A/N: And we're back with a new chapter. Needless to say, a massive thanks to everyone who is reading/reviewing/putting alerts on this story. Thank you all sooooo much!

And my beta, Xrifree, thank you for being an awesome beta! :)


The same evening (as Brian's discovery)

Justin's POV

He was excited. He was also scared, in a strange, exhilarating way. He was going to do this. It might work. It probably wouldn't. But he had to try. He had to do something. Absentmindedly, Justin petted Soli while his eyes turned heavenwards. The summer weather meant that darkness fell later than he would have liked, but there was nothing he could do about it. At any rate, it wasn't very likely that anyone would stumble across him in this dirty, tiny alley.

"Aeolus, you don't have to do this. You just have to bide your time quietly until Loki and Hel says that you can come back…all this…it's…it's dangerous, isn't it? For you? As Justin?"

Gwenhwyfar's eyes were full of worry as she looked at him, her mouth twisting into a strange half-smile half-frown; an expression Justin had only ever seen on her. He smiled at her. She was always worrying about him; but he only had himself to blame for that, considering that he kept running to her each time he did what he wasn't supposed to.

"But if I did that, what would be the point of my having been human? I don't know what lesson Loki expects me to learn…and maybe it's a lesson I'll never learn. But as long as I'm human, I need to do what's best for humans."

Soli nuzzled against his leg, and Justin grinned at her. Soli had quickly become used to the other worldly presence and merely gave a cursory whimper in Gwenhwyfar's direction before settling herself near Justin.

"You're only a human temporarily, Aeolus. Soon you'll be with us again."

"But isn't that the test of what being a good person is? To plant trees that you yourself won't be able to enjoy the shade of, in the hopes that the next generation will? I want to be the best possible human I can be, even if I'm only going to be human for a few months."

"Oh, I know sweetheart…it's just…this Stockwell is a dangerous person."

Justin frowned. "But I'm not really human, right? I can't get actually hurt, can I?"

Gwenhwyfar' brows furrowed even deeper. "No, I suppose you can't…"

"What is it? Why are you this worried? Is there something I should know? Gwen?"

Gwenhwyfar's answer, whatever it would have been, died on her lips as she took in the new arrival.

"Ó'Cuidighthigh. I wasn't aware that Aeolus had asked for your help as well."

"Now Gwenhwyfar, there's no need to stand on formalities. I've always asked you to call me Cuidi."

Justin knew that Cuidi was disliked by everyone except Cuidi's own group, but he had been well short of people who would be willing to risk Loki's ire by helping him. Cuidi, as part of the Moirae who were responsible for determining the length of each mortal life and the means by which it would end, was technically out of Loki's reach.

Justin looked at Gwenhwyfar, pleading with his eyes for her to play nice. If Cuidi had taken less delight in his role, he would have perhaps been more likeable but right now, Justin didn't have the time to retune Cuidi's personality. Gwehwyfar seemed to have come to the same conclusion, because she quietly nodded and refrained from making any further comments.

"So, I presume that Daphne is also part of this plan of yours, but is it just going to be the three of us? Didn't you have a helper before Loki punished you?"

With his short, dark hair and stocky build, Justin thought that Cuidi could be mistaken as a Marine had he been human.

"Molley. She's eager to help as well, and since she's directly under me, she won't get into any trouble even if Loki finds out, but still, I'd like it if she had the least amount of responsibility."

"So you handle the planning and the human end of things, and it's basically Gwen, Daphne and myself? Pittsburgh is a big city Aeolus; how much ground do you expect us to cover?"

"It isn't how much ground you cover, Cuidi, it's how much attention you get. Humans don't like politics, and most of them don't want to be forced to think about unpleasantness. According to Vic, ever since the presidency of Reagan, people only want to be told good things. And I don't have any good to report. This Stockwell is a horrible, horrible human. And I don't have the means or the time to make people think; I'm going to use pure emotion and fear to drive them to the other end of the spectrum. Make Stockwell scarier than what he paints Liberty Avenue to be. Also, not covering all of Pittsburgh is a good thing. Being anti-Stockwell becomes an exclusive, select club. If the first step works, people will look for anti-Stockwell propaganda."

"We're here! I hope you guys haven't started."

Justin smiled at Daphne even as a little bundle hurled itself at him.

"Oli! I missed you! How could you even think of not including me? I'm glad you changed your mind. And really glad that Gwen didn't change it back." Molley was semi-glaring at him, and Justin could manage only a sheepish smile.

He squared his shoulders and shook his head. Time to get to work.

"Ok. I want to thank all of you for agreeing to help me with this; I know all of you can get into a lot of trouble because of me, and I truly appreciate this. Now, I have a plan for the first. We have to catch Pittsburgh's attention. It's not the quantity, it's not the size. We grab them by doing the unexpected and hold onto them by what we actually say. So. This is my plan."


Evening, the following day, at Debbie's place

Brian's POV

He had stopped by the diner, but there had been no Justin; just Debbie holding fort. Brian made a judgment call and decided to talk to Vic, who was by far the more sensible of the two. But more importantly, Michael and Emmett had both mentioned repeatedly how Vic took prodigious care of Justin, and that also prompted Brian to seek out Vic. He had planned on luring Vic out to Woody's, but had wound up in the kitchen with a beer when it came to be seen that Justin was not at home, and for some reason Vic insisted on waiting until he arrived to go anywhere.

Vic had gone to answer one of redundant phone calls people seemed to get at the most inopportune times, but Brian looked up as he walked back into the kitchen.

"So, where's Justin? He wasn't at the diner all day."

Vic paused, and seemed to contemplate his answer before speaking. "He's on his way back from Harrisburg."

"Harrisburg?" What the fuck was he doing there?

"For me. I had some things that belonged to somebody else. And it was time to return them to him. In my batty old age, I still have feelings and people I'm not willing to confront, so Justin volunteered. So tell me, Brian. There must be a specific reason that brought you here, because you boys aren't known to speak to anyone that's a day over 30."

"We tolerate Theodore."

Vic merely raised an eyebrow in response.

"I came to talk to you about Justin."

"You want permission to court him? I could be convinced to give my consent, though I think you may require initial supervision."

Brian grimaced. "You've become rather quaint in your old age, but you mistake me for Theodore. Why is here, Vic? Deb can be fooled by any old carpet salesman, but you're supposed to be the sharper one. You must surely realize that Sunshine is not really suffering from amnesia. That he has a past which he is aware of, and is merely hiding it from us. From you."

Vic took a swig from his beer, and didn't seem to be the least perturbed by Brian's words. "So what if he is?"

Brian started. Vic knew?

"You know?"

"Brian. Everyone has a past. Everyone has a secret. Maybe he was abused by his parents. Maybe he was being beaten by a lover. Maybe he's running away from the death of a loved one. Maybe he's just looking for change. Maybe this is part of some strange research project he is a part of. Maybe he's an alien. If Justin is lying or hiding something about himself, it's not hurting me. Why should it concern me?"

Brian was at a loss for words. He had expected Vic to put up a fight, to argue about how Justin's story was the gospel truth…not for Vic to so matter of factly agree with him. And if Vic knew, then why…?

"Vic, of course it should concern you. What if Justin –"

"What if Justin is a serial killer? What if he robs us blind? What if he's a con artist? C'mon, Brian. A con artist picks a rich victim. And even Theodore wouldn't qualify for that. Perhaps you would make a good target, better still Michael's doctor. But Justin wants nothing to do with you, so that's that. He's not a serial killer; we're all still alive, aren't we? And what's here that is worthy of being robbed? If he ends up being the next Charles Manson, well then, tough shit. Someone had to be the sucker.

Does Mel and Lindsay do a police check for all of Gus' babysitters? Or do they take the word of a few references? Sometimes, you have to indulge in this thing called trust. I'm trusting Justin and giving him a chance. I'm not having my humanity defined by baseless fears and suspicions of lies that Justin might have told, in all likelihood for his own preservation."

There wasn't much Brian could say in reply to that, and he left soon afterwards. Vic knew that there was something shady going on, and he didn't care. Brian shook his head. How were you supposed to warn someone, or look out for them, if they refused to listen to words of warning? If Vic wouldn't listen, Debbie would be a lost cause.

The only thing he could do was watch from the sidelines and hope that Justin was worthy of the trust Vic was placing in him. If Vic insisted on indulging his humanity, Brian would have no choice but to stand guard. It was clearly a very good thing that the number of people he cared about could be counted on one hand with fingers to spare. This caring business was getting tedious.

By the next morning, Brian had decided not to do anything about Justin for now, and merely be watchful and cautious. It turned into a good decision to make, at lest for the moment, because the morning was becoming ridiculous. Stockwell had called him thrice already; once to complain about some graffiti mocking him, the second time round spouting gibberish about pamphlets raining from the sky which demonized him and the last call had been about how the local TV stations were covering the 'schoolyard graffiti' that was 'demonizing' him.

Brian had been sure that Stockwell must have had too much to drink the night before, because none of it had made sense. Pamphlets did not just fall out of the sky; that privilege was reserved for rain, hail, snow and birdshit. As for graffiti, what the fuck was the big deal? People hated Stockwell; that was a given. Some camera crew was probably covering a homicide in the neighbourhood and Stockwell had got his panties in a twist. Brian had dismissed all three calls by the time he got into the jeep, and hadn't even bothered switching on the news.

But when a hysterical Cynthia called him minutes after he had pulled out on to the road, Brian was forced to spend more time thinking about this nonsense. Cynthia - his level-headed, always calm, cool-as-a-cucumber secretary was hysterical. A proper 250 words-a-minute, just-shut-up-and-listen-to-me-and-no-I'm-not-crazy hysterical.

"Brian-oh-my-god-are-you-outside-can-you-see-this-what-the-hell-who-on-earth-is-doing-this-how-on-earth-are-they-doing-this?"

Brian was not amused in the least. "What the fuck, Cynthia? I'm driving. What on earth are you -"

"Driving? Can't-you-see-pull-over-Stockwell-will-pop-a-nerve-when-he -"

"Stockwell? Cynthia, calm the fuck down, I can't understand a word you're saying. The hell is going on?"
That Cynthia mentioned Stockwell didn't bode well.

"Brian-there-are-leaflets-falling-from - " There was a pause. "Brian. There are leaflets falling from the sky.
From. The. Sky. Can-you-believe-it? I-couldn't-believe-I-was-seeing-what-I-was-seeing. Leaflets. About how more
black people have been arrested under Stockwell's term as Chief of Police than the previous three Police
Chiefs put together. How he is - "

"From the sky? You mean from the top of a building?"

"No. I mean from the sky. There are no buildings in the middle of the road, Brian."

He sighed. "From a helicopter then? A small plane? Those Cessna like things?"

"Brian, there is no helicopter here. No plane, no helicopter, no birds, no helium balloons...not even a
hand glider."

"Cynthia, stop being an idiot. Nothing falls from the sky without someone dropping it. There must be
something up there. Look closer." And why the fuck was nothing happening down on Tremont?

"Well, it's stopped now. And I'm telling you, there was nothing up there. I'm not an idiot, Brian. And
there are three dozen people here. Are you telling me that we all missed it?"

Fuckfuckfuck. Brian felt a migraine coming on. And there was a call waiting from Michael. Just brilliant.
It was incredible to believe that Cynthia would miss something so obvious as some kind of helicopter or
aircraft, but apparently, that was the case.

"Who's printed the leaflet?"

"I don't know. It looks like it was typed on one of those old '80s typewriters, and there are a few illustrations and hand-drawn images and graphs. It's a photocopy. They're all photocopies. I picked up a few. People are grabbing at these like they're dollar bills. I guess everyone here knows that when something falls out of the sky, it's gonna wind up a collector's item. Stockwell will blow a fuse when he hears about this."

"Stockwell already blew his fuse. I just didn't know what the fuck he was rambling about." Brian thought of driving straight to work but the diner was within sight and he was desperate for a coffee. "Look, Cynthia, grab as many of those leaflets as you can, and if you get to the office before I do, talk to media, call every BTL agency anyone has ever heard of and find out who the fuck is behind this."

Just as he cut the line, the phone started ringing again.

"Yes Lindsay, I heard about the leaflets."

"What leaflets?"

"Isn't that what you're calling about? Never mind..what is it?"

"Did you see the drawings of Stockwell as Hitler?"

"What?"

"Mel said someone has spray painted graffiti of Stockwell as Hitler downtown, but I just came across a chalk drawing on the pavement...looks like your client isn't as popular as you thought, huh?" Lindsay was chuckling, but Brian was far from amused.

Call waiting. Michael again.

"Thanks for the info, Lindz. If you're feeling particularly charitable, take a picture for me. Later." Next call.

"Yes, Michael. Leaflet or the grafitti?"

"Errr...both, actually. It was like something out of a movie - leaflets just falling from the sky!" Michael sounded as excited as a 10 year old. "Brian, who's behind this? And how did they pull it off? There was something like this in Captain Astro, but that was all documents about an illegal ammo factory that he busted. And of course, Captain Castro can fly. Did you know that Stockwell is planning to cut bus routes in our neighbourhoods? How the fuck are we supposed to travel? Just because we're gay, we're no longer good enough for public transport now? If Stockwell gets elected, you better give me the jeep before going to New York. I'm not walking everywhere just because you elect a fucking homophobe. I'm definitely not voting for this prick."

"And I'll see you at the diner then."

Had everyone in Pittsburgh witnessed this seemingly miraculous event except him? Head already throbbing, Brian walked into the diner.

"Just a coffee Brian, or would you like a sandwich as well? Or a muffin instead? You should try a muffin – they're fresh."

Brian tried his hardest to give a nonchalant look at Justin. The blonde looked as if he hadn't slept a wink last night. He was smilingly brightly and by all accounts seemed genuinely cheerful, but the dark circles under his eyes were apparent to the keen eye. He must have gotten back in from Harrisburg really late, Brian thought.

"Just a coffee. Regular."

Justin laughed. "It's too early to be a grouch. Even for you. And the weather is gorgeous! Have a muffin and enjoy it while I get your coffee. Chocolate muffin? Naaah, you're not the chocolate type. Here, try the blueberry."

Brian watched in mild amazement as the normally prickly Justin grinned, placing a blueberry muffin in front of him before turning to get the coffee.

"It's a muffin, Brian. Stop staring at the damn thing and eat it."

"And top of the morning to you, Deb. What crawled up your ass this morning?"

Debbie plonked herself next to Brian, and pointed at the TV with a straw that she had twisted beyond its capacity. Brian looked at the TV, which was tuned to a local news channel. He watched as the news anchor, an attractive woman probably in her late twenties, spoke to some people near the Steels Building. The camera then focused on a leaflet that the anchor was holding, and Brian could make out the resemblance to the leaflet that Cynthia had described earlier. Any hope of actually listening to the news was dashed by Debbie's voice, which was loud enough for the drycleaners next door to have heard.

"How come the whole city experienced it except me? No one hates Stockwell more than I do. Fucking graveyard shift. At least Michael said he picked up an extra leaflet for me. I serve everyone in this diner every goddamn day and no one thought that maybe poor Debbie would like a leaflet for herself." To emphasize her point, Debbie glared at every one within a ten feet radius.

"Jeez, Deb, it's just a leaflet, not fucking gold ingots."

"Besides Sis, how was anyone supposed to know that you'll miss it?"

Brian turned at Vic's voice and saw him seated at a booth with Emmett.

"Deb, I'd give you mine, but it's the only one I have."Emmett was trying hard to look regretful and contrite, but going by Debbie's expression, he wasn't very successful.

"Debbie, Michael said he picked one up for you. And if he hasn't, don't worry, I'm sure that we can find one for you somewhere. Brian, here's your coffee. Why haven't you eaten your muffin? Are you upset that you missed out on the leaflets as well?"

"How do you know I missed out on it?"

"Oh. Uh…the news didn't say that there was a drop on Tremont so, I assumed…that's real blueberries, you know? Not the frozen kind. It's delicious. You'll love it. It's almost as good as the lemon squares. It's –"

"Enough! I'll eat the damn muffin. Jesus, Sunshine, you're a terrible salesman." Brian took a bite out of the muffin, and had to grudgingly admit that it was good. And as hard as he tried, it was impossible not to smile back at Justin when the blonde was beaming at him.

"I told you it was good."

He just sat there, smiling back like an idiot. It was wrong for a smile to feel so right.

"How was Harrisburg?"

Justin shook his head lightly. "Harrisburg was a bit confusing to find my way around, but other than that it was ok. I prefer Pittsburgh."

And then Justin leaned across the counter, whispering into Brian's ear, warm breath on his neck making him almost miss Justin's words. "It's ok to just laugh sometimes about the silly stuff. Or to smile without a reason. I promise I won't tell anyone and you look much better when you do that."

Whoever or whatever Debbie was scolding now went unheard by Brian, as his eyes followed Justin, who had walked over to Vic.

Control, Kinney, control. He's just another blonde twink.

"Ma! Ma, what are you doing, just sitting there?" Given that Michael was practically screaming at the entrance, he had the attention of almost everyone in the diner, not just Debbie. Even Brian was drawn away from his internal denials.

Michael stared at all of them in exasperation. "Stop staring at me and get your asses outside before the rain of leaflets stops! C'mon!"

Debbie and Emmett squealed in unison before they followed Michael outside, along with other curious patrons of the diner. Determined to prove Cynthia wrong, Brian also strode towards the entrance, when it suddenly struck him that there were two people in the diner who had expressed no interest in sharing in the experience.

Brian turned around and looked back into the diner to see an exuberant Justin and an equally delighted Vic grinning at each other, oblivious to the commotion outside.