Blindsided by a Field of Canaries

“I think, deep down, he's trying his best.” Scar remarks, the old sheriff hums as he wipes down the stringless fretboard of his guitar, letting Scar continue, “He might not be the most qualified, but it should be the thought that counts, no? Give him some time, he'll learn.”

The old sheriff—Roswell—let his shoulders loose, taking a break as he lifts up his cigar from its ashtray, soon exhaling a large heap of smoke. “You could phrase it as that.”

Jimmy trots through Tumble Town while atop Bullseye, holding onto the lead rope with one hand while his lasso lies in the other. As he makes his round trips, Jimmy can't help but take note of how quiet the town is.

“Where my problem lies is Wednesday, more so the fact that I lost her.” Roswell counters, his guitar soon on his lap.

Scar tilts his head, unable to hold back a question, “Do you remember how you lost her?”

“No clue,” he admits in shame, “I can't recall how it happened, all I know is that I never intended on losing her.”

Scar lets his thoughts ponder, able to see both sides of this discussion, “Well, in a way, you should be thankful. After all, Tumble Town might've been lost if it wasn't for him.”

“That's the mindset he holds, and it's the cause of my problems.” Roswell retorts, “It's like that hat filled him with a sense of purpose—one he ain't prepared for.”

Jimmy nibbles on the string of hay that hangs from his mouth, tipping his hat to any villagers that pass by.

“I mean, the boy ain't even real, for Christ's sake.” Roswell argues, getting another puff out of his cigar.

“I'd say he's human,” Scar combats, “at least, his sentience makes him human, not the body he's stuck with.”

That got a grunt out of the old sheriff, not amused, “It makes him a mockery, that's what he is.” All that follows is silence as Roswell takes a sip of his whiskey, “It's only right for a human to be the one prancing around, checking up on the townsfolk, and enforcing the law—the law that, might I add, was made to separate us humans from the animals.”

“So what happens when you let one of them animals play pretend, let them walk around while disguised as a human?” Roswell looks over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Jimmy out the window, “You find that the line gets blurry, and then an existential crisis is bound to ensue.”

Scar opens his mouth, but he's unable to form a rebuttal by the time Roswell has left his seat, forcing the former to swallow down his statement.

It's there Scar catches the sight of Jimmy petting his horse, finding himself so unsure.

From here, you'd think Jimmy was nothing special—just your average joe—but Scar knew there lied a cold truth underneath, one he knew Jimmy should never hear.

“Let him live in blind isolation,” Roswell implores, patting Scar on the shoulder as he walked out, “it has to be this way, it's for the best.”

Stepping out, the old sheriff makes his way towards Jimmy—someone merry to see him. Scar, still observing the two, can't help but feel sorrow.

“Right,” he mutters to himself, sure to keep his word, “it's best this way.”

℧

“Today's a big day, Deputy Norman!” Jimmy declares, running around like a madman as he loads up his bag.

Every day was a big day to Jimmy; a chance for him to get a do over—a chance for him to prove himself.

With a sunny, “Farewell!” Jimmy takes his leave, Deputy Norman having paid no mind as he returns to his slumber.

While stepping outside, Jimmy digs through his pockets until he finds a piece of paper, taking it out to review his notes.

“Alright, looks like I need to take the Luxo Express, and from there,” he holds a confident smirk, “I can take on all the favors people have asked of me!”

It doesn't take long for him to get to the station, one of the many perks of living close by. The wait time wasn't horrid either—Tumble Town being the first and few stops made by the Express.

As the vehicle comes to a halt, Jimmy steps inside to find no one aboard. A common sight, be it that many don't use the Luxo Express.

He plops down in his self-assigned seat—one that went all the way back and settled next to a window. Soon after, horns blare, and the train sets off.

Jimmy always found his trips shrouded in quiescence, and he liked that. He had grown accustomed to the deafening silence, to the loneliness, and was able to find comfort at the center of it.

After all, he was yet to be known as a hero. Until he found fame, he would have to endure a rather mundane life.

For Jimmy is a simple man; he dreams of being a sheriff, he always enjoyed train rides, and he found peace best when he was alone.

And so, as the train moves steadily along the tracks, the sheriff finds himself in bliss. He takes a deep breath before leaning over, using his arms as a pillow, and shutting his eyes.

For most of the trip, Jimmy fell into a soothing slumber. It wasn't until the screech of a train's breaks that he jolts awake.

Rubbing his eyes, Jimmy groans as he stands up, letting out a big stretch before he grabs his bag. He makes his way down the aisle, waving goodbye to the conductor as he steps off. He only makes his way to his base once the train leaves, watching it fade away in the distance.

He hates to admit that the place has yet to be given a name, Jimmy having grown so ecstatic over its purpose that he forgot to establish the basics. Well, no matter, he's decided it shall be named by the people once he's won them over.

Only then did the sheriff notice the lack of wanted posters, no longer hammered onto the windows and door. Good riddance. He felt relief wash over him, happy to know the Great Witch is not causing any further trouble. He wishes not to speak to her after their last encounter.

Still, one solved problem opens up room for another. That gets Jimmy hyper, imagining any and all possible problems.

Maybe, that pirate Joey was up to something? There's been times Princess Katherine has run up to him, in need of a favor! Princess Gem might've asked to be escorted into the mines again… He thought every encounter he could come by, hoping to be that of some help.

But inside, Jimmy was met with nothing.

No requests, no offers, no comments; nothing.

“What?” Jimmy mutters in disbelief, flipping through the pages with the hopes to find something, anything, but he found nothing.

He could only let out a sad sigh, closing the book before taking a deep breath, “It's fine.” He reassures himself, “This is… fine.”

There goes his plans for today.

He's only left with one remaining option: he'd have to accompany Roswell in the mines.

As his elder always says, “You can never go wrong with being overprepared.”

The problem? Jimmy hated the mines. Something about the atmosphere creeped him out. Unfortunately, it's the only thing he had going for him.

So, with a heavy heart, Jimmy made his way back to the station. It's there he painfully waits for the train to return.

Nothing entails as he waits for the train. He didn't make conversation with anybody—quick to assume the other rulers are off at work—and found that most work for him lies within Tumble Town. It all lines up to leave Jimmy in a voided space.

But he liked this space, he liked the silence. He was sure of it.

As the train arrives, Jimmy is still left by himself. There were no passengers, no citizens heading back. 

He sits in his seat, left with no other choice but to take a nap.

But he's okay with this. After all, he's able to find peace.

When Jimmy makes it home, he's met with the sight of Roswell. He can't help but shout, “Old sheriff!” As he waves his hand up in the air.

Roswell looks over his shoulder, stolid at the sight of Jimmy. He takes a break from work, dusting off his hands as he walks over, “What's a boy like you doing out of Tumble Town?” He questions, crossing his arms in disapproval, “What happen to being the 'sheriff of the server'?” 

Jimmy pouts, guilt poking through him, “Sorry, I went off to spawn,” he then removes his hat as a way to convey his apology, “I wanted to see if anyone needed my help.”

“Your help is needed here.” Roswell is quick to assure. “Can’t go off being an enforcer of the law if you can't obey the town rules, now can you?”

Jimmy can't form a counter, shame forbids him. His only answer is the mutter of, “Yes, old sheriff.” 

Roswell grunts, walking towards the saloon, “Now, come on, we said we’d head to the mines today.”

The sheriff deemed it best not to say anything as he follows his elder.

As the two stood at the entrance, Roswell could only complain about the temperature. “Caves were rather cold,” he said.

Which confused Jimmy; he never felt that way. He never felt warm or cold-blooded, just neutral.

He takes a step forward, but Roswell stops him as he extends an arm, a signal to stay back.

While Jimmy didn't catch on at first, one glimpse of the creature lying dead before him summed it all up.

He could only see half of its body—the other half covered by a rock—but those bright feathers made it clear.

“Seems like this cave ain't secure yet.” Roswell utters, indifferent by the sight.

Jimmy tells himself to breathe, letting out a slow, held-in exhale, “Yeah…” He whispers.

“Looks like we'll have to skip mining today,” Roswell concludes, “maybe, give a hand at it tomorrow?”

With that, Roswell was gone, treading down the small slope. However, Jimmy stayed behind, unable to turn away from the dead creature.

It was a canary. And, from the looks of it, it was never given the chance to be an adult.

Relying on birds as a way to gain security, using their given purpose against them, it made him sick to his stomach.

Canaries managed to resonate something within Jimmy, managed to bring comfort towards him. He always felt connected with them, hoping to become one in his next lifetime.

“Jimmy?” He jumps, not expecting someone to call him.

“Coming!” He blurs out in a rush, taking the bird into his hands. He did his best to hide it, not wanting Roswell to know.

He could only imagine the panic that would follow to this reveal, the thought alone enough to shake Jimmy to his core.

Roswell could never know of these habits. For all Jimmy knows, he's inhaled an unhealthy amount of poisonous gas.

He should consider himself blessed, having shown no side effects, but there was never time to give it much thought.

Heading back to Tumble Town, Jimmy is able to play off his slow reaction as he argues, “I thought I saw something at the entrance, but it was just some weird-looking dirt!”

Roswell only raised a brow, unbothered as to if he was telling to truth or not. He sets off, heading back to work on the fields.

Only alone does Jimmy open his palms, looking down at the carcass that lays inside.

It's there he scurries over to the graveyard, soon met with, oh-so conveniently named, Graveyard cat.

He's aware of the irony, reminding himself of what laid dead in his hands, but all he could do was pray for Graveyard cat to not be the snooping type as he steps foot inside.

Due to the small population, Tumble Town didn't hold many burials. In reality, it would be a barren sight if Jimmy hadn't placed a few graves down himself.

Each bird he's found in the mines lay dead here. He liked the idea of them all going out as a group—a family, of sorts.

Keeping the canaries all beside one another, Jimmy buries a small hole and plants the bird inside. He pats down some dirt before grabbing a small stick, placing it down to represent that of stone.

He takes a moment of silence to mourn the lost of the animal, hoping it's given a better life next time around.

“Jimmy?” Another call, another jump.

This one was enough to have his hat fall off his head. He's quick to snatch it, clinging to the brim as he holds it close to his chest. Looking over, Jimmy can only blink before he replies, “Ah, uhm, yes?”

Three people stood behind him: Protector Mythical Sausage, Scott of Chromia, and Princess Gem. A rare sight, being that Jimmy didn't get many visitors.

Scott raises a brow, “Sorry, were you mourning?” Gem gasps at the realization, muttering out apologies for all three of them.

“No, I-I mean,” The sheriff stands, dusting off his pants, “I was, but… not anymore!”

He clears his throat, trying not to embarrass himself, “No, I was not.” Looking back at the burial, he steers away the topic, “So, what can the sheriff help you all with?”

Sausage couldn't hold back a small giggle, “We’re not here to ask for help, silly!”

Jimmy blinks, soon to hold a small pout, “Oh,” he mutters while putting back on his hat, “you're not?”

The three of them shake their head. Gem continues, “We’re here to see if you were invited to Joel's party. We were just about to head off.”

The sheriff was dumbfounded. Since when was Joel having a party? And why had Jimmy not heard of it?

“No.” He deadpans, utterly confused, “I've never been told anything about a party. Wait, if he's having a party, why wasn't I invited?”

“Probably because no one thought to invite you.” Scott admits upfront, that comment a jab through the chest. It didn't help that the other rulers nod in agreement. “I mean, you're so cooped up in this place, rambling on about being the sheriff, that we never run into you.”

That's not true. Jimmy retorts, bitter by the accusation. 

Where were they when he was riding the train? What about him being at spawn? When Jimmy was heading back home, ticking down the thirty minutes it took for the train to arrive, where was everyone then?

He had been outside. He had, and no one had notice

But he bit back his tongue. It would be improper of him to start a lecture. Besides, he could use this opportunity to go to that party and prove everyone wrong.

“Right, well,” Jimmy smirks to himself, “this sheriff is going with you.”

The three didn't mind Jimmy's invitation, Sausage the most ecstatic—letting out a cheer as he yanks Jimmy's arm, “Great! Now, come along, we’re going to be late!”

But he halts, “Wait,” the sheriff interjects, pointing to the tracks “the station is that way. It shouldn't take long, I'm sure if we get on the next stop, we can—”

Each ruler looked at Jimmy as if he was crazy, Sausage snickering.

Gem tilts her head, “Train?” she repeats, puzzled, “Why take the train when you can fly?”

Jimmy froze. “What?” What did she say? “What do you mean fly?”

Everyone stopped, the trio facing each other in disbelief.

Then, they laughed. They all laughed as if his question was a joke.

“Jimmy,” Scott calls once done with his laughing fit, “don't tell me you're the type who doesn't fly.”

He could feel his face go red with embarrassment. Since when had Jimmy fallen behind? “I mean, I don’t—” He caught a glimpse of their wings, feeling more humiliated, “We don't have anything like that, not here in Tumble Town…”

Sausage bites back another laugh, looking back at the other rulers, “Well, you should expect that from someone so…”

Many words are capable of filling in that blank. So strange. So different.

So alien. That one shook him the most. It's what he felt whenever he compared himself to people, a different species.

Why did he have to be such an oddball? Everyone was so quick to make their own assumptions, overlooking the person he strived to be.

It's times like these he deems it best not to get close to anyone.

But it was all cut short when a pair of wings were thrown at him.

“It's nothing to worry about,” Sausage downplays, handing Jimmy some rockets, “You can borrow my spare pair. Just make sure you give it back once we land, alright?”

With a hum, Jimmy puts on the wings; bracing himself for the flight ahead.

Something told him this was going to be a long day.

℧

Luxury was an understatement when it came to Stratos, flare emitting out of every corner—even when it came to something as small as a village. 

Jimmy found its energy overwhelming, a big reason he never paid a visit. Unfortunately, there was no way out of this one.

How could anyone live like this, surrounded by never-ending noise? Well, knowing the place was run by Joel, the high tolerance started making some sense.

The former three were now scattered, compelled by what the empire had to offer. All the while, Jimmy remained still, paralyzed to such an unusual occurrence.

There lied no corner to hide in, every place swarmed by a group. Crowds cheer, drinks clink, shops in a constant need to restock.

Trying to fit in, Jimmy attempts to locate anyone he knew. Through the busy crowd, he was able to catch sight of Sausage—entertaining local residents.

Heading over, Jimmy found it hard to get past anything. The street was packed, leaving him to push and shove his way through. “Sorry,” he muttered, “excuse me,” he whispered. Yet, he was only met with more shoulder checking. It took ages for him to get to the, so-called, protector.

He had to nearly trip over himself to get Sausage's attention.

“Ah, Jimmy!” The ruler beams, quick to showcase the sheriff to his charming crowd, “Ladies, gentlemen, this is Jimmy—the sheriff of Tumble Town!”

Being put on the spot made him want to throw up. He had no time to fix himself as he gestures a, “Hello…” All he could do was tip his hat, “Jimmy here, the sheriff. Yep, I enforce the law—L-A-W.”

He could hear the faint laughter, one woman letting out a gasp as she realizes, “Ah, Tumble Town!” Soon to point, “So you're the one who declared war?”

“And did so inefficiently…” Another adds, quick to flick her wrist and cover her mouth with her fan. He could tell she was judging both him and his figure.

“Well,” He's quick to look away, soon queasy from the attention, “we've had our feud, but we're better now! Hell, we're even friends!”

The crowd hums, one woman happy to hear the rivalry has ended as she gives a silent applause. 

“So, sheriff, what is it that you do?” She asks, holding a pleasant air to her, “You must have interesting stories from the wild west, yes?”

The others nod, turning towards him as they wait for a great tale.

But he didn't have one. He couldn't think of one, not when they had their eyes on him.

What drama had ensued down in Tumble Town? With such few residents, not much happens.

But he couldn't just say nothing. People would think less of him, deem him boring.

Does he talk about spawn? No, no one has asked of him.

Bring up the mines? It would be unwise to talk about the poisonous gas.

He needs to think of something. Everyone has their eyes on him, and the pressure only continues to grow. It was suffocating, leaving Jimmy to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“I-I buried a dead canary today.”

Well, that was a disaster.

Sausage was able to save the conversation, quick to improvise. But that wasn't enough to save Jimmy from the blatant disgust.

He soon ran off, back at first base—the place he started at.

This was an absolute nightmare. Its not like he could just go home; the tracks don't reach out this far and he already gave Sausage his spare wings back.

So Jimmy had to stand there, forced to endure an endless amount of noise.

Noise. Everywhere he looked, there was some form of noise. He could hear people talking, laughing, whispering.

Was that noise aimed towards him? Was it mocking him?

He wants it to stop. He wants to run back to the silence he found much comfort in.

Make it stop. He begs to himself, closing his eyes. If I cover my ears, I can control the noise. I can make it stop.

With his ears covered, the world is muffled. For once, he can hear himself over the crowd.

Here, he can't help but feel like a spectator—an audience member.

While the world gets to preform their play, Jimmy only finds himself able to applaud.

He can't help but miss his solidity. This thick air, the lack of space, it was enough to make his breathing rapid. He could feel his heart beat against his chest.

Then the world goes still.

Oh God… Where's his heartbeat? Where is his heart?

He can't hear it, with or without the sounds of the audience.

Why can't he hear it? He brings a hand to his chest, not able to feel anything underneath.

His heart. Why does Jimmy not have a heart?

He can't regulate his breathing, having to pant. It's all too much, he's getting dizzy.

Is he dead? No, that can't be. Death can't look like this—a life that merely sticks to the sidelines.

Or, is it? Is that why it feels like everyone looks past him? Could it be that he died a long time ago, never to know of it?

Could it be that he never had a heartbeat? Looking back on it, he's unable to tell.

He felt as if he was dying. Their laughter, his breathing, his lack of a heartbeat. It's too much for him.

This was a mistake. All of this was a mistake. He shouldn't have tagged along, how could he make such a mistake?

But it all comes to a halt as someone covers his eyes. A single voice managed to break through his thoughts.

“Guess who.” The God whispers, never failing to tease.

His touch is able to ground Jimmy, pulling him out of his sinking mind.

“Joel?” The sheriff's voice a little shaky, soon to grace the God's skin with his fingertips. “Is that you, Joel?”

“The one and only,” He jests, soon to remove his hands. He can't help but smirk as Jimmy turns to face him, “now, care to tell me what you're doing here, all by yourself?”

“Right,” Jimmy clears his throat, collecting himself, “I got a little overwhelmed by the crowd. Uh, luckily, I decided on something!”

“Don't bother.” Joel scoffs, looking back out at the horde. “It's fun at first, then gets boring real quick.”

Jimmy never thought that when it came to social interaction. At the end of the day, he was someone who yearned to make memories with others. Conversations may be few, but they were always cherished. “I don't find them boring.”

Joel only raised a brow, “Well, maybe it's because you're human…” He quips, “When you're a God, it can get rather tedious when you're worshipped by the people.”

“I mean,” the God continues, “they'll pray to you, praise you, adore you; but, at the end of the day? It feels like they never, truly, see you.”

Is that how people felt towards attention? Jimmy longed for it, hoping to always favor those around him.

He never thought it could be nauseating, Joel opening his mind to a new perspective. 

It's all cut short as the citizens bark out laughing, startling Jimmy and aggravating Joel. For a second, Jimmy could hear grumble out curses.

“Can we get out of here?” Joel is quick to offer, taking his time to reach out and brush his fingers against Jimmy's hand, “I think I've given enough blessings for today.”

Jimmy clenches his fist, looking down at Joel's grazes before directing his gaze up at the other.

“Please,” He whispers, suddenly able to find a bit of strength in him, “I am so tired of these large parties.”

That's the response Joel wants to hear, turning away to take flight.

“Wait!” Jimmy shouts, able to stop Joel in time as the God turns back with a concerned look. “I…” Jimmy stammers, “Please, don't laugh, but I can't fly. I don't have any wings.”

Joel blinks, giving a shrug, “It's fine,” he reassures, “I can give you a ride.”

℧

“It’s stupid.” Joel complains, slouching back in his seat as Jimmy paces around the Lore-Law building—a symbol of their alliance. “Like, I get it, lady. You want my blessing, sure, but I'm not bringing your dead baby back. If you want him back, go look for the Fountain of Youth.”

Jimmy stops, turning his head towards Joel, “Would that— Would that even work?”

The God smirks as he takes a bite out of a golden apple, “…No.”

Silence rained as Jimmy squints his eyes. “I see…”

While the God urged to continue, he couldn't help but notice something was off with latter.

“You know, if you have a problem, you can tell me.” The God hints.

“How do people do it?” Jimmy asks, unable to control himself as he's given the go. “How do they manage to be… them? I try and try, but end up making a fool of myself.”

Joel goes soft, pained by the fact he can't formulate an answer.

It's been some time since he gave himself to the Gods. Since then, empathy molded more into that of a concept, Joel growing distant from human experience each passing day.

But, then again, it's not like Jimmy is human. A small voice in Joel insults, the God closing his eyes in self-contempt.

How long is Joel willing to go when it comes to playing pretend? If it ensures Jimmy stays happy, he'll go till the end of his days.

But what happens if Jimmy discovers the truth? He'll argue Joel betrayed him, letting him live nothing but a lie.

It was a harsh predicament, one where both outcome felt like a lose-lose. 

And to think, Joel used to mock him for this. All while Jimmy stood oblivious, the God used his truth against him just to get out a few laughs.

“Your day will come.” Joel reassures in confidence, walking over to place a hand on Jimmy's shoulder, “I'm sure of it.”

Jimmy blinks, stars filling his eyes, “Are you going to give me a blessing?”

Joel looks away, “No.” his rejection upfront, “No, sorry, I can’t do that… I'm only a demigod, after all.”

That gets a pout out of the sheriff, starting to look a lot like a sad puppy. It took everything out of Joel to not pet his head.

“I mean, look at it this way: it wouldn't feel rewarding if I just handed you a purpose,” Joel suggests, “sometimes, we have to get through the hard work to feel the worth of the reward.”

As reluctant as he was to admit it, Joel was right. It would take more than a badge, a hat, and a sense of pride for Jimmy to be deemed worthy of the title sheriff.

“It just sucks,” Jimmy complains as he turns his sight to Joel, “feeling like some people are more lucky than others when it comes to reward.”

Oh, Jimmy. Joel couldn't agree more.

While Jimmy was forced to scrape the bottom of the barrel, Joel won the lottery; he got a gift people would die for.

Did that mean Joel was happy? It depends, most days.

To say life was all sunshine and rainbows would be a lie. A bit of him wants to go back to being human, relish in the mortal experience.

When you first hear it, you're enticed by the idea. Immorality lets you cheat your way through life, lets you outrun all of its hardships.

But when it's delivered to you on a silver platter over, and over, and over again, life only starts to feel dull.

That's why he feels something every time he looks at Jimmy, able to sense the pain buried in his soul.

Oh, how he only wants to hold the man close and offer a better life to him.

He wants to reach out and take Jimmy's arm, hoist him up on the stage he could only observe. He wants to slow dance with him, show him how he's more than a mere outcast.

But how do you do that when you, too, are an outcast? What do you do when you're praised for the oddity that shuns out the other?

He doesn't know. The God, truly, doesn't know.

The only thing he can do is offer a gift.

“Jimmy,” Joel murmurs as he takes the sheriff's hand, “I want you to have this.”

The latter was puzzled by the reveal of a gift, watching the God place something in his hand.

What lied there was a music box—dawning a blue and green tint, able to remind you of the Earth. All the while, a hollow shadow of a hand looms over and seems to pick at the pink flower that rests in the corner.

“I wasn't made God at the time,” Joel explains, looking away as he scratches his head, “but I've been told stories of the Ocean Queen and her symbol. Some worshippers would make items like this in her honor.”

The sheriff was speechless, opening the music box and soon met with an angelic symphony.

The God let the music play before continuing, “Some say there rained a time many rulers fought for power. Some tried enforcing reasonable orders, others… not so much. Hell, I heard one ruler declared, 'Let them eat cake!' How silly…”

“Queen Lizzie.” Jimmy interjects.

“Is that so?” Joel smiles, his realization hitting a moment later, “Wait, how do you know that?”

The two lock eyes before Jimmy looks away, “Well, you tend to read a lot when you're bored in Tumble Town.”

That gets a smile out of both of them, Jimmy back to admire the music box as he caresses it with his thumb.

“Fun fact,” Jimmy blurbs out, “she had a husband who was also named Joel.”

“So I’ve heard…” Joel mutters in displeasure, unsure how to feel about sharing a name with the king of Mezalea.

Well, it doesn't matter. Joel was, and will always be, hotter.

But he's set off course as Jimmy whispers, “I hope they were happy together.”

The God tries to hold up a smile, remarking, “They, kinda, died by… you know,”

“The rapture.” They say together.

“Still,” Jimmy ponders as he steps back, sitting down in front of the door, “I want to believe they were happy in the end.”

“To know that you're going out next to the one you love…” he continues, “It has to bring some sense of peace.”

Joel walks over, soon sitting next to Jimmy, as he questions, “You think humans are willing to go that far? Hope that they find happiness in death?”

“Should they not hope for it?” The sheriff turns to face Joel, “After all, till death do us part.”

Jimmy looks back to admire the music box, all while Joel keeps his eyes on the cowboy, whispering, “Till death do us part.”

I love you, Jimmy. That's what he wants to say, but those words don't even scratch the surface.

He can only lean into the sheriff, resting his head on the other's shoulder, as it all goes quiet. He shuts his eyes as he takes in the silence.

How strange. Someone who thrived off of constant chatter only wished to live in this air of silence.

But, the world must keep going. Before he realizes it, Jimmy manages to slip away from Joel.

As if on instinct, the God reaches out to the sheriff, but he's just out a reach—soon to grasp nothing.

Jimmy didn't notice, grabbing his hat from the desk.

“Are you leaving?” Joel asks, up on his own feet.

“Have to,” the sheriff confirms, “Roswell's probably wondering where I am by now.”

No.  Joel thinks to himself.  No, I don't want this to end. “Let me give you a ride? I can take you home…”

While the offer was tempting, Jimmy shakes his head, “I'd love to, but…” He lets out a dry laugh, “It's probably best I take the train. It's one of my favorite things, after all.”

That's right. Jimmy was a simple man; he dreams of being a sheriff, he always enjoyed train rides, and he found peace best when he was alone.

And he had a massive crush on a God named Joel. His ego adds in that last bit.

“Right, I forgot,” Joel nods, playing it off, “forgive me.”

“Forgive me?” Jimmy mocks, holding a small smirk, “It's not like you to apologize.”

Leaving it there, the sheriff takes his leave, careful as he closes the door behind him.

Only when the sheriff was out of view did Joel cover his face, uttering a solid, “Fuck.”

All the while, Jimmy continued to admire the gift given to him on the ride back home. It made him feel special, wanted.

He stayed up for the entire ride, oblivious to the blush on his face as he longed to see the God again.

Jimmy didn't expect much upon his return home, which is why the sight of Roswell, Scott, Gem, and Sausage all together brought worry to him.

When Roswell caught sight of Jimmy, he rushed over to him.

“Where the hell have you been?!” The old sheriff shouts, the trio following behind him.

Jimmy took a step back, “I just went to Stratos' village. I didn't think it would be much trouble…”

“What makes you think you have time to party?” Roswell rants, “What were to happen if I wasn't here to keep watch? What could've happen to the villagers, to the town?”

The sheriff turns his eyes to the trio, the ones who told Jimmy of such party. When motioning for their defense, they provided nothing—seeming mad that he left off without them.

He was on his own, having to be the one to defend his case.

“I don't see much going wrong,” Jimmy combats, his legs soon to shake, “We didn't have any plans today since we had to postpone the work in the mines. I thought it would be nice to wind down, talk to people…”

That made Roswell clench his fist, anger seeping through his veins.

In a pit of rooted rage, he mutters, “You’re sleeping in the prison tonight.”

Jimmy's eyes widen to the verdict, “What? But, why? I mean,” he drags his 'friends' in, “these guys came with me. They know I'm capable, they know I can handle my time.”

“Right, guys?” Jimmy begs that they catch his hint, “I'm capable, right? I can take care of myself just fine, right? I know we have our jokes, our jabs, but at the end of the day… You respect me, right?”

Silence is all that follows.

Then, a snicker lets out, soon to turn into a giggle, then a full on laugh.

They were laughing. The very people he thought had his respect were laughing, aiming it all towards him.

Roswell yanks him by the arm, dragging him down to prison, “Come on, boy,” he belts, “I’ve had enough of your games.”

Jimmy didn't say anything, too ridden by his humiliation.

℧

Silence inside the prison was nothing like that of the train.

Here, it was dull. The only thing he hears is the echoing laughter, a loop in his head.

It had been a day or so since he's been in here, night rolling around. Jimmy could only bawl up in the corner and stare down these obsidian walls.

It puzzles him that he's yet to go hungry, given that its been a whole day since he ate.

Why didn't he feel hungry? Shouldn't his body feel sluggish?

Jimmy was starting to dislike the dark pits of his mind. It brought out the worst in him.

He had yet to forget the panic he had over his heartbeat, wondering where it had gone.

It was all starting to become purgatory, taunting him.

It's not fair, now is it? A voice rings his mind, sounding nothing like his.

“Hello?” Jimmy calls out, lifting his head. Assuming someone was at the door, he rushes over—only to be met with no one.

You play your cards right, yet, it's all still against you.  

There it goes again, Jimmy quick to whip his head around. “Who’s there?”

A rather sad life for a toy…

A toy?  What does that mean? “Who's talking? What about a toy?” Jimmy was getting paranoid, could this all be in his head? He didn't like the idea of going insane.

The voice giggles, almost amused by the sight. You wander through life, so sure you're human. I can't help but find it entertaining.

“Stop it.” He whispers, digging his fingers into his head as he covers his ears, “Get out of my head. I won't listen to you!”

Its laughter only continues to fester. It grows painful.

All cuts short when a piece of obsidian falls to the floor, enough to startle Jimmy.

Do not fret, my child. The voice quick to reassure, bits of sunlight seeping through. I only wish to help you, if you help me.

He could only look around, desperate to find the source of the voice. “But I still can't…”

Introductions are a concern for later. It dismisses. All you need to do now is break through. There, you will meet me atop the mesa. 

While he thought it best to stay here, in the prison, his body was compelled nonetheless. He can't recall agreeing with himself as he crouches down, putting his strength into the crack of obsidian.

It wasn't easy, taking every bit out of him, but he was able to make progress.

At one point, Jimmy could feel his hand slip. Some of the stone's sharp edges catch on to skin, leaving a small cut on the side of his palm.

Though it got a yelp out of him, he paid no mind to it. He had to keep going.

And his persistence is rewarded. As the obsidian breaks apart, Jimmy is able to crawl through the small gap and find himself outside.

Only that of distant whispers fill his mind, guiding him up the mesa. It is there he's met with a breathtaking sight.

A pristine tree of massive size had planted itself right above Tumble Town; its soil beginning to spread as its bright, End rods dangle against the foliage. In front of it laid a small fountain.

Good, you made it. It whispers, the volume now louder. Jimmy couldn't help but feel as if the entity was capable of splitting his head open if it wished. Now, come closer, big-hatted creature.

His body overlooks his mind's skepticism, taking a step forward.

“Who are you?” Jimmy questions, “I'm here now. Shouldn't we take this time to introduce ourselves?”

The whispers roaming in his mind contort into laughter, mimicking that of Gem, Scott and Sausage. Of course, I am the Fae—a rather simple creature, I feel.

Although… The wind picks up. There's no need to tell me who you are. I know the truth: that you are a puppet, a toy.

Jimmy stiffens, muttering out, “I'm not a toy, thank you. That's something my… peers once call me.” Peers he once considered to be friends.

You deny the truth, even when the evidence is clear. It grows inquisitive, almost studying him. You lack a heartbeat, carry no stomach… You go as far as ignoring the mark left on your hand.

As he looks down, Jimmy lets out a gasp.

A cut that should drip of blood only held that of cotton.

“No,” he frets, pulling his sleeve to hide the proof, “no, no… This can't be…”

He can only think back to all the times he was accused of being a toy. How long had people known?

And what about Joel? Had he kept it a secret just for his own gain?

Jimmy felt as if he was going to be sick.

The truth can be rather sad, can't it?The Fae ponders, attempting to convey pity. To not be human this whole time… May God have mercy on this big-hatted creature.

He was hyperventilating, now knowing the mystery around his heartbeat.

His body stumbles, soon crouched over in shock and defeat. How? How could this be? How could he not see the signs left for him?

Every given insult, his days spent in the cave, his body temperature, never feeling as if he needs to eat… They were always there, he just never acknowledged them.

“Woody is a toy, and he never let that define him.” When did Scar know? He knew this whole time, and yet, left Jimmy in the dark as he went home.

“Well, you should expect that from someone so…” Those three had to have known. Their laughter holding a new meaning.

“You'll always be a toy.” Joel knew. He knew and forced Jimmy into the label. He outed him for who he was, all without him knowing.

Had Joel betrayed him, long after they made amends? Was this alliance made off of nothing but fabricated lies?

He thought back to the music box that was gifted to him. I want you to have this. That sounded so genuine, it sounded like he meant something to Joel.

The world was closing in on him. This world was made against him, watching him be pulled by strings for mere entertainment value.

Static clouds his mind. He has too many questions, too many thoughts. It was all too much.

“But I can help you, Jimmy.” A voice cuts through, the toy letting out a gasp as he looks over his shoulder.

“Joel?” He whispers, his call shaky. The God held a small smile as he wrapped his arms around the other.

Jimmy wants to cry, but he can't. That's something humans do.

“I’m so scared, Joel.” Jimmy whispers, burying himself into the God's arms.

“I know.” Joel reassures, placing a hand atop Jimmy's head. “I know you're scared, but I know something that might help.”

The toy looks up, keeping a firm grip on Joel. He only wants him to stay close. “How? How could anything help me from this?”

Joel's smile grows ignoble, voices following him as he proposes, “Make a deal with the Fae. They'll protect you.”

Only then does the God summon a trident, offering it to Jimmy. If you make a deal with them, they'll keep you safe. You can be human, and live your days with me, I promise.

Jimmy looks down at the trident, catching a glimpse of his reflection. There, he appears more human. 

Thinking back on his life, he can only think of misery. All the things he did, everything that felt human was a mere illusion.

All that hard work had been for nothing. It pained him now.

But, as Joel said: sometimes, we have to get through the hard work to feel the worth of the reward.

“Yes,” he accepts, reaching out to take hold of the trident, “yes, of course. I'll make a deal with them, if it means I get to be with you.”

All the while, prismarine hands take form around them, trapping the two in its palms.

The Fae can't help but laugh at the sight of their next victim.