A/N: Hi. I have the compelling urge to write this as a novel, so I might do it. The rest/longer version will be in there when and if I publish it. Who knows. I don't.

I sat on the front porch with my dog, Sergeant, on a sunny Saturday morning, the day after moving in with my older brothers, Charlie and Jefferson and my niece, Grace. I rubbed my prosthetic left arm where my original left arm used to be before my father threw me off the train. Jefferson had dived off the train after me, knowing he was risking his life, but prepared to sacrifice himself for my life. We both ended up in the hospital, me missing an arm and him in a coma. We're lucky to be alive.

Charlie and Jefferson didn't want me to be burdened with stuff from my life with my parents, who were transphobic pieces of shit, so I didn't have anything from their house except for our grandmother's locket, tiara, and Sergeant. The rest of my belongings are provided by Charlie and Jefferson.

Grace was at school and Jefferson was at his day job as a hat maker while Charlie was picking up Grandma, so I was by myself at the house. I watched a little kid with thick-rimmed glasses and dark hair walk past with his hands over his ears as he walked with an older person with strawberry blonde hair. The kid looked at me shyly, his lips twitching a little. I looked down at my three-legged golden retriever mix, scratching his ears with my hand.

The pair wandered past again about half an hour later as I ate a cookie with Sergeant's head in my lap. The blonde walked up.

"Ah, another Barnes, right?" The blonde asked. I nodded. "So Jefferson has taken in another one of his younger siblings. Dammit, Jefferson, stop collecting people." They hissed under their breath. I laughed a little.

"I'm Becky Barnes. And yes, my Eldest brother needs to stop collecting people." I introduced myself, wiping the crumbs off my hand to extend it to them.

"I'm Emma Hills, nice to meet you. Me and my wife, Regina, live a few houses down with our three sons, Henry, Steve, and Bruce and our daughter, Natasha. We collect people for a reason, but Jefferson has no rhyme or reason to why he collects people." The blonde said, shaking my hand. "This is my youngest son, Bruce. He has autism."

"Hi Bruce." I said softly to him. He smiled a little bit, nodding. I smiled back. Jefferson came up the driveway, holding groceries and Grace in his arms somehow. Emma fixed my brother with a neutral stare so intense that he had to look down to avoid it before she left with Bruce, stating that she had to put the milk away in her fridge at home.

Grace put a flower crown on my head. "Papa showed me how to make a pretty flower crown out of daisies today. This is for you, Auntie." She said, grinning at me. I smiled back hesitantly. Jefferson nodded, sitting down on the porch swing.

"Yeah, I did teach her how to make flower crowns today. We also went to the store and got some new things for you that we're going to put away in your room." Jefferson said, stroking my hair behind my ear. "You don't have to meet anyone else today if you don't want to, but people keep looking out of their windows to see you looking depressed on my porch, so they're gonna wonder about you. They're already wary of me. With good reason, of course. I'm a slightly deranged gay hat maker that collects people and dresses oddly."

"Okay. Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." I said giving him a tight smile. He nodded a little bit before standing up and going inside with Grace, leaving me with my dog on the porch. I looked down at my lap, playing with Grandma's locket. 

A good ten minutes later, another blonde came down the street on a wheelchair and came up the driveway, causing Sergeant's ears to perk up. I looked at them through my dark hair which hung in my eyes.

"Uh, hi there. I'm Steve. Steve Rogers. From down the street. I'm Emma Hills's adopted son."

"Uh..." I began, instantly regretting it because of how deep my voice sounded. "Hi, Steve. I'm Becky and this is my dog, Sergeant. Sergeant, say hi to Steve." I said, bringing my voice to an alto range. Sergeant got up and trotted up to Steve on his three legs, wagging his tail hard enough that I was concerned that he would accidentally fall over. Steve scratched behind Sergeant's ears, making the noises that happy humans make.

"So...are you a transwoman? I'm not trying to be rude, I'm just curious. I'm a transman myself." Steve asked. I looked him in the eye steadily before letting my eyes fall down to his chest. Steve lifted his shirt a little bit to reveal a binder.

"Yes. I am a transgirl." I replied finally. "I'm also an ugly, depressed, dysphoric disaster that is missing at least one limb."

"Same. I don't think you're ugly though. I think you're actually rather pretty. By the way, can I hang out here with you for a while? My moms threw me out of the house for a while." Steve asked, rolling his wheelchair closer. I nodded, pulling out my phone as it dinged. It was just a text from my polyamorous aunt, Katie.

Aunt Katie: I heard the whole story about what happened when you came out to them. I'm so sorry for you and if you need anything, just call me, I'll be there in seconds.

Me: thank you so much. I will. I love you.

Aunt Katie: don't mention it, darling. You're beautiful and amazing and you deserve the world.

Me: please, we don't like lies in this household.

Aunt Katie: I am rolling my eyes and sighing.

Me: good.

I opened my ao3 account and started reading again, not caring if anything happened to me. I'm to the point where I'm content, but also okay with the idea of the sun blowing up and killing all of us. Steve had moved onto the porch, leaving his wheelchair in the path as he sat next to me and drew.