Chapter Text
You had about fifty cents in your pocket right now, rolling around with some stupid lint your cheap jacket probably shed. And you can only do so much as to fulfill one of your basic needs at the time, like filling your stomach with food.
The clouds posed menacingly as you glanced up, rain threatening to spill as if you weren't walking (more like speed-walking) to your minimum wage job. Really great help by the weather there, you’d hate to not waste a million bucks on medicine for a stupid cough.
But thankfully, you had the music coming from your earphones to lift you up (which was enough to burst your eardrum in any second, mainly because you really didn’t want to bum yourself out by letting your mind wander).
And like blessings from the kings, raindrops as thick as your ass started to drop on the street, and on yourself, wetting everything to be seen. Thunder seemed to growl loudly enough to drown your music out for a second and a newspaper crashed into your face after an attempt to run the distance and free yourself from dying from an untreated flu.
So walking through rain and harsh wind it was.
-
Once you got to Burger Mart, you were greeted by the acne riddled face of your manager and his big ass shiny forehead, courtesy of the curse of balding at the old age of 22. At least you weren’t facing his shitty androgenetic alopecia-n fate. Or whatever stupid term it is to be used.
“You’re late.” He pronounces your name in such a douchebag way it has your skin prickling and your face scrunching up slightly, and you swear it’s an involuntary gesture.
“I am aware and I am sorry.” You reply, trying to appeal to him more so as to spare yourself from a spell that makes you his slave, or an inevitable and gruesome yet terrifyingly realistic outcome.
“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to not be late.” He replies hastily, throwing an old rag up in the air for you to catch like a dog. Asshole. “I left the list of chores you have to catch up on since no one wants to work anymore.”
You hum, tugging your earphones out and making a beeline to your disgustingly small locker, rag in hand and a desire to be anywhere but here.
-
When your missing coworker comes in, you do not spare a glance as you keep rubbing the floors with an aggressiveness that can only be described as built up unfiltered rage and frustration. But you were fine though, as much as a person in your shoes could be.
“Hey, I’m so, so sorry for not showing up. Exams week was brutal…” You droned out what seemed to be a male voice, trying your best to keep focused. After a few seconds, the owner of the voice comes in, wearing an apron similar to yours. “You’re new.”
You finally look up, blinking at him as you nod, a tired smile grazing your lips. “I am.” You tell him your name as you get up shakily, the hours of moving around in the kitchen doing wonders for your legs. “You’re… Mark, I assume?”
He takes the hand you offer him and shakes it with a tinge of nervousness you see only in nerds your age, since the new wave of nonchalant attitude crashed into your generation. “Yeah, I mean, I’m not new, I already worked here… I had a hectic week, was lucky enough to get spared by… y’know.” After vomiting verbally, he scratches his neck sheepishly and chuckles. He then gestures to your manager, who is currently maneuvering his way onto a settled argument with yet another Karen alongside a fat child. Sweet America.
“Ah, he’s… he could be worse.” You raise your finger, an amused smile on your face as you shrug. “I’ve definitely had worse.”
He laughs along with you, yet both of you can feel the awkward silence creeping into the kitchen. He clasps his hands together, shooting you the most dorky finger guns ever. “I should get to work then, uhh…” He hesitates for a second, finally aware of the whole conundrum you were in. “Y’want me to help you with the scrubbing?” His concern is genuine, a nice remainder that all is not lost and you don’t need to blow your brains out just yet.
You still smile at him with amusement. “I’m fine. You’ve got a list of things to do actually.” A nod from you headed to the furthest wall has him moving with grace attributed to baby giraffes learning to walk. You hear him sigh as his shoulders drop and you snicker very quietly to yourself.
-
Once your break had popped up, the sun already had set and closing time was inching closer for your fortune. You had snatched your jacket up from your cramped locker, made your way to the back of the stupid restaurant (if it can be considered one), and crammed your earphones in each ear.
The depressing tunes of the song that is on has you lolling your head backwards, the cigarette on your mouth freshly lit as you take a slow, rich puff. The low notes of the music have your thoughts streaming down the walls of your cranium, and you reflect on the shitty week you’ve had so far.
It didn’t help to be stuck in a dimension far from your own. It didn’t help to rely on your new persona given to you by whatever destiny or god or force, since this you was broker than… the old you? You still didn’t want to get into the specifics.
At least you still had your powers, but they can only work so much when you can’t even fuel them with food or sleep. Fuck your big chungus life, honestly.
And it’s not like in the few months being here you didn’t have your shit together. Yeah, things are different here, music is different, culture, information, technology, politics. Hell, even your voice is different, more gravely and a bit harsh.
Your mouth starts to sting thanks to the cigarette hanging from it. You must’ve zoned out again because your trance is interrupted by a loud bang of the back door opening. There comes Mark, trash bag in hand, in all his greasy, disheveled glory that you can only acquire after crashing out in your job a stupid amount of times.
And it feels like a fucking joke, like the dumbest of pranks ever to be made, when he launches the trash bag right into space. Time slows down, because what does this mean? Does he know you’re here? Are you obligated to act dumb?
Once again, your train of thoughts crashes and burns when he hushes out. “About time.” And you can’t help but snicker incredulously at his antics.
But he notices. And you notice that he notices. And now you think, that maybe, you’re both screwed.
-
After a few minutes of you both sitting on the ground, he talks, voice low and a bit scared. "So you're not gonna tell anyone?"
You groan out in exasperation, hitting your forehead with your hand. “For the umpteenth time, I won’t snitch on you, Mark.” You grin behind your palm, calloused yet nimble fingers gripping your nose just to feel something. “I’m not an asshole, and… I don’t even have anyone to tell.” You throw your hands up with the little energy you have left.
“Sorry, I’m just- I… we basically found out at the same time- ‘s all.” He looks down at his hands, tugging his fingers anxiously. Your eyes land on his figure, hunched over and tense, and you can’t help but sigh.
“Pretty big deal. Finding out you have superpowers.” You reply quietly, playing with the cigarette butt with the tips of your shoes. “They’re cool though.”
He laughs, small but it’s a pretty big improvement after hearing just whining or silence from him. “Oh, I know they’ll be so cool, just wait ‘till you see me on T.V.”
You roll your eyes with a bemused grin, mocking the cockiness that only a newbie can have. Or an exasperating vigilante. “You better have a badass suit, dude. I do NOT want to see another supe with a weird costume.”
When the conversation finally ends, along with your shift, you find that a small part of you is looking after interactions with Mark. Which, makes you uneasy but that might be the hermitage life talking. Or the heavy baggage you're dragging along with whatever fucked up past you had. Or whatever fucked up life you led.
Whatever this isn't the moment to think about that, right? You need to run to the station ASAP unless you want to end up on an alley again, forcing whatever food you had left in your system to kick your powers in and save yourself from a gnarly mugging.
But then Mark speaks, and you're turning on your heels, hands cupped safely in your jacket and a stupid, stupid, dumb smile on your face, because holy shit are you lonely, and depressed, and glad he's sharing the same curse as you.
"Do we share a shift tomorrow?" He asks, kicking a rock with his foot as he waits for what you assume is a ride from his parents or maybe a cab. You squint your eyes as you try to recall your schedule.
"I think not." He visibly deflates once you answer and it has you almost giggling (good gosh get your fucking act together). "But we'll see each other soon. For now, I've gotta catch my train so, it was definitely nice to meet you Mark. And do not fret as your secret is safe with this cowboy." You tip an invisible hat, a corny joke that seems to make him laugh more than you expected. You hate yourself when you're like this, almost smitten over a guy covered in grease.
"See you then, cowgirl." He replies, tipping his own invisible hat to you and you tut, wiggling your finger in the air as you walk backwards, confident in your blind stride.
"Ah, ah, cowboy." You grin, all teeth, before turning and walking away, down the cold, dark street. The hand that is still in your pocket grips your cigarette pack and you can't help but take in the smell of petrichor, pure and obnoxiously fresh, so different from the piss and shit you'll smell once you get to the station. Maybe you'll start to cash in the good karma you sowed in your past life. Maybe.