at you when you did the...um...whistling thing.” He said, cringing at his failure to act confident and normal, like this man clearly did. “I’m sorry I’m so awkward, I don’t get out much.” He apologized. “I’m trying to get out more though.” He explained.

”No shame in explaining things.”

That’s right. No shame.

“My name is Brian, by the way.” He greeted, remembering the conversation standards they’d taught him in therapy. Introduce yourself. He wondered if he should give him a handshake. He decided against it, opting to continue petting the dog, scratching behind her ears. It really was calming.

Isaiah Moore

Brian’s smile widened at Adri’s remark. They were working. He felt his heart pounding. This was dangerous, exciting. And not in a way that involved the infinite variables of other people. This was a way he could control. And he so desperately lacked control in every facet of his life. He was a slave to his illness. A slave to his alcohol. A slave to his antipsychotics. These drugs would set him free.

”You are going to kill yourself.”

”Good.” Brian muttered.

His smile slowly vanished as Adri touched his chest and ran a tongue down his ribs. This made him feel deeply uncomfortable. He was generally averse to any physical contact unless it was necessary. But something so sexually charged coming from a woman made alarm bells go off in the back of his head. It felt so wrong, so unnatural.

He was about to open his mouth to ask her to stop when she touched his vein and told him she was gonna stick him. He turned his head away, and there was a slight sting as the needle went into his arm, but after that he didn’t feel anything. She told him she’d finished the injection, and Brian looked down at his arm. A thin line of red trickled down from a spot in his arm. ”I didn’t need to take off my shirt for that.” Brian remarked.

He was enraptured by that little red line. He started to feel an intense wave of pleasure coming his way, like watching a distant wave come toward the shore.

”Take the best orgasm you ever had, multiply it by a thousand and you're still nowhere near it.”

“We’re awfully referential today, aren’t we?”

It took him a second, but the loosening of a belt buckle slowly came into focus. His eyes widened and he quickly scuttled backwards. He knew that wasn’t where drugs went.

”Adri, I like you, you’re a really nice person. But I don’t want to...I don’t want to have sex with you. I’m not...I’m not into...girls.” That wave was coming to shore. His muscles relaxed, and so did his mind. He fell back into the couch. The ocean crashed against the sand. He felt a burst of pleasure. His mouth formed into a dopey smile, his eyes glazed over. "I’m not...into...girls. I’ll take a boy though…” The remark made him laugh

Adrijana Evgeniya

Shatter’s comment left him wondering what his mistake could’ve been. He hoped desperately that it didn’t involve him, that he was thinking of some other nebulous mistake that he made in his life. But-

”You are a mistake.”

Yes, everything in his life had made that perfectly clear. But no time to go down the suicidal rabbit hole, not yet. He couldn’t break down completely in front of Shatter, not when it seemed they might actually be getting somewhere.

His muscles tightened at Shatter’s surprise. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but that reaction seemed...bad. Reasonable but bad. ”I...I told you, I want to stop people from hurting others and...that-that seems to be what you’re doing so…” He mumbled, ”I...haven’t been able to make much leverage on my own so I could...use some direction I guess.”

He watched nervously as Shatter actually considered his offer. His heart was pounding out of his chest. He’d put himself out there, for someone to judge his abilities, his worth. If he said no...well, that would be tough to recover from, but that seemed like more than a decent possibility.

Brian’s cheeks flushed as he saw his own eyes reflected back at him, staring down at him. God, he was pathetic. Like a little puppy. Well, a big puppy. A big, depressed, anxious, schizophrenic puppy, lost, alone, scared, in desperate need of someone else’s care. Because god knew he couldn’t take care of himself.

”You’re disgustingly infantile.”

”I like puppies!”

Some of the tension in his body was relieved as Shatter took a seat on the blanket. The power dynamic between them became somewhat less uncomfortable.

Was that a yes? Kind of? Sort of? Would he actually be able to be a part of something? There was just that one condition...

“Oh.” He muttered dejectedly. “I'm...I'm on medication. Really strong medication. It just...doesn't do everything.” He said. “I know I'm weird and I know that sometimes reality is weird for me, but-” but I don't know if I can get any better. “but I'm functional...for...for the most part I suppose.” He mumbled, getting quieter as he talked.

“You call this functional!?”

“I just happened to miss a day recently, which is why I was skeptical of your, you know, existence.” He explained. "I can try though, I can try to get better." He asserted. "I will try. I will."

”You cannot get better.”

"I will." He issued as a demand to himself.

His eyes lit up when Shatter explained what he could do for him. Medication he wouldn’t have to steal? A bed? A room with walls and a ceiling? It was almost too good to be true. ”God you better not be fucking with me.” He whispered under his breath.

“Can...can you do that without the government getting involved?” He asked. “And I know-I know that sounds crazy, but believe me I have very good reasons for not wanting to get the government involved in my life.”

“Her head split open like a watermelon.”

“Very good reasons.” He started chewing on the tip of his thumb, hoping he wouldn’t have to divulge any more information.

”I’ll...I’ll help you help people. I won’t, you know, hurt people without a really good reason.” He looked up at Shatter, again staring back into his own large, sunken eyes. ”Thank you. He said. ”Thank you for humoring me and...and coming with me, I know you didn’t have to. And if you can really do all this for me…” He took a deep breath, ”I really can’t thank you enough.”

He noticed how the man kept a deliberate distance behind him. His paranoia was going off like a siren in his head.

”He’s gonna stab you in the back!”

But he ignored it, admittedly with difficulty, but still he managed. He didn’t blame the man for keeping a wide berth. He had punched him after all. And he was acting a little...off. That is to say like himself. Like all the things he hated about himself.

”Like a fucking schizo!”

He flinched at Dennis’ words, but otherwise ignored them. He needed to focus. He needed to get this guy to trust him? Maybe? Yeah, that sounded like a reasonable next step.

”Shatter.” He repeated, ”So is that like a made up name, like an alias, or an actual name?” He asked. ”I guess it would be kinda weird if that was your actual name. Sorry-sorry if that is your actual name.” He added abruptly. ”I don’t have any alias or anything. Obviously. I don’t-I’m just me. And I guess that’ll have to be good enough.”

”Unfortunately.”

Brian cleared his throat to drown out the voice (to little avail). He wanted to laugh at Shatter’s comment about licensing, but found that he was unable to do little more than lift the corner of his mouth. ”No, not a counselor. And I-I don’t just deal with metahumans. I-Ideally it’s for everybody that needs help. I-” He took a deep breath to steady his shaking voice. ”The way I see it, everyone does something for a reason, and instead of punishing people for doing something wrong, we should understand the reason and...and try to fix it if it’s causing them to do something that hurts others.” He scratched the back of his head ashamedly. ”That’s an...inelegant explanation of my reasoning, but, yeah, now that I have the power to actually help people, I-I want to do that. I want to help people. No one else is.” He explained. ”That was a good joke about licensing by the way. Sorry I couldn’t laugh at it.” He apologized.

”He is testing you.”

Once again, Brian ignored the voice. They were just trying to stoke his paranoia, as always. And for once he felt he was actually getting somewhere. He wouldn’t let the voice get in the way now.

Brian pressed his lips together at Shatter’s next question. It was a tricky inquiry with a dishearteningly easy answer. ”If they’re like me they need help too.” He answered softly. ”I don’t just stop criminals by the way. I just...stop anyone who’s hurting anybody.” He elaborated. ”I try to anyway.” He scratched the side of his face, ”I don’t really call myself a vigilante or anything else. I just...I try to help.” He settled on, ”I try.”

They eventually reached a desolate alleyway with cracked concrete walls covered in graffiti. At the very end of the alley, away from the main street lay a dirty blanket where he’d been sleeping the past couple days. It was empty, and though it was lit, it was lit quite poorly. He gently spread the blanket so it laid flat on the ground and sat cross legged at one end against the wall and gestured for Shatter to sit somewhere on the blanket as well. ”I’m sorry,” he grimaced, ”it’s the best I could do, and I promise it’s not as dirty as it looks.” He persuaded. ”Please, why don’t you just sit down and tell me why you stole...whatever you did.”