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Summers in Chicago fell through Declan’s fingers like sand.
Time often did that; life in the shadows was far more fluid than the sludgy monotony of being on the active roster.
Season seventeen hadn’t been a welcome one. It felt as though more and more people had been Alternated in the last few years, and the inconsistency was dogging them more and more as days ticked by.
Really it was overdue, and if they were honest.
It was just the cherry on the top of a crappy cake of a career.
It wasn’t a normal Alternation.
Of course it wasn’t, nothing they did could ever just be simple. Sometimes, they mused, things may be easier if they’d been Alternated in the way, say, Edric Tosser had been.
But no.
They were still the same old Declan Suzanne. Just more…scrambled.
Yeah. That felt right.
Declan had been scrambled.
Some days they were fine, they felt great even! Being an EMT was a task they were really, truly good at and being able to pour more time into that felt like they were finally doing something worthwhile. Giving to the world they inhabited, even if it only ever took in return.
Other times? Well…other days they struggled to look in the mirror, because the face staring back was not their own. It didn’t look like their face, at least—stark shadows, scars and a colour to their eyes had never been in memories. Yet all too happy at the same time. A face far too young, too gentle, too alive for everything Declan had been through. It was a bone-deep feeling of wrong.
Just…wrong.
It was an ache that sat so tight in their chest that it sometimes felt like they were in anaphylaxis again. The thick ball of feelings sapped away all their energy, taking their interest in everything and anything hostage, yet it didn’t name a price for its return. Hell, even Baby had offered to play a video game with them. That was Declan’s first clue that the team hadn’t totally given up hope on the drowning man that sat in the skin of their friend.
—
Chicago buzzed under Declan’s skin.
She was like uncontrollable energy, oscillating around the hollow shell, just somewhere they couldn’t itch. The Lady of Red Stars pulled up a pew inside Declan and led a crooning sermon.
The Firefighter had not spoken to Them for a long while, truth be told. Not for a lack of faith, but simply…a lack of care—She had not spoken to Declan either, in their defence, which they presented like a son accused of not calling his mother.
The buzz made them feel hot, like Fire was trapped under their clothes that was simply afraid to stop burning. It wrapped them up in a cocoon of heat and silent flame, threatening to let them crackle and splinter apart like summer tinder.
In some ways, Declan would muse in a brief moment of introspection, life was like a play—or a ballet dance…they’d been good at ballet as a kid. Like the recurring nightmare they’d had since season ten;
They…were the dancer…the craftsman…the main focus to the faceless crowd.
Stranded on stage with only a blinding spotlight to keep them company in the silent room, they were forced to smile and jerk through a routine they didn’t know, adrenaline and the screaming of their joints being their only motivators. There was no music in this dream world, yet a sour note was struck before the pursuiter appeared; a Rogue Umpire with tears streaming down its cheeks and marionette strings attached to every limb.
Oh, how the firefighter pitied the creature…despite the urge to scream, to tear at its mask until all was left was pulp. They felt..bad for it. Being stuck, jerked this way and that by things neither of them could see. The sobbing grew louder, swelling like a symphony in the room…yet the Umpire’s mouth was still…no, no that’s…not right. It..had no mouth—it could not sob!
So caught up in their grief the Firefighter had been, they’d been loath to see the strings around their own body. And now, all Declan could do was stumble their way towards the Umpire, much to the glee of the crowd.
And then they woke up with the flavour of blood in their mouth and salt on their cheeks.
—
On the roof of the Firehouse sat Declan Suzanne, staring down to the city. The height made them giddy, the winds rustled their hoodie and shorts—the hoodie was a stolen thing, years old in tacky shades of orange and red. The left sleeve was tattered, ruined by the previous owner chewing on it. But Declan couldn’t complain; the strings had been given the same treatment by their own mouth. On the breast sat a Crab insignia, embroidered colours that’d faded over time, in unison with the muddied white of sewn initials on the other side.
A lot of Declan’s clothes had been stolen, or “rehomed”.
The cold air on the rooftop was a welcomed thing, especially when drowned out by the music blasting from their headphones.
The buzz remained, of course. It was demanding, yet a gentle lullaby all the same. It wasn’t like the Call, no sirens tinged with fear and shame. It was something that needed tending to, nursing like the embers of a campfire, or coddling like a baby.
Declan often wished they were coddled, they decided as they retrieved a package of cigarettes and a lighter from their pocket, staring into the open flame for just a moment before the wind snubbed it out. Not in a way that they wanted to be treated like a child. No…no that happened enough on its own. That annoyed them.
All thoughts temporarily subsided when the first few drags of smoke roiled around inside Declan’s chest, burning white hot. They coughed it out again, momentarily yearning for those summer party nights where they could spend a half hour nursing a joint with friends like it was nothing.
Laying down against the rough ground of the rooftop with a heavy clunk from their plastic headphones, Declan ran their free hand through their hair.
It was long now, falling past their shoulders. It’d been freshly cut short when they’d joined the ILB, but had never been that way since. Time was weird like that. Their face was still not their own.
The taste of blood had been displaced in their mouth by the smoke, mixing with the music in their ears to bring their heart to a steady rhythm.
If they died right here right now, Declan thought, against all odds…this would be a shitty ghost outfit. Minecraft shorts, Crabs hoodie…that’s pretty cringe.
Declan laughed to themself, draping an arm over their eyes. More laughter bubbled up after a moment—and then more again until soon enough the Firefighter was laughing so much their entire body shook with the feeling. They didn’t really know why they were laughing, if they were honest. The sound was filtered out by headphones and carried off in the wind, so it was truly insignificant, but tears streamed from of ashed out eyes all the same, and a hollow joy bounced inside Declan’s chest with the static.
Coughing out a few softer laughs, the Firefighter sighed.
Scrolling through their contact list, their finger hovered above a contact that hadn’t been touched in a while. What…time is it in Seattle—does that matter? They lay there for a moment, phone screen going dim. Declan didn’t know how Seattle’s shadows worked, but…they weren’t sure it mattered.
Mike was a good guy—they didn’t ever understand the whole hatred thing. A…mutual “friend” had introduced them both and the trio got along like a house on fire almost instantly. It was…nice. The common understanding has been…nice. Maybe. The memories were frayed at the edges by now.
With a final pause Declan pressed the call button, dial tone echoing around their headphones.
…ring.
…ring.
…ring.
Shit, he definitely won’t answer.
…ring
…
”Declan?”
The voice surprised them and they dropped the phone with a clatter, scrambling to pick it up again before Mike hung up.
”Mike? Uh..hey!”
Their voice was thick from it all, as well as under use. Declan’s voice had faded since being shadowed. It almost doubled back on itself sometimes, like a broken radio, or flittered off like tissue on the wind. They got used to it.
On the other line, the voice was writhing with static, crackles and pops in every word like the feedback through a speaker. It wasn’t the phone line, he just..sounded like that. And…that was okay, it was Mike. And Mike is…honestly almost everything Declan could ask for right now.