Author's Notes: This started out as an RP between me and Henderson in the spring of 2017. We weren't able to finish it, for Reasons, but y'all know the children of the Streets won't leave me alone once they've got a story to tell. [Yes, it did take me until February 2018 to finish this monster. You know how Jimmy gets.]


Whatsername ran around the ground floor of the house she shared with her fuckhead of a boyfriend, in a feverish attempt to channel her anxiety and fury into something productive. Was it working? You'd have to ask an objective party. Normally she wouldn't bother cleaning this obsessively. It wasn't that she was a slob; she just usually didn't give a shit. She had more important things to occupy her time, such as fucking her boyfriend [when he wasn't being a worthless cuntbucket] or, y'know, being half the monarchy that ruled this motherfucking shithole city. Then again, she usually didn't just find out that her [stupid fucking moronic asshole] boyfriend had coerced her brother into breaking his now-ex-girlfriend's heart. So there's that.

W kept grinding her teeth in a futile attempt to keep control of her temper, periodically slamming down whatever object was in her hands to scream an insult in the general direction of the man in question. He wasn't home at the moment, and honestly that was probably for the best considering how incensed she was, but you'd best believe she was telepathically channeling the particularly nasty insults at him with just as much force as she could muster. [Limpdicked devil's taint.]

When she had cloroxed the counter for the third time, she figured it was time to stop. With a sigh, W threw out the remainder of the trash before padding over to her couch. She sank down onto it with a sigh of relief, momentarily closing her eyes as she relaxed. The moment was unfortunately short-lived; as soon as the leather stopped sighing, there was a knock on the door. She didn't need Saintly magic to know who it was; neither Jimmy nor any of their captains would bother knocking.

For a moment, W looked at the door, silently pleading with the universe to pick up the house Oz-style and whisk her away to a different emotionally charged situation. How the fuck was she supposed to play nurturing sister when all she wanted to do was rip out that short fuck's eyes and shove them down his shit-filled throat? She rubbed her face and took a deep breath, silently bargaining with the Guardians she no longer trusted for this to go well.


Roxie strode through the Boulevard of Broken Dreams, sighing in relief as she was swallowed by the shadows. Her stupidly overprotective big brother would probably have a conniption fit if - okay, when - he found out she was walking alone through the most dangerous alleyway in the entire damn city… Oh well. She'd taken care of herself just fine while she'd been gone; she could handle walking through a damn street. Never mind that said street just so happened to be a major highway for drug trafficking, and the preferred hangout of the most desperate junkies in the Streets of Shame. Not like they could do her any lasting damage; her magic came in handy like that.

...Yeah. Okay. She could maybe tone down the cockiness a bit. No need to start sounding exactly like her idiot brother.

Honestly, it probably wasn't a good sign that she'd come to prefer slipping into dark, dangerous back alleys rather than suffer the attention, adulation, and constant repetitions of "Welcome home, Princess" she'd get if she just walked along Greene Street like a normal person.

She scoffed, wallowing in bitterness as she ran an agitated hand through her hair - once dark brown and hanging in soft curls nearly down to her waist, now dyed cherry red and hacked into a choppy bob. Welcome home… This place wasn't home anymore. Wouldn't Jimmy just be thrilled when he became aware of that sentiment. For all that he'd brought her to the Streets when they were kids to save her from their abusive stepfather [may he rot in pieces] and junkie mother [may she… fuck, may she have finally found peace with their dad, maybe?], he had never wanted her to stay here. Granted, he'd been planning to send her to Ainahau Palace in Arcadia to be a true and proper Queen, rather than let her exile herself somewhere just as bad as the Streets, but… y'know. At least she wanted to be here even less than he wanted her to remain.

Maybe he'd let her go traveling, she mused, drawing in a careful breath as she felt her broken ribs twinge. Jimmy didn't particularly like any of their half-siblings, but Roxie was willing to bet she could convince him to let her return to Tholomew, the next dimension over. Jimmy may not especially like Leia, but he trusted her to keep Roxie safe. Or hell, why should she bother asking? Maybe she'd just go. She hadn't asked permission the last time she'd fled, and that had worked out just fine… She resolutely bit down on the gasp of pain as she sidestepped a junkie's grasping hands. Okay, maybe fine was a bit of an overstatement. But nobody else needed to know just how not-fine she was.

She drew to a halt, pressing a steadying hand against the brick wall as she gasped shallowly through the pain, trying to get her breath back. She couldn't run forever, she knew that. She'd returned hom- back, finally, after a year of self-imposed exile. She still wasn't entirely certain how she'd let Nimrod convince her to return East… although honestly, his obscenely talented tongue probably had more than a little to do with it [more things she wasn't going to tell Jimmy]. But she couldn't stay long. She was still needed down South, especially now that Lucas… Well. There was still work that needed to be done, let's leave it at that. She'd hang around the Streets long enough to convince her brother and her best friends that she was just fine, damnit, and then she'd go back. She trusted Stark and Misery to keep things together for a short while, but if she truly wanted to consolidate power she had to be there herself.

But first, convince Jimmy, Whatsername and Jinx that everything was alright.

Then convince them that nothing was gonna go wrong because she'd said that evil, horrible phrase that always made everything worse.

Roxie stared at the run-down house she and Jimmy had shared for four years, until he finally let her move into her own apartment at age sixteen. Still looked exactly the same; the lawn still overrun with weeds, the porch stairs still sagging, the paint still peeling. She swallowed hard around a sudden lump in her throat; OG Jesus, she'd missed this place. She felt out of place and wrong in the East, but this house was still home in a way her warehouse down South never would be.

Drawing a deep breath, she walked up the sidewalk, muscle memory making her automatically skip the porch step that threatened to buckle with the slightest breeze, and knocked on the front door. Moments later, her arms were full of a tiny blonde dynamo, and she was getting the everliving bejeezus squeezed out of her busted torso. Roxie closed her eyes, holding in a grunt of pain as she hugged Whatsername back. Fuck, she'd missed W. She had needed to get the fuck out of town after… everything. But cutting off all contact with W and Jinx had maybe not been her smartest move.

"About time you came home," W grinned.

Momentarily, Whatsername was able to forget about her anger, her anxiety, her annoyance; she was just so glad to have her sister-in-law in all but paperwork home, safe and around her. After all, what were the Saints without their Jesus?

Face buried in Roxie's hair [not focusing on the dramatic haircut and new color, nope nope nope not right now], she whispered, "We've missed you."

As soon as the word we've left her mouth, W's face contorted as if she'd just eaten a lemon. Well, fuck. But no, no; keep calm. She could do it for Rox. She had to. Who knew what the fuck Roxie had been through in the past year. She wouldn't talk about it; fuck, the only reason they'd known she was still alive was because her [waste of space douchecanoe] brother kept sending people to spy on her. She had to keep her shit together; she needed Roxie to relax and trust her enough to talk.

For her part, Roxie stiffened at W's words. We. Nope, nope, too much, not okay… Deflect, deny, fuck, just fix it…

"Missed y'all too," she said hoarsely, pressing a quick kiss to the other girl's temple. "But let's maybe get inside before we get shot, yeah?"

She angled toward the door, antsy. She knew better than to look behind her for the source, but she felt eyes watching them, and she didn't like it. She twitched her shoulders minutely, comforting herself with the weight of her shoulder holster and the cool, mist-like sensation of her magic curling in her veins. W's mouth quirked up in a smile; the girl wasn't wrong. She stepped aside quickly to allow Roxie to slide past her before shutting and locking the door behind them.

"Nothin' says 'welcome home' like an armed threat," she laughed.

She peered through the curtains, watching as the two men walked away slowly. Seriously? Why did people still try to rob them? The fucking rulers of the place, and the only reason the East Side was even a little bit stable. It was something W would never understand. Not that she minded, really; it was amusing to incapacitate the ignorant. But that didn't mean it didn't confuse her.

Roxie breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut. Before she stopped to think about it, her hands came up to trace the locking sigils she'd developed for the wards around her warehouse. Wait… her place, not Jimmy's… shit! Predictably, with no wards to lock, the magic she'd generated just sparked uselessly, singeing the door.

"Fuck! Sorry, sorry, sorry," she apologized, waving her hands and repairing the damage. "Force of habit. Forgot I wasn't hom- I mean, that this was your place. Nobody's gonna fuck with y'all."

Drawing a deep breath, she backed away from the door, rubbing her face to avoid W's curious scrutiny. She was safe, she reminded herself; that was actually a concept that existed here. She was in the East, her brother's kingdom, and no one would touch her. She didn't need to constantly be on her guard, and she didn't need to look over her shoulder or keep alert for ambush. The threats and dangers of the South hadn't followed her back.

Jesus tapdancing Christ on a fence, she'd become a complete and utter basket case.

She breathed again, calming herself and firmly fixing her "everything is fine" mask back in place. Stay focused, Blake, she reminded herself. She needed to convince W she was fine so that her dearest friend would convince Jimmy to stop siccing spies on her. Nearly setting the door on fire was not the way to reassure Whatsername of her sanity, Jesus.

"Can I get you anything?" W asked, turning into the kitchen to grab herself a beer.

Roxie latched onto the subject change gratefully, following W into the kitchen and smiling as W didn't even wait for her answer to offer her a bottle.

"You read my mind. And oh fuck yes you've got the good stuff fucking bless you," she smiled, cracking open the bottle as she rummaged in the junk drawer for her brother's "emergency" pack of cigarettes. "My… roommates… they only drank cheap horse piss. Drove me up the goddamn wall. Like, seriously? Have some self-respect or buy better taste buds. You can afford the good beer, fuckers. The hell are you even doing with your lives."

Yeah, that was better, she silently praised herself. The rambling felt normal, non-alarming; something the old Roxie would have done. Never mind how the past tense reminded her exactly what had become of her roommates [roommates… not the right word, but a convenient white lie for now]; that was an angst for another time. Not when she was trying to keep her cool in the middle of Whatsername's kitchen.

W leaned against the counter, looking over her second-oldest friend. "It really is good to see you, Rox," she said, a weighted smile tugging at her mouth as she sipped her beer.

She watched the other girl's composure with a not-insignificant amount of awe. Roxie had a beautiful ability to remain eerily calm and clear, regardless of the situation. It was in part how her magic manifested, after all; the Jesus had to be able to lead their troops. Whatsername, on the other hand… not so much. For all that Roxie insisted she perceived of W's magic as ribbons dancing on a breeze, W felt it as fire in her veins. She felt the heat slowly awakening, a rapidly increasing fire that made her hands clench. With a deep breath, she tried to tame the fire, building a mental barrier around all the emotional landmines buried in the past year.

Smirking to herself as she found her brother's smokes, Roxie snapped her fingers to create a spark of fire - a trick she'd stolen from the pyromaniac Jimmy - and lit up, dragging the sweet sweet nicotine into her lungs. For a long moment, she savored the smell, the taste, overwhelmed by the sudden sense of safety and nostalgia. It was such a small, stupid detail to have missed about him, and such a weird sense memory to have avoided, but since running away she hadn't smoked Marlboros once. Marlboros were Jimmy's favorite, and the smell of that specific brand of smokes had been more than she could bear when she was so upset and heartsick. It seemed stupid and ridiculous that she should be so close to tears now, but here she was. The knowledge that she was home, enveloped by the lingering remnants of Jimmy's magic, stealing his smokes and probably only a few hours at most from forcing him to hug her [he'd bitch and grumble, but he'd do it, and he wouldn't let go until she was ready]... It made her wonder why she'd exiled herself for so long.

"Missed you too, W," she shook off her thoughts and replied. "Life's too quiet without you."

She hopped up onto the counter of the breakfast bar. Taking another drag off her smoke, she shimmied her leather jacket and shoulder holster off, careful not to wince as she jostled her side again. Goddamn bandage wrapping was fucking useless, Jesus. Fucking gunshot wounds, seriously… Why the fuck did they take so goddamn long to heal? Ain't nobody got time for that.

She nodded to herself at the banter; good, this was good. This was going well. She could do this. Totally normal; nothing to see here, no concerns to raise to Jimmy… She could totally keep her facade up.

W bit her lip, fighting back the words for a moment before… "Oh god, I can't do the eggshell thing."

Son of a goddamn fucking bitch, Roxie thought resignedly. She really should have known better.

W pressed forward, the dam now broken. "What happened to you, Rox? Who did you see? What did you do? I've been here with your shitstain of a brother doing the same goddamn thing day in and day out for a year - I mean, admittedly it's never the same day twice what with the shootings and the damn Anarchy but!" She paused to take a breath. "I'm glad you're in one piece, I'm glad you're home, but…" She bit her lip cautiously. "What brought you back?"

"You about done?" Roxie asked, laughing ruefully as W seemed to run out of steam. "Swear to Christ, you're worse than Jinx on a sugar high."

Sighing, she took a long drink of her beer, wondering how exactly to answer Whatsername's questions without setting off all the other girl's alarm bells.

As soon as she spoke, W felt her cell vibrate repeatedly in her back pocket. She ignored it, her heart clenching, and took another long sip from her beer, suddenly wishing it was much stronger. Though honestly, what the fuck had she been expecting? They all knew what was going on. She'd been sending telepathic death threats to one, one was their spymaster, and the third was her goddamn brother. W cleared her throat as her phone rang a second time, which was then followed by what she immediately knew to be an angry stream of texts she didn't want to deal with. She'd been lost in thought long enough that she hadn't realized Roxie had started talking - and goddamnit, she couldn't miss a word of this, it was what she'd been waiting for for the entire week since Rox came back. When the phone rang again, she threw the damn thing clear across the room and finished her beer without glancing at the shattered remains.

"Sorry, you were saying?" she prompted her sister.

Roxie blinked in surprise as Whatsername hurled her overactive phone across the room, but she followed the flow of conversation for now. They could get back to the phone throwing in a minute because honestly, it probably meant that Jimmy and W were fighting again, and Roxie wasn't entirely sure she was ready to deal with that so soon after her return. She loved her brother and sister-in-law dearly, but Jesus Fucking Roosevelt Christ their arguing was goddamn exhausting.

"To answer your last question first, Billie is surprisingly persuasive when he feels like it," she replied. "Everything else… What do you know about the Peacemaker?"
Whatsername shrugged a bony shoulder and grabbed another beer. "Whispers from the South. Not much. Truthfully I didn't pay much attention to- wait, did you say Billie could be persuasive?"

She had been so focused on Jimmy's goddamned interference in Shanks' life that she had completely overlooked that little detail. How could she not have known that Jimmy had sent Billie, of all people, to persuade Roxie home?

"Billie?" she asked again, blinking in confusion. "How the fuck did I not know this? He's such a goddamn-"

She paused, managing to hold her tongue for once in her life. Billie wasn't a pansy, really, he was just… It was very easy for W to extract information from him. So how had she not known about this? Actually… come to think of it, she hadn't actually seen the blue-haired fucker for going on three weeks now. Well okay, that made sense, then; he was avoiding her.

And yeah, okay, if W stepped back and gave it half a thought, it made perfect sense that Jimmy would tap Billie for this chore. The nimrod had a vested interest in getting Roxie to return home, so… yeah, fine. It made sense and was a good idea on Jimmy's part. Not that Whatsername particularly felt like giving the twatgoblin his due right now.

Thoughts of Billie naturally made W want to follow up with questioning if Billie had mentioned Mike's whereabouts. But she swallowed that question for another time. It was a stupid crush that wouldn't go anywhere, she reminded herself, and anyways this situation wasn't about her and her stupid fucking feelings [and for the wrong Corianth brother, no less]. Shut up and listen, she chided herself.

"Wait, you didn't know?" Roxie asked, frowning as she furrowed her brow. "Huh. I would've placed good money on you being the one to convince Jimmy to send Billie out. Well now I'm just suspicious of my brother's motives."

To say that Jimmy and Billie didn't see eye to eye was about as great an understatement as to say that in Pangaea, the American Republicans and Democrats mildly disagreed on a few points. Roxie had no idea why they hated each other so much, but it had been a deep, instant hatred from the moment they met. Honestly, it was just goddamned annoying to have her brother and her… whatever Billie was [friend with benefits? Quasiplatonic soulmate? Goddamn personal messiah for putting up with the hot mess she'd become?]... constantly at each other's throats.

Forcing her attention back to the conversation, W laughed softly and shook her head. "He's getting better."

Roxie smiled at Whatsername's assessment of their favorite resident Nimrod, feeling how her face was going soft at the mention of his name but unable to help from revealing the tell. Their lives had been entwined since Roxie's arrival in the Streets; he'd been her first kiss when she was thirteen, and they'd become extremely close friends as kids. And now… Well. He'd been the one to find her in that godforsaken warehouse, after… everything, and he'd taken care of her. If not for him, Roxie honestly wasn't sure how much of her sanity would still be intact right now.

"Well, given how many times you and Jinx have kicked his ass, your lessons had to start sinking in eventually," she said.

She tried to sound exasperated but honestly it was mostly fondness in her voice. Billie's moniker in the Streets was Nimrod for a reason, after all.

An equally fond smile appeared on W's lips. "And people doubted our methods," she grinned, shaking her head.

People really needed to give her more credit. It was totally possible to beat lessons into a person… fondly. She wasn't talking about parental abuse because that shit wasn't cool under any circumstances, but just, y'know, punching your idiot friend in the shoulder when he didn't call a girl back so he'd feel it and remember being an idiot every time he went to jack off. That kind of shit. She made a mental note, she'd have to throw a party for herself and Jinx to celebrate Nimrod's growth. Jinx would be so proud of her idiot little brother… Honestly, W would be lying if she said part of her wasn't a little proud of Billie, too. He'd grown since coming to the Streets, not long before Jimmy and Roxie moved in. It was a feat seldom accomplished; the Streets usually swallowed newcomers alive.

And if she was being perfectly honest, Whatsername would say Roxie might really belong with Billie. Truthfully, the two of them had a real chance at making it outside of the Streets; maybe they could move the fuck out of the Bay and have a normal life in some other dimension. She almost laughed out loud at that. None of them could ever have a normal life; this place was in their blood whether they wanted it or not. She'd accepted that fact years ago, and had stopped trying to explain the absurdity of their lives to anyone unfamiliar with magic. It was like trying to explain modern art to a robot; it wasn't a concept that muggles could tangibly grasp. The Saints belonged to Strangeland; they drew strength from her, and she fed off them. There was no escape, even for the mighty Jesus of Suburbia. Especially for the Jesus, given that it was their destiny to sit the throne as King or Queen of Arcadia and rule over all the worlds.

"Okay, so you're back because of Billie of all people, which I'm still not over, but moving swiftly on. Are you staying or are we dealing with this," W paused to take a swig of her beer, "Peacemaker fucker," she finished eloquently, hoping beyond hope the slam she heard outside was the neighbor's car.

Roxie sucked her lower lip into her mouth, absently chewing on it as she considered the best way to tackle the brewing political problem.

Unlike the Anarchy-controlled West, the Forty Thieves-controlled East, or the useless, burned-down wasteland that was the North [not that she was at all biased about the shithole she and Jimmy had run away from as children], the South Side of the Bay had never organized into a viable power center. It had remained instead a hotly contested bed of turf wars between six to fourteen rival factions [depending on the day and the price of drugs], none of whom could ever gain leverage over any of the others.

Until about eight months ago.

The Peacemaker had come from seemingly nowhere. A Saint, though no one knew if they were Ashurian or Toralean - and honestly, at the end of the day, it didn't matter, so long as they used their magic to protect the South against both Saint Jimmy and Saint Tunny. The Peacemaker had swept into the mess that was the South and promptly made deals and alliances, organizing enough of the broken factions to overpower and eliminate the outliers. The Peacemaker specialized in alcohol, information, and arms dealing, fueling the never-ending war between the four quadrants of the Bay. Thanks to the Peacemaker's efforts, the South was becoming a force to be reckoned with… and, perhaps, a threat to be taken care of.

Roxie drew a deep breath to stall for time, unsure how to approach Whatsername's question. How exactly did she confess that she hadn't wanted to come back to the East in the first place, that she was leaving as soon as she could?

"Honestly-"

She was spared from having to answer by the sudden, violent demise of the front door. She yelped, grabbing her gun and pointing it at the intruder in the flash of an eye as she created a dense, bright ball of magical energy in her free hand.

"God-fucking-damnit son of a bitch, woman! What the shit is your goddamn problem?!" Saint Jimmy, Idiot America, leader of the Forty Thieves, and King of the Streets of Shame snarled as he barrelled through the door.
"God-fucking-damnit son of a bitch!" W shouted at the same time.

If she hadn't been so livid, she probably would have laughed at the perfect synchronicity. As it was, she just glared.

"You fuckin' attack me all goddamn day long to the point that I have a fucking migraine and then you don't bother answering your fucking phone?" Jimmy snapped.

Whatsername listened to his words with an unamused expression on her face, her heart rate increasing to the point that it seemed to replace her blood with acid. She couldn't hide the pride that her attacks had worked - not that she'd doubted them, she just wasn't sure how strong they would be. She figured doing a victory dance that ended with a punch in the face was a little out of place right now, but goddamn if it wasn't tempting as all fuck.

"Welcome home, look who I found, you're a fucking psychopath," she spat back.
"What the bleeding fuck-"

The slightest hitch of a shuddering breath cut off Jimmy's rant before he could really get started. Throwing a dirty glare at his impossible girlfriend, he turned his attention to his baby sister, holding her close as she threw herself into his arms. Huffing, he pulled her in as he felt Roxie trembling, tucking her face into his shoulder as he felt a long-held knot of tension slowly, finally relax.

"About damn time you came home, Poppy," he whispered in her ear.
"Missed you, Genie," she replied in a voice choked by tears.

W clenched her jaw again, folding her arms and trying to reign in her temper. What an inconvenient time to be fighting, she thought grimly. She had to hold off on killing her asshole boyfriend because he was reuniting with his sister, and she liked Roxie too much to risk her getting caught in the crossfires.

Jimmy turned away from W, giving all his attention to his sister. He'd been waiting for this moment for months now. It had been months of never-ending hell for him, since Roxie vanished. He'd felt it one day; the sonic, earth-shaking explosion of energy as his little sister Fell. The Loop had circled round, and she'd thrown off the magic of the Jesus to become the Idiot America, forcing him into the Jesus' role.

For nearly a solid year their roles had been reversed. He had fucking hated it. For the first time in ages, he'd seen the world with the clarity of the Jesus rather than the all-encompassing rage of the Idiot, and he'd grieved the damage he'd caused his home while trying his damndest to fix it. He was used to the borderline insanity that came with the chaotic, uncontrollable anarchic power of the Idiot; he hated the thought of his beloved baby sister losing herself to that madness. Jimmy's father would have been fucking ashamed of him, if he knew how badly Jimmy had failed to find his baby sister and guide her back into her right mind.

His guilt and grief was the reason he had finally, against his better judgement, sent Armstrong to talk some sense into her. He wasn't a huge fan of the Nimrod even while mostly sane, but Jimmy wasn't an idiot. He'd Seen many possible futures, and he knew how important the asshole was to Roxie in all of them. If she wouldn't listen to anyone else, she'd probably listen to Armstrong.

He did so enjoy being proven right. Against all odds, Armstrong had somehow prevailed against Roxie's stubbornness. The Loop had been triggered a little over a week ago, and the powers of the Idiot had returned to him. Roxie had been Redeemed, at least for now, and she'd come back home. Battered and broken, but alive and back. And for that, Jimmy was in Armstrong's debt. With any luck, between the two of them they could convince her to finally listen and leave Strangeland for good.

Three feet away, it took all the self-control Whatsername possessed to sit quietly and drink her beer as she waited for the Blake siblings to hug it out. All she wanted to do was rail her fists down on Jimmy as hard as she could so he would pay for what he'd done to her own brother. It wasn't fair that Jimmy got to be the good guy and enjoy a reunion, after what he'd done. Who had been the one to sit with Shanks and listen to his tortured confession, the truth of what Jimmy had made him do to the mysterious, nameless love of his life? Who had been there, pulling the needle out of his arm when he was so low he couldn't pick himself up? Who had curled around him in bed at night, watching him silently cry himself to sleep time and time again over a woman W had never met but had loved for the simple fact that she made Shanks so fucking happy? It sure as shit hadn't been Jimmy, that's for damn sure.

But at the same time, she couldn't begrudge Jimmy this moment of relief, not after the months he'd spent worrying for Roxie's safety and sanity when she Fell. She felt for the siblings; the roles they shared were not something to be envious of. Fuck knew she'd gotten so used to Jimmy being the Idiot that she'd forgotten he could be anything else. So when the day came that Roxie Fell and their roles reversed… Needless to say, it had thrown W for a loop. Unable to help Roxie, she'd focused on Jimmy… but there was nothing to focus on. He'd become the man she fell in love with again. He'd become ki- well, not kind, but he'd had a heart again. He'd pulled his head out of his ass and channeled his energy on fixing what he could, not destroying everything else.

He had prioritized her again.

He had loved her again.

The pain washed over W like a tsunami and she tried her hardest to turn the water to ice. She took a shaky breath, forcing away the recent memory of Jimmy taking her to the beach at midnight to play guitar for her while they got stoned and talked about life. It had been years since he looked at her that way for more than a day at a time. Sure, he had moments, hours, even days of clarity where he broke free of the Idiot's spell, but they were never permanent. This past year it had been continuous. She'd seen the man, the Saint, the King Christian James Eugene O'Connell was meant to be, and goddamnit she wanted it. Selfishly, she wished he'd remain the Jesus. Selfishly, she wanted her love back.

But Whatsername wasn't a selfish person. And she couldn't damn her best friend just to preserve her own happiness.

When the siblings finally broke apart, Whatsername simply looked at Jimmy from across the room as if begging him to try her. Flames sparked from her fingertips from the energy coursing through her as every emotion in her body worked to fuel her fire.

It was funny, Roxie thought absently as she stepped out of Jimmy's arms, that she could have done so very much over the past year, changed so completely… and yet the spectacle of Jimmy and W gearing up for one of their infamous shouting matches could still snap her back into being that terrified twelve-year-old, new to the Streets and afraid of her new home, the place she'd left behind, and her own shadow. It would've been funny if it wasn't so fucking concerning.

Speaking of concerning… she slowly stepped away from Jimmy, out of the direct line of fire of Whatsername's anger. Sure, she was the Jesus, but the magic of the Denial was no joke, and she had no desire to be collateral damage should W choose to attack Jimmy. She tensed, wary of how fucking furious W seemed. Jesus. Whatever the fuck Jimmy had done this time, he must have royally fucked up. As W's magic rose toward the surface, Roxie felt herself shifting in preparation, ready to step in should this turn into a battle royale. Fuck, she really hoped she wouldn't have to step in. A year away from home had left her unused to dealing with the magic of other powerful Saints, and she didn't at all trust that she'd be able to contain any spells that W or J might throw at each other.

And then…

"I talked to Shanks," W said, her voice steely. "You mind clarifying a few things for me?"

Controlling one's emotions was a foreign concept to Whatsername. She'd spent years pretending she was the master of the concept when in reality it was a delusion she sold herself until she felt better. She was great at not showing emotion when she chose, which came in handy when you were the scary Queen of the Streets, facing down Anarchy fuckers or the ineffectual cops. But it was definitely not synonymous with control. When she did show emotion, like now, it was like watching a dam break.

Son of a cocksucking whore, Jimmy viciously swore to himself as W opened her goddamn mouth. Really? She really wanted to do this here? Now? What the fuck could she not see that this was really not the time for this.

"Not right now," he snapped, before turning to his sister and consciously working to gentle his voice. "You staying here or your apartment?"

"My place," Roxie replied, and if her voice was shaky with barely-suppressed emotion then neither of them was gonna mention it.

"Good," Jimmy nodded. "Let's go, I'll walk you."

"Right this second?" she asked. "W and I were kinda in the middle of something-"

"It can wait," Jimmy insisted, heading for the gaping hole where the front door used to be. "Let's go."

"I'm not leaving," Roxie declared with a frown. She folded her arms as Jimmy startled, then fixed her with an impatient stare. "No. W's been stress cleaning again," she stated, having finally registered that fact. "She threw her phone across the room, after what I can only assume was you sending her eleventy billion texts like the diva you are. You're being a dick, which I get is probably partially the migraine, but still. Go get your emergency bottle of vodka from the freezer and sit the fuck down so y'all can talk this out like adults."

Really, she was very lucky she was Jimmy's favorite [only, according to him] sibling, Roxie absently noted to herself; nobody else in their family would get away with bossing Saint Fucking Jimmy around with no fear of anything more than his trademark glare, and she'd been immune to that glare all her life.

Keeping a careful eye on the rapidly devolving situation, Roxie reached a hand into her pocket for her phone. Hardly daring to rip her eyes from her brother and best friend, she shot off a rapid fire text to Billie.

W and J are about to have a knock down drag out domestic. Grab Jinx and come get me, I need backup or possibly a getaway car.

With a deep breath and clinging to the last of her composure, W walked toward Jimmy, balling his t-shirt in her fist. "Right, like he's capable of talking something out with his partner."

She laughed harshly; the thought of Jimmy considering another person's emotions or needs was comical at this point.

But just last month he-

Nope. That thought wouldn't get her anywhere right now. Jimmy-the-Idiot was basically a completely different person than Jimmy-the-Jesus, and it did her no good to wish for one when faced with the other. Holding up her finger to pantomime the 'just one second' gesture to Roxie, she dragged Jimmy by the shirt down the hall into the living room.


Roxie stayed put as W dragged J around the corner into the hallway. God, she really didn't want to be the adult and mediate their argument right now. She hadn't been lying, that shit was exhausting and she was already running on empty.

Rolling her eyes, Roxie turned, letting her gaze roam about the kitchen. She'd missed being home, truly. Stealing pints of Ben and Jerry's from the 7-Eleven and having all-night Disney marathons with Jinx, curling up with her head in Jimmy's lap while he and- fuck no don't think about that- rolled rolled rolled some joints, dance parties with W. She didn't feel like admitting how fucking lonely she'd been in the South, but… yeah. Hiding her identity, keeping enough distance from her friends and captains that they wouldn't discover any of her secrets… It had sucked.

…you have five seconds to give me a valid explanation…

Goddamnit, Whatsername.

She was hissing, probably in an attempt to keep her voice down, but Saints had enhanced senses and they were too close for W's weak veneer of privacy to work. Like it or not, Roxie couldn't help but overhear, and she just knew she wasn't gonna like whatever came out of Jimmy's mouth next… She flinched, feeling the heavy, cold ball of dread in her stomach making itself known again. She'd been living with the oppressive, uneasy feeling since she left, but normally she was able to ignore it. She had to ignore it, for her own sanity.

Family doesn't do to each other what you did to him.

Roxie froze, a white-hot lance of pain piercing her heart and flooding her entire fucking body. Christ. One syllable and her composure was unraveling. Stay calm, she desperately told herself; keep control. She was stronger than this, she'd spent a year immunizing herself against the pain; nothing could rattle her. Her heart was not breaking at the slightest mention of Him; she didn't care anymore than He did. She was untouchable; she was fine.

She hadn't learned a goddamn thing in an entire year away, had she?

"Jimmy… what did you do," she whispered, wondering if this would be the moment she finally broke beyond repair.

As much as she desperately wanted to convince herself that she didn't care, Roxie wasn't actually able to lie to herself. She cared. Jesusfuck, how she cared. Even if He didn't give a shit about her, she had always cared about Him. And as much of a dick as He'd been to her, she still didn't like the idea of her vindictive, short-tempered brother lashing out at Him.

What on earth could Jimmy have done this time, she wondered nervously. She had done all she could to distance herself from any news of the Forty Thieves of the East, but it wasn't like she could forget what she already knew. What in all the worlds would ever make Jimmy turn on his best friend, his partner and brother? They had been best friends since the day they met. Fuck, Roxie had often felt like Jimmy would prefer to have Him as his blood relative, given how much he loved the asshole. She couldn't fathom what might break that mythic partnership.

Unless...

This… us… it's over. I'm done.

Is this a joke?

No.

Did Jimmy put you up to this?

No… I just don't want to do this anymore. It was fun, but it's not worth Jimmy getting pissed over.

Bullshit. Don't fucking lie to me.

I'm not lying. I just don't want you.

She drew a shaky inhale, desperately trying not to think of That Day. The day she'd had her goddamn heart destroyed, the day she Fell. She didn't want to remember…

Her gaze caught on the coat hooks by the door, and everything – time, her breath, her fucking pulse – stopped.

It was innocuous; just a black hoodie jacket, nothing special. Nothing to merit attention. Except… that was His. Her favorite hoodie, in fact; the one that was so infused with His magic and scent that it was almost as good as getting a hug from Him in person.

It was probably stupid that the sight was so rattling. But… fuck. She didn't dare touch it; she knew that if she did, she'd be lost. The feel of His beautiful, velvety black magic, shot through with streaks of gold and silver – silver that matched her own starlight sparkle – curling around her, making her feel safe and beautiful and seen… Jesus, even being this close to that magic after so long away… It was more addictive than Novacaine, and god she wanted a hit.

In such proximity to a piece of Him, the warding spell she had placed on her heart stood no chance. It crumbled in an instant, and she was overwhelmed with every emotion she'd been trying so damn hard to burn out of her being. And all of it – all the rage, grief, love, lust, betrayal, pain, devotion, longing – it poured out of her in a single, desperate, soul-deep pulse of magic she knew He would feel. He may have told her He didn't care, that He'd never loved her, but she had touched His soul, once. He would feel her Call.


Billie sat on top of Tight Wad Hill, cigarette clutched between his thumb and forefinger as he brought it up for a drag. He held the smoke in his lungs for a moment before slowly exhaling through his nose, watching the grey matter curl and wave through the air. Momentarily wishing he could vanish in the same fashion.

Green eyes swept his surroundings, leaving him unimpressed and unsure what he'd been expecting to see. He was surrounded by addicts getting a fix, and young couples in misfit love that came to get stoned and fuck in the trees. There were people contemplating their life, their death, everything and nothing in between. No one gave a shit about anyone else; Tight Wad was a good place to not have to worry about anyone being up in your business while you sorted through your own shit. Which is why Billie was sitting here, instead of the relative privacy of Christie Road.

He took another drag off his smoke, pinching it between his lips as he re-positioned his body. He stuffed his flannel beneath his head as a makeshift pillow, settling himself horizontally on the cool grass. He'd certainly lounged in much more uncomfortable places, the last few weeks especially.

And what a fucking three weeks it had been.

He ruffled his hair, newly dyed black because of Reasons [that had nothing to do with the fact that Roxie loved it, honest], before letting his hand fall to his side, giving up the attempt to alleviate the suffering of his hangover. Maybe he deserved it for lying to Whatsername. Was it a lie if he just avoided her, the questions, the situation in general? He didn't know, and he didn't especially care enough to dwell too long on the question.

Three weeks ago, Saint Fucking Jimmy had waltzed up to the shithole where he squatted with his three best friends like he fucking owned the place [which, technically speaking, he did], and asked Billie to coerce Roxie into coming home.

Of all the fucking people.

Of all the fucking tasks.

He made Jimmy repeat himself twice before he believed him. The first time, he almost tore a muscle in his side from how goddamn hard he was laughing. But the laughter subsided when he realized the older man wasn't joking, that the situation was graver than he'd even begun to consider.

Sure, you'd have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to notice that Roxie hadn't been seen in the Streets for months. But that wasn't necessarily anything to panic about. Everyone knew Jimmy doted on his baby sister, and was fanatical about keeping her safe. They weren't just any old Saints, after all; they were goddamn, honest to fuck royalty. The common rumor was that Jimmy had bundled Roxie off to Arcadia, the realm of the royal family and the Great Court, to learn how to be a princess.

But, Billie had finally found out three weeks ago, this wasn't what had happened. Something had happened; Jimmy hadn't been too clear about that part. But in response, Roxie had done the unthinkable; she had Fallen, forsaken the magic of the Jesus of Suburbia to become the Idiot America. And then she had run away, and not even Jimmy had known where she was for months. He had finally tracked her down, somehow, only to discover that she'd hidden herself away in the incredibly dangerous slums of the South Side. She had no one to protect her, no shoulder to cry on. Jimmy wanted her safe; he wanted her home. And he wanted Billie to bring her back.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Billie had obeyed Jimmy instantly, and was on his way South as soon as Jimmy shut up. It had only taken about twenty minutes after arriving to hear a rumor about a Saint calling herself Pax, that she was at Wonderwall, sittin' on her throne. If he hadn't been so worried, Billie would have laughed; Roxie really was so much more like her brother than anyone wanted to admit. Wonderwall was even a fucking overpass in a field; the only difference was, Roxie's armchair was green velvet rather than brown leather.

He'd spent nearly a week in the City of the Damned, watching Roxie desperately throw herself into party after patrol after deal after party. She wouldn't tell him what she was running from, but Billie had learned a lot from his spymaster sister. He knew how to rustle up some gossip, and it didn't take long before he learned about a brewing war with the West, about the death of someone named Jax and that Lucas was losing his damn mind, swearing vengeance on Pax for some reason.

And then… The fucking warehouse. Fearing the worst as he desperately chased rumors and the retreating figure of a man he'd never actually met. The terrifying finality of the gunshots. Breaking down the door and dislocating his shoulder in the process. Bursting in, fearing the worst as he pulled Roxie's frail, shellshocked form into his arms, his hands staining with blood that was and wasn't hers… pulling her into his chest, where he could take care of her, where she was safe, where she belonged.

She hadn't argued when he'd lifted her into his arms and carried her to the car. Not that he would have listened to her if she tried to insist she remain in the City of the Damned. He'd driven her home and, at her insistence, brought her to his place. She'd spent a week hiding away with him; sleeping in his bed, wearing his clothes, stealing his tequila. Barely sleeping, hardly eating; but at least she'd let him stay with her, to hold her and tend to her broken ribs and the bullet hole in her side.

Today was the first day she'd left the house. She'd been texting Jinx and Jimmy and Whatsername, and had finally given into W's demands to hang out [a thinly veiled attempt to make Roxie spill her guts, but no one ever accused W of subtlety]. She'd promised to text him if she needed out, so with that promise extracted Billie had wandered his way here.

He didn't know what to think of Jimmy after all of this. Not that he'd ever held a favorable opinion of the so-called "king." Billie snorted out loud. Jimmy was no more a king than he was, for all that he was fucking royalty. He shook his head, laughing off the mental image, as he reached for his phone and shot Mike a text telling him where to meet. He had an idea, and it might just be crazy enough to work.


Mike groaned as he POOFed into the rundown apartment he shared with his half-brother and their best friends, nearly collapsing under the weight of his exhaustion. Seriously, fuck training. He was firmly convinced that JAR was a sadist and that he got off on attacking Mike until he could no longer defend himself.

Maybe that was a little melodramatic. After all, Mike had asked for JAR's help.

He'd been born the son of a Saint – of the Saint, actually. Rick O'Connell, the former Jesus of Suburbia, King of Arcadia, and Commander-General of the Toralean Saints. The never-ending war between the Toraleans and Ashurians had wiped out a good portion of the Saintly population in all the realms in Rick's day, and he had apparently made it his mission to single-handedly bring as many Saints into the world as possible. Mike didn't know exactly how many half-siblings he had, but he knew it was a lot. Saints, every last one of them.

The thing was, just being born with the powers of a Saint didn't automatically instill you with the knowledge of how to use them. Mike's magic, like that of all the Saints of Strangeland, had awoken with the arrival of Jimmy and Roxie in the East Side. Unlike most of the other Saints, Mike hadn't been too interested in doing shit the hard way. Why struggle to self-teach yourself magic when there was a whole school devoted to learning that very thing? Jimmy had given Roxie no choice, and had more or less forced her to attend the Academicia to master both her powers as the Jesus and to begin learning the political skills she'd need someday as Queen. Mike had decided to go with her. His own magic – that of the Underbelly – was pretty fucking twisted, and he appreciated the help in getting it under control. His power was what JAR called shadow magic; it let him learn and manipulate people's unconscious urges, like a puppet master controlling his minions. Sick and twisted and holy fuck was Mike glad he was the one to have these abilities, not Jimmy. Can you even fucking imagine the damage his amoral, impulsive fucktard of an older brother could wreak with a power like that.

It wasn't just magic Mike was learning, either. Saints were, in essence, soldiers. Combat was part and parcel of Sainthood, so he was getting taught hand to hand, defense, marksmanship. His preferred weapon was the lightsaber, because he was cool like that. And that's what today's training had been; lightsaber versus JAR's fucking plasma balls of suck and hate. [Mike was not bitter about his hair getting singed. He wasn't quite as vain as Billie, thank you.]

[Okay, maybe a little bitter.]

Mike groaned again, louder, as his text alert went off – a clip of Billie's obscene moaning. [Mike didn't remember how the joke had started, but now the damn sex noise was his default alert tone and Mike couldn't figure out how to change it. Fuck technology, seriously.] Mike loved his best friend, really, but he was tired and sore and he just wanted an ice bath, damnit. Beej was probably high as balls right now and as much as Mike loved the shit that came out of Billie's mouth when he was stoned, he also didn't want to move.

Grumbling, Mike forced himself to sit up, and unlocked his phone to check the text. Moments later, he'd POOFed himself to Tight Wad, grunting as he collapsed on the ground [so sue him, he loved teleporting but had never quite mastered the landing].

"Puff then pass, don't be rude," he demanded, making grabby hands at Billie's cigarette. "Where the fuck have you even been, asshole? Haven't heard from you in like two weeks, what the hell."

Billie rolled his eyes in amusement, shaking his head fondly as he passed his smoke over. He leaned back on his elbows as Mike sucked in a deep drag, letting his gaze lazily trace shapes in the clouds.

"Found your sister," he eventually said.

Billie didn't have to be looking at his best friend to sense his immediate attention. Mike had very… complicated feelings about his extended family, but he fucking adored Roxie. And not just because she was the Jesus and all Saints were programmed to love one member or another of the Royal Court. Matter of fact, she was the only one he actually claimed as a sister [just one more thing for Jimmy and Mike to argue over]. [Tre was maybe a little offended that he didn't get to be Mikey's sister too, but at least Mike claimed him as a half-brother, so there was that.]

"About fucking time someone did," Mike grumbled. "Where the fuck has she been hiding?"

Billie rolled his eyes, letting Mike's irritation roll off his back. He knew Mike wasn't frustrated with him; he just needed to vent his anger at the nearest available target, and unfortunately Jimmy wasn't around at the moment.

"She was in Tholomew for a while," he replied.
"Ugh," Mike said expressively, wrinkling up his nose in distaste. "Why'd she go and do that? She complains about Leia being bossy all the damn time."
"No, you complain about Leia being bossy," Billie corrected him. "Rox doesn't actually mind all that much."
"I guess getting smothered by Leia's better than staying with Jimmy," Mike admitted grumpily. "Why'd she leave?"
Billie shook his head slowly. "She hasn't said."

It wasn't a lie. Roxie really had been frustratingly close-mouthed about what had happened to drive her away from home for an entire damn year. With no contact to anyone, no less. There were rumors, of course; everyone in the East was a horrible fucking gossip. There were stories that the Blake siblings had had a terrible argument, or that Roxie and Whatsername hated each other, or that Jimmy had finally succeeded in sending his baby sister somewhere safer. All of which were… various levels of frighteningly plausible, actually. Except for probably the one about Rox and W hating each other.

"How is she?" Mike asked, trying not to demand the information he so desperately wanted.

He hadn't been the best of brothers in the past… y'know… while. He'd been so wrapped up in his own shit [Sainthood. The band. Whatsername.] that he hadn't even noticed Rox was going through a rough patch until fucking Billie of all people pointed out that she'd vanished. He'd felt terrible when he realized that; he liked to think of himself as the normal sibling, the one Roxie could lean on when shit got hard. It galled him to realize that he'd failed her when she needed him; disappointing her was supposed to be Jimmy's job.

And then she'd fucked off beyond his ability to sense her. He'd had no clue where she was, and she hadn't answered any of his texts. He'd been completely clueless until once again Billie let him know that he was bringing her home. He'd been in Arcadia at the time, and even though he'd come back as soon as he got Billie's text, temporal disparity was still a Thing, and a week had passed in Strangeland before Mike could get home.

Billie chewed his lower lip, debating how to answer. Unbidden, the memory of the warehouse rose in his mind again - the blood, Roxie's death white face and blank eyes, the way she'd refused to speak or cry. In the week since he'd brought her home, she still refused to tell him what had happened between her and Lucas; barely acknowledged the still-healing gunshot wound in her left ribs. But she had nightmares almost every night; she screamed and cried and begged please don't make me do this, and it broke Billie's damn heart. And he had no idea how to help her.

"Fuck, Mike," he finally exhaled, roughly rubbing at his eyes. "She's not okay. At all. And I thought bringing her home would help, but… she's not okay."
"Jesus," Mike sighed, rubbing his jaw and reaching for another drag of Billie's cigarette. "You said she was in Tholomew for a while. Where'd she go next?"
"South."

Mike raised an eyebrow in surprise. Sheltered, nurturing Roxie, running away on her own to the lawless, anarchic City of the Damned? What in the fuck would she even do in the South? If she needed somewhere to run, why not Arcadia, where she'd be safe, her every whim catered to?

"She's been there for months," Billie revealed. "Goes by Pax. And she's… she's built herself a whole family of misfits. Just like here. Dealers and spies and whores, and they fuckin' adore her."

Billie shook his head, taking a final drag off his smoke before flicking it away. He'd spent several days observing Roxie's life in the City, and… She was a completely different person in the South. Harder, and louder; more commanding, more sure of her power. Granted, a lot of that was almost certainly due to the fact that Roxie had been wielding the magic of the Idiot for a year. But even when the Loop turned and she was Redeemed, Rox seemed at home in the South in a way she never was in the East. Honestly, there was a part of Billie that regretted taking her away from a place she clearly loved.

Mike mulled over the information he'd been given, trying to think with his adult brain. If Roxie was hurting, Mike knew what the Guardians would say; she should be admitted to the healers' ward in the Academicia, to be cared for by the Doctors until she'd worked through whatever trauma caused her to flee in the first place. Hell, she should be living in Arcadia anyways. She was a royal princess - the Crown Princess and Heiress Presumptive, now that Jimmy had been officially coronated on his eighteenth birthday - and needed to be trained to do… Queen things. None of which could be learned gallivanting about and risking getting herself killed. And in any case, Arcadia was where their father was from. Mike had a feeling Rox would love to see the palace where Rick and his brothers Jack and Phil grew up.

"So what's she want?" Mike eventually asked. "Does she wanna stay in the East?"

Billie opened his mouth to answer, but was distracted by the tinkling bell chime he'd set as Roxie's ringtone because it reminded him of her laugh [fuck, he missed her laugh].

W and J are about to have a knock down drag out domestic. Grab Jinx and come get me, I need backup or possibly a getaway car.

He snorted in amusement. "Not right now she doesn't," he said, showing Mike the message. "Coming with?"

Mike drew a slow breath, trying to control his face if not his racing heart at the mere mention of Whatsername. The temptation to go with Billie was strong; aside from anything else, Mike loved a chance to yank Jimmy's metaphorical pigtails. And after all, he did want to see Roxie for himself and see if there was anything he could do for her. But… Honestly, the idea of seeing Whatsername hurt too much. To be near her, to have to keep his walls up, trade quips, pretend everything was normal and that he didn't remember that night on endless repeat…

The sultry summer heat, hazy as the whiskey that burned in his gut… The rasping chorus of cicadas mixing with Spanish guitars as Jimmy and Shanks beat out an honestly pretty decent cover of Malaguena Salerosa… Light from the bonfire painting dramatic shadows on W's face as they pressed close, grinding to the beat… Lips that had tasted of Jack Daniels and honey, chasing faint traces of nicotine and mint back into her mouth as she tugged his hair and he saw stars…

He grit his teeth, forcing away the memory before he had to think about her horrified expression as they came to their senses and pulled away, or about the way he'd felt his heart break and his stomach turn leaden when she teleported away with a sharp crack, or the way his entire body had ached for her ever since.

It really fucking sucked to be in love with his brother's girlfriend, he reflected moodily.

"I don't… Yeah, sure."

Mike blinked at himself, utterly frustrated with the words that had tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. What the fuck, self.

Billie grinned, pleased with Mike's agreement, and shot off a quick affirmation to Roxie.

Jinx is outta town, but I've got a Mike? That still good? We'll be there fast as he can POOF us.

"So I think we should grab W and Rox and run away," he informs his best friend.
Mike startled, staring at Billie with wide eyes. "Scuse me?"
Billie shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "You heard me."
"That… I don't even… What?" Mike sputtered.
"Literally everybody and their mom thinks Rox needs out of the Streets, right?" Billie asked, nodding in the affirmative. "So I say we kidnap her and take her someplace where she's not gonna get herself in trouble every five minutes."
"Yeah, fine," Mike said faintly. "But Whatsername?"
Billie raised a knowing eyebrow. "Do you actually want her to stick around with Jimmy?"
Mike ducked his head, fighting a losing battle against the hot flush that crawled up his cheeks. "Shut up."
Billie smirked in triumph. "So yeah. We take the girls and we bounce. Take 'em to Pangaea," he said with a sudden burst of inspiration.
Mike wrinkled his nose at the mention of his home dimension. "Why the fuck would anybody wanna go to Pangaea?"
Billie shrugged again. "The music's pretty good."

Mike rolled his eyes; honestly, he really should have expected that answer. Billie was a Scribe; his magic expressed itself in his music. Which, if he stopped to think about it, Mike had to admit was pretty cool; Billie could weave stories, sway emotions and loyalty, and reach out to the lost and broken, all through music. Billie had this madcap scheme of him, Tre and Mike starting a band and making Pangaea their home base, which Mike thought was insane. But then again, maybe also a good time? And fuck, if it got him away from his dickhead brother and this shithole city, then… why the fuck not.

"Fine," Mike said, giving in to the inevitable. "You manage to convince Lady, then fine. We'll go to Pangaea till W gets bored and starts burning shit down."
Billie grinned wildly, rising to his feet and sticking a hand out to hoist Mike up. "POOF us."
"You are so goddamned lazy," Mike sighed, before closing his eyes in concentration and teleporting them to Jimmy's house.

The moment they arrived in J and W's kitchen, Billie crossed to Roxie, his triumphant grin fading to a frown of concern as he crossed to the counter she was perched on, stroking her arm in concern. Mike hung back for a moment, silently watching the pair of them. Billie was right; Roxie looked fucking terrible. Pale and tired and just… worn down. The fuck had she done to herself now?

He watched quietly as Roxie registered Billie's presence, as she snapped out of her daze and tried to find a smile for him. It was a pathetic attempt at pulling her masks on and walls up, honestly. But Mike saw a flash of something in her eyes; a warm, genuine flash of emotion before she carefully covered it up again, and he smiled to himself. She wasn't ready yet, he decided; wasn't ready for declarations or promises or any of the silent truths on display in Billie's eyes. But someday, she just might be, and then he'd get great pleasure out of telling Billie I told you so for the rest of their lives. Until then, Mike supposed Billie would just have to content himself with the fact that they were so clearly sleeping together. It was obvious in the way Roxie's shoulders relaxed as Billie slid an arm around her, in how their fingers tangled and how they angled toward each other as he quietly murmured in her ear. Mike didn't know when this development had occurred, but he was happy for it; fuck knew they both deserved to be happy.

"What're they fighting about now?" Billie asked softly as he slotted himself between Roxie's legs, reaching out to stroke her arm.
"I don't even want to know," she replied, leaning into the caress. "Something big, though. I don't think I've ever seen her this angry."
"Oh good," Billie muttered, bracing his free arm on the counter beside her. "How's the pain?"
"I'm fine, Beej," she tried to protest, but she sighed and caved as he raised an eyebrow at her. "Manageable. Mostly. W hugged me kinda hard. But I don't need pills yet."

Billie nodded, accepting the self-diagnosis and only half-listening to the vicious, hissing whispers coming from the next room.

"...don't you dare try to get on your high horse with me."

"Jesus Christ," Roxie sighed in resignation, pushing Billie back before jumping to the ground with a wince as she landed. "Why the fuck do I have to be the adult, seriously."

Drawing herself to her full height of 5'2", Roxie threw back her shoulders and marched into the living room. Mike and Billie traded glances before scrambling after her, both pausing on the threshold, repelled by the jumpy, electric feeling of J and W's magics flaring with their anger. Oh great, so Rox hadn't been exaggerating the severity of the latest domestic. Awesome.

"Are you two about done?" Roxie asked dryly, tensing slightly and shifting into a more stable stance when her brother and basically-sister-in-law both glared at her for interrupting their arguing. Jimmy huffed in irritation, but before he could answer they were interrupted by a sharp crack of teleportation. And then…

"Shit," Jimmy and W hissed in unison.

Welp, this wouldn't be good…


"You have five seconds to give me a valid explanation," Whatsername snarled as soon as they were around the corner, her eyes never leaving Jimmy's. "Armatage is my goddamn brother, Jimmy. So I'm going to say it again, you have five seconds to give me a valid explanation, one that I accept. And honestly, at this point, I'm beginning to think you were lying when you said Shanks was the brother you always wanted. Family doesn't do to each other what you did to him."

Was she aware of the words falling from her mouth? Not entirely. Rage was shaking her tiny frame so violently she wondered if this would be the day she finally spit fire. Rage came from two places; fear and pain. Both were wound so tightly around Whatsername's heart that she couldn't distinguish the two anymore. The man she considered to be the love of her life had destroyed one of the people closest to her because of his own selfish shortsightedness. The man she thought was her soulmate had gotten into physical and verbal fights with her on what seemed to be a daily basis. The man she'd lost her heart and fucking soul to had changed so quickly and so drastically that she didn't know how to cope. She clung to the naive hope that he would snap out of it, that someday the love of her life would walk through that door and it all would have been worth it.

Deep down, she knew that day would never come. Not with Jimmy.

But then this past year had happened. This past year had shown her everything she had been wishing for, begging for, pleading with the universe to have back. She refused to accept the reality of the situation. If Jimmy could shed his role as the Idiot America, she could have her soulmate back… But he could no more rid himself of the magic of the Idiot than she could that of the Denial. [My oh my how well her title suited her.]

Tears welled in her eyes as she stood against Jimmy, his shirt still tightly clenched in her fist as she waited for his answer. As much as she hated the Idiot, she still loved Jimmy. Her eyes searched his, silently pleading with him to just let go. This was the face of the man she fell in love with, albeit with more scruff than he'd had when they were fourteen. He was still in there behind the Idiot's insanity, she knew it. If she could just…

Jimmy glared at W, fury and impatience mixing with grief and guilt in a heady cocktail. "I did it for her own damn good," he seethed, clenching his fists. "Better to break her heart and get her the fuck out of here than let her stay and die. Everything I did, it was to protect her."
"Wait, what?" W blinked, completely thrown off. "Her? What the fuck are you talking about?"

Her… Shanks had never, to the best of Whatsername's considerable knowledge, revealed to anyone the identity of his now-ex. But from what Jimmy had just said… Had he somehow figured out the secret that Shanks hadn't even trusted his sister with? How in the hell…? And furthermore, why would Jimmy care? Why would he give a fuck about protecting someone else, especially someone who wasn't a member of his family?

Jimmy paused, and if W didn't know better she'd say he looked afraid and guilty for a split second, before his customary heartless sneer twisted his face again.

"I don't have to fucking explain myself to you," he snarled.

W laughed harshly, her shoulders shaking with the effort not to weep as she pushed herself off of him and shook her head.

"I don't know what I expected, especially from you," she spat.

The words were venom in her mouth, all her pain wrapped up in it like a moth to a flame. She wiped her eyes and turned to walk away, back towards Roxie and away from the broken shell that used to be her love.

That was his Whatsername. Always knew exactly how to twist the fucking knife.

"Don't you fucking walk away from me, Gloria," he spat, storming after her. "If you wanna argue, let's fucking argue, but don't you dare try to get on your damn high horse with me."

Pushing W away was going to fucking kill him. She was his heart, his goddamn soul, and he needed her with an intensity he had never felt for anything in his life. But Jimmy was a doomed man, and like hell was he going to drag her down with him. He'd treasured every fucking day of the last year, done everything he could think of to prove to her how much he loved her. She needed to know that for the utter truth, even when he destroyed everything they'd built. The one true thing in his life was his love for her, no matter what happened when he finally succumbed to the Idiot's madness.

It helped that everything W represented and stood for pissed the power of the Idiot off. Her beautiful light, her steadfast convictions, all of it ran contrary to what the dark beautiful destruction wanted. He couldn't have both; it was either magic, or her. And despite everything he wanted, he already knew his future. Roxie might be a bleeding heart optimist and would insist that nothing was set in stone, but Jimmy knew that this was. He was going to Fall and nothing would ever Redeem him, and there was nothing he could do to fight his destiny. All he could do was try to control the descent.

"Are you two about done?" Roxie asked dryly as she entered the living room, with the Nimrod and Jimmy's least-favorite brother in tow.

Jimmy huffed in irritation, but despite his anger at his girlfriend he couldn't help the small thrill of satisfaction when he took in the sight of Armstrong and Rox together. He did so love it when his plans came together exactly the way he wanted…

CRACK

Jimmy turned at the sound of teleportation behind him, frowning. There weren't all that many Saints in Strangeland, and he wasn't expecting Jinx home for another day or two, so what…

Oh.

Fuck.

The Guardians were doing this to him on purpose, weren't they, Jimmy thought absently, feeling his lip curl at the smug satisfaction oozing out of W's every pore. Good thing he'd never fucking liked the Guardians. They could fuck right the hell off with their irony; it wasn't gonna stop his plans.

"Dude, don't you have your own place to crash?" he asked Shanks wearily.


The underground prison cell was pretty much every cliche you could ask for - dark, damp, and cramped, with rough stone walls and no way out. His left hand - his dominant hand, the fuckers - was broken, the fingers dislocated; his right knee was basically jelly thanks to a blow from a fucking tire iron; and he was pretty sure there wasn't a single inch of his body that wasn't bruised and bleeding.

But as bad as the Anarchy's hospitality had been, the physical injuries were nothing to their goddamned magic. Heavy as a lead blanket, cloying and suffocating, the Ashurian wards dampened his own Toralean magic to the point that he couldn't even feel it anymore. To be honest, part of him didn't even mind all that much; his magic was all based on empathy, and it fucking blew to sense everyone else's feelings all the damn time. But at the same time, he was feeling pretty damn sick thanks to the presence of foreign, hostile magic, and if he could use his own magic he'd at least be able to protect himself.

As he watched, the shadows shifted and slithered closer, sneaking up on him like snakes, like ghosts. He was bound to the hard, thin cot, the shadows searing the flesh at wrists and ankles, sliding down his throat and into his nose, eating away his insides and surging toward the gaping, bleeding hole where his heart used to be as the whispers reverberated through his skull again.

Worthless… Addict…

I'm in love with you…

Heartless…

You make me so happy...

I just don't want you...

Waste of space slum prince…

Gutter trash…

Don't lie to me… Don't leave…

Break up with her, or I will…

Jakob…

Shanks jerked awake, heart racing as he gasped for breath. He stared blindly up at the cracked ceiling, overwhelmed as adrenaline raced through his system. Almost as abruptly as the panic had woken him, he crashed, shaking as he came back to himself. Jesusfuck.

Without even thinking, he lurched into a seated position, wrenching open the drawer on his bedside table and fumbling for one of the syringes he'd pre-filled. He didn't stop to think as he tied off and prepped; the whole point of this was to stop fucking thinking…

Jakob…

He froze, the empty syringe falling from nerveless fingers as Her magic punched through his chest, surging through him with a ferocity he hadn't felt in a year. Starlight trapped in fog; white and silver and deceptively fragile until She got you in Her clutches, and then She was like a shot of adrenaline right to the heart…

Fuck. She was home.

Finally.

He'd not been allowed to know where She was; an easy enough condition for Jimmy to uphold, because even he had no idea where She'd run. Wherever She was, it was far enough away that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get any sense of Her. Which was for the best; if he'd been able to feel Her beautiful magic, Her calming presence, he would've been at Her side in a heartbeat, and wouldn't that just render his actions meaningless.

He couldn't even say that Jimmy was wrong to demand their break-up. He'd always known he wasn't worthy of Her, that She had a destiny grander than anything he could offer Her. He'd only ever been distracting Her from what She really needed. But fuck, he'd been so happy.

Shanks breathed in deeply, greedily sucking in Her gorgeous light to fight away the lingering memory of the Ashurian torture wards. The feel of Her magic was more addictive than 'Caine; he'd almost forgotten how potent it was. And after a year of forced sobriety, to feel Her now was so intense a pleasure it was almost painful; or maybe it was a pain that was nearly pleasure.

Her magic seemed to have a mind of its own; it wasn't content to just touch him, it wrapped around him and pulled. Disoriented from his nightmare and already reeling from the drugs swimming in his veins, he was helpless to resist as he was teleported from his bed into his sister's living room. Shaking and almost naked, and none of it mattered the moment his gaze locked with Hers.

"Izzy," he breathed, his private nickname for her leaving his lips for the first time in a year in a punched-out whisper.
"Max," she greeted him in a pained, choked whimper.

Was it their magic drawing them together, or just their locked gazes? Shanks had no idea, and ultimately it didn't matter. Either way, in the space of a breath Roxie had crossed the room and collapsed into him. He crushed her to him, the feel of her in his arms more intoxicating than even the 'Caine. Then his mouth was on hers and fuck, he had missed her so fucking much. He hadn't forgotten her taste, he never could, but fuck it was even better than he remembered…


"What. The fuck."

Billie stared at the spectacle before him wide-eyed, his mind racing to put all the puzzle pieces together.

He'd known that Roxie had run away from home, of course. Jimmy had never said why; neither had Roxie. From observing her, Billie had deduced that she was angry and heartbroken. But he'd never known why. She had trusted him to take care of her, but not to explain why she hurt.

How had he not known about this relationship? Scratch that. How had no one known? Fuck, how had Jinx and Whatsername not known? Armatage Shanks and Roxie Blake were two of the most famous people in Strangeland; their every movement was watched and reported. How on earth had they managed to keep a relationship secret?

Except… They hadn't, had they?

Shanks had told him once, while they were lost in a Novacaine haze in the depths of the Boulevard, that it was his fault that he was fucked up and brokenhearted. That he'd "followed orders" and "made" the love of his life leave the Streets. Billie didn't know what exactly that meant, and Shanks had refused to elaborate. But whatever he'd done, Shanks hated himself for it. And he'd been a miserable bastard in the months since. Strange, how Billie found him so much easier to deal with now. There was nothing like sharing a dose of 'Caine with someone to really get to know them...

Billie caught himself absently rubbing at his lips, and forced himself to stop. He wasn't thinking about that right now.

He cursed himself for a fool. Izzy. Fuck. As in, Isabella. As in, one of Roxie's three middle names. How the fuck had he missed that?

It made a certain amount of sense, the idea of Shanks and Roxie together, he begrudgingly admitted. Fuck, the best friend falling for the little sister was one of the oldest cliches in the book. Moreover, it made sense that serious, protective Shanks would love sunny, compassionate Roxie. Who didn't love Roxie? It just… he could see it, could see how they'd fit.

It was just… Fuck, Billie had never stood a chance, had he. Roxie had been loved by one of the most powerful people in the world. How could Billie hope to compete? He was damn lucky to have gotten as much of her as he had; how could he hope for more?

It would be so much easier, he thought with bitter resignation, if he only wanted Roxie. Mourning the loss of both of them was gonna suck.

They hadn't really had a relationship, he and Shanks. They weren't friends, not really. They hadn't gone on dates, or even fucked. They just shot drugs in the Boulevard together, and kissed a few times. It wasn't like anything had happened that would give Billie hope that maybe someday, Shanks could possibly… But he'd always been the kind to fall hard and fast, alright? And it wasn't like he thought he actually had a chance with Shanks. Everyone knew Armatage Shanks to be stonehearted and uninterested in that sort of thing [well, apparently not so much, given, y'know, the way he was clinging to Roxie like he'd die if he let go]. It was just… If loving Roxie was being bathed in sunlight, loving Shanks was diving into a deep ocean; no matter how far down Billie went, there was always more to discover.

[Billie would almost think he was one of the many Saints Bound to love Shanks, if he didn't know perfectly well he was Bound to W. Thank fuck he wasn't Bound to his own sister, that's all he was saying.]

Roxie squeezed her eyes closed, reveling in the feeling of being in A's arms again. He was so strong, and warm, and solid; she'd felt safe with him, even when they were only friends. And so cherished, when they became more.

"Max," she breathed again, barely audible; just because she could, because he was here, because he had answered the Call and she was safe.

Whatsername stared, wide-eyed and jaw dropped in shock as she struggled to wrap her head around this new development. Her brother, clearly halfway to Pluto and naked except for his boxers, fucking crying and kissing Roxie like he needed her more than air…

Roxie? Roxie was the mysterious ex?!

W drew a shuddering breath, her eyes filling with sympathetic tears as the truth slowly dawned on her in all its vivid horror. Fuck. It made so much more sense now. Why Jimmy would demand something as arbitrary and inconsequential to the Streets as Shanks breaking off a relationship. Why A would even listen to him, and why following orders would fucking destroy him. Why Roxie would up and disappear without a word, and why she would refuse to talk about what had driven her away.

Jesus Christ, what a fucking mess.

"How could you."

Whatsername blinked, wondering if she'd accidentally spoken aloud. But no; Roxie was disentangling from Shanks, shaking with the rage that twisted her face as she faced her brother. Jimmy squared her shoulders, clenching his jaw so tightly it was making the vein in his forehead pop. Son of a bitch, she'd read Shanks' mind, hadn't she. Fuck.

"Poppy-" he tried.
"How could you," she cut him off, seething, her eyes filling with fury and tears of betrayal. "You knew. You knew we were… I was so happy, Jimmy," she choked out on a sob. "He loved me. Me, not what I could do for him or what favors I could get him. And I… And you destroyed it," she abruptly cut herself off as a violent tremor flew up her spine. "I thought you loved me."

Jimmy winced, but drew a pained breath and stood tall. "Everything I did, it was to protect you."

Roxie laughed; a horrible, sharp, mocking sound. Another tremor made her entire body spasm, and all the loose objects in the room began to vibrate with her as her magic rose, jumpy and erratic. Jimmy's eyes widened in panic as he reached for her, clearly recognizing what was happening.

"Rox, no, listen to me-"

Roxie snarled, a whiplike tendril of her now-visible magic lashing out at him, white hot and sharp as electricity. Jimmy stumbled back, beginning to tremble himself as his magic reacted to hers.

"Gloria," he choked out as his magic began to manifest, unfurling from his body like an inferno. "Baby, run-"

He got no farther in his warning before Roxie's magic clashed with his in an explosion of sound and fury. The air crackled with static electricity as Roxie's magic howled and attacked, trying to rip Jimmy's apart. He reacted defensively, refusing to hurt his sister even as she was hellbent on his destruction. The pressure built and built, straining against the confines of the house until the load-bearing walls began to creak and groan, until-

BOOM

Whatsername yelped in terror as Jimmy's body soared through the air, scrambling for him as he hit the wall with a sickening crack. She pulled him into her lap, frantically searching for his pulse as she stared up at Roxie in horror.

The younger Blake sibling had kept her footing through the sonic explosion. She stood calmly, the eye of the hurricane, her blue eyes vicious with satisfaction as her mouth twisted in an eerily familiar cruel smirk.

Wait. Blue eyes…

W stared down at Jimmy when he groaned and stirred, feeling faint as his eyelids fluttered open, revealing not the bright electric blue irises she was used to, but the warm, dusky purple of the Jesus of Suburbia. Slowly, W raised her head to look back at Roxie, her fingers twitching in Jimmy's hair as she struggled to comprehend what she was seeing. Black hair, cruel blue eyes, skin somehow impossibly paler, that smirk…

The Loop had been triggered again. Whatsername had her Jimmy back; he was the Jesus she loved again.

But God, at what cost?

The Idiot America's gaze swept the room, dismissing them all before zeroing in on Shanks. Her smirk deepened, eyes darkening in malice as she knelt before him, one sharp-nailed hand darting out to catch his jaw in her grip.

"You were right, Shanks," she purred [and fuck, even her voice had changed; hard and sharp, cold as ice and delighting in its own cruelty]. "You… Us… It wasn't worth it."

Shanks inhaled sharply, paling as he stared into the empty eyes of the monster he'd helped create. "Izzy-"

Her nails dug into A's flesh as she forced his mouth closed. "Death to the girl at the end of the serenade," she cryptically said.

She looked at him for a moment longer, cold and detached, before forcing him to her for a rough, brutal kiss. But not just a kiss. Whatsername watched in horrified fascination as small beads of a silvery liquid began to leach out of Shanks' pores - Novacaine, she realized suddenly. She clutched a still woozy and stunned Jimmy with sickened understanding as the Idiot - she couldn't think of this perversion as her sister-in-law - drew a sucking inhalation through pursed lips, stealing all of the 'Caine from A's system and ingesting it herself.

A moaned as he was forced into painful sobriety, and had no strength to resist as the Idiot shoved him away from her with enough force to push him to the ground. She stood lazily, stretching with an obscene little moan as the drugs flooded her veins. Humming to herself in satisfaction, she made for the door, moving with the slow, liquid movements characteristic of someone high on the opioid.

Jolted out of his frozen shock, Billie stumbled toward her jerkily, sick with clear dread for what he knew was coming next. "Rox- Pax, wait-"

Roxie - no, Pax again - paused at the door, turning to face him with hazy, unfocused eyes. Billie bit back his frustration at once again seeing his Roxie consumed by the Idiot's nihilistic apathy and that hateful fucking drug, and jerked to a halt, cupping her face in his hands.

"Don't do this again," he begged, hoping against hope that she'd listen to him for once. "Just… don't run."

Pax tilted her head, considering him for a moment. He didn't resist when she pulled him in, and for a minute he almost thought that buried somewhere in the midst of Pax's provocative aggression, he could feel Roxie kissing him, too.

The sharp, hot pain of a shank in his gut, though… That was all Pax, Queen of the South.

"Don't follow me this time," she snarled as he fell to his knees, clutching his side in agony.

Before he could push himself back up, she was gone.

"Fuck," he groaned, head swimming with adrenaline as his body went haywire.

He was dimly aware of Mike's panicked voice somewhere overhead; of strong arms carrying him to the couch and hovering close; of A's green eyes reflecting his own pain and worry back at him.

"Hey… 'm'alrigh', Jake," he slurred, trying to comfort Shanks - a lie, but a lie both he and A had gotten very used to telling each other.

And then there was another face in his vision - familiar, so close to right but just a shade off… The lips too thin, the eyes too small, and fuck, it was weird to feel the Jesus' warmth in Jimmy's hands…


A few tense minutes after Armstrong passed out, Jimmy straightened, wiping bloody hands on his tshirt as he breathed through the adrenaline crash.

"He'll be alright," he stated, not sure if he was trying to convince his best friend, his brother, or himself. "She knew what she was doing. He'll scar, but he'll live."

He watched with distant surprise as Shanks exhaled shakily, then forced himself to unsteady feet to cover Armstrong's prone form with a ratty afghan. He stared at Armstrong for a long minute, his face inscrutable. Then, refusing to even look at Jimmy, he POOFed away without a word.

Aw, fuck. He was gonna have to reconfigure his whole damn plan now, wasn't he. Shit.

Sharing a rare non-antagonistic glance with Mike, Jimmy sighed before turning his attention to his girlfriend. As he watched his brother force himself to stand, to assess, to be rational and to triage the clusterfuck, Mike sighed regretfully. This, he assumed, was the Christian that Roxie had grown up with; the son and heir of whom Rick O'Connell had been so fucking proud. The older brother Mike would have wanted, would have been proud to stand beside.

"I'm sorry," Jimmy told Whatsername, sighing heavily as he ran a trembling hand over his weary face. "Fuck, baby, I'm sorry. You're pissed, and you've got every right to be. And I know we've gotta talk shit out, but… I can't right now. Not while Rox is on the loose like this. Fuck. I gotta track her down, before anything-"
"I know," W cut him off, nodding shakily. "Fuck, I know. Go… Keep her safe, alright? We'll… we'll talk after."

Jimmy hesitated for a moment, then nodded, turning on his heel and disappearing with a soft POOF.

The silence that fell over the living room was absolute, and deafening. Mike stared at W blankly, struggling to understand what the unholy fuck had just happened in the last… Shit. Had it not even been an hour? How the fuck had everything fallen apart so goddamned fast?

Whatsername swallowed hard, drawing one shaky breath, then two. She clenched and unclenched her fists, biting her lip before bursting into action.

"Okay," she said too brightly, and Mike watched dumbly as she hurried into the kitchen, her anxiety visibly rising. "Well, this is pretty fucking shitty, am I right? Like, Jesus. So not what I wanted to deal with today. The groceries alone, fuck… He's gonna remember to feed himself now, and I'm pretty sure the only thing in the fridge is pickles…"

"W-" Mike tried.

"And what the fuck are the dealers gonna think," W steamrolled right over him, scrubbing her immaculately clean counters like a demented Cinderella. "Sales took a huge hit last time, coz J was more focused on defending borders than dealing, and that tends to piss them off-"

"W-"

"And he's gonna want to go to Arcadia, and I fucking hate it there-"

"Whatsername!" Mike yelled, grabbing her and pulling her into a fierce hug.

At the contact, Whatsername burst into tears, burying her face into Mike's shoulder as she heaved enormous, breath-stealing sobs.

Fuck, this was cruel, and W didn't know if she could survive it. Just an hour ago, she had been furious with the monstrous thing Jimmy had done; she had helplessly, hopelessly wished to have her Jimmy back, safe and sane and whole. And her wish had been granted; there he was. The man she loved, restored to his right mind; the man, the Saint, the King he was meant to be.

Oh God, she couldn't do this again. She couldn't love this man, couldn't place her hope and faith and trust into him. Not when she knew full well that it couldn't last.

Saint Jimmy the Idiot America was a selfish bastard. He twisted the whole world to suit his own desires, and damn the consequences. If Jimmy had been handed a miracle like this, he would have snatched it with both hands; accepted it as his due and run with it as far and as long as he could. But King Caesor Seditiosus of the House of Corianth, the Jesus of Suburbia? He would never accept salvation if the cost was his sister's damnation.

And Whatsername was going to have to watch it all over again. She was going to lose the love of her life again when he willingly sacrificed himself to the Idiot's destructive power in order to save Roxie. She couldn't stop him; fuck, she couldn't even blame him. As much as she loved Christian, as much as she wanted to keep him… Fuck, as much as she hated to admit it, Roxie was the better Jesus.

And yet… When had Roxie ever done for Christian what he was about to do for her? W felt traitorous to think it, but… What had Roxie ever done to try to save her brother from the Idiot? Roxie loved her brother beyond reason, everyone knew that. And yet she had never sacrificed herself for him like he'd done for her.

Whatsername shook, gripping Mike's shirt as her breath came in short, shallow, panicked gasps. "I can't," she gasped, hardly able to speak through the panic attack. "Oh God, I can't… I can't breathe… I can't… Take me away, I can't…"
"Easy, W," Mike soothed her, holding her close. "I've got you. We'll go, okay? You're safe, it's okay."

He teleported them away to Pangaea with a quiet POOF, smiling to himself bitterly. Everything Billie had promised him not even two hours ago… And fuck, it was all wrong. Story of his goddamned life.


The view at Suicide Bay was famously called "so beautiful that you knew it was the last thing you ever wanted to see." A sheer cliff fifty meters above the pounding surf, secluded from sight by tall trees, overgrown bushes, and clusters of delicately fluttering irises.

Someday, Jimmy knew, he was going to die here. After he finally went off the deep end and set his beloved Streets on fire… After he'd turned his guns on everyone he loved… He would come here, and he would end it. He would eat his gun, and his body would fall down to be embraced by the ice-cold waters.

He could hasten his inevitable demise. He stared down thoughtfully at the gun held loosely in his fist. Off himself before he caused any permanent damage to the multiverse. And as an added bonus, solve this pesky problem of there being two Jesuses when there was only ever meant to be one. Get rid of him, and there was no Loop; Roxie was free to become the Queen they all knew she could be. They'd taken the throne together on Jimmy's eighteenth birthday, and he'd Seen the things Queen Pax Sotera would do to repair the damage he'd caused. Wasn't that what he wanted, in the end? For Roxie to be safe, her path clear to take up the throne in his stead?

The fucked-up thing was, it was true. Even in the depths of the Idiot's madness, he'd known that to be true; he had just wanted to protect his baby sister from the terrible future he'd foreseen since he was a child. He had never told anyone; not his father, not W, and certainly not Roxie, but he kept Seeing it. No matter what he did or how he changed his actions, nothing ever seemed to change the future he and his sister were barreling toward.

If she stayed in the Streets of Shame, Roxie would die.

Jimmy would be the one to kill her.

He wasn't stupid. He knew what the powers of the Idiot were; the flip side to the Jesus, the dark, destructive Rage that could do nothing but decimate. Unless he and Roxie found some way to stabilize the Loop, he was fucking doomed. His magic would rip him apart and turn him into a monster before he destroyed everything and everyone he had ever loved. And his final act of destruction, his last sin, would be to kill his sister while the world around them burned to ash.

He could only see one way out of the nightmare. Roxie had to leave. She had to get out of Strangeland and never come back, and then she would be safe. He couldn't destroy her if he couldn't find her, and he lost all sense of her whenever she left to another dimension. More than anything in this life [that wasn't related to Whatsername], Jimmy needed Roxie safe. If he had to break her heart to keep her safe, then so be it. Better alive and heartbroken than dead by his own hand.

He'd known what he was risking, when he devised his plan. And it had worked like a charm. When Shanks had broken things off, Jimmy had nudged Billie closer to Roxie, knowing that if anyone could make a life for her outside the Streets, it would be that fucking Nimrod [the less said about that, the better]. And he was close; so close now to achieving the completion of his course. He just needed Billie to take Roxie away. They could settle down in Tholomew or Rowling or fucking Pangaea for all Jimmy cared, get married, start popping out the nieces and nephews he would never see except through vision. And when Jimmy self-destructed and destroyed his home, Roxie would be safe.

That entire horrible future could be circumvented right now, if only he had the courage to raise the gun to his temple.

But…

Jimmy flipped the gun over, staring at the picture tucked beneath the plastic casing of the grip. It was his favorite picture of Whatsername; she was at some party or other, dancing and breathless with laughter. Her smile - her real smile, his favorite smile; the one that wrinkled her nose and made her eyes shine - was dazzling, and made the static picture come to life.

Jimmy was fundamentally a selfish person. He had no problem saying 'fuck you' to the common good, so long as he got what he wanted. And fuck, all he wanted in the world was the impossible future - a long life with W as his wife; their four children; a life where they were happy and safe, and he got to wake up to that smile every day for the rest of his immortal life.

He couldn't have both, and he fucking hated it. It was Roxie's life or Whatsername's, and he hated that no matter who he chose, he lost. Either way, he was breaking his own heart, and it wasn't fucking fair.

"Bossman!"

Jimmy sighed, tucking his piece away and waving the interloper forward. He kept his gaze firmly forward, drumming his heels against the cliff as he sat on the edge of the drop, tempting fate to push him over and end it all already.

"Give a girl a light," his best friend demanded, plopping beside him with a huff as she dropped her messenger bag beside her. "Christ, what has you in a mood? I hate it when you come here, J, you know this. Why do you do this to me. This? This is just rude."

Jimmy huffed out a cheerless laugh at her characteristic babbling, creating a flame with a snap of his fingers and leaning over to ignite the end of her cigarette. He remained silent, letting her enjoy the first couple of drags, before turning his head and letting her get a good look at his eyes. Jinx stared, freezing for a moment and visibly racing to comprehend the consequences of the revelation, before heaving a heavy sigh.

"Well… fuck," she said succinctly.
"Yeah," he quietly confirmed, staring out over the water.
"What happened?" she asked. "I thought things were getting better."
Jimmy shrugged, staring down at the water. "Pissed her off."
"Christ," Jinx muttered, leaning back on her hands. "Should I be grateful that you managed to go a whole week?"
"Probably," he admitted ruefully.
"Jesus," she sighed. "How the hell does W put up with you?"
"Hell if I know," he replied dryly.

They were silent for long minutes - a rare feat for the bouncy, vivacious Jinx. Jimmy knew he should let Jinx give her report, but fuck, he didn't want her to. He knew what she would say, and he didn't think he could handle anymore heartbreak. Then again, no heartbreak could make up for the pain he'd put Roxie through. Fuck, he'd made her Fall. Again. He deserved all the pain Jinx was sure to deal out.

"Tell me," he ordered quietly.
Jinx sighed, running an agitated hand through her orange hair. "Fuck, J. I don't even know where to start."
"At the beginning," he suggested, making no attempt to dodge her fist swinging into his shoulder.
"I… Fuck… Christ. Roxie's the fucking Peacemaker," Jinx said bluntly.

For a minute, the words refused to make sense. Then, with the force of a freight train, it clicked, and Jimmy laughed. Just bent in half and howled with laughter, loud and hysterical, as the horror flooded his veins.

Christ, he had fucked up. He had really, truly fucked up this time.

Jinx had been keeping an eye on this Peacemaker situation on the South Side for months now. She had kept Jimmy appraised as the Peacemaker had clawed their way out of the anarchic quagmire, built a web of information and weapons dealing, forced alliance or allegiance of the other squabbling gangs. The Peacemaker had been growing into a force to be reckoned with; a potential ally, or a serious rival.

Jimmy knew, intimately, the things one had to do in order to become someone of consequence in Strangeland. He didn't need Jinx to tell him the details, but he remained silent, listening to the litany of sins she recited. The lies, the thefts, the drug and gun deals. The men and women Roxie had fucked for favors owed; the people she'd killed for position and security.

Christ. He'd provided her with a perfect road map to power, and she had followed his example to the letter.

Jimmy forced himself to remain quiet as Jinx told him about Lucas, the leader Roxie had chosen to partner. All the ways they had used and abused each other. How the partnership got both better and worse when Lucas' boyfriend got home; how they'd tried and failed to have a polyamorous relationship. How Jax had been killed, and how Lucas blamed Roxie for not saving him. How Lucas and Rox had gotten into a lethal fight a week ago. How Lucas had shot Roxie in the side. How Roxie had shot Lucas in the head.

How Billie had saved Roxie before she bled out, how he had held her as her pain and remorse Redeemed her and triggered the Loop. How he had brought the newly restored Jesus home, and sheltered her until she was ready to face her family.

Jimmy keened long and low in the back of his throat, bending in half as the pain ate him alive. Fuck, God… His beautiful, beloved baby sister… What had he done to her? His fault, his fault, all his fucking fault…

He was never gonna be able to protect her, was he?

"I'm going after her."

Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut, hunching his shoulders against the brazen fire of Armstrong's declaration. Of course. Of course he was going after Roxie. Nimrod though he was, Billie was a better man than Jimmy would ever be. It's why Jimmy had chosen him, after all; because Billie would never abandon Roxie, never give up on her even when she tried to push him away.

"Jesus Christ, little brother, what the fuck happened to you?" Jinx yelped, falling back into her manic pixie dream girl persona as she jumped up and rushed forward to fuss over Billie.
"I'm fine," he said absently, sparing no attention for Jinx as he pinned down Jimmy with his determined gaze.

Tapdancing Christ on a raft of angels, but it was bizarre to see Jimmy like this. Quiet and still, grounded and very nearly peaceful. It threw into sharp relief just how much Jimmy and Roxie physically resembled each other, which… that was just not a thought Billie was prepared to entertain right now.

Jimmy straightened, looking like a damn king on a throne for all that he was a barely twenty year old runaway drug lord sitting on the edge of a cliff like a particularly suicidal lemming. Billie drew himself up, preparing for a fight; he knew that set to Jimmy's shoulders and he had no patience for the older man's bullshit.

"Not yet," Jimmy said with finality.
Billie glared; goddamnit, he'd known this was gonna happen. "Look, you fucking bastard, you don't even have your usual excuses to fall back on. You're not the Idiot right now, and I know you give a shit about her. So why the fuck are you okay with leaving Rox in danger-"
"Because I know the Idiot's priorities," Jimmy cut him off, pinning him down with the Jesus' eyes - old, old eyes in a young face; eyes weighed down with knowledge and wisdom. "We both know she's gone back South. She's laid claim to it. Fallen in love with it, like I did with the Streets." There was shame in his eyes, and pain, but he forced himself to continue. "She's found her realm, and we have to let her claim it. And as much as we might wish otherwise, in Strangeland? It's easier to do that as the Idiot."
"So we just let her go," Billie said bitterly.
"For now," Jimmy nodded. "And in the meantime, we prepare."
"You got orders, Bossman?" Jinx asked, tilting her head curiously.
"We have no guarantees that the South will ally with us," Jimmy said, looking pained. "Right now we'll be lucky if she doesn't declare all-out war."

They all flinched at that awful and all-too-possible scenario. The latest round of war between East and West - triggered by Shanks' capture and torture in an Ashurian prison, before Roxie had busted him out - had just ended after nearly two years. The last thing the Streets could afford right now was going up against another enemy.

"Jinx, I need eyes and ears," Jimmy said. "People you trust, who can keep quiet. I need to know what she's up to."
Jinx nodded, her usual elfin impishness giving way to Saintly seriousness. "We know she blew up Haushinka right before she went South, so that won't be a concern until Team Bugfuck Crazy gets it back up and running," she said. "Lucas dying left a power vacuum in the City. It's gonna take Rox some time to consolidate - a lot of Lucas' people didn't much like her. I'd guess her first move is gonna be to make sure she has Kill on her side. The Spider," she elaborated. "She's one of the best spies and information brokers in the Bay. And Rox has an in with her - they fuck for fun sometimes, when they've been drinking."
Jimmy winced with a brother's disgust at the TMI, but nodded. "Find out how opposed Pax is to outsiders. I may be able to send a few contacts her way."

Jinx snapped off a sloppy salute, phone already at her ear as she took off down the hill. Billie shifted uneasily; things tended not to go too well for him when he was left alone with Jimmy.

"We have no real way of knowing how long this is gonna take," Jimmy said, scrubbing his hands over his face as he rose to his feet. "I had control of the Streets in a few weeks, and the East inside six months. But Rox isn't me, not even as the Idiot. And the South isn't as unified as the East was."

Billie nodded his understanding, waiting patiently(ish) for Jimmy to get to the fucking point.

"Assume you've got at least eight months to wrap shit up," Jimmy said. "Deal, play shows, whatever; get some money saved up so when you go South, it's to stay."
"Yeah- wait, what?" Billie blinked.

Jimmy sighed, looking far older and sadder than his years. "Rox is in a place of power right now. Her own place, where she's in control and she's made herself safe. And once she has full control, she'll be surrounded by people loyal to her. Idiot or Jesus, she won't give that up to come East. And she might not ever come home now. So if you want to be with her, you'll have to go to her."

Jimmy's voice was choked, and Billie was startled to see actual tears forming in his eyes. Goddamnit, it was so much harder to hate Jimmy when he was this… human. Hurting and remorseful, and actually giving a shit about the people he purported to love.

Hard, but not impossible.

"What, I'm supposed to believe that after five years of hating my guts and trying to keep me from breathing the same air as Rox, all of a sudden you're fine with it?" Billie scoffed. "Pull the other leg, it's got bells."

Were Jimmy the Idiot right now, Billie would've been shot for that comment, so he should probably be grateful that he was facing the Jesus. While Jimmy rolled his eyes in irritation, his gun stayed holstered, and his voice was calm enough as he answered.

"I'm not your biggest fan," he acknowledged. "Idiot or Jesus, that's probably never gonna change. But at least right now, I can admit when I've fucked up."

Jimmy was quiet for a long minute, and when he spoke again his voice was so full of pain that Billie couldn't help but feel sorry for the bastard.

"My sister ran away from home because of me," Jimmy admitted. "She came back because of you. You talked down the Idiot America, when no one else could get through to her. You kept her safe when she Redeemed herself, and she let you take care of her. So yeah, you and me? We're probably never gonna get along. But you've proved that you're man enough to take care of my sister, and at the end of the day… that's all I've ever wanted for her."

Billie stared at Jimmy, unexpectedly touched and proud of this hard-won concesion. He knew Jimmy well enough to realize that they would likely never have another moment like this; might as well take full advantage while it lasted.

"If that's all you wanted for her, then why'd you break up her and Shanks?" Billie asked; honestly curious, but also strangely offended on A's behalf. "He loves her, too."

For a minute, Billie wasn't sure Jimmy would answer. And when he did, he wouldn't look Billie in the eye; instead he stared down at the fluttering white and purple irises that Billie knew were Roxie's favorites.

"If it ever comes down to Roxie or the Streets, I can trust that you'll always choose Rox," he finally said. "You'll choose her, and you'll do whatever you have to do to keep her safe. But Shanks…" Jimmy's voice almost gave out, but he swallowed hard and forced himself to continue. "I don't know if he can. The Streets are his birthright, and I don't think he can walk away."

For a second, Billie thought about not answering; keeping his silence and ensuring he got what he wanted. Certainly that was the Streets-smart answer; in this life, you always looked out for yourself and your best interests first. That was the only way to stay alive. But Billie couldn't forget the Armatage he'd come to know in the past year. The naked devastation on his face the few times he'd mentioned his lost love, and the grim knowledge that he'd done what was best for her, however much it destroyed him. That her happiness meant more than his.

They had that in common. And however much Billie loved Roxie… If he could fight for her happiness, wasn't that more important?

"He would," Billie finally said. "For her."

"I guess we'll find out," Jimmy said.

"What do you mean?" Billie asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

Jimmy sighed heavily. "When you go South, Shanks is going with you."

Billie blinked, not really sure what to do with that news. Jimmy clenched his fists, looking like he was struggling to remain upright after the death blow he'd just dealt himself.

"The future is changing," he revealed. "It's not set in stone yet, and I don't know how this ends. But somehow.. It's all three of you. You all need each other, no matter how this shakes out. So I guess… Sort out your shit with A," he ordered, before wrinkling his nose. "Very, very far away from me. I do not want to know what the two of you decide, and if I ever hear details I will kill you both. And when it's time… You'll both go South. And we'll see what happens."

Jimmy didn't acknowledge the naked hope or fearful wonder on Billie's face, and he paid no attention as the dazed younger man left. He continued staring out over the Bay, seeking hints of the future in the shape of the clouds, the spray kicking up from the surf.

For a moment, he wished he could hide. So many cares and burdens on his shoulders; so many mistakes to fix, so much damage to undo. The prospect was overwhelming, and it was incredibly tempting to run away and hide in Arcadia until it was time to Fall again.

But, that wasn't the Jesus' way. And for better or for worse, he was currently the Jesus, however shitty he was at it. So he took one last look at the Bay before squaring his shoulders and walking down toward the heart of his city.

He had work to do.