#oh the first little “kyle?” when he saw him and crutched by his side on the floor fucked me up SO much oooh ill never let this scene go
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Now tell me why Cartman desperately trying to reanimate Kyle (like full on crying??? And begging??????) was one of the most emotional scenes I've seen in this fucking ass show
#I KNOW its in the context of him wanting kyle to. yk. suck his balls and everything#but “youve never given up on anything before. dont give up on life now” WHAT ????? THE FUCK ??!!:(5€(4#him repeating “come on” “PLEASE buddy” ?? them telling him he is gone like 10 times and he just refusing to stop every each of them ???#the HITTING ???? the BROKEN VOICE ?????? THE STRAIGHT UP CRYING ??????????#oh the first little “kyle?” when he saw him and crutched by his side on the floor fucked me up SO much oooh ill never let this scene go#I DONT EVEN LIKE KYMAN !!!!!#I DONT FIND A RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THEM APPEALING !!!!!!!#but GOD if Cartmans crush on him isnt GOOD specially for a character like him fuck#once again#very much a onesided kyman enyojer#kyman#eric cartman#kyle broflovski#south park#sp#nate watches south park
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IV: The Dinner
(Batgirl/Red Hood)
Brief note; per demand, this little trilogy will now be an ongoing series🥺thank u all for the support! i was not expecting it at all. ur comments make my day!! i hope u enjoy this chapter bearing in mind that i wasn’t intending on a full length fic, so i hope u can put up with any missteps in the plot or writing. i’m making it up as i go. kiss kiss
Description: Reader makes an ally, and attends a tense dinner. part one, two, and three.
A mild blue dawn was just beginning to flit through the blinds, and I sighed heavily, stretching a little, and running a hand across my face. My skin was cold to the touch. Rolling over stiffly, I glanced at the clock on my nightstand.
5:26a.m.
Nineteen minutes before my alarm. I was too cold to go back to sleep, I knew, as much as Alfred had requested I try and get more of it. Pulling myself up, the sheets slipped off my bare shoulders and folded onto themselves. Once in a blue moon, I would forego making it up again, usually accompanied by an excuse. Today, I didn’t have one. I put my feet on the floor, mind buzzing.
I was done tossing and turning, and decided to get up and shower. Afterward, I threw on my uniform, and got to work on my face. A little bronzy eyeshadow, some mascara and lip balm. I could’ve turned my face into a work of art, but I was tired from my sleepless night and doing much else seemed like a strain.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in.” I was expecting Bruce or Alfred, but I caught Tim’s reflection in my vanity mirror.
“Hey.” He said.
“Good morning.” I replied tensely. He sat on my bed. Okay. Weird. Tim was a year younger than me- but always ordained himself something of an older brother. His brainpower made learned helplessness and easy state to slip into when he was around- always fixing my PS4, or recovering lost files from my laptop. When we first met, I used to use those things as a crutch to interact with him, as neither of us were particularly forthcoming. These days, we were as close as any pair of siblings.
“What’s up?” I asked, tucking away my mascara wand.
“Oh, I just thought I’d… check up on you. Before school started.”
I was the only one of the Waynes attending Gotham Academy at the moment. Damian was still at Gotham Prep, but by the time he would attend next year, I’d be graduated. I wondered if Tim ever missed it. He garnered his fair share of attention; mostly because of his attractive status and predisposition of agreeability. Before he dropped out, I used the be the subject of mediation for every eligible teenage girl that wanted to get to know my brother- no, the other one. With the soft hair. The chem tutor.
I laughed a little. “Do I seem like I need it?” Tim shrugged. I got up and plopped on the duvet beside him. My window was open a crack, filling the room with a chilly breeze and the scent of moisture and petrichor.
“Did Bruce make you get up for this?” I tried again, keeping my playful tone. He sighed and shook his head.
“Bruce isn’t the only one who’s noticed you lately.” He said, with contrasting seriousness that made my smile fall.
“What’s there to notice? Seriously.” I questioned.
He sighed again and twisted his lip. I knew what that meant. He was about to list everything different I’d been doing for the past three weeks, either alphabetically or by severity. “You look tired. You get home and go straight to your room. You keep fidgeting during briefings. You look distracted. You’re avoiding Damian- which, I get it- but like, more than usual. Dick said you haven’t texted him all week. You usually have something to say about your day at dinner, but-“
“Okay. I get it.”
A brief moment passed, where I watched him pull a looser string from the duvet.
“I know you went somewhere. On the 21st, when we were patrolling in Otisburg. You went somewhere for forty-two minutes.”
I blinked. “Oh.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything-“ He added quickly, looking at me. “Really, I have know idea why you left. I’m sure it was nothing, I just… you’ve been acting weird ever since. Where did you go?”
I swallowed, and my intestines felt like lead. Really, I was relieved. Here I was, in my room I’d decorated with Wayne money, with my brother who evidently cared enough about me to notice my typical word count at dinner, asking me what was wrong. And a lot was wrong.
So, I smoothed my plaid skirt and told him about the night of the 21st- and only that. From Red Hood, to Hoffman, to the warehouse. Every vivid detail I could remember. I decided to leave out my little truancy adventure, along with meeting him in the alley. Lifting up his mask. Having his exposed skin close enough to touch. His gunpowder smell. By the end, Tim was frowning. The following silence could’ve crushed a coke can.
“Shit.” He muttered.
“Yeah.” I echoed. “Shit.”
He didn’t asked why I didn’t tell Bruce. Or Anyone. He didn’t ask why it was so important to me to do this by myself. All he did was take in the information and start putting it together.
“Jesus- you could’ve died. But all that Hoffman stuff. Why you?”
“Exactly!” I breathed.
Another knock on the door, and Alfred’s voice carried through, telling me it was time to go. I got up. Tim nodded and followed suit, no doubt carrying my every last recounting in his piggy-bank memory.
“Please don’t tell Bruce.” I said, some amount of fear slipping into my voice. “I know it was a stupid thing to do and it was stupid not to tell anyone. But he’ll never trust me again.” Tim hesitated at the door.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
I climbed into the backseat of the car, and stared at the cityscape running past the windows. The anxiety had lifted. One of my growing number of secrets revealed. In its wake, the sudden absence left a sense of clarity. I remembered why I had kept it to begin with.
Dick was gifted. The first. The talented boy who could fly. Babs and Tim were brilliant; genius far beyond the confines of academia. Damian was skilled. Trained from birth, the blood son. It nestled here him neatly, right where he belonged. What was I? I wasn’t born with athletic ability beyond my years, or genius intellect. Without that information- without my secrets- I had nothing else to give.
*
Thursday night was dinner. The whole family. It was Bruce’s excuse to drag Dick out of his apartment in Blüdhaven, and for Alfred to exercise a new recipe, since everyone was on a strict lean-means and superfoods regimen every other waking day. Babs attended occasionally, when work didn’t keep her busy, and Tim was only allowed to pass if he promised to rest instead.
I met his eyes as everyone was rounded into the dining room by Alfred like a herd of sheep; he gave me some imperceptible knowing look that promised to keep my secret.
We sat down and sipped water from crystal glasses as the table was set with food, muttering amongst ourselves about our days. Dick was given a coffee with the wrong name (‘Nick’), Babs met up with her friend from high school (Olivia something or other), and Damian completed a group project with some incompetent classmates (they all were- even the professors). Vigilante talk wasn’t forbidden, but generally skirted around so as to offer a small reprieve of normalcy during the week.
There was an exception to this unspoken rule when there was a particularly exciting case on the table. Unfortunately for me and my anxiety, the case of the Red Hood was a very exciting one.
“Any new breaks with Red Hood?” Dick asked through miso soup. Bruce sighed.
“He made some movements in Robbinsville. Gone before we could get there. He’s got his men on a tight leash- we couldn’t get any of them to talk.”
“Course not. There’s rumors flying all over the department. One of the Ioveanu family branches payed out a huge security detail for their private mansion.”
“He hasn’t hunted anyone in their home, has he?” I asked. I pictured him standing in front of me- maskless, in my academy uniform.
“No, it’s not his MO.” Barbara answered.
“Not yet. It’s only been six months, and he’s progressing rapidly.” Bruce diagnosed grimly.
“Are you scared he’s gonna join us for dinner?” Dick joked, throwing a wink my way.
“Haha.” I muttered. Actually, I hadn’t slept because of the very idea.
“If you’re nervous, you could always stay home next patrol.” Damian suggested pointedly. To him, existing in the realm of crimefighting was a competition, and he was always looking for others to drop out of the race. I resisted the urge to fling a pea at him.
“I’m not nervous.” I said coolly.
“You’ve been practically trembling since we fought his pathetic lackeys.”
“Damian.” Bruce warned, from the head of the table. I flipped the smallest Wayne the middle finger. He resigned, but I swore I saw amusement on his lips.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Red Hood is very skilled and very prolific. It’s a daunting case.” Bruce continued.
“Thanks, but I’m okay. Really.” I said, trying not to sound annoyed, and feeling like a spotlight was over my head, operated by the ghost of Hoffman. I almost laughed as I pictured it.
“That’s good to hear. We’ve been concerned.” Alfred added.
“Wow. I’m the star of the show around here.” I remarked dryly.
“We can’t help it, Miss Independent.” Dick said teasingly. “You’re just a good mystery.”
“Reminds me of Talia.” Tim said casually. The silverware stopped clanging.
It was a shameless subject change. Damian’s mother was an inflammatory topic for all parties. Bruce’s moral contempt didn’t reach the likes of Talia Al Ghul and Selena Kyle, immoral though they were. Beauty makes anything charming- and when paired with an impeccable taste in dress, even murder and thievery can be minimized into something of a quirk. Bruce thought so, anyway.
As for Damian, he had grappled with his dismissal from Talia’s side for what was now a majority of his life, and still possessed this deep-rooted, inextinguishable attachment to his mother. It was the hollow soreness any young boy would have in his position. Tim called him mama’s boy until he finally displayed a frightening amount of disdain for the title and actually begged him to stop. Tim agreed to, and I agreed to pretend I never heard a thing.
Dick disagreed with both of those sentiments and viewed Talia as someone who wasn’t worth the trouble. His dismissal embarrassed Bruce and offended Damian, so I knew the dinner table had been sufficiently turned into a powder keg. Tim and I shared a look as I expressed silent gratefulness, and he resigned to inspecting a dumpling, while I picked around my haka noodles.
The rest of dinner was quiet. Somehow, somewhere in the silence all had been decidedly forgiven. First by Babs who asked me to pass the pepper. Then by Dick who said the vegetables were good. Thank you, Alfred. Damian still looked pissed, and Bruce kept stealing glances at the clock.
I texted Tim under the table.
Thanks for taking one for the team.
The reply: You owe me one. I think Damian’s gonna poison my food.
We both glanced at the youngest, who was darkly mesmerized by what appeared to be Tim’s soup bowl.
He quickly added, Wait, actually tho? And we both fought laughter like two kids in the back of the class. It felt good to have an ally. Even if he still didn’t know the whole truth.
#batfam#batman daughter#batsister#batsis#batsis x batfamily#batsis x bruce wayne#batgirl reader#batgirl#jason todd x reader#jason todd imagine#jason todd#jason todd x y/n#red hood x y/n#red hood x reader#red hood#batsis x dick grayson#dick grayson#tim drake#batsis x tim drake#red robin#damian al ghul#damian wayne#robin#bruce wayne#batfam imagine
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"Your turn."
"Oh, we take turns on getting the door now?"
Alex smiled as he felt Michael's back vibrate with a groan beneath his cheek. They were finally, finally doing good. For a whole months, they hadn't had any problems. Nothing major, at least. If they had a problem, they always fixed it with communication. No arguments needed. He was happier than he could ever remember being.
"Fine, I'll go get it," Alex said, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades, "But you owe me."
"I'll make you coffee as soon as I manage to get up," Michael grumbled. Alex's smile never fell as he dragged himself out of bed, slipping on a shirt and grabbing his crutches as he hauled himself to the door.
"Coming!" Alex called towards the incessant knocking. He didn't know who he was expecting to see when he got to it. Maybe a package he forgot he ordered or maybe Rosa had forgotten to call first.
He did not, however, expect to see a little boy with uncomfortably familiar curls and big hazel eyes standing there with a backpack so big it almost tipped him over.
"Um," Alex said, trying to decide why a kid was at his door at 7 in the morning, "Hi?"
"Are you Michael Guerin?" the kid asked. Alex felt his stomach drop and he shook his head. The kid looked down at the piece of paper in his hands and then to the mailbox where the address was.
"He's here though," Alex said in a calm voice, trying not to jump to conclusions. The little boy smiled up at him and it became a little hard not to jump. "Michael! Come here for a minute, will you?"
"Alex, c'mon–!"
"No, it's important!"
Alex kept staring at the boy in the doorway, feeling too shell-shocked to invite him inside. Go figure, as soon as they start doing good, something fucking weird happens.
Michael eventually dragged himself to the door, peering over Alex's shoulder to the little boy. He didn't seem to notice what Alex had noticed.
"Sorry, we're not interested in buy–"
"Did you know a lady named Daniella Pérez about 10 years ago?" the little boy asked. Michael went so still that he wasn't even breathing. Alex gulped softly.
"Uh, yeah," Michael answered softly. The little boy smiled even wider.
"I'm Isaac," he said, "You're my dad."
Alex didn't feel the blow as hard as it could've been considering he saw it coming, but Michael similar let out a confused squeak and stayed frozen in place. Isaac just stared up at him and waited for some kind of response that didn't come. So, Alex, being the adult, had to take initiative.
"Hi, Isaac, I'm Alex," he greeted, holding out his hand. Isaac laughed a little bit and shook it. "Why don't you come inside? I'll make you breakfast and we'll talk, okay?"
"Okay," he agreed. Alex turned to Michael and gave the frozen man a look that said 'go take a breath and then come handle this'. He didn't bother making sure he went to do that before leading Isaac towards the kitchen on his crutches. "You have a pretty house."
"Thank you," Alex said, "You can put your bag down if you want."
Isaac did just that before climbing into a barstool. Alex took another sobering breath as he took in what the hell was happening. Michael had a 10-year-old son because of course he did.
"So, Isaac, are you allergic to anything? Do you like pancakes? Muffins? Eggs?" Alex asked.
"Eggs are fine. I'm not allergic to anything," he stated, his feet gently kicking the cabinets that were by the barstools. Alex didn't say anything as he got out a pan and some eggs.
"How'd you find your way here?" he asked. He figured they could tackle the bigger questions like 'where's your mom' or 'why are you here' once Michael was in the room.
"Google," Isaac answered. Alex held back a sigh. "Are you my dad's boyfriend?"
Alex swallowed. "Yes."
"I didn't know he had one of those," Isaac said.
"Well, we're both learning today," Alex breathed, covering it with a smile as he cracked the eggs into the pan.
"Do you only have one leg?" Isaac asked.
"Yep," Alex answered, "I was in the Air Force."
"Mom says that the military is predatory towards the children of low income families," Isaac recited. Alex stared at him for a moment. Where the hell was Michael?
"Well..."
As if one cue, Michael came in with a determined stride in his step. Isaac looked to him like an eager puppy trying to hold back his excitement. Somehow, he looked exactly like Michael. Alex still didn't know how to feel.
"You can go get your leg, Alex," Michael said as he went to take over the eggs.
"I think I'll stay here," Alex said, grabbing a chair and sitting over to the side so they made a triangle. Michael took a deep breath and looked at him.
"Look, kid, I don't wanna sound rude, but how do you know I'm your... your biological father?" Michael asked, "Daniella never mentioned anything to me about anything."
"She said you were," Isaac said innocently. Michael glanced over at Alex, quietly deciding they needed a DNA test despite the fact he was a spitting image.
"Where is she, then? Why are you here by yourself?" Michael quizzed. Isaac looked down for a minute and shrugged. "What does that mean?"
"She left," he mumbled. Alex's heart ached.
"She left? What do you mean, she left?"
"Michael," Alex interjected. They made eye contact and that's when it seemed to click. Michael cleared his throat and scooped eggs onto a place. He placed it in front of Isaac.
"Okay, so," Michael sighed, leaning against the counter, "You looked me up, tracked me down. What's the plan here? Who was taking care of you? Am I gonna get charged for kidnapping? What's your goal?"
Alex rubbed a hand over his face. Interrogating a 10-year-old was not how he planned to spend his morning.
"I stayed with Tía Ellie, but she doesn't want me anymore so I wanted to stay with you," Isaac said. It was clear he was getting more and more upset at the negative reaction from him.
"Why do you think she doesn't want you?" Michael asked, voice softer since that he could actually related. Alex waited and watched as Isaac kept his head bowed before looking over at Alex. He seemed to make a decision before waving Michael closer. Reluctantly, he did so.
Alex pretended he wasn't watching as Isaac whispered something to Michael that changed the entire tone of the morning.
"Okay," he said softly, "Okay, it's okay. Do you have a number for your tía?"
"No, you can't call her!"
"Hey, no, I'm not sending you back, I just need to call her so she knows where you are, okay?" Michael said softly. Isaac stared at him with big eyes and Michael stared right back. It was the most adult Alex had ever seen him and his stomach twisted in confused attraction. "You're not going anywhere you don't want to which is why I have to call her so no one takes you."
"Okay," Isaac said, voice only one step away from tears. He wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands before he dug in his pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. Michael took it and smiled at him.
"You go ahead and eat and me and Alex are gonna call your tía, alright?" Michael told him. Isaac nodded in agreement. Alex made eye contact with Michael over his head.
A few seconds later, they found themselves in their bedroom and Alex was putting on his prosthetic while Michael was pacing.
"We gotta call Kyle and Liz and Max and Isobel and fucking Tía Ellie and fuck," Michael groaned, raking his hand through his hair, "I'm so sorry, Alex. I swear to God, I had no idea."
"It's okay," Alex said. Which was only kind of the truth. Michael had basically promised that they would keep a little boy without consulting him, but they discuss that after things settled in better. They'd discuss a lot when things settled in better. "What'd he say to you?"
Michael turned to face him, looking truly and utterly pathetic.
"He's telekinetic."
#malex#malex fic#michael Guerin#alex manes#roswell new mexico#its 1 in the morning and i clicked on that show once upon a time#this is what it inspired#my fic#sorry for the lack of read more im on mobile#i never planned on you
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Come Home
This was originally written for the Whumptober prompt “Embrace”, that I posted on AO3 but never here. @spaceskam reminded me it exists the other day... It’s not new, but I didn’t have time to create anything new, so it’s my entry for day 3 of the Missing Alex Manes Weekend ( @alexmanesappreciation).
MAJOR tissue warning. This is not a major character death, but...it comes really close.
[brain cancer, discussions of death, grief/mourning]
1.
“Genocide is the alien's intent for us during a systematic invasion. They're perfectly designed to kill!” Flint exclaims. “One of them can give you a brain tumor just by touching you!”
“Jim Valenti,” Alex blinks in shock. “Did Dad do that?”
“Subject N38 did,” Flint spits out. “They're coming. The question is whether or not we'll be ready.”
Alex shakes his head. “You're just as committed to the cause as our old man.”
“Dad didn't send you, did he,” Flint realizes. “No, Dad would never send you.”
Alex shifts. He sees Flint's hand move toward his holster, to the gun Alex just gave him back, and he prepares to move. It lasts exactly two seconds, until he hears the clicks of more guns cocking. A quick look around him tells him he's surrounded.
How did he miss them coming in?
“I'm sorry, Alex,” Flint says. He truly looks sorry. “We can't let you leave this place with what you know.”
They were here the whole time, Alex realizes. Flint's presence destabilized him and he was careless.
Alex slowly raises his hands, gun held loosely in his right. He's outnumbered one to seven. There's nothing he can do. He just hopes Michael and Kyle will make it out. Oh God, Michael. If they catch him−
He bends down to put the gun on the floor. One of the men−military, all of them, though Flint is in the Army and Alex can spot at least one Marine uniform−comes up to him with handcuffs. Alex doesn't resist.
“Come on,” Flint says.
He leads them to another room, filled with more weapons and equipment. Alex looks almost hungrily at the computers, knowing that he could get all he information he needs right there. But the bulky airman holding his cuffed arm makes him stumble, and he almost falls, barely catching himself. The pain that shoots up Alex's leg brings him straight back to his present situation.
Flint doesn't seem to be aware that Alex is not alone, and things need to stay that way. He needs to keep them away from the surveillance monitors he can see on one side of the room. The only thing Alex can do is give Michael and Kyle time to run, and hope they're not going to play heroes.
He has his doubts about that. There are dozens of aliens kept in cages downstairs, if he's interpreting what he's seeing on the surveillance videos correctly. Michael is never going to leave them here.
Flint is on the phone. Alex can't hear what the other person is saying, but he recognizes the unmistakable patterns of their father's voice. And even if he hadn't, Flint's tone would have told him.
“We captured him breaking into the facility,” Flint explains. “Yes, sir.”
Alex strains to hear his father, but he can't make out the words. Flint suddenly looks hesitant.
“But it's Alex, sir,” he says. “Are you sure?”
Hesitant turns to conflicted. “I would rather not.” Then to resigned. “Very well, sir.”
Flint motions to one of the Airmen to approach, and gives him the phone.
“Master Sergeant?” the man asks. He listens for a moment. “Yes, I will take care of the prisoner, sir. Right away.”
Flint's look at Alex is sorry and sad, but he looks away when Alex makes eye contact. Just from that, Alex knows his fate.
The Airman takes his arm again, roughly, and forces him to walk too fast, too hard. Alex knows there's no point in fighting, but he still struggles against the restraints all the way down to the cells' level, almost falling down the stairs several times.
They stop in front of one of the glass door, and Alex feels his spine go cold at the sight of the old man in it, and the sign on the side of the door. Subject N38.
“Open the door,” the Airman order the guard.
Flint looks away, as they push Alex inside.
2.
Kyle waits until Alex has almost reached his house to drop him off to ask. “What happened back there? Before the explosion, I mean. They got you?”
Alex keeps looking straight in front of him at the road. “For a while, yes,” he answers, forcing the words out. “I'm going to need you to book me an MRI.”
“What?” Kyle asks, confused. “Why?”
“I got confirmation that my father was probably the one who killed yours. By way of an alien. Subject N38,” Alex says. “I'm sorry.”
Kyle opens his mouth, even more confused. “We saw him,” he says. He starts saying something else, but Alex can feel the moment he understands.
“No,” Kyle gasps. “They didn't.”
Alex briefly closes his eyes against the tears threatening to fall. “Flint−” he starts, but his throat knots up. He's going to die by his brother's hand, on his father's order. What a family.
“What didn't you say anything?”
“We had more urgent things to take care of. And you and I both know there's nothing to be done.”
Kyle punches the dashboard. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. We're going to find some way. Maybe Liz and I can−”
“No,” Alex says. “We are not telling anyone about this.”
“But why? If we can cure you−”
“But we can't. Project Shepard needs to be shut off, and the alien serial killer, whoever it is, needs to be stopped. It's far more important.”
“More important than your life?” Kyle asks.
“Be realistic, Kyle. Even if you find something, it's going to do what, slow it down a little? You're not going to cure an alien brain tumor in a few weeks. I'd rather spend those weeks destroying my father's work.”
“So you're gonna make me watch you die like my father, and do nothing about it? And keep it to myself? The fuck I'm gonna do that, Alex.”
“You will,” Alex says, looking at his hands now that he has pulled over and doesn't have the excuse of the road to look away. “You know why I need you to. Look, I know it's not fair, and I'm sorry. I wouldn't have told you at all, but I'm going to need someone who can help me get my affairs in order, and take over when I can't keep going.”
“Alex...” The pure anguish of Kyle's voice almost makes Alex break.
“Please, Kyle.”
“Fuck!” Kyle punches the dashboard again.
“Will you do it?”
Kyle sighs. “Yeah. I'll do it. But I will try to find a cure, and I want it on the record that I don't agree with this.”
“Thank you,” Alex murmurs, relieved. At least one thing he doesn't need to worry about. Kyle will respect his wishes. It's his job, the one he swore to do.
Now he has work to do, before he can let himself collapse.
3.
The first few days, Alex feels fine. Physically, at least. Psychologically...it's another matter. He almost goes to Michael, to tell him everything. In a moment's weakness, he thinks he wants to give them a chance, before it's too late.
Then he thinks of what he would feel if it was Michael in his place, and remembers that Michael just lost his mom. He doesn't go. He spends his time at the base and down in the bunker instead, looking through the data they got at Caulfield.
There's a video of Jim Valenti being pushed into Subject N38's cell, and Alex throws up when he watches it. He doesn't know if it's because it's his father's face on the screen, of if the tumor that's already visible on the MRI is starting to affect him.
It's growing inside his head. His own death.
He can't feel it yet.
Alex and Kyle catch up with the Noah problem after the fact, when Liz calls them in panic and they find her hugging Max's dead body, and a very alive Rosa looking on, confused.
Max doesn't stay dead long. The storm is going strong again outside, and Isobel is the one who figures out how to channel the lightning into Max's body. He's been dead longer than a human could have gone pumping blood, but then he's not human. He gets off lightly, just weak and sore for a few weeks.
Hugging Rosa, Alex reminds himself that he's not going to get the same chance, and he wants to cry. He thought he could handle it, die in dignity like he always hoped he would, but this isn't combat. This isn't one gunshot and−gone.
It's weeks, months of waiting for the inevitable end.
It's going to be ugly.
He looks at Kyle across the room, who is looking back at him sadly. Kyle always looks at him sadly, now.
Alex is glad none of the others know.
4.
Five days after Rosa is resurrected, Alex walks into the Wild Pony, hoping to drown his sorrows for a while, and he finds Michael kissing Maria behind the counter. It's a punch to the gut.
Only as he backs out of the door, deciding he'll do his drinking at home, Alex realizes that it doesn't feel like he thought he would. Michael is lost to him anyway. He's planning to leave the planet, and Alex won't even live long enough to see him go. He thought his heart would break. But his heart is already in too many pieces to break more.
He can't help the jealousy, but it's a relief too, somehow. If Michael has moved on, if he's happy with Maria, then Alex's death won't destroy him.
He hopes Michael will forget him, once he's gone.
He gets drunk enough that he doesn't remember the rest of the night.
He wakes up to Kyle's knock at his door. Kyle has come like clockwork every morning before his shift, making the two-hour round trip to check on Alex. Alex keeps telling him it's not necessary, but he won't budge on this.
Alex tries to clear his head of the hangover, going to open the door on crutches.
“How long did it take, for your father?” he asks, before he even realizes how insensitive it is. But he needs some kind of time frame. He's avoided thinking about it so far, about how many months or weeks he has−how many days.
Kyle runs a hand down his face. “Alex...” he mutters. “I can't do this right now. Come sit down.”
Alex obeys, but he still pushes. “Please.”
Kyle sighs. “He died March 9th, and the worst of the symptoms started in late February.”
“Time stamp on the video said February 15th,” Alex mutters. “Less than a month.”
“You said yourself that he was in the cell a lot longer than you,” Kyle says. “You may have more time.”
Alex looks up at him. A month. He has a month left to live, maybe two if he's lucky. It's been six days already.
“I'm sorry,” he says. “This has to be so hard on you.”
Kyle laughs humorlessly. “I'm not the one−” who's dying, Alex can fill in, but Kyle's voice breaks as his laugh turns into a sob.
Alex's eyes are dry as he hugs his friend. He feels cold.
5.
“Where is he?” Michael almost barrels into Kyle. “Where is Alex?”
Kyle sighs. “I don't think he wants to see anyone,” he says.
“Why? Is it bad? What is wrong with him?” Michael asks, panicking.
Kyle bites his lip. He promised, but he's pretty sure the cat is already out of the bag. Instead of answering, he nods to the door of Alex's hospital room behind them. Michael doesn't even hesitate before he knocks on the door.
“Come in,” Alex says, his stomach feeling like lead. Him collapsing in the middle of the Crashdown Café was bound to come back to his friends' ears, but he'd hoped for more time. It's been twenty one days since Caulfield, and he's been hiding the bouts of nausea and dizziness, the blinding headaches, for over a week now. He's running out of time.
He fiddles with his IV as Michael comes in. The truth is, he'd hoped he'd be able to hide it until the end, to avoid making his friends go through this. But it's unfair to Kyle to ask him to carry this on his own any longer, and the choice has been made for him by his traitorous body anyway.
“Alex! What happened?” Michael asks, coming closer.
Alex sighs. He wants so hard to say it's nothing−he wants it to be true. He doesn't know how to announce it.
“Alex, please. You're scaring me.”
“I had a frontal lobe seizure,” Alex explains. He chokes up on the rest.
“What does that mean?”
“The seizure itself is nothing bad, but it happened because...I have a brain tumor.”
“What?” Michael gapes. He drops into the chair beside Alex's bed. Alex bring his good leg up to his chin and wraps his arms around it, trying to distance himself. He thought this would hurt less if Michael was with Maria, but he heard they broke up a week ago.
“In Caulfield...my brother Flint got to me. He...my father ordered him to take me to Subject N38.”
“No,” Michael shakes his head. “No.”
Alex looks away.
“The tumor's already grown enough for symptoms to appear, so I don't have a lot of time left,” he says, as matter-of-factly as he can.
The look on Michael's face in unbearable. Raw pain, purer that anything Alex has ever felt. He closes his eyes, unable to stand it.
“No, it's not right,” Michael mutters. “You can't−” He chokes.
“I'm sorry,” Alex says.
Michael swallows several times. “How long have you known?”
“Since the day it happened,” Alex answers quietly. “You had so much on your plate.”
“Who else knows?”
“Kyle. Liz found out today, and now you.”
Telling Liz was painful and hard and sad, but it doesn't even start to compare to this. Alex dreaded this moment for a reason.
It takes Michael almost five whole minutes to break down. Alex leans in to allow him to bury his head in his shoulder. He hoped for anger, almost. Rage. He wants Michael to scream at him for not telling him sooner, he wants…
Anything but this.
Because he can't stand Michael's pain. Because this is what drives it home.
He's going to die. Not someday, not maybe, not even probably.
He's going to die, and he'll spend the little time he has left watching his body give out on him.
Feeling cold and numb, he waits until Michael's heart-wrenching sobs start to abate to speak again.
“When I was injured in Iraq, I was certain that I was going to die. The whole building collapsed on me, and I was trapped and pinned down. The whole time, I was thinking about you, and I regretted that we never got to make things right. It feels a bit like...like I was given a little more time, somehow, to get back to you.”
Michael pulls back to look at him, his face streaked with tears.
“Alex−”
“But it also means that I've been living on borrowed time, for almost a year,” Alex continues. “I'm so glad I got the chance to see you again. To learn who you really are, even. That we got a little time together.”
Michael lets out another sob.
“But I'm running out of time,” Alex continues. “And you've moved on. It's a good thing. It will be easier for me to go, if I know that you're going to be okay.”
Michael shakes his head vigorously in denial.
“I haven't moved on,” he says. “I went to Maria because it was easier. It didn't hurt.”
“Loving me hurts?” Alex asks, but he already knows the answer. Of course it does. What has he brought to Michael but pain?
“Not loving you. But being with you. Being without you. We just kept hurting each other. I was running. I wanted to get away from the pain.”
“I know,” Alex murmurs. “It hurt, to see you with Maria, but I understand.”
“You're...knowing that you're dying, it feels like...” Michael makes a gesture when words fail him. “The end of the world. But I've also realized how wrong I was.”
“About what?”
“Loving you is worth all the pain in the world. I didn't realize it sooner, and I'm so sorry.”
Alex chokes up. “No, Michael, I am sorry. For leaving, every time. And I'm sorry that I'm going to leave you again.” Because this time I would have stayed, Alex doesn't add. There's no point in making this even more painful for Michael.
Michael makes a wounded animal sound, hugging Alex again.
“You know what?” he says after a bit. “We're gonna make the most of the time we've got, okay?”
“I'm going to be very sick,” Alex bites his lip.
“And I'm going to take care of you. Starting right now.”
Michael stands up, untangling his hands from Alex, who lies back into his pillow, exhausted. Michael dries his face with his sleeve, then gives Alex one more look, heartbreakingly gentle.
“Valenti!” he calls, going to open the door.
“What?” Kyle responds from where Alex assumes he's still sitting with Liz.
“Does he need to be in the hospital?”
Kyle comes over to the door where Alex can see him. “In here we can at least check on his vitals−”
“Is there anything you can actually do?” Michael asks, his voice rising in irritation.
Kyle makes a grimace, like he hates what he's going to say. “Keep him comfortable?”
“I doubt he'll ever be comfortable in a hospital bed,” Michael shakes his head. “Can I take him home?”
Kyle looks between him and Alex for a moment before he makes a decision. “Yes. I'll come check on you as much as I can. Just let me get you the discharge papers.”
“I'm going to be with you until the end,” Michael says when he's gone. “I promise.”
Alex doesn't know whether to be heartbroken or relieved. He shivers, and Michael snuggles up against him on the bed, warming him up.
6.
“Kyle and I looked over your scans,” Liz says a couple of days later, when she and Kyle visit Alex at the cabin. They've been working non-stop since everyone found out. “We're going by the progression of the tumor, and Jim Valenti's medical file to try and predict what will happen.”
“I already know what will happen,” Alex shrugs.
“We wanted to have a more precise time scale. Look, Alex, I still don't get why you didn't tell me earlier, but what Kyle found shows some promise.”
“There's no time to test it, or implement it,” Alex says. He and Kyle have spoken about it many times. “Even with your genius, Liz, I'll be dead long before you manage to make it into a cure.”
“Maybe not,” Liz says. “We have the pods. We can keep you in stasis for a while, long enough enough to figure it out.”
“It could be years. And we don't know that it would even work.”
“Don't you want to try? It may be your only chance.”
“It's a slim one at best. I don't want to give up on what little time I have left for a fool's hope.”
Liz and Kyle exchange a look. Kyle takes a deep breath.
“Listen,” he says. “I watched my father die. I wasn't there the whole time, but I was there at the end, and I watched him suffer. It was...excruciating.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Alex frowns. “I already know that.”
“Because...you're at the end your rope here. From here on, it will be nothing but pain. Your sight will be the first to go, but the tumor has already metastasized all over your body, on your bones, your organs… The other day was just the first symptom.”
“It wasn't,” Alex shakes his head. “I've been feeling ill and sore for a while.”
Kyle closes his eyes. “It's only going to get worse from there.”
“I know.”
“Do you really want to go through this?” Liz asks.
Alex sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “No, Liz, of course I don't. But I don't have a choice, do I? Not a real one.”
“We could−” Liz hesitates. “Maybe there's a middle ground. By our estimation, you have another two weeks, maybe, before the tumor's damage will be permanent, even if we were to find a cure. If we manage to make real progress during that time, would you let us put you in stasis? And just...I don't know, we can promise you to bring you out after a certain length of time if we don't manage to make a cure if you really want. I understand that you don't want to end up in there forever, I mean, with the whole thing with Rosa… But we can't lose you, Alex. Not like that.”
Alex closes his eyes. We can't lose you isn't helpful. They will. They'll lose him, and they need to be ready. He doesn't believe that Liz can make the cure, not really.
He still wants to hold on to that sliver of hope.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “If you have something promising by then, I'll let you put me in a pod. Just...you have a year. Swear that if you don't have a cure by then, you'll get me out and let me go.”
Liz has tears falling down her face as she murmurs, “I promise. One year. I'll figure it out.”
“No, don't promise that. You know you can't. Promise me that you won't leave me in that pod forever.”
“One year,” she says. “Then we take you out. Whatever the outcome.”
Alex turns to Kyle, who nods solemnly, swallowing back his own tears.
He waits until he's alone to break down.
It's better this way.
7.
They have five days of near peace. Alex's pain is managed well enough with strong painkillers, and though he has energy for little else than sleep or rest on the couch, at least he's fairly comfortable.
He discovers that Michael is a pretty good cook, if you give him an actual kitchen. He can't keep much food down anymore, but he tries to eat anyway, just to taste it.
He falls asleep in Michael's arms, or to the sound of Michael's guitar. Alex would love to sing for him, but he doesn't have enough voice left in him. He's glad Michael has his music back. It's something, at least. Maybe Alex will not live to see his father brought to justice, but he'll leave something right.
The fight has gone out of them, and all that's left is tenderness, tinged with grief. Where their relationship was once fireworks and crash landings, it's now soft and bittersweet. They don't argue. They don't need to communicate much even, which is good as Alex progressively loses the energy to speak. They cuddle up together when Alex is cold, which is most of the time.
There's no fear of the future. Not of that future, anyway, the one they both dreamed of so much that they pushed each other away because they were terrified of screwing up. It's gone. They only have a few days, and the best they can do is be together.
They both try their best not to think of after. Alex has handed the Project Shepard work to Kyle entirely, since he can barely get out of bed anymore, and his affairs are in order, so he tries to let go and live in the moment. Actually live each moment he has left.
Michael still can't imagine a world−a universe−that doesn't have Alex in it. The only muddled thought he has is that he'll finish his spaceship and get away from this planet. Permanently.
But for now, he holds Alex in his arms and watches him sleep, and he tries very hard not to think.
For Michael, the worst moments somehow aren't when Alex cries from the pain in his arms. It's sitting in a corner of the room when Maria and Liz visit Alex, who can barely sit up in bed anymore, and they try to laugh and smile through the tears. It's watching Alex's face fall when he opens an invitation to one of his Air Force friends' wedding with trembling hands, and they both know he won't be alive by the wedding date. It's feeling like he's mourning Alex before he's even dead.
Dead. The nausea settles deeper in Michael's stomach every time he thinks about it−he doesn't think about anything else. At this point, as he watches Alex suffer so much, he almost wishes he was safe and painless in a pod. But he also can't imagine living in a world where Alex isn't there.
On the sixth day, Alex wakes up screaming in pain.
Michael immediately jumps up and cups his face in his hands, trying to calm Alex down enough to get pills down him, but nothing helps. Alex feels like his whole body is on fire.
It doesn't start to abate until Alex is hooked to the highest dose of morphine that won't outright kill him, and even then, as he sleeps, his face is lined with pain.
“Either the tumor's reached some nerve center, or the metastases on his spine have gone through the bone and into the nervous system,” Kyle diagnoses. “Either way, there's nothing I can do except try to relieve the pain.”
“Nothing?” Michael asks, desperate.
“No. We may have less time than we thought.”
Alex still won't go into a pod, though. The pain is worth a little more time with Michael. With all of his friends. He's not ready to go.
He doesn't believe, in his heart, that he'll even come out if he does. So he fights for another day.
8.
When he opens his eyes to see a large black spot in the middle of his vision, Alex knows it's the end. This is what Liz and Kyle told him about, the beginning of the permanent damage. If he doesn't go into a pod now, they probably won't be able to fix him even if they find a cure. He has a decision to make.
It's been twelve days since he ended up in the hospital, two days off their mark. Liz and Kyle haven't come up with some amazing cure, or even a good idea about one. And Alex has run out of time.
Weakly, he shakes Michael's arm to wake him up.
“Alex?” Michael asks sleepily.
“It's time,” Alex rasps. He's barely been able to speak for days, and no more than one or two words at a time.
Michael sits up, suddenly wide awake.
“The pod?” he asks.
Alex nods.
They've prepared for this, but it doesn't make it easier. Michael doesn't cry as he gets dressed, and texts everyone. He doesn't cry as he gently removes Alex's IV, hoping the dose of morphine he has in his blood will be enough to tide him over until−
Fuck. He does cry as he picks Alex up, his underweight, frail body limp in his arms. Alex doesn't stop staring at him, his eyes dropping but alert. He cries as he straps Alex in the passenger seat of the car, pulling it back so he's as comfortable as possible.
He can barely see the road, as he drives to the turquoise mines. He steers with one hand, the other squeezing Alex's, and they stay silent.
Michael has already said everything he can say that doesn't make him want to curl up into a little ball.
He carries Alex again, refusing to use his telekinesis, into the pod cave. The others are already here, Liz ready with the melted silver. Michael puts Alex down on the blanket she's prepared and pulls his head into his lap.
One by one, they come to say goodbye, and it feels far too much like a funeral. Isobel and Max, who know Alex the least, stay politely away, Isobel only squeezing both his and Michael's shoulder with teary eyes. Maria and Liz are openly crying as they hug Alex one last time, and he struggles to say his goodbyes.
“We didn't get to spend much time together, mijo” Rosa tells Alex, kissing his brow. “I hope you come back like me and we get to hang out.”
Kyle looks devastated when Alex makes him promise again, but he obeys. “We'll pull you out in a year at the latest. You can trust me.”
Alex nods, relieved, and smiles up at him. “You were...a good friend,” he rasps out.
Kyle lets out a sob. “You're the best friend I've ever had, Alex,” he murmurs.
Alex hugs him weakly, and he falls back down into Michael's lap when Kyle lets him go, his body even limper, letting out a pained moan. The painkillers are running out.
“'s time,” Alex mouths.
Michael moves him as little as possible while undressing him, and Kyle helps him spread the silver over Alex's body. Liz and Maria watch on, crying in each other's arms.
Lying in Michael's embrace, tears running down both of their faces, Alex tries to imprint that moment into his memories. It's not going to matter. In a few minutes, he'll be in stasis for an indefinite amount of time, and almost no chance of ever coming out of the coma it's going to put him in. His memories will scatter away like they never meant anything.
He's glad that he gets to die in Michael's arms, but he wishes he'd gotten the time to live with him.
“I love you,” Michael sobs.
“Love...you too,” Alex forces out. “Be...happy.”
Michael closes his eyes briefly, and kisses him as softly as he can. His hands don't leave Alex skin until he's inside the pod fully, and his eyes drop closed.
Leaning his brow on the membrane of the pod, he lets the sobs wrack his body as Isobel comes to hold him.
9.
One year later.
Liz checks her watch before she enters the Wild Pony. It's late already. She didn't see the time pass in her lab. She'll need to make up for all the time she's spent researching things that have little to do with her actual job, but she can do that later. For now, she's on a mission.
Maria is behind the bar, and she beckons her over, nodding to the place where Michael is sitting, his head in one hand, nursing a glass of what looks like Coke with the other. He stopped drinking alcohol months ago, but now he looks like he's in need of a stiff drink or two.
Or of some good news.
“Michael,” Liz puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Liz,” Michael raises his head. The pain in his eyes is nearly unbearable. “We've run out of time. It will be a year tomorrow.”
Liz swallows. “I think I've got it, Michael. I think I've got a cure.”
Michael stares at her for a while, uncomprehendingly. “You−”
“I'm not 100% certain, it doesn't work like that, but...I think so. I can save Alex.”
“Oh thank God,” Maria murmurs, as Michael gapes in shock. He bites down on his finger, hard, tears already falling from his eyes.
Liz gathers him in her arms before he falls off his stool and hugs him hard.
It's been a long, hard year, for all of them.
“The compound I've designed will act as a sort of chemotherapy,” Liz explains later, when they've all gathered in the pod cave. Michael is kneeling in front of Alex's pod−the one that used to be his−his head against the membrane, in the same position he's been in so often, but he's listening. “It's based on the same technology that Flint Manes and his team used to make the biochemical bomb.”
Finding the compound where the bomb was stored was their largest breakthrough in the last six months, as well as the official end of Project Shepard. All three aliens agreed that despite its danger to them, the bomb should not be destroyed if it could help Alex.
“It will take several injections and a few months to get rid of the tumor, but the chances that it will work with minimal damage to Alex are good. Unlike chemotherapy, this will be able to target only the alien cells in his body, so it shouldn't be dangerous for his health, though I can't guarantee there won't be side effects.”
“He will live?” is all Michael asks.
“He will.”
“Then do it.”
Liz looks around the room. Kyle is technically Alex's medical proxy, thought those rules don't really apply here. He nods, too, hope shining in his eyes, finally overpowering the guilt and grief that have never left him. Maria smiles at them, reassuringly.
“Max, I'm going to need you,” Liz says. “I know you can't heal him, but the tumor is technically injuring his brain at this point, and it's a foreign body, so I'm hoping you can keep it at bay long enough for the treatment to start working.”
“I'll do my best,” Max nods.
“We have plenty of acetone,” Isobel adds.
“Kyle?”
“I'll handle the IV,” Kyle says, coming closer. “You do the initial injection.”
Liz nods, checking the syringe in her hands.
“Michael, we're all ready,” she says.
Michael takes a deep breath, and plunges his silver-stained hands into the pod. In seconds, he has a naked, warm, sleeping Alex lying in his lap.
“Hey,” he murmurs as Liz and Max buzz around him. Alex blinks his eyes open. “It's time to come home.”
#roswell new mexico#alex manes#michael guerin#malex#missingalexmanes#malex fic#liz ortecho#kyle valenti#mine#echo's fanfiction#whumptober2019
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@spaceskam So, your Jealous Michael stream of consciousness fic was so good it inspired me. And then I got angsty. I humbly dedicate this to you since basically I’m just copying your brilliant style.
If you are reading this and don’t know what I’m talking about do yourself a favor.
It’s not that Michael doesn’t like this new guy Forrest, per se. He doesn’t, but personal incompatibility is not the biggest issue. He’s not trying to be best friends with the guy. He just wants to go twenty minutes in his own damn town without seeing him. Is that really too freaking much to ask? And maybe also to not constantly find him hanging around Alex like a puppy on an invisible leash.
First, it’s Bean Me Up, where Michael stops in one early morning to pick up coffee and pastries with which to woo a justifiably still frosty Maria. There’s Alex, dressed for a run, nursing what Michael can only guess is a black coffee. And he’s with someone. Someone familiar. Someone with a really bad dye job and a very stupid cardigan. Seriously, this is small-town New Mexico, a place full of unironic cowboy hats, functional boots, and ugly plaid and turquoise everything. The only individuals with a real sense of style are Maria, with her boho patterns and bright colors and flowy pieces, and more recently Alex, with his military-fashion boots and dark, tapered jeans and that fucking leather jacket. At least he’s not wearing the jacket. But all this to say you can’t just throw on a dull, shapeless cardigan and dig up some boxed hair dye from Alex’s high school medicine cabinet and call it a look. But Alex doesn’t seem to mind. He hadn’t seemed to mind at the ranch when they first meet Forrest, either. When Forrest was two steps from getting on his knees if Alex so much as asked to borrow a pen and Alex pretended not to notice and Michael glowered at them both. And now Alex is smiling at something Forrest says and raising a perfect brow, and when he catches Michael’s eye he doesn’t hold his gaze. Michael grabs his order and stalks off, and of course, it’s Forrest who runs out to tell him he forgot to pay.
***
Bean Me Up is just the first time. A few weeks later he’s finishing up at the lab with Liz and Kyle, and Isobel is hanging around because she’s not working right now and she doesn’t have much else to do.
“All right,” Kyle says, “if we’re done, I’ve got to head out. I’m meeting Alex at the high school track.”
“What for?” Isobel asks.
“Cardio,” Kyle beams, and Michael rolls his eyes. Who gets that excited about a hamster wheel for adults?
“Can I join?” Isobel asks, and, oh right. Isobel does these days.
Kyle says, “…yes?” uncertainly and Isobel flutters her eyelashes at him like good answer. Liz announces she’s coming to “the ab parade” too, and Michael wonders if she’s been sampling her drawer wine already. But the whole gang is game, so he is, too. He’s a joiner.
They get to the track and Alex is stretching idly in one of those sporty bro get-ups—shorts, athletic shoes, and the tee-shirt that’s been cut into an extremely baggy tank top that has more functionality as a wind tunnel than actual clothing. He looks relaxed and tan, and he has a prosthetic Michael hasn’t seen before; he guesses it’s specifically for athletics. He’s objectively admiring the view when Alex grins at someone to his left and Michael looks over and it’s fucking Forrest in a college tee-shirt and a fucking sweatband. He points to their group and Alex turns, smiling uncertainly.
“Do we have an audience?” he asks.
“Isobel asked to join us. I don’t know what these two are doing,” Kyle explains, holding his hand out to Forrest like it’s the most natural thing in the world for Alex to have company that isn’t one of them or dressed in army fatigues and letting him order them around. “Good to see you again, man. You running with us?”
Forrest grips Kyle’s hand, and these two fuckers would be BFFs.
“Yeah, if it’s cool with you,” he says, “I’ve been meaning to get more active-”
“Been pretty active lately,” Alex murmurs, smirking, and Michael literally gags. Alex shoots him a dark look.
“-and Alex suggested a run would be a good place to start.”
Kyle is spouting off fitness theories or whatever to Forrest and Isobel, and Liz wanders toward the bleachers, leaving Alex and Michael effectively alone.
“You got a problem, Guerin?” Alex asks, tone forced casual.
“You pick up a boyfriend since I saw you last, private?” he replies.
Alex, little shit that he is, has the audacity to laugh.
“No,” he says, “but I’ll be sure to update my Facebook status for you the second I do.”
***
That’s the thing, too. Alex won’t admit he’s dating this tragic librarian loser. He doesn’t say anything to anyone. He brings F-word to The Pony where they sit on stools at the bar facing each other and practically fellating their bottlenecks from what Michael can tell from over the pool table, where he’s pretending to line up a shot; Alex has apparently introduced him to all their friends and Arturo, if their biweekly lunches at the Crashdown are any indication; and they text non-stop, Alex’s phone constantly buzzing in the pocket of his fatigues or the cupholder of the Jeep where he stores it while driving them to the library or the Project Shephard bunker, or dropping Michael off at the Airstream.
“Want me to check that for you?” Michael asks when it buzzes three times in a row during a food run for what they now call the Secret Science Lab, thanks to Cam’s big mouth and Liz’s continuing mortification.
“No,” Alex says easily, “it’s Forrest. It’s unrelated.”
“Could be an emergency,” Michael goads, “what if he needs you to help him touch up his roots? ”
Alex glares.
“Spoiler alert: He needs you to help him touch up his roots,” Michael says in an exaggerated whisper.
“You could be a little less subtle, you know,” Alex says.
“What?”
“This whole ‘jealous ex’ thing,” he says, jaw clenched. “It’s getting old.”
“We’re not exes,” Michael says, “we’re bros. And I’m just looking out for you. Bro.”
Alex rolls his eyes.
“Well, look somewhere else. I’m good.”
Michael grits his teeth, tries to forget that they once told each other I don’t look away and that Alex absolutely remembers.
***
It officially becomes too fucking much when Forrest is at his house. Not the actual guy, though that would be bad enough, but his junk. Michael drops off some documents for Alex one night and asks to use the bathroom. Alex shrugs and steps aside to let him pass. Alex likes a neat space; he grew up in a military household with his fucking psychopath of a father and old habits die hard or sometimes not at all. So Michael notices immediately when there is just stuff lying around. Some folders scattered across the low coffee table; a glass on the side table still dripping condensation onto the wood; an ugly Forrest green sweater draped over the back of a chair in the kitchen. These things are very much not Alex’s, but there they are strewn around Alex’s space like half of a What’s Different About These Two Images puzzle come to life.
Michael scoffs and says, “You know if I find his toothbrush in there I’m gonna use it to clean the toilet?”
Alex stiffens and his knuckles go white around the handle of his crutch.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he hisses, and Michael realizes too late that Alex is carrying all the markings of a crappy day in the rigid set of his shoulders, the clench of his jaw, and the way he leans heavily on his crutch as though he’s too proud to admit he would rather be resting. But they’ve been dancing around this massive, electric blue elephant between them for too long, and Michael isn’t going to back down now. Not his style.
“Oh, just that you apparently have a live-in boyfriend you didn’t bother to tell anyone about,” he says, lifting his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “No big deal.”
“So what if I do? Where are you parking your Airstream these days, Guerin?”
Michael avoids the question by pointing at the glass still sweating on the table and asking, “Be honest, did he jump out the back window when I knocked?”
“Why would he?” Alex spits. “He belongs here. You don’t.”
They both pause, their anger deflating at his words that hit a little too close to the core of what they definitely are not actually arguing about.
“You can’t just bring someone into our lives like it’s nothing, Alex,” Michael says, switching tactics.
“I would never tell him anything,” Alex answers, taking a hesitant step forward. “You know that. I would never.”
I would never tell.
I never look away.
I loved you. For a long time.
Michael hates the past tense. But the present sucks pretty hard right now, too.
“Yeah, I know,” he mumbles and turns back toward the front door. “Think I’m just gonna hold it. Have a good night, Alex.”
“Guerin-”
“Tell Forrest I said hello.”
#malex#malex fic#rnm#rnm fic#forrest#alex manes#michael guerin#angst#jealous michael#my fic#kylexbrotp
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In My Mind Part 6
Joe x Fem Reader
Warning; strong language.
Thanks to all for the warm-ish welcome back to this space. I’m sorry if anyone has been waiting far too long for this update. But it’s here now!
Enjoy!
Prologue Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five
I finished Joe's face in silence as my boss hung around the trailer, making sure we didn't run off again. There were at least 2 things that I was certain of after that moment. Things were never gonna be the same again between Joe and I; and that I was dreading the follow up conversation.
“Right he's done” I stepped back and watched as she examined him intently.
“Perfect, right grab your shit you're coming on set” I frowned at her in confusion.
“Really”
“Touch ups, plus you owe me for fucking around earlier”
“That was my fault, in all honesty I was having some kind of crisis we needed a private area...” Joe jumped in for me, but it made no difference.
“Don't give a fuck, when the director is breathing down my neck, I'm breathing down hers” I shrugged and started to pack up some things in a bag to bring to set. I didn't even look at him, I couldn't. I let him slink away to his trailer as they prepared the scene. I was left to the mercy of my boss.
“You're good at this job, I've never seen you behave the way you have lately and because of him? You can do way better than that guy....he's a little ass” Nicola Kyle always had a way with words. A woman well into her 40's who clearly had never experienced any kind of love or happiness in her life. She was not the person I wanted to be speaking to at that particular moment. Never the less I continued.
“Don't talk about him like that he's a nice guy....I think he's cute” I paused for a moment and thought about him.
“No! you don't get to think their cute, you don't hook up with talent okay, that's not how I run shit here and you know that”
“I don't wanna just hook up....I really like him” I went to chew the end of one of my make up brushes.
“Well he's clearly INFATUATED with you....it's been obvious since the day he sat in that chair.....the only person who doesn't see it is that dopey engineer who he's been using to get rid of his feelings for you”
“Don't say it like that, he's not using her...I don't think so anyway” Nicola put her hand on my shoulder and shook her head. She was pitying me.
“Men are all the same Y/N....I thought you were wise to that by now....if you wanna pursue this then be my guest....if you think he could be...”the one””
She removed her hand then ushered me to follow her onto set.
“You think I should tell him to cancel his date with her....I mean I told him to go on it but now....” The flood gates had been opened and I was spilling. However Nicola had had her share of this and put her hand over my mouth.
“No more...I don't wanna know, I just want you to be professional for at least the rest of the day” I nodded and continued to follow her in a much more docile manor than previous.
I wasn't needed much on set, I ran on a couple times but nothing intense. I couldn't believe we hadn't even got to location filming and I had already fucked things up between Joe and I. We both glanced at each other as he walked off set. God I wanted to run up to that beautiful bastard and just kiss him, but I contained myself.
“Can I go now” I touched Nicola on her shoulder and pulled her away from her concentration.
“You know what please do, you've done my fucking head in all day. But you're staying for night shoots next week”
“Okay whatever” I turned quickly on my heel and rushed out of set. Swinging my brush kit almost childish like.
When I got home and I shut the door slowly. I lent on it and took a few deep breaths and tried to numb the sinking pain in my stomach. I'd fallen so fucking hard for this BOY that I was risking my professional career, something I'd worked REALLY fucking hard for. What I needed was a bath, some booze and a book. But not any book, insert favourite book.
This book got me through the hardest times, it saw me through beauty school, the loss of anyone I had loved. It was a crutch in times like these. I smirked softly to myself as I pulled it from the bookshelf in my bedroom. I had tied my hair up in a scarf and had got into my bath robe. I just hoped this would get rid of that sinking feeling, that feeling that I may never find anyone that makes me feel the way Joe does again.
The water filled up the tub steadily as I poured my self a glass of goodness, watching the steam rise from the water I glanced at my reflection. They'll be another, there has to be.
BANG BANG BANG.
It sounded as if someone was trying to knock my door down. Instantly fear washed over me as I hurried to grab my baseball bat from under my couch. Completely disregarding the fact I was in a bathrobe and only a bathrobe I opened the door slightly; clutching my bat for dear life.
“Joe?” I just blurted out his name. As if it was the only thing I could say in the instance I saw him on the other side of my door. I pulled the door open the rest of the way still holding onto my bat. He looked me up and down.
“I feel like I had a dream like this once” He pointed at my bat, I threw it to one side as it crashed onto the carpet. I laughed nervously and pulled the robe around me tighter.
How did you find out where I lived?” Was genuinely my first question.
“I asked someone in your department; and they told me, like it was that easy, you should be cautious of who you tell that information to” I grimaced at the thought and moved on.
“Why aren't you out with Becky?” my next question. Only this time it was a little pointed.
“Who are you my Mother, I’m here aren’t I, not with her” He was so direct and blunt. I loved it. I invited him in and immediately remembered the bath I was running.
“FUCK” I screamed rushing to my bathroom. I turned the taps off just in time. The fucking thing was brimming with scolding water. I exhaled in relief and pulled the plug.
“I am so sorry, looks like you had some major plans” Joe had followed me into the bathroom, I sighed heavily then turned to face him.
“I needed a little reset. So one of these tends to do the trick...especially after I've been dicked around” I pursed my lips in a cheeky manor. I wasn't sure if I was being conceited or flirting. At this point with Joe I just didn't fucking know any more! “I have to do night shoots with extras because of today, I'm still trying to figure out if it was worth it” I stormed past Joe and walked through to my living room. I felt him follow closely behind and I found myself standing next to my couch watching the man of my dreams lean on my bedroom door.
Joe just looked at me, or was it through me. I couldn't tell, I was still trying to process him even being in my apartment.
“Sorry...I....you just look so beautiful” his voice sounded like a wave of calm and warmth. SO naturally I scoffed and rolled my eyes.
“Really? With my stained robe and lack of make up. Wow you really are a good actor” I joked; but after taking another good look at Joe, I could finally read the room. I was frozen as I watched him walk closer to me and pull the scarf off my head, letting my hair free. There was no way I could disguise myself trembling as he played with my locks. He took a deep breath in and smirked.
“You done talking now?” His voice had softened to a low whisper. I nodded. No matter how hard I should have tried to fight it, I just wanted nothing more than for him to plant one on me. And you better believe a fucking church choir sang to the heavens in my head as soon as Joe Mazzello pressed his lips against mine. It wasn't an overly long or explicit kiss. But it was enough to make the hairs on my arms stand up on end. He pulled away, much to my dismay.
“Oh wow” I exhaled with my eyes still closed.
“I heard what you said today To Nic...and I know you don't think much of me right now but I think the WORLD of you. You're the first decent person I've met in months, who has obviously been hurt in the past and I can't change that, and a few nights with me wont erase them from your memory. But I just want the chance to show you how good it can be” I couldn't stop the tears, they rolled down my flushed cheeks and dripped from my jaw onto my robe.
“I'm scared” I whispered; unable to hold back my emotions. He had stripped me down to this with just a few sentences, I felt foolish.
“I know, and I respect that, I respect you” Joe's hands cradled my face now. His thumbs clearing my falling tears. I let him continue, lost in his words.
“I...you know every time I take on a new project I always call my Mom, and I tell her about my first day, who I'm working with etc. She told me I had mentioned Y/N 20 times....in one phone call. I'm super fucking professional and I won't let anyone tell me otherwise; but you got me running off set, day dreaming. Forgetting my lines. Y/N I am out of this fucking world into you” I guffawed in response. I sniffed unattractively and grabbed Joe's wrists pulling his hands away from my face. I just stared at him, wondering what to do with all of this...
#joe mazzello#joseph mazzello#joe mazzello imagine#joe mazzello fic#joe mazzello fanfic#joe mazzello fan fiction
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If you're still open for prompts-- how about Malex + some form of Secret Service/bodyguard/witness protection AU? :-D Thanks!
When they’d told Alex that he’d be going into witness protection until the trial, he can honestly say that he’d never expected this outcome.
“Hi,” Alex says, staring at his new neighbor (his hot new neighbor), and wondering if Kyle is doing this to him on purpose. “I’m Michael Whitman,” he introduces himself, the name feeling wrong on his tongue.
From the way the other man flinches, clearly something’s wrong with it. “Raf Anderson,” he replies. It’s only by the fact that he’s only known him for a few moments that Alex doesn’t make a comment that his neighbor doesn’t really look like a Raf.
He’s not supposed to rock the boat, though.
That’s what witness protection is about. He’s been put here for his own good to hide him away while the government begins to assemble a case against his father. With his father and his brothers and their deep connections, it hadn’t been safe for Alex to remain in Roswell, which means that he’s been ferried away into witness protection by an old friend.
“Behave,” Kyle had warned, while his partner (Max) parked them in front of Alex’s new house. He’d handed him a pile of identity papers, giving him a stern look. “Alex,” he says sharply, when Alex buries himself in the papers.
It’s not his fault he likes to learn. “Michael,” he says, lifting his new ID as he studies the face looking back at him next to a brand new name. It looks real, but that’s the point, isn’t it? He’s about to live a new life, if only to keep his father from finding him until Alex can take the stand and destroy his life.
“What?”
“It’s Michael, now.”
Max throws Kyle a dubious look. “Really?” he deadpans. “I guess you think that’s funny?”
“He deserves it,” Kyle hisses back, and Alex has completely missed the joke.
And now here he is, on his first day inside a new bungalow in Pennsylvania, meeting his new neighbor. His hot new neighbor, who has warm brown eyes and hair that looks like it’ll get golden in the summer. Then there’s the fact that it’s curled, and when Raf lifts up the box he’s carrying, it highlights how broad and strong his shoulders are.
“Do you want help?” he asks lamely, when Alex realizes he’s been standing there staring at his neighbor for an embarrassingly long time.
Raf doesn’t seem to notice. He’s been doing his fair share of staring, and that’s why Alex hopes he doesn’t notice when he echoes the last word. “Help?”
“Yeah, I saw the boxes,” Raf says, gesturing to the moving van with his shoulders, seeing as he’s weighed down by the boxes. “You’re moving in, right? You want help?”
He knows that he’s probably not supposed to invite complete strangers into his home on the first day of his new assumed identity, but Alex is a sucker for a warm smile and kind eyes. There’s beer in his fridge, he’s not eager to put away all the boxes by himself, and if he’s going to be stuck here for the next few months, he wants to be able to befriend the hot neighbor.
Ignoring the little Kyle voice in the back of his head that says this is a bad idea, Alex smiles warmly.
He crouches to pick up one of the smaller boxes, and puts it atop the box that Raf already has in his hands.
“Definitely,” he confirms. “How about we get these boxes inside, then maybe I can see if I’ve got a couple of beers in the fridge.”
Raf heads inside and Alex glances over his shoulder to where he knows Kyle and Max are watching them. Is it childish to throw them a smirk seeing as he’s taking advantage of this whole new neighborhood situation? Maybe. Still doesn’t stop him from doing it, leaning down to pick up the next box to head inside after Raf.
He might as well make the most of this situation if he’s going to be stuck in it.
*
They end up having a few beers, Michael helps put a few boxes away, and then he decides that he probably shouldn’t push his luck too far, especially when he’d seen the van that had dropped the new neighbor off earlier this morning. They part ways with a promise to connect again, and Michael manages a cheerful smile until he’s inside his own bungalow.
Then he gets creepy. He ducks down and peeks through the blinds to watch his new neighbor head back inside, appreciating the extra views he’s getting of how ridiculously smoldering he is with that ‘come fuck me’ smirk and dark hair and perfect eyes, not to mention the ass.
Once he’s fully out of sight, Michael grabs his cell phone in a frantic rush and scrolls through the three numbers in the phone.
Numbers one through three are his lawyer and his officers – also known as Isobel, Max, and Kyle.
Right now, it’s the last two he’s calling.
“You assholes,” he snarls into the phone before he even knows who picked up on the other end. “Michael? Michael! You named him Michael!”
“Michael,” comes Kyle’s infuriating voice sounding tinny, which means that he’s on speaker. “I told you after the last incident that I’d get even with you somehow.”
“Incident, what incident!”
He knows he shouldn’t ask, because Kyle keeps receipts. “Oh, I don’t know, you showing up in the middle of town and shoplifting from the store using your powers seems like an incident. You’re lucky you turned off the cameras with your powers, but you know that the Manes’ boys are on the lookout for you after the incident. Isobel can’t keep you hidden forever, which is why Max and I are trying to do that for you, but you’re so…you’re so…”
“Difficult,” Max supplies.
“Fucking asshole level of supreme difficult,” Kyle agrees. “So, yeah, you’re gonna cope with him being named Michael. Besides, how did you know he’s ours?”
“You two need a better cover van. It’s the same one you used to move me in,” Michael responds, peeking through his blinds to see if “Michael” is out there still getting settled in.
He is. He’s moving the last of his boxes into the house with a gait that favors one side more than the other. Michael’s going to take a stab and assume that means some kind of prosthetic, though he’s not about to announce that in front of him.
“C’mon,” he wheedles. “You could at least tell me his real name.”
“That’s not how this works,” Max argues. “It’s safer if you don’t know who he is.”
Michael collapses back onto the couch, his frustration building to epic levels. “I’ve been stuck in this shitty suburban neighborhood for months now, and you bring in some new hot guy and you tell me that it’s safer I don’t know who he is. Can you at least tell me when the trial is?”
The long-suffering sigh on the other end of the phone is definitely bad news.
“We don’t know yet. The pieces are moving and we think it’ll be soon, but they want the charges to be ironclad. What happened to you,” Max says evenly, though Michael can hear the rage brimming in his words, “we don’t want it to happen to anyone else. Be patient, okay?”
“Really? Telling me to be patient? And here I thought you knew me,” Michael scoffs, staring out the window and watching his new neighbor standing on the porch, surveying his new little kingdom.
God, he’s so hot.
At least if he’s going to be stuck here indefinitely, the scenery’s improving. “Michael,” Max says. “You know we only want what’s best for you. Please,” he says quietly. “Just hang tight, okay? Don’t do anything that’ll compromise the trial. You can hang out with the other Michael, but don’t give away any of your history, don’t tell him your real name, and don’t you dare tell him what you are.”
The rules of engagement, Michael’s memorized them. He stares at his mangled hand and reminds himself why he needs to follow them, because if he doesn’t take care of himself, then this kind of thing happens.
“I still can’t believe you named him Michael,” he mutters.
“Why?” Kyle asks and Michael can hear the smirk in his tone. “Because when you jerk off at night, you’ll feel weird shouting your own name?”
“…Valenti,” Max protests.
Michael hangs up on him, because he’s an asshole.
He just so happens to also be an accurate asshole who’s got his finger on the pulse of what’s bugging Michael the most about this whole same-name situation.
And yet, it’s definitely not going to stop him.
*
It’s the middle of the night and Alex wakes to a crashing sound in his backyard.
He startles awake, reaching for his gun in his nightstand before he remembers that he’s not in Roswell anymore, and he doesn’t have a piece tucked away for safekeeping, because he’s not supposed to be military. He’s not even supposed to own a hand gun.
He’s Michael Whitman, friendly IT guy. They usually don’t pack heat.
He stumbles out there in a house robe and his crutch, not having bothered to put the prosthetic on. It’s probably a wild raccoon that got into his trash or probably some kind of axe murderer trying to lure Alex out into the night.
The terrifying thought is that it’s his father or one of his brothers who have found him. That’s the thought he really hopes isn’t the case.
He holds onto the crutch tightly as he opens his sliding door and finds his backyard empty. Frowning, Alex steps out, not sure what made the noise, until he glances into the neighboring yard to see Raf trying to clean up something he’d knocked over. Alex squints to see it in the dark, noticing that it looks like he’s trying to reassemble something that looks like a telescope, which hit a trash can.
That explains the noise.
“Shit,” Raf says, when he looks up and sees Alex. He freezes in place, offering an apologetic look. “I woke you.”
“I thought a family of raccoons was making a house in my trash. I’m not sure what to think about this,” he admits, gesturing at Raf.
“I don’t really sleep well,” Raf admits, his hand pressed to his stomach. Alex had noticed it when he’d been moving in, but Raf’s left hand is completely mangled. It’s a mess of twisted tendons and bruises and pock marks, but it’s not like Raf’s staring at Alex’s lack of a leg with judgment, so Alex makes sure to keep his eyes on Raf’s handsome face instead. “Sometimes I like to come out here and stargaze, instead.”
Alex understands. He used to take sleeping pills to help him fall asleep when he’d been under his father’s roof and the only reason he’s able to get some rest now is because he’s escaped from that terrible situation.
“You care if you have some company?”
Raf looks at him warily for a second. Then, inexplicably, his gaze turns to the street, and why, Alex has no idea. Still, he wanders over to the gate that adjoins their yards and opens it. He stands there and coaxes Alex to walk over, extending an arm to help him if he wants it, but not touching him. It’s a small gesture, but it’s so painfully kind and unassuming that it makes Alex want to cry a little.
“Thanks,” he gets out, as Raf brings over a lawn chair to settle by the telescope. “You do this often?”
“Pretty much any night the sky’s clear,” Raf agrees. “You wanna see?”
Alex nods, trying not to come across as too eager, but then again, what other friend is he going to make in the middle of nowhere while he’s waiting to testify at his father’s trial. Does it hurt that Raf is as hot at night as he’d been earlier, in a threadbare white t-shirt and pajama pants?
It absolutely does not.
“Okay, here,” Raf says, angling the telescope so that Alex doesn’t have to move.
The sky itself is spotted with a few stars. They’re far enough away from the city that the light pollution isn’t terrible, but they also aren’t in the middle of nowhere, but when Alex peers through the telescope, he still sees other worlds out there.
It’s also a reminder of his father and his unending quest to try and find aliens. It tempers some of that late-night desire that he’d otherwise feel with a hot guy who happens to be half dressed, but only barely. He shuffles forward and stares into the night sky, waiting until he sees a shooting star.
Letting out a surprised sound, he glances back up to Raf, who’s staring at the sky with wonder.
“You saw it too, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” Raf agrees, pushing a hand through his honey-brown curls, turning to give Alex a sweet little smile. “I made a wish. Did you?”
Kiss me, please, kiss me before I go crazy.
Alex shakes his head. “Nah,” he lies, heart pounding in his chest. “It’s already gone, so I don’t think wishes work like that.”
“Maybe next time, then,” Raf says, and takes back the telescope to adjust the angle, looking for something else in the night sky to view.
They take it in turns for the next few hours, until Alex’s exhaustion betrays him. As much as he might protest that he’s not tired, he starts yawning. Maybe it’s for the best. The sun’s going to come up soon and there won’t be any stars to look at. The best they’ll see if some of their neighbors’ worst habits, and Alex is fairly sure he can get arrested for that.
When you’re supposed to be laying low, that’s not a good idea.
“I think it’s time for me to hit the sack,” Alex admits, pushing up to his feet. He’s a little wobbly, but he gets the crutch under him steadying himself as he gives Raf an appreciative smile. “Thanks,” he says, “for letting me see the stars.” He heads to his side of the yard, but before Raf can respond, Alex turns and decides to keep going for broke. “You should come over,” Alex says, pausing on his deck as he leans his weight against his crutch. He chances a look over his shoulder, letting his gaze slide over Raf. “Tomorrow, for dinner. Maybe if I give you enough good cooking and beer, you might sleep through the night. Besides, I owe you for showing me the universe.”
Raf leans his elbows over the low fence, his gaze sliding over Alex.
“I just might take you up on that.”
Alex lets out a relieved breath and nods, heading back inside.
That night, he dreams of Raf. He thinks of soft curls falling over his forehead in the soft dawn morning light, of warm fingertips pressing over Alex’s skin, and when his phone rings and wakes him up from a very good dream, Alex almost throws the phone across the room.
Maybe it won’t be so bad waiting it out in this place, at least, not when he’s got such good company.
*
The next night, Raf does turn up for dinner.
He’s wearing a navy blue sweater that looks soft enough that Alex wants to bury his face in it, but he prevents himself from doing that. He also narrowly avoids whimpering with pleasure because when he opens the door, Raf’s facing away and his ass in those tight jeans is incredible. “Hey!” Raf greets, holding up a bottle of wine that’s half-open and a box of chocolate.
Which is also half open.
Alex stares at them warily, not sure if he’s charmed or insulted.
“My friend was over,” Raf says, even if ‘friend’ is stressed in a weird way that has Alex wondering if Raf actually has someone on the side. “She decided that the exchange for time spent with me was diving into the presents for you. I couldn’t exactly get to town, either…”
“It’s fine,” Alex insists, and takes the wine. “Your girlfriend has good taste in wine,” he jokes.
“Not my girlfriend. I’m single,” Raf says quickly.
It’s probably too quickly, but Alex hates how happy he is that he’d responded like that. It’s not like he should be pursuing anything. After all, he’s currently using a fake name while waiting to testify in a trial, which means that relationships probably aren’t on the agenda. There also happens to be a viciously selfish little voice in his head that says that the first time Raf kisses him, he wants him to moan Alex and not Michael.
Not that there’s anything wrong with Michael, as names go. It’s just not his.
Dinner goes well. In fact, it goes so well that Alex almost debates throwing his rules out the window and kissing Raf, but he doesn’t. He tells himself that it’s irresponsible and he’s here until the trial, when really he knows the only reason he doesn’t is because he doesn’t want to start this on a rocky start.
He still invites Raf for dinner next week.
For weeks, it becomes their steady routine, until half-started bottles of wine adorn Alex’s counter-tops, because Raf always brings something over and they never finish it completely. It’s more fun to see it added to the collection, at this point, than to polish it off.
One night, when dinner is done, Raf pauses in the doorway as he’s leaving, tugging on his denim coat. “Hey, Michael?”
Alex takes a second to remember that Raf’s speaking to him. He glances up from where he’s washing the dishes, securely tucked away a safe distance where he can’t kiss him. If he even gets an idea, he’ll be prevented by the suds on his hands from scrubbing. “Yeah?”
“I was thinking that maybe tomorrow night, you could come over to my place?”
Alex smiles warmly, ready to accept, but Raf keeps going.
“You know, you could have breakfast.”
The implication is impossible to miss, given the lascivious leer in Raf’s eyes. Alex would be going over at night, staying for breakfast, and there’s no mistaking what they’d do all night. He wants it so badly, and yet, it’d be a lie. He’s not Michael Whitman and he doesn’t want to start anything with Raf until he can be himself.
And so, no matter how much it hurts him, Alex chokes out the, “I think I already have plans.”
“Oh,” says Raf, crestfallen and dejected. “Yeah, sorry, I…”
“It’s not that…” Alex jumps on Raf’s words. “Maybe another time? Rain check?”
Raf doesn’t look convinced and Alex feels like he’s jumped up and down on a puppy.
“Rain check,” Raf echoes.
He doesn’t come back for dinner the next night, though, and Alex is left wondering how the hell he’s managed to ruin a relationship that never even began, not to mention how it feels worse than some of his actual breakups.
*
It’s been three months since Alex moved into his witness protection house and it’s finally the day he’s been waiting for.
Trial day, which Kyle has come to collect him for.
This is what Alex has been waiting for, but the strange part is realizing that his motives for wanting this trial to come have completely changed. At the start, he’d wanted this so his father would have to face retribution and Alex would feel safe out there in the world without looking over his shoulder.
Now, the reason he wants this trial so badly is because he’s sick and tired of being Michael Whitman and pretending that he’s this guy, especially when he’s starting to develop actual feelings for Raf. He knows that he can’t lie to him forever, which is why he’s so desperate for this trial to begin. The sooner Jesse is convicted, the sooner that Alex gets to go back to his old life. The sooner Alex can make up for that horrible night where he’d crushed Raf’s heart by not agreeing to go home with him.
He knows it’s not conventional, but they’d promised.
It had been one of the few reasons he’d agreed to give his testimony. Alex ducks into the backseat of the van to find that someone is already sitting there. “Sorry, I…” He’s apologizing before he even gets a good look, but once he does, he’s gaping.
He steps out of the van to stare at Kyle.
“…what?”
“Hey, Michael,” Raf, hot neighbor, drawls, waving at him.
His hot neighbor that Alex has been developing feelings for. The same one that Alex has felt guilty about lying to. He’s the one sitting in the backseat of a van that’s going to a trial to testify about Jesse Manes’ government abuses digging into alien life.
Suddenly, so much makes sense.
“What the fuck, Kyle?”
“I figured I’d keep my problem children together,” Kyle replies breezily, like he’s completely unaffected by all of this.
Alex is staring at Raf, not sure what this means or what it says about the future, but one thing is for sure – he’s not the only one who’s been lying to protect himself, so maybe Raf isn’t going to be so mad when all the secrets come spilling out of Alex like a strange pinata.
Though, the one question that he can’t shake on the drive over.
If he’s not Raf Anderson, then what’s his real name, and how soon can he get it?
He opens his mouth to ask him more questions, but he never gets a chance. From the moment he gets situated in the van and buckled in, Kyle takes over in his best Agent Valenti voice to brief them on what’s going to happen today, tomorrow, and in the coming weeks. Alex has to settle for sitting in the third row, aware that he keeps missing most of what Kyle is saying because he keeps watching Raf’s neck and wanting to bend forward and kiss it, just to see if it’s as warm as it looks.
“Michael!” Kyle snaps.
Alex’s head snaps up, in time to see Raf’s glare, and gives an apologetic look. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m paying attention.”
“Good,” Kyle says, “because it’s going to be a long ride and it’s not going to be easy.”
Long and difficult is an understatement, it turns out.
The trial takes two weeks before it comes to its conclusion. It’s grueling and difficult. Alex has to deal with his brothers accusing him of not being a good son. He needs to recount years of abuse and torture. He has to talk about the hell that his father put him through, day in and day out, but finally it comes to an end. When it does, it’s the happiest that Alex has ever been in his life. The jury had put Jesse Manes away for life for treason against the government and his abuse of resources. The word ‘aliens’ had never come up, but it’s not like they needed to.
Jesse had plenty of crimes without getting into the spooky Area 51 stuff.
He’s fidgeting with his suit, undoing his tie outside the courtroom as he lets the relief of the decision wash over him. It means that he’s going to get his life back and maybe he can even go back to Roswell.
That relief is cut off when he glances down the hall to see Raf sitting with Max. The both of them are on a bench together, with Michael’s forehead pressed to Max’s. They’re speaking in fervent hushed tones, and Alex wants to wander over, but he thinks he needs to give them some space. He stays where he is, but it turns out he doesn’t need to worry.
It’s only a few minutes later that Max squeezes Raf’s shoulder and leaves him alone. Alex ducks his head away rapidly, so it doesn’t look like he’s been staring, but he catches Raf looking his way longingly.
Alex tries not to get excited, but he fails at it when Raf pushes himself up from the bench and wanders over to stand directly in front of him.
“Hi,” Raf says, as he holds out his hand. “I thought maybe I’d come over here and introduce myself to you for the first time.”
Alex lets out a nervous breath, feeling the smile growing on his face. He loves the idea and he’s all too happy to latch on. “It’s always a good idea to get to know your neighbors,” he agrees. “I’m Alex Manes,” he says, and watches nervously as he says the last name.
Raf’s eyes widen slightly, pupils dilating, but he doesn’t flinch. He does laugh, shaking his head, and mutters something that sounds like ‘that explains a lot’, but he still reaches out to take Alex’s hand in his own, shaking it firmly. “Alex,” he says, and oh, Alex likes the way that trips off the tongue. “I’m Michael Guerin,” he says, and all of a sudden, Alex knows exactly how much of an asshole Kyle was being, handing him that identity. “And uh,” he says, flexing his mangled hand, “I kind of want to go celebrate sending away an asshole who fucked me up really badly.”
It’s Michael now, not Raf, but when his eyes slide over Alex, nothing has changed about the way he looks at him. By any other name, Michael or Raf or whoever he is, looks just as hot and makes Alex feel every bit as alive.
“Do you wanna go get a drink with me?”
Alex is nodding before he even hears the words out of his mouth. “I know a place or two we could go. It even has a little half-started wine there,” he says, eyes sparkling with mirth as he thinks about going back to his witness protection home for one last night.
Michael seems on board with that plan given the way the corners of his eyes crinkle up from his grin. “Lead on, Alex. We’ve got our lives back, and I can’t wait to start it with you.”
#malex#witness protection au#michael's just so mad#about having to call out his own name#during private time#tumblr fills#fic prompts#800 follower fills#unbreakablejemmasimmons
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Craig and Those Guys Week: Day 1 - The Beach 🏖
“You definitely brought the towels didn’t you Craig?”
“Yes Tweek, for the third time, you saw me put them into the bag.”
Five teenage boys cross the parking lot and make their way towards the beach. It was the weekend and this particular beach was quite the tourist spot, but it was one of the only days of the week in which all of the boys were free. They’d assigned this trip as their monthly event; an event that wasn’t just meeting up at the cafe or hanging out at somebody’s house.
Leading the group was a tall, slender boy. The tallest of the group. This was Craig. His beach attire was pretty basic; he donned navy blue swimming trunks and black sandals. He wore a beige bucket hat over his jet black hair, and covered his blue eyes with blacked out sunglasses. He was carrying a big beach bag, filled with all the essentials. Craig was their ring leader, the centre of the group. Whenever anyone else would talk about their group it would be referred to as his gang.
Trailing closely behind him was a noticeably skinnier boy; Craig’s boyfriend, Tweek. He too wore a bucket hat, white this time, and covered his bony torso with a vest of the same colour. He had untamed wild blonde hair, shooting out from underneath the hat in all different directions. His hand was fiddling with the bottom of his khaki swimming trunks, clearly on edge. His eyes were bagged, but he wasn’t a bad looking guy overall. Tweek’s anxiety around large groups of people meant that he was practically clinging to Craig for dear life.
Not far behind was a more boisterous boy, rambling about his friends’ sense of fashion. Clyde was a little chubby in build, but wasn’t afraid to flaunt it. He wore an open red shirt with a palm tree design on it, and on the bottom half…a pair of black speedos. He even accessorised with some aviators and a shark tooth necklace. He was clearly the most enthusiastic of the group; flicking his chocolate coloured hair in the wind whenever he sensed a female within range.
Next to him was Token, who didn’t try as hard on the fashion side, but still managed to pull off a pair of violet trunks and gold-rimmed sunglasses. He was assigned the role of carrying the parasol. His body was probably the most toned out of the group, but he was cool about it, and wanted to come across as casual as possible to his peers. But that was slightly difficult when you’re the son of a millionaire…and it definitely showed.
The last boy was a brunette, using his crutches to keep up a steady pace with his friends. His ochre coloured trunks were accompanied with a brown baseball cap and a grey t-shirt. This was Jimmy, who had a form of cerebral palsy, yet was one of the funniest guys in their town. He was wearing trainers and had no intention of entering the water at all, simply content with chilling out with his best friends.
The boys eventually reach the beach, finding a spot nearer the back that wasn’t too close to everyone else for Tweek’s sake. Token forcefully stuck the parasol into the sand and opened it, Tweek immediately running underneath. With the palest skin out of them all, he’d coated himself in 3 layers of sunscreen before coming out for the day.
Craig sets down the beach bag, whipping out a pile of folded towels, leaving a couple spare in the bag. “Take your pick.”
Tweek is the first to grab one; a simple striped design.
Clyde was next, opting for the one with the slogan ‘Cool story bro’ on it.
Token passed one to Jimmy that had fruit decorating it, and then took a basic blue one for himself.
Craig was left with the towel with an adorable looking cartoon shark on it, one of which used to belong to his younger sister Tricia. He didn’t seem at all bothered and laid it out next to Tweek’s towel.
“Alright so who’s coming for a splash in a little while?” Clyde enthusiastically asks.
“FUCK no. I’m not gonna be present while you awkwardly try to pick up chicks by the water.” Craig protests.
“Oh Craig,” Clyde tuts, “You should be more supportive of me!”
“Yeah well, I’m not supportive of those speedos.”
Token chuckles, “Again with the speedos…you really aren’t a fan are you?”
“Dude, look at him. He looks like a middle aged dad who flirts with teenagers.”
Clyde pouts, “HEY…at least I’m not flexing a damn fisherman hat!”
“Nghh, not cool Clyde! Don’t drag me into this too!!” Tweek contributes, awkwardly tugging on his hat.
“Firstly, it’s called a bucket hat. Secondly, fuck you. It keeps us cool.” says Craig.
“Appearance vs p-p-practicality. A truly difficult decision f-for sure.” Jimmy jokes.
“Who cares about how good you look when you’re frying to death?!” says Tweek.
“Chill out Tweek, we’re not frying! We’re just sun-kissed.“ Clyde teases. Token pushes him playfully, shaking his head and smiling.
Jimmy looks out over the crowd of people, stopping when he sees someone he recognises. An auburn-haired boy of their age was sat reading a book next to his mother, who was watching his father and younger brother throw a ball back and forth to each other.
“H-hey, isn’t that K-K-Kyle Broflovski and his f-family over there?”
Token squints his eyes in the same direction, “…oh shit, it is! Shall we go say hi?”
“What?! I’m not going all the way over there!!” Tweek protests.
Craig lies back on his towel. “If Ike sees Clyde he’ll just annoy him with pirate songs again.”
“I don’t need reminding of that you guys!!” Clyde whines.
“Kyle looks pretty bored…” says Token.
“Damn…and S-S-Sheila is looking pretty…th-th-th-thick.” Jimmy stutters, watching as Sheila rubbed herself with sunscreen.
“Gross Jimmy, put your boner away.” says Craig.
“Relax b-buddy! Only her m-mother could love t-that face.” he jests.
Token gets up, “I’m gonna go say hi, Craig come with!”
“Ugh fine but we’re not staying long.” Craig groans.
“Bring us back ice cream will ya!” Clyde declares, pointing at the ice cream van nearby.
“Anything for you, princess.” Token jokes, before helping Craig up by the hand and wandering off towards Kyle.
~
They quickly return with 5 ice cream cones, one with toffee sauce since Tweek likes toffee.
Obviously, Clyde had something to say about this. “Uhhhh, where’s my toffee sauce??”
“Go and get some from the van if you want it, you lazy twat.” Craig says, handing the cone to Tweek. Tweek smiles warmly up at him before thanking him. Clyde takes his cone from Token, pulls a sour face and sticks his tongue out at Craig before heading towards the van.
After not even 2 minutes of receiving his ice cream, Tweek has a sudden large twitch and accidentally drops the cone onto his leg. Clyde bursts out with laughter, while Craig grabs a spare towel from the beach bag and helps him to clean up.
“I will literally pay you half of my w-w-wage if you lick some of that.” Jimmy jests.
“WHAT?! Are you nuts?!” Tweek yells.
“That’s a comment I’d expect from Clyde, not you Jimmy.” Craig retorts. “Fuck off.”
“What if it was Token’s wage?” Clyde suggests.
“Not even for Token’s wage.” says Craig.
“You guys, my wage isn’t that much different than yours!” Token objects. He’s not wrong; he only earns about 3 or 4 more dollars than the rest of them. However he serves wealthier customers and the tips tend to be double, even triple the average waiter gets.
~
Once Craig finishes cleaning up a very embarrassed Tweek, and returns to the van to buy him a replacement ice cream, the five of them lie on their respective towels and sunbathe quietly in each others company. So quiet in fact, that none of them realise until 20 minutes later that Clyde had fallen fast asleep. Only when he suddenly lets out a loud snore, waking himself up in the process, does he attract the other’s attention.
“Jesus Clyde, scared the shit out of me.” Craig snaps.
“The heat must’ve knocked me out…” says Clyde. “I need to cool down…time for a swim!”
Almost instantly, as if he hadn’t just woken up, Clyde immediately springs to his feet and flings his shirt off. “Who’s coming??”
“I will. The water looks fresh.” Token gets up a little slower, taking off his shades and placing them on his towel.
“Tweek?”
“Ngh, maybe later…” Tweek replies. And by ‘maybe later’, he meant ‘probably not at all’.
“No worries bud.” Clyde reassures. “Jimmy? Oh yeah Jimmy said he wasn’t swimming today…Craig?”
The two standing look over to Craig, who’s very clearly pretending he didn’t hear them. Clyde bends over him, casting a shadow over his face.
“Craig? Yoohooooo?”
“What?”
“Are you coming swimming with us?” Token asks.
“Nah.”
Token rolls his eyes, exchanging a disappointed look with Clyde, before leaning in and whispering something into his ear. Clyde grows a mischievous grin and looks over at Craig, who is completely oblivious.
Craig is a slim guy and relatively lightweight, so it wasn’t a problem for Clyde and Token to grab him by the legs and arms and lift him up abruptly.
“Wh-? What the fuck are you doing?!”
“Taking you for a dip.” Clyde replies nonchalantly.
“I hate you both so much, fucking put me down!”
Craig wriggles a little in protest, his hat falling off in the process, but it’s not long before he gives in and simply lets the other two carry him over to the water.
Tweek and Jimmy laugh as they watch them go.
“Ngh…am I an unsupportive boyfriend if I just sit back and let them pick on him like that?” Tweek jokes.
“It makes a ch-change from Craig p-p-picking on everyone else, I suppose.” Jimmy shrugs.
They watch on as Clyde and Token count down from 3, and on zero, Craig is slam dunked into the water. He resurfaces flicking his hair and immediately targets Clyde by jumping onto his shoulders and sending him underneath the water. The antics continue as Tweek smiles from afar, happy and tranquil. Seeing his boyfriend and his friends messing around and having fun made him feel so relaxed and carefree, and distracted him from any worries he may have.
He sighs with contentment. At least he didn’t have to worry about being alone. His friends were always there for each other and supported each other an equal amount. And days like this just proved that the five of them were closer than ever.
—
#craig and those guys#craigandthoseguysweek#craigandthoseguysweek2019#craig and those guys week#craig tucker#tweek tweak#clyde donovan#token black#jimmy valmer#south park#south park craig#south park tweek#south park clyde#south park token#south park jimmy#south park fanfiction#south park oneshots
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Truth or Dare: Coming Out Edition (Chapter 2: The Main Event)
Read on AO3 | Donate to my Ko-Fi if you like | Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6
A South Park Fanfiction ft. Creek, Style, and Bunny
The big group of ten took turns playing Mario Kart. Whoever wasn’t playing either cheered on their favorite current players, or sectioned themselves off to talk one on one or two on two.
Just as Tweek had guessed, he was hyper aware of every time he saw Kenny and Butters whispering to each other. Butters seemed to be giggling and laughing a lot over whatever Kenny was telling him, though there were a few times where he frowned, swatted Kenny’s shoulder, and huffed, “Not appropriate, Ken!” To which the latter just snickered and winked.
Winked. Something HAD to be going on between them, right??
“Babe,” Craig whispered, gripping Tweek’s chin to pull his gaze away. “Stop staring, geez.”
“I can’t help it, Craig!!” Tweek chewed at his bottom lip, his eyes rolling to the side as if he could see them through his skull. “It’ll be so nice not to be the only gay couple in school anymore!”
Craig sighed and released his chin. “I know, honey, but you know staring isn’t nice.”
“Nngh!” Tweek closed his eyes to stop himself from staring. “I know!!”
“Just try and relax, Tweek.” Craig pulled him closer, resting Tweek’s head against his shoulder. “We’re going to play Truth or Dare soon and then you can ask some questions.”
“What if they don’t want to answer??” Tweek asked, opening his eyes again as he gripped Craig’s shirt tight in his hand. “If they didn’t want it to be a secret, we’d already know, right??”
“That,” Craig starts slowly, rubbing at Tweek’s back to ground him. “Or there’s nothing to tell.”
“... Oh.” Tweek blinks, relaxing a little. “Yeah, that’s true!”
“Can we do truth or dare yet?!” Clyde started whining, upside down in his favorite chair so he could kick his feet against the top. “I’m boooored!”
“Well,” Token paused the game and looked at his watch. “I guess we could. Unless you guys wanna open presents, first?”
“Nah,” Stan set the controller down and stretched a little. “Let’s open presents at midnight.”
“Midnight!” Butters spoke up, looking a little worried. “Oh, I’ll be falling asleep by then! You guys won’t draw dicks on my face, will ya?”
“Don’t worry, baby bear,” Kenny patted Butters’ back with a serious expression. “I’ll protect you.”
“Well gee, thanks, Ken!”
“Baby bear?!” Clyde wheezed in shock. Tweek’s jaw just dropped in surprise, so he was glad when Craig closed it for him.
“Okay!” Token stood up and clapped his hands to gain attention of the room. “Truth or dare it is! Everyone get in a circle! Clyde,” he turned to give him a look, “go get the Hershey’s kisses.”
“On it, boss!” Clyde gave a little salute before somersaulting off the chair and running to the spread of candy on the counter.
Soon, everyone was seated in a big circle on the floor (or in a chair if it was close enough), and had three Hershey’s kisses for their “passes.”
“Who wants to go first?” Token asked, ever the perfect host.
“Ooh ooh!” Clye swung his arm wildly in the air. “Me, me, me!!”
Token sighed and gestured to Kyle. “Why don’t you go.”
“Hey!!”
Kyle chuckled a bit, giving Clyde an amused look. “Okay, dude, you can go next, but first - truth or dare?”
“Hm…” Clyde tapped his chin, narrowing his eyes at Kyle as if to guess what he was thinking. “Dare!”
Kyle grinned, sharing a look with an also-grinning Stan before turning back to his victim. “I dare you to call Bebe and tell her you hate her new shoes.”
Clyde gasps, slapping his hands to his cheeks in mortification. “If I do that, she’ll give me a black eye!!”
“What, you’re chickening out already?” Kyle snickered, sharing a low five with Stan who was trying not to lose it.
“I t-told you!” Stan tried to speak between his laughter. “Clyde’s a wimp with Bebe.”
“I am not!!” Clyde glared at the two of them before pulling out his phone. “I’ll do it right now!!”
“Craig, make sure he’s actually calling Bebe,” Kyle requested.
“No, fuck you,” Craig replied, not wanting to move from his position of holding Tweek’s hand. “You do it.”
Tweek frowned and poked his cheek. “Craig, come on. You’re closer.”
Craig sighed and begrudgingly moved away, stealing Clyde’s phone to call Bebe for him. “There, it’s ringing.”
“CraIG!!” Clyde started freaking out and almost dropped the phone, sweating nervously as his heart leapt into his throat. “Shit shit shit!”
“You have to leave a message if she doesn’t answer!” Stan added, covering his mouth to try and stop his snickers.
“I hate you both so much -!” Clyde hissed just as Bebe picked up.
“Hello? Clyde? Aren’t you at that sleepover thing?”
“Y-yeah!” Clyde was starting to shake with nerves. “Um, I was just calling to tell you… uh…” He glared at Stan and Kyle who were snickering and gesturing for him to continue. Not to say everyone else wasn’t chuckling a little, but the two instigators were definitely the loudest. “I hate your new shoes!!”
“... What!?” Bebe snapped so loud that the phone’s audio crackled.
“Okay, bye!!” Clyde hung up before she could say anything more and threw his phone onto the couch. “Well, I’m not going to even look at that thing for a few hours.”
Most of the group started laughing openly now, joking about how Clyde would have a million messages and missed calls by tomorrow.
“You’re right,” Token teased, smirking at him. “She’ll give you a black eye the next time she sees you.”
Clyde puffed his cheeks out again in a pout before sputtering, “Truth or Dare, Token!!”
“After that, definite Truth.” Token held up a hand. “No way am I risking you daring me to do anything with Nichole.”
“Damn it.” Clyde groaned and tossed his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “Um…” His face split into a wide grin as he snapped back to look at him. “Tell us about a wet dream you’ve had!”
Kenny snorted and offered Clyde a high-five, which he gladly took. Token, on the other hand, was starting to turn red, seriously considering using one of his free passes.
“It doesn’t have to be the most intense wet-dream you’ve had,” Stan offered. “Just one of them. Like a weird one.”
“That’s assuming I’ve had more than one!” Token snapped in embarrassment.
Kenny snickered as he offered, “If you share one, I’ll share one of mine~”
“No fucking way,” Kyle deadpanned. “You’ve told me some of yours, Kenny - no one wants to hear them.”
“Kenny’s told you about his wet dreams?” Stan asked, raising a brow at him. “Why?”
Kyle just shrugged, looking away from his best friend. “You know how Kenny is.”
“Not yet he doesn’t,” Kenny purred, winking at Stan and wiggling his fingers at him. Butter started laughing then and covered his face.
“Helloooo,” Clyde interrupted. “I’m still waiting for Token’s wet dream!”
Token groaned and brought his knees up to his chest, burying his face against them. “Fine!”
He proceeded to tell them about a dream he had involving himself being a pirate captain hunting for mermaids, but once he found one he somehow shifted into a merman and they went to a coral reef to make out.
“Ooh!” Butters clasped his hands together, a big smile on his face. “That sounds fun, though!”
“Tame, but fun,” Kenny agreed.
Token just grunted in response before surveying the circle. “Tweek, truth or dare.”
Tweek tensed up, his cheeks pink from Token’s Truth response and his nerves swirling around in his guts. “Um… D… Dare!”
“Yeah?” Token smiles softly. “I dare you to… tell Craig you hate him.” Most of the circle booed him, saying that was a lame dare, but he argued, “It’s Tweek’s first time! Let’s go a little easy on him.”
“Ack!” Tweek didn’t seem to like the idea anyway and turned to Craig with wide, apologetic eyes. “I don’t wanna do that!!”
Craig chuckled, the corners of his mouth upturning in amusement. “It’s okay, Tweek. I know it’s not true.”
“Yeah, but I still don’t want to say it!” He whined, pulling at his fingers. “Craig, I… I hate you!!” He covered his face right afterwards. “Ugh, that sucked!”
Craig was still smiling, reaching to stroke some of Tweek’s hair back, as if he were a cat. “You did great, Tweek. Ask someone else now.”
“Mmmm.” He looked at everyone through his fingers. “Jimmy, Truth or Dare.”
“Oh!” He straightened up in excitement. “I’ll take a d-dare, as well!”
Tweek took a deep breath, staring down at the carpet as he tried to come up with a good one. He didn’t want to do anything too mean, but he didn’t want everyone to boo him either. “Um… I dare you to… eat a huge spoonful of peanut butter without drinking any milk!”
Clyde absolutely lost it, rolling onto his back as he cackled, “Was that the b-best you could come up with!?”
“I mean, that would be pretty uncomfortable,” Butters said, making a face as he thought about it. “Peanut butter is so sticky!” Kenny snorted and covered his mouth, so Butters pouted at him and poked his head. “Get that mind out of the gutter, mister!”
“Well,” Token interrupted, standing up. “Let’s get to the kitchen so Jimmy can eat his peanut butter.”
“This’ll be fff, ffun,” Jimmy cheered as he slipped his lofstrand crutches back into place to stand. “Let’s go f-f-fellas!”
Truth or Dare continued for quite awhile after that, with each boy trying to get even more wild with their propositions. Even Timmy was dared to wear underwear (clean, thankfully) on his head for three rounds. And, Clyde kept trying to either ask or dare Craig to talk about when he first fell in love with Tweek. His strategy was to get Craig to use up all of his passes, and with only one left, he was grinning ear-to-ear and just waiting to get two more turns.
“Won’t be long now, Craigy~” Clyde sang. “You’ll have to tell us sooner or later!”
“Unless we just stop picking you altogether,” Stan pointed out, since it was his turn.
Clyde turned crestfallen, clasping his hands together to practically beg, “Pleeeaaase pick me, Stan! I’ll do your homework for a week!”
“Dude, you get worse grades than me. Not a chance.”
“Then I’ll do your chores!!”
“Tempting,” Stan tapped his chin, thinking about it. “But, nah. I have something else in mind. Craig, Truth or Dare.”
“Just to torture Clyde, Truth.”
Clyde whined in agony and flopped onto his back as Stan replied, “Hm… kind of similar to Clyde’s question, but how did you… I mean, what made you,” he struggled to find the right words, and everyone’s eyes on him didn’t help. He took a breath before managing to ask, “How are you so okay with being gay? And, like, having that as one of the main ways people think of you?”
Craig raised a brow at him, curiosity etched into his face. He leaned backwards onto his hands, tilting his head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“Like, I dunno, man.” Stan was starting to mumble, his gaze cast to the floor. “I just feel like once someone’s labeled as “gay,” that’s like… the only thing people think about you. Like it doesn’t matter what else you do - doesn’t matter if you’re a genius, or great at sports, or great at film in your case. You’re just… gay, and nothing else.”
The circle was quiet after Stan’s little speech, most assuming that Stan had a very personal reason for asking this question. Kyle was staring at his friend in slight shock, mouth open slightly, and Tweek actually felt still for once. Craig did say there might be other gay couples in the school - was Stan in one of them?
“Well,” Craig started out slowly, startling everyone out of their own thoughts. “I, personally, don’t feel like that. I mean, yeah, obviously some people are only interested in talking to me because I’m gay, like the yaoi fangirls, or some of the adults, but they can go fuck themselves. I have friends who actually know me and don’t only think of my sexuality when they think of me.” Craig gestured to Clyde. “He’s the exception, since he’s my friend and also very interested in my relationship. But I’m sure he’d be just as interested if I was with a girl, so it doesn’t bother me much.”
Clyde grinned, giving him two thumbs up. “You got that right, bro. I’m supportive 100%. Unless you break Tweek’s heart.”
Craig smiled softly, leaning over to kiss Tweek’s cheek, causing the blonde to squeak in surprise. “I would never break his heart. It’s too precious.”
“Cr-Craaaiiig!!” Tweek whined and covered his face with both hands, curling up as if to hide. “God, stop!!” He curled up even more when he heard the others just chuckle at him.
“Does that answer your question, Stan?” Craig asked, staring straight at him.
“Yeah.” Stan nodded, his eyes far away as he avoided looking at anyone in particular. “Thanks, man.”
“Great. Kyle, Truth or Dare.”
“What?” Kyle jumped a little, turning his head away from Stan. “Oh, uh. Truth, I guess.”
“Do you consider yourself 100% straight?”
Once again, the circle was struck silent. Craig’s blunt question caught everyone off guard. Everyone turned to look at the redhead, but no one was prepared for Kyle’s response.
“Not really, no.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Title: Aren't You...?
Rating: T
Summary: For every advantage not having a secret identity had, there was always a disadvantage he had to deal with as well.
Ships: Jyle mentioned past Kydi
Other: Superhero AU
Read on ao3
~~~~
The train car was mostly empty, which left Jimmy somewhat disappointed. Sitting around on the train to people watch gave him some of his best bits.
Where would the name 'Jimmy Valmer' be in the comedian circles if he didn't have his Bible Throw Down story?
Of course, the story itself had some embellishment to it, but it wasn't fully made-up. Jimmy was witness to two old women getting up in each other's faces, and one of them did raise her Bible to smack the other, but the fight didn't escalate as far as Jimmy's routine claimed.
Fastpass stepped in before that could happen.
He shouldn't be too surprised at the emptiness of the train, really. It was late, and this train didn't run between any major factories or nightclubs.
The only other passengers were a person sleeping in the corner, a bottle in a paper bag between her shoes, and another person sitting in the middle of the car, staring down at his phone.
Jimmy slipped into a seat and took off his crutches. He set them beside him before leaning back and shutting his eyes.
Maybe this was a blessing, more so than the Bible Throw Down, even. Some quiet time would do him good.
It seemed that lately, the city was more chaotic than normal: crime was on the rise, villains with superpowers kept popping up, not to mention the recent bout of fights and arguing amongst the city's heroes.
Just a week ago, Mosquito and ToolShed got into a spat over something or another and fucked up a local park. The media was still having a field day with that story.
All the heroes have been staying on their best behavior since then in an attempt to keep their reputations on the up and up. Jimmy included. That was the main reason he wasn't running home. The last thing he needed was the tabloids getting wind that he had gotten another speeding ticket or that he'd broken traffic laws again.
"Um, hey, excuse me?"
Jimmy opened his eyes. The person who was sitting in the middle of the train now stood in front of him.
"Yeah?" Jimmy shifted so he was sitting up straight.
"Are you..." The person paused a moment, and Jimmy reflexively tensed for what was coming.
'Are you the Fastpass?’
For every advantage not having a secret identity had, there was always a disadvantage he had to deal with as well. This particular disadvantage was his least favorite.
Everyone knew him as 'Fastpass', the speedy fighter for justice first and foremost, not 'Jimmy Valmer,' stand up comedian, or 'Jimmy Valmer,' newspaper reporter. Jimmy was proud of the good he'd done as Fastpass, but the fact it erased all his other accomplishments annoyed him to no end.
There wasn't much he could do to prevent it though, so instead he prepared for the onslaught of usual questions.
"You're Jimmy Valmer, right?"
Jimmy blinked. His brain froze a moment before the word sunk in.
"Y-yes. That's me!" Jimmy brightened. He held out his hand with a grin. "And you?"
The person grinned back before taking his hand and shaking. "Kyle. It's so cool to meet you."
"Likewise," Jimmy replied, "I love meeting fans!" He paused a moment, before picking up his crutches from the seat beside him and moved them so they were between his knees.
"Wanna take a seat and ch-chat?" He patted the seat beside him.
Kyle looked apprehensive until Jimmy flashed an encouraging smile, then he slipped into the seat.
"So, what brings you out on this glorious night? The am-amb-ambiance of the train or the company?" Jimmy waved his hand to the train drunk in the corner.
Kyle covered his smile. "I'm heading home from a friend's house, actually. He just moved out from his ex-girlfriend's, and he's still getting over it."
"Ah," Jimmy nodded, "A br-broken heart can change a good man in so many ways."
Kyle snorted. "He'll get over it. He's just pissed a friend told his ex something he'd said in confidence about her." He shook his head.
Jimmy rested his chin on his crutches. In his mind's eye, he replayed the argument between Mosquito and ToolShed. Apparently, the argument started after Mosquito mentioned some less than savory information about Shed to Call Girl.
It was almost funny how something so ordinary could cause so much damage among super powered men.
"I hope he and his friends, girl or o-otherwise, can work everything out." Jimmy offered.
"Yeah," Kyle sighed, a forlorn look crossing his face.
"Something the matter, buddy?" Jimmy asked.
Kyle jumped. "Oh! No, no, I just--it's nothing. Personal stuff. A stranger like you wouldn't want to hear about it."
Jimmy turned his head to the side. "Strangers? We know each other's names, that makes us p-prac-pra--pretty much family." His eyes twinkled. "You can expect me over for Christmas dinner with how close we are now!"
Kyle chuckled and shook his head. "I'm Jewish, actually."
"Oh, Hanukkah then," Jimmy corrected. "I'll show up all eight nights and bring a cheese p-platter. Besides," he elbowed him, "if something is bothering you, talking tends to help, if you want."
Kyle chewed his lip a moment. "This isn't going to be used in any of your shows if I tell you?"
Jimmy crossed his heart. "I would never. Scout's honor."
Taking a breath, Kyle slumped forward a bit. He ran his hand through his thick, red curls.
"My own girlfriend broke up with me recently as well." He admitted.
Jimmy frowned before reaching over and setting a comforting hand on his should. "I'm s-sorry. That must be difficult."
Kyle shrugged a little. "The reason I know who you are as a comedian is that I took Heidi to one of your shows for her birthday. She really likes your anecdotes." He smiled softly at the memory for a moment. "I'd only knew you as a superhero until then, but you're really funny."
"Out of the spandex and in, Jimmy Valmer loves to make people smile." Jimmy dropped his hand to his lap. "So, if you don't mind telling me, w-wh-what happened between you two?"
Kyle's smile fell. He looked down at his hands. "An old...'friend' of ours convinced her of some things about me that aren't true." When he said 'friend', he clenched his jaw for a heartbeat. "So, she left me, and I'm one hundred percent sure that jackass only told her what he told her because he's still in love with her."
"She and you're ex-friend were a thing?" Jimmy asked.
He nodded sharply. "Unfortunately." His hands clenched into fists. "It's not fair. I'm a thousand times better for her than him. He's just a manipulative asshole!"
For just a fraction of a second, Jimmy swore he saw Kyle's eyes flash with a red glow. There was something familiar about it, but he couldn't place it.
Jimmy pushed the thought aside before he spoke. "I wish I could give you some advice here, but I th-think anything I have to say, you've probably already heard before."
Kyle let his shoulders slump forward. "You mean that sometimes people fall back into bad patterns? Or that bad people can hide how terrible they are?"
"Well, I was going to say you should try not to beat yourself up about it," Jimmy told him. "If this asshole is as bad as you say, then he wants you to feel t-terrible. If you instead stay strong and keep going on in your life, then you win."
Kyle blinked a few times as he mulled over Jimmy's words. "Yeah." He said slowly. "Yeah, that makes sense."
Jimmy flashed a smile. "And when everything c-cr-crashes and burns for him, Heidi will see you're still going strong and want to come back to someone who can actually be there for her."
Kyle's eyes sparkled. All the sorrow that plagued his posture seemed to lift, and he raised himself up straight. His lips turned upwards.
"Yeah, you're right. Heidi will see Cartman's an asshole sooner or later. Even if she doesn't want to date me anymore, at least I can be there for her to help, right? I'm still her friend, regardless."
"Hell yeah!" Jimmy pumped his fist up in solidarity.
The two shared wide grins before the train jerked to a stop. Kyle raised his head to look out the window to the station.
"Oh, it's my stop." He sounded a little disappointed. "I have to get home."
"Before you go!" Jimmy patted his pockets before pulling out a small notebook and pen. He flipped to a clean page then scribbled down a note before ripping it out.
Kyle took the note from his outstretched hand.
"What's this?"
"A ticket. If you ever need a smile, bring that to any of my shows," Jimmy explained. "Don't worry about security not letting you in. They know I do this all the time."
Kyle looked at the note then up at Jimmy. He nodded before folding it up and slipping it into his pocket.
"Thank you." Kyle waved as he headed out the door. "I'll be sure to drop by sometime soon."
"I l-look forward to seeing you!" Jimmy called, though the doors had already shut. He leaned back.
He wondered if Kyle would make up with his ex and start dating her again. If not, Jimmy thought he wouldn't mind trying to take Kyle out for a date himself. Someone like that didn't deserve to spend nights alone.
Especially when they didn't pigeonhole Jimmy as just a superhero but as a living, breathing, hilarious person.
A smile formed on his lips. He'd forgotten how nice it felt to be recognized for his personal talents, and not just his speed.
If Kyle showed up at his show, Jimmy vowed, he'd make sure he got a front row seat.
~~~~
AN: I headcanon in the superhero AU that at the very least Jimmy is Iron Man-ing it up and is totally out with his super and civilian IDs.
#south park#jyle#jimmy valmer#kyle brovlofski#fanfiction#one-shot#sp#kyle broflovski#the fractured but whole#tfbw#superhero au
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Upon the Rock - Chapter 1 - Normal
So I started writing again, and I figured I’d give fanfiction a shot. I’ve got several chapters already out on ff.net and Ao3 under the same name, so if you want to read ahead, by all means.
The subway rattled along, same as it ever did. Nothing ever really changed, Billy mused, on his way to a school he was bored of, with classmates that thought it was fun to pick on him. When he remembered it was Monday, he sighed with the realization that he'd have to try to fit in all the usual work the school assigned before helping clean the group home in time to meet the foster parents looking to interview. It rarely happened. ‘Oh well. I can probably find the change for a soda to stay awake and finish. Maybe. At least I get Mondays off at the station,’ he mused. He scrounged his bag for coins until his stop approached.
The train slowed and stopped, allowing the normal early morning press of students in uniforms, businessmen in their constricting looking ties, and the last few laborers of the morning. Billy couldn't shoulder his way through like most did, but he slipped through the throng and slid his way out of the car and up the stairs, for once thankful he was short.
The walk was as uneventful as the ride, and as deep in thought as Billy was, he nearly missed his friend Freddy on the entrance stairs. “Billy. Billy. Hey! Man, are you ok? You look beat.”
Billy’s face-splitting yawn gave lie to his garbled denial, but Freddy just laughed as he prodded Billy along with his crutch. ‘His leg must not be troubling him today,’ Billy thought, allowing himself to be ushered up the last steps and into the entrance of Fawcett High.
He wasn't distracted enough to miss the usual crowd of burnouts that spent most mornings harassing Freshmen, though. Freddy was a common target of theirs, despite being taller than some of them and a sophomore. “It started,” Freddy had explained, “with being crippled. But my mouthing off to them is what made sure I was their favorite.”
Billy had always been privately sure that it had something to do with hanging around the Honors class enrolled, secondhand clothes wearing, freshman aged Billy. Not that Freddy would ever admit it.
In unspoken agreement, they attempted to time their approach to blend in with the crowd. The average student was kind enough to avoid jostling Freddy, so their chameleon approach was defeated by the empty space around them and the empty space that always seemed to surround the bullies. This early in the morning, the harassment was never much. Just enough to give a bad start to the day. This morning it was limited to just some malicious laughter and a barely audible “Cripple.” Freddy breezed past, but Billy stopped short for just a moment, and only resumed walking when Freddy said, quietly, “C’mon. It’s not worth it.” Billy scowled and, once he had caught up, said “It is to me. You’re ten times better than they are.” Freddy just laughed and said, “I know. I don’t need to get beat up to prove it.”
Classes were as they always were. Honors chemistry, honors math, honors english, each assigning work like they were the only one that mattered, and then a too-short lunch that Billy ate alone while trying to get a head start on the work. Mr. Hayman, the group home leader, had packed him a peach. For all his stuck-up behavior and lectures, making sure Billy had his favorite fruit to enjoy at school showed how much he cared.
After lunch, heading upstairs to his slew of afternoon classes, he saw Freddy heading down lunchroom. His head was down, and he was moving fast. Billy was too far away to get his attention, and he didn't seem to want to wait around. Freddy always tried to get out of the hallway as fast as he could, and never relied on the always hovering excuse of his leg. As the press of students intensified and the jostling backpacks and traffic jams buffeted Billy back and forth, he thought that maybe hurrying to class wasn’t such a bad idea.
The afternoon proceeded much the same as the morning, but with more sneaking of his other classes’ homework. By the time the day was done, his work was nearly so. After his last class, he felt free to move with a little more leisure. Freddy’s ride didn’t come until nearly 4, and he had the timing to the Subway down pat to still get the fast train back to the home. He could take his time and get to the first floor before Freddy was ready to leave his last - and worst - class.
He reached the door just as Freddy walked out, calling out his thanks to his teacher for the extra help. When he noticed Billy, he said with a smile “Got all my Lit work done. Why do I keep you around for help when I can have Ms. Morsen explain it, again?”
Laughing, BIlly responded “Because she can teach you Lit, but she’s not the one who stays up writing your papers with you and pity laughing at your jokes.”
When Freddy slung his arm over Billy’s shoulder, he knew that Freddy was feeling good that day. He almost never risked taking his crutch’s arm brace off in public, and was hardly putting any weight on Billy’s shoulder. They walked, separating before they reached the stairs in front of the school, planning to wait there until the van Freddy rode had arrived.
“You crashed last night before you told me your favorite superhero.” Freddy said, carefully stretching his leg as he sat.
Billy scoffed, “That’s because you talked to me about your crush on Wonder Woman for two hours. I must’ve passed out from boredom.”
“Oh yeah, right. I talked about how cool she was. Her being attractive doesn’t have a thing to do with it.”
“Keep telling yourself that buddy. I dunno, anyway. I don’t really have a favorite. Probably just Superman.”
Freddy pulled a face at that. “What a cop-out. Everybody’s favorite is Superman. It’s boring.”
“Fine then, Mr. I’m-So-Smart. Flash. He’s funny and everybody likes him. Plus he seems like a lot more fun than most of the rest of them.”
The conversation devolved into friendly ribbing and Freddy’s crush on Wonder Woman from there.
Just as the last bell of the day rang to release the kids held back for detention, the van Freddy rode in pulled up.
Billy was almost pulled off balance as he helped Freddy up and walked with him to the van, trying to get a little more hanging out done before the night’s chores and watching the younger kids.
Freddy pulled Billy onwards, ignoring the same upperclassmen that had mocked him that morning, moving between the back of the van and the front of an empty bus to put his bag in. Just as Freddy was closing the door, Billy was shouldered to the side, tripping on the curb and falling hard on his bookbag, the breath whooshing out of him. Freddy was instead pushed hard against the grille of bus, three rough looking jerks shoving their way to surround him. Faster than Billy could get up, or even call out, the shortest of the lot had grabbed the crutch Freddy had been casually holding and tossed it aside, nearly hitting Billy.
“Look guys, the cripple can walk without his cane! It’s a miracle,” the bulkier one said, pushing Freddy back up against the grille and held him there with a hand.
“Back off, Kyle.” Freddy said, somehow looking confident even with the odds stacked against him. “It’s more a miracle you were even allowed back after screwing your grades so badly you got kicked off the football team.”
A knee to the bad leg was all it took for Freddy to crumple with a gasp of pain, and Kyle let him slump to the ground.
Billy had stood up with the cane, but was motivated to do more when the tall one on the far side spit onto Freddy as he lay curled around his leg and wound up to kick him while he was down.
He didn’t think of a clever quip, or really think at all when he said “Hey, jerk,” and promptly jabbed Kyle in the gut with the crutch as he turned. The enormity of what he did dawned very quickly on him after that, and he dropped the crutch and ducked away from Kyle’s wild swing in his direction. Wild-eyed, he did the only thing that made sense to him when faced with such overwhelming odds. He turned and sprinted away. The chase was brutal. The older boys had longer legs and weren’t burdened by their backpacks, and all Billy had was familiarity with the direction and nimble feet to sneak through closing gaps in pedestrian crowds.
The route he took was longer than his normal path, but he managed to reach the subway with practised timing, approaching the passage down as the train disgorged its exiting passengers and dodging a grasping hand long enough to slide down the railing of the stairs. He slapped his wallet onto the RFID reader and slid through the turnstile, barely aware of his pursuit hopping the gate to chase him. He stepped into the train as the doors closed and turned, just in time to take a fist to his nose through the closing portal, knocking him down for a second time that day.
With his nose throbbing, he hardly noticed the hand that helped him off the ground, and especially didn’t notice the dirty nails or shaggy beard of the man he was thanking for his help. “No problem,” he responded, smiling wide and asking “Got any change?”
Billy smiled back, suppressing a sigh and fishing out the change he had gathered that morning. The man smiled even wider and said “Thank you, son. You should get that nose looked at when you can.”
“I will, sir,” Billy said as he placed his bag on the seat and took a close look at his reflection in the window.
A shadow passed over the traincar while he was looking closely at himself, and he didn’t notice that the car was emptier and quieter without seeming to change at all. There was a chill in the air that seemed out of season to the spring thaw, and the shadows seemed to come faster and longer, the wheels of the train clacking faster and faster. Billy noticed this all in a rush, and fell flat against his seat. His breath came faster, visible in the chill. Sparks crawled over the doors and the now darkened overhead lights, and he screamed as the wheels and tracks merged their howling into one cacophonous roar.
Just as suddenly, it stopped. The scream caught in his throat as the doors opened to a stop he had never seen, all old stone and distant lights in the tunnel. The lights stayed out, and the doors stayed open, and the eerie silence of the place would have convinced him it was a dream except for his heavy breaths and the persistent throbbing of his nose.
A voice whispered, far down the tunnel, carrying over the still air. He strained his ears listening, hearing three words, repeated over and over. “Come to me,” it said. And Billy found his legs moving on autopilot as he walked to the door.
He stepped out into the darkness.
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CH 55
Liz stood at the bottom of the steps while Jack and Owen weaved themselves around Kyle’s legs. She forced a smile when Jack looked to her.
“Daddy’s here!”
“He sure is, buddy!” she chirped, shooting Kyle a glare when Jack wasn’t looking. She pushed away from the wall and headed for the kitchen where she angrily leaned against the farmhouse sink to text Travis. Kyle set the boys in front of the TV and turned on their favorite show then limped into the kitchen where Liz ignored him.
“What, was I supposed to call first?” he asked, his voice bitter and sarcastic.
“Yes, Kyle,” Liz said quietly so the boys wouldn’t hear her, “You’re supposed to call first… or at least fucking knock!” She turned away from the kitchen window and had to grab the counter top to steady herself. She hadn’t noticed from across the dim living room, but now that he was just feet in front of her she could see that he looked awful. His skin was a grayish pall, his eyes were sunken and glazed over, his sandy blonde hair was greasy and his right hand was covered in a filthy bandage. “Are you okay?” she managed, holding her hand to her throat.
“Oh, now you fucking care about me?” he snapped, stumbling forward a bit.
Liz felt a small tingle of fear run up her spine and consciously went into survival mode. “Come upstairs with me,” she said softly, trying to keep herself from shaking. Keep him calm, keep him talking.
He stared at her a moment, taking in her leggings and loose shirt before nodding. Liz let out the breath she was holding and crossed the floor to him, gently taking his crutches and leaning them against the wall. She helped him up the back staircase and into her bright white bedroom, keeping the door behind them open in case the boys needed her. Her mind was racing as she ran the water in her claw foot soaking tub, trying to remember the signs of addiction he had when they had first met. He definitely looked like he had been using, smelled like it too, she thought bitterly. She looked up when he limped into the bathroom, his shirt already gone and pulling at his jeans. Standing to help him before he crashed into her tiled floor, she undressed him with the cold, clinical-like demeanor of a nurse and helped him into the bath. The tattoo Andy had given him years ago of her name spread proudly across his chest, and Liz resisted the sudden urge to trace her fingers over it like she had done so many times before. The script was in Jane Austen’s handwriting that Andy had borrowed from her published journals, due to Liz’s namesake Elizabeth Bennett and it was a gesture that Liz thought was incredibly romantic when she was twenty two. She realized he was watching her and blushed a little, feeling like she had been caught.
“Andy gave me this one when I got out of the hospital,” he said, resting his leg on the side on the tub so she could see the pinup vignette on the side of his calf. “I thought-“
“Kyle…,” she sighed, trying to stop him before he went any further. She hated the tattoo, she hated that he had manipulated one of her oldest friends in order to get it and she hated how she was portrayed in it.
“You don’t like it,” he said miserably.
“It’s not going to fix this,” she said, gesturing between the two of them. She heard her phone chime in the bedroom and moved to get it, but Kyle’s arm shot out of the tub to stop her, holding her arm so tightly that she whimpered.
“Are you with him now?” he pulled her down so that their faces were just inches apart and gripped her arm so tightly that she whimpered.
Liz calculated how much time she had before Travis arrived. She figured he should be there any second and swallowed hard. “Yes,” she whispered, forcing herself to stare him down in spite of the acute fear she felt. She sensed Travis before she heard her front door open, a skill she had acquired over years of wishing he would leave her alone, but now she felt her entire body relax knowing he was nearby. Kyle had just settled his leg back into the tub when she noticed the tiny scabs running up and down his tattooed arms, confirming Liz's fear. She instantly let out a sob, surprising both herself and Kyle.
“Oh, doll…” he released her arm as she kneeled on the floor next to him and covered her face in her hands. “I didn’t know what else to do. I lost everything when you left.”
“Don’t you dare fucking blame her for your bullshit, Kyle,” Travis growled from the doorway. He picked Liz up off the floor and took her to the bedroom, sitting her on the bed. “Call Dave,” he said quietly, moving her hands so he could see her face, “Now.”
Liz nodded and reached for the phone she had left on her pillow, watching as Travis closed the bathroom door behind him. Her phone buzzed in her hand, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer the call. She wanted to pull herself together before she talked to him, calling him in hysterical tears would be cruel.
Travis is here. I’ll call you soon, she hit send on her text to him and tried to fight back another wave of tears. She listened to Travis and Kyle’s muffled argument for a moment, wondering if she should even tell Dave that Kyle was using again. There was nothing he could do from a thousand miles away, so what was the point in scaring him? She could tell him when she saw him again in a couple months, but first she needed to call her lawyer.
*
Dave paced the concrete on his back patio, trying to convince himself that she was fine, she was tough, she could handle this. It was just Kyle, only her ex that had vaguely threatened her the last time he had seen her. Maybe he was misreading the situation at Dan and Sarah’s. Maybe they were fine and he just wanted to see the boys… the tone of her voice when she hung up said otherwise, though. He tried to wait as long as he could for Liz to call him back, but caved and called Travis instead.
“What the fuck is-“
“She just sent me a message. I’m almost there,” Travis sounded calm, maybe a little too calm and hung up.
He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like his chest was pressed in a vice and he ran back through the house, up to the spare room that he had set his kit up in. Tearing through a cardboard box, he found a set of old sticks and began to hammer out a riff that had seemingly come from nowhere. He wasn’t sure how long he had been at it, but he finally broke a stick and stopped long enough to hear his phone ringing.
“Liz?”
“I’m so sorry-,” her voice was shaky, making him panic all over again.
“What happened?”
“I swear I’m a well adjusted-“
“Liz!”
“I just wasn’t expecting him and-“
“Is he still there? Is Travis there?” He heard her take a deep breath and shakily let it out before hearing her sob and then swear.
“Yes, I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I just-“
“Liz, what the fuck is going on?” he finally yelled.
“Shut the fuck up and I’ll tell you!” she shouted back.
Dave leaned against the window sill and dropped his head, listening to her try to compose herself.
“Okay,” she sounded hesitant. “Dave…”
This is it. She’s going back to Kyle and we’re over.
“Kyle is… Travis is putting him in rehab.”
“What?”
“Like, tomorrow. Or today if we can get him in,” she let out a long, relieved breath, “I wasn’t going to tell you because I didn’t want to scare you, but it’ll probably be all over the news, so…”
“Are you and the boys okay?” he squeezed his eyes shut to brace for her answer. Anything could have happened in the half hour Kyle had been there, and Dave had imagined every scenario.
“We’re totally fine. The boys don’t even know.”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s with Travis upstairs.”
“In your room?”
“Yes Dave, in my room,” now she sounded annoyed. “Can we not do this right now?”
He didn’t answer, knowing she was under an insane amount of stress. She could take out her anger on him if that’s what she needed to do.
“I’m so sorry,” she sighed, “It’s a little weird around here right now.”
He heard Travis’ deep voice in the background then Liz tell him to wait.
“I have to go, okay?” her voice was softer, but sad.
No, it’s not okay. “Yeah, okay,” he managed.
“Hey…,” her voice was almost a whisper now, “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Liz. You’re gonna be okay.”
She forced a small laugh as her voice broke. “Promise?”
“I’ll always promise that, Liz.” He heard her choke back a sob.
“I’ll call you in a bit.”
Dave listened to her end the call and tried to calm his breathing. He felt nothing but rage towards Kyle, towards the beast of addiction that kept raising its ugly fucking head in his life over and over again. He threw the broken drum stick as hard as he could across the room and glared at it as it pierced the drywall.
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little bird
Summary: Jimmy takes Leslie to a park.
Prompt: Park - The trees are lush and the picnic benches full-up when the July weather is beautiful and warm. Going to the park can make for a lovely experience, even if it’s not a far trip from home. Your muses may have picnics, go for walks together, or just go hang out at the playground to pass the time on a boring afternoon. It doesn’t have to just be a nature park, either- what about a theme park, or a water park trip? The possibilities are endless, and the prompt wide open!
Words: 1306
Link is in the title if you wish to read it on AO3!
PC Principal had declared her safe days before.
Nobody really trusted her enough to believe it to be so.
So, PC Principal shunts her off to Jimmy.
“Whu-w-what?!” Jimmy stumbles as he tries to get himself upright on his crutches, because it’s a startling revelation to hear from PC Principal, of all people, the person who punched Leslie Meyers in the face in the first place. “Whu-why me?”
PC Principal sighs. “It’s nothin’ personal, alright? I know we’ve had our share of disagreements-”
Jimmy visibly snorts.
“- but the fact is, Leslie is a clean slate. Like, she remembers nothing now. Literally nothing,” The man waves his hands around. “It’s been years since the incident, anyway, brah, let it go.”
Jimmy gives him a dry look - or at least he tries to. “She b-buh-b-beat me up.”
“Six years ago, brah. Let it go,” PC Principal reiterates, before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look- you’re the only kid I trust around here that won’t do anything bad to her directly. You’ll treat her right. She’s vaguely aware she’s not human, but that’s it. I know you can treat her normally, unlike the other kids, like Broflovski.”
Jimmy winces. “Kyle is puh-p-pretty hung over what she did.”
“Within reason, he is. Still - Leslie can learn about what she did later on. For now...” He places a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “Treat her as normally as possible. Right now I’ve got forged papers saying she’s my kid, so that’s probably going to be another mark against her, being the principal’s kid.”
Jimmy raises an eyebrow. “Wuh-w-why would you do that?”
“To monitor her. And...” PC Principal sighs. “When she was revived, she was so innocent. I dunno, brah, it just... it didn’t seem right to just leave her like that, PC or not. Just- I just did it, okay.”
“Okay.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“Sure.”
-=-=-=-
“My name is Leslie.”
“Muh-m-mine’s Jimmy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Jimmy.”
“...”
“?”
“You t-too, Leslie.”
-=-=-=-
It had been Nichole’s idea, really, to bring Leslie to the park, a month or so after Leslie’s initial reintroduction to South Park.
“It’ll be a great experience for her,” She had explained. “Just walking in the park with a friend. I know I enjoy my walks in the park with you guys.”
“Wuh-why? I thought you didn’t like her?”
“I do like her,” Nichole had corrected. “That’s why I’m giving you advice right now. I just never have the opportunity to show her openly that I’m on her side.”
“Thu-t-then come with us to the park.”
“This is bonding time for the two of you,” Nichole had pushed him away by this point. “I’ll come next time.”
-=-=-=-
“So this is a park?” Leslie asks him, and her neon green eyes are so innocent, so wide, that Jimmy can’t help but nod quietly. She smiles, and her smile is so perfect, so radiant, that he actually takes a step back. Perfection must come with being an ad. “It’s pretty.”
“I-It really is, isn’t it?” Jimmy agrees. “Wuh-want to take a walk?”
“Sure,” Leslie smiles, and together, ad and boy walk down the path less traveled around the park, towards the more secluded area of the park, filled with more trees and more shade. There’s a small pond within the grove of trees, and a bench by its side, and it’s this particular pond that they head towards, Jimmy sitting himself on the bench while Leslie peers at the pond curiously.
Jimmy pulls out some bird seed, and begins placing some on his pants. Spotting his action, Leslie sits by him, and tilts her head curiously. “What is that?”
“Bird suh-s-seed.”
“... Why?”
“I’m t-trying to attract birds. Watch,” Jimmy motions for her to sit still, and she does, inhumanly so, and for a few minutes, all is quiet.
And then, small birds begin swooping down, pecking at the seed on his pants, and the sight of such small creatures on Jimmy’s lap makes Leslie’s eyes grow wide with wonder as her ad makeup automatically processes the information, tucking away the images in her brain immediately. The sight of Leslie so enraptured by the birds makes Jimmy chuckle, and, taking one of her hands - startling her out of her reverie - , he pours a small amount of bird seed on it.
“W-what?” Leslie stutters for the first time in uncertainty, cupping her hands together to keep the bird seed from falling. “Why?”
“You looked ruh-r-really interested in the birds... s-so I thought you could h-have some buh-b-bu-bird seed on your hand as well,” Jimmy smiles kindly at her, and somehow, his toothy smile makes Leslie smile right back. Both of them are genuinely warmed by the gesture. “Just don’t move, and birds wuh-will come to you.”
Leslie smiles, and patiently, she waits.
Minutes pass, and when no birds come to take the seed from Leslie’s palm, her eyes flash blue momentarily as her brows crease in disappointment. Jimmy mentally tucks away the information about her emotive eyes as he places a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.
“They don’t like me,” Leslie murmurs. “They know I’m not- I’m not like you.”
“They know you’re puh-p-perfect, and I’m not?” Jimmy tries to joke. “Wow. Kuh-k-keen eyed birds.”
Leslie shakes her head. “No... they know I’m not all human. That’s why they don’t want to eat the bird seed.”
“Thu-t-that’s not it,” Jimmy soothes, moving closer. The birds still on his lap cling for a moment to the fabric before resuming in consuming the seed as he says, “Just g-give it more time. It’s not because y-you’re not fuh-f-f-ully human, okay? Birds don’t care.”
Leslie looks up at him through her lashes. “You’re... you’re certain?”
“Yeah,” Jimmy swears before looking up. “Oh, look, suh-see?”
Leslie blinks, and in a hushed whisper, she lets out a small ‘oh!’ as a tiny, tiny white bird nestles itself in her cupped hands, chirping cheerfully before pecking at the bird seed in her hands. The sight is so astounding to the reformed ad that she quite nearly shakes, which makes Jimmy move a little closer in concern.
“I... it likes me...” Leslie whispers. “The... the bird likes me...”
Jimmy smiles. “W-Who wouldn’t?”
“... Everyone except you and Father...” Leslie mumbles. “And... maybe Nichole. But she likes everyone.”
Oh. Ouch.
“Nobody likes me,” Leslie whispers, and there is a sad smile on her face that makes Jimmy’s heart clench painfully. “I think it’s because of something I did before. I don’t know what it is, but it must have been terrible for everyone except you three to hate me like this. It’s okay, but...” Was that a tear in her eye? “It... really gets kind of lonely, especially when you’re not in my classes, Jimmy.”
Jimmy is at a loss for words. “Luh-Leslie...”
“I’m... I’m going to be alright though. I have you,” Leslie turns to him and smiles, and at that moment, the sun seems to shine through a small gap through the trees, and it illuminates Leslie in such a way that it makes her look inhuman - inhumanly beautiful, that is. Angelic, in a way. “I don’t need other friends if I have you.”
“And Nuh-Nichole,” Jimmy manages to remind her.
Leslie blinks, and instantly, the moment is gone, but the image is still seared in Jimmy’s brain. She smiles brightly. “Yes. And Nichole. You two are the only friends I’ll really need.”
“You sure?”
“Positive,” Leslie thinks for a bit, and kisses his cheek, as if as an afterthought.
Jimmy’s face burns bright red. “I-uh-wh-whu-”
“I saw Nichole do that after thanking Token Black for finding her lost pen,” Leslie confesses. “Is... that a bad thing?”
“Nuh-no, it’s... you usually only do that wuh-when you’re dating.”
“Oh.”
Beat.
“Can we date then? I’d like to kiss you as thanks all the time.”
Jimmy chokes on his own spit.
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The Fosters: Our Thoughts on Episode 4x19 “Who Knows”
It’s time for another twin recap of The Fosters, featuring me (not in italics) on general plot and adoption related things and @tarajean621 (in italics) on Jesus and brain injury representation.
Who Is This? Oh no one, Callie. Just Russell, Diamond’s pimp…
What Was This Letter Doing in Your Pocket? Nothing! You know, Jesus just was telling Brandon what a good brother he was, so Brandon reciprocated and Jesus thought better of frisking him… (Also, it’s so horrifying that now, Brandon, Grandma, Mariana and Moms all know about Emma’s abortion, but Jesus still does not…)
Are You Gonna Tell Jesus?/I Think...That’s Our Choice?/I Think So: I hate that Jesus is being left out of this discussion, but what else is new?
That’s My Department. What Should I Look For?/I Would Say a Hardwood Tree, Right?/Yeah, Like an Oak or a Walnut: So, I love that this project is a thing. But I hate that it is still Jesus’s fake senior project. I am glad that we can still hear that aphasia impacts Jesus’s speech. (I also noticed his prism glasses in his hand - not being worn despite one of the moms saying that he would have to wear them for a bit longer. And while some disabled people do not need or use their glasses/braces/crutches/canes/wheelchairs 24/7, it seems that in this episode, the glasses and cane are nothing but a visual reminder for the audience. They exist as little more than set dressing.)
Also, we get to see how Gabe interacts with Jesus post-injury for the first time. And while Jesus stumbling over words seems to make Gabe momentarily uncomfortable, he is able to keep the conversation going and not make it a huge deal.
Isabella, This Is Gabe/You’ve Never Met Her? How heartbreaking, seeing Jesus and Mariana’s reaction to Ana and Gabe with Isabella. And hearing Ana talk about dropping her off at daycare when the twins know how they were treated by her as babies? It’s all in their eyes as they look at each other. Mariana can’t even hang around after that intro.
Have You Gotten Any Help From a Doctor?/They Put You on Pills...Screw You Up More/Yeah, I See That: Totally a valid choice, Gabe. Not ideal for Jesus to hear, though.
Makeunder: Callie is not having these people tell her what to do with her hair, her body, her face.
If They Find Out How You Got That Toothbrush/I Found It In His Garbage Bin on the Street: That’s kind of like saying you broke into his house, but different, Callie...
Does It Ever Make You Feel Bad? Seeing Ana With Isabella? How Good of a Mom She is to Her?/No, I Don’t Think About It: I’m so glad that Mariana feels like she can talk to Jesus about these feelings, and contrary to what Jesus says here, his face tells a whole different story. It has since they saw Gabe, Ana and Isabella together...seems like, maybe he can’t think about it, or it will hurt too much.
Do You Remember Ana Leaving Us Alone in Our Crib When We Were Babies? For a Whole Day or More?/Yeah...I Had a Dream About It. We Were in Our Crib and You Were Crying. I Was Trying to Take Care of You: How devastating. As much as this is so horrible for both of them I am so glad they have each other to talk to about it with. That they believe each other. They know what happened because they both remember it.
She Never Should Have Had Us/Is That What You Would Have Done? If You Were Gabe - Would You Tell Ana to Get An Abortion?/No. I Would’ve Been a Dad: It struck me last night how Noah’s Jesus really is a completely different character than the first Jesus. Because in season one, he was all about getting that morning after pill for Lexi. Maybe that’s because now the writers can portray Jesus the way they always intended to. I’m not really sure. But I do really find this statement by Jesus in this scene to fit with the way he is now. Very tender, quiet, and driven to do what’s right. Especially after having that conversation with Gabe in season 3 about how Gabe did tell Ana to abort the twins when she was pregnant, and how terribly that sat with Jesus.
So, We Let Her Off The Hook?/They Are Not Us and It Does Us No Good to Get Mad at Them: This is such a twin thing. Mariana is so upset at Ana abandoning them (as she should be. They deserved to be taken care of.) And Jesus is on the other end of the spectrum where it seems he’s trying to put distance between himself and that time because he knows it can’t be changed.
Twins do tend to try to balance each other out, I’ve found.
Nobody Ever Gave Me Nothin’ for It. Now I Got the Power: This reminds me of Jack in season 3, telling Jude and Callie that he had the power after those boys broke his arm. :( It seems like Diamond almost HAS to rationalize this as being okay, because it likely feels like her only option.
It Really Wasn’t His Choice/True. But We’re Adopted, So Maybe You Could Have Considered That: I adored this conversation between Emma and Mariana. I love the honesty. How Mariana didn’t hesitate to tell Emma how Jesus felt about it but also acknowledged that it wasn’t his choice. It also felt really accurate that she would talk about how she and Jesus are adopted and how that’s also a valid option.
You Sure You Should Be Lifting Stuff?/Yeah, I’m Fine. It’s Good for Me to Move Around: The thing about brain injuries and disability in general is that you’re always contending with your limitations. And those limitations can shift and change day to day, depending on any number of things. With the visual disturbance plotline pretty much gone, it follows that Jesus probably does feel markedly better than he has.
What Are We Doing?/We’re Moving My Stuff In/Why?/Should I Call Your Mom? And this is why it is not advised to go off medication without a doctor’s knowledge and supervision. Yes, Gabe, please do call Lena. (Also, notice Jesus’s speech being impacted by not feeling well.)
I Can’t Have Sex When I Take My Meds/Well Maybe That’s Okay? For Now? Until You Get Off Them? To recap: Felbamate is a last-resort anti-convulsant with dangerous side effects. Impotence is not one of said side effects. Also? I cannot find any research that supports the arbitrary 5-years-on-anti-convulsants thing.
My House Could Use Some Pretty Flowers: Callie, it’s Russell! Take the girls and run away!
I Folded Your Laundry for You...You’re Welcome? Why are you doing chores while Jude is sitting on his butt playing video games, Mariana?
They’re Trying to Turn Anchor Beach Into a Private School!...You Can Still Plead the Fifth: Hahaha! I love how Jude came in and side-eyed Mariana for instantly telling Mama about Anchor Beach. (Good call, by the way, Mari, Mama needs to know.)
I Think Diamond Took Something Out of the Trash. There Was This Guy Hanging Around and I Think He Left Something for Her: Ooh, I still love seeing Daphne in charge but Callie snooping around makes me nervous - her investigating always leads to so much terribleness…
Call Me on It and Delete the History...Then Put It Back...and Wipe Your Fingerprints Off Of It: I know it’s not supposed to be funny but I love Daphne like buffing the phone with her shirt.
After Everything Ana Put You and Jesus Through!/At Least She Didn’t Get Rid Of Us! God, twist the knife a little more, Brandon! You can’t bring up how badly Mariana and Jesus were neglected as babies as justification for Emma’s abortion. How do you think that makes Mariana feel? Oh right, you’re not thinking of HER feelings…
Jesus, Can I Talk to You for a Sec? When Did You Stop Taking Your Anti-Seizure Meds? I’m frustrated that this conversation is off-page.
If They Want Me to Say That I Think Kyle Killed Martha Johnson, I Need to See Him Again: Sounds totally legit that Moms will let Callie and Brandon drive eight and a half hours to a high security prison. So your 17 year old daughter can visit an inmate there. Sounds totally safe.
We Are Going to Allow You to Drive With Callie to Folsom: We, a police officer and an assistant principal are allowing our 18 year old son and 17 year old daughter to DRIVE TO FOLSOM PRISON TOGETHER. What is happening right now?
Mouth Open. Tongue Up/How Long Are You Gonna Make Me Do This?/Until I Can Trust That You’ll Take Them...So Probably Forever: Okay, so apparently the off-page conversation did not go so well. While I understand the importance of taking the medication until a doctor’s appointment can be scheduled, forcing your kid to take it “forever” despite the (fake) side effects? Not okay. Understandable if there are no other options, but it appears that Lena is not interested in looking into those options.
And I can’t help but entertain the thought that perhaps in Lena’s mind, the impotence might be a blessing in disguise - a way of controlling Jesus? Which is such a gross thought, but the truth is that many disabled girls and women undergo forced sterilization as a matter of convenience even today. Is keeping Jesus on Felbamate despite his objections due to a convenient “side effect” so different?
Your Brain’s Not Right/MY Brain’s Not Right?! You’re So Depressed, You Got Evicted! Maybe YOU Should Take YOUR Meds! Oh my. I know this seems most unfair, Jesus. And it is.
I Wanna Be Here For You, Jesus/No You Don’t. You Almost Left Town Without Telling Us. The Only Reason You’re Here Right Now Is So You Have a Place to Live: Ouch, but Jesus speaks the truth.
I Had a Job Lined Up in Tahoe/Maybe You Should Go! I’m Sure It’s Still Available!/We’ll Talk About This Later: I have to say, as far as adults go, Gabe is actually doing quite well avoiding the whole ableism thing so far. Just the fact that he does not dismiss Jesus’s anger as a “TBI outburst,” and lets him know that they will talk later is huge in light of how the family has been treating him in past episodes.
I Don’t Wanna Live Like This/Don’t Say That. You’re Gonna Get Better: There definitely is such an adjustment to life with a brain injury - and depression is often a part of that. And while I appreciate that Brandon is trying to make Jesus feel better, telling him that he will “get better” is harmful in the long run. While Jesus will definitely make improvements, he will not return to who he was pre-injury. The promise of this is false hope. (I mean, this is TV, so a “miraculous recovery” might still happen. But in real life? Please avoid the phrase. “You’re going to improve, but I respect your limitations.” holds the same sentiment. And it’s okay to be different post-injury. Life happens. We evolve.
You Can Talk to Your Doctor. They Can Put You on Something Else. Or Give You Something/What? Like Viagra? Like I’m an Old Man? Why is Brandon, of all people, having this conversation with Jesus? This is a conversation Lena should have had with him when she found out he was not taking his medication.
What About Emma? Everybody Knows She’s Not With Me For My Mind. Our Thing, It’s Physical/Jesus, There’s Nothing Wrong With Your Mind. You Have a TBI - But You’re Funny, Smart and a Really Good Guy. She Has to Love You for All That: Brandon, you and I have a love-hate relationship. And lets be real, it’s mostly hate. But this? This was the perfect thing to say. “There is nothing wrong with your mind. You have a TBI.” Please get this engraved on a plaque and place it in the kitchen for all to see.
Are You Sure I’m Gonna Get Better?/I’m Sure: :/
I Wonder Where This Money Is Coming From?/Is That...That’s Craig Stratos. Nick’s Dad. Why Would He Wanna Bankroll This? Do You Think This Is Personal? Well, that was unexpected…
Oh My God, Kyle. Did You Kill Her/What If I Did? This scene. Adam Irigoyen’s complete transformation as Kyle is just amazing and chilling.
You Used Me/YOU Used ME/For What?/For a Cause. To Feel Good About Yourself: I love this so much. I love that Kyle is knowledgeable. I love that he knew, from the start, that he was also being used. I hate that feeling. While I obviously don’t condone murder or theft, I do like the reveal that Kyle was aware the entire time of the bigger picture. That he isn’t just the sweet ‘special needs’ boy that Callie perceived him to be. He is fully aware and he always has been. This scene was easily my favorite part of the episode. What amazing acting. What a stunning reveal.
I Never Did That/Jesus Remembers, Too/I Don’t See How You Could Remember Something Like That When You Were Babies/We Remember Because We Were Scared and Hungry and Our Diapers Were Full. We Were Covered In Our Own--: And runner up for my favorite scene is this one with Mariana and Ana in therapy. I was just thinking how much I hoped we would see some kind of through-line with this. I’ve been wondering how Mari’s coping with her PTSD.
The tweets in Mariana’s secret Twitter account were revealing in that sense because we get to see that she’s still scared. She’s still dealing with things, and obviously she’s been trying to process this memory of her and Jesus as babies for several weeks.
I like that this kind of thing was included because it is fairly common from what I’ve read that kids who’ve known severe abuse or neglect do have memories from the time they’re babies of their experiences of those things. And they’re doubly difficult to process because as babies, Jesus and Mariana were preverbal. They didn’t have the vocabulary to articulate how they were feeling. Which is why it’s so good that Mariana’s able to start working it through now, and figuring out how it did make her feel.
Is It Possible, Ana, That You Don’t Remember If You Were Using Drugs?/I Didn’t Come Here to Be Judged or Ambushed by Memories That She Dreamt Up. I’m Not Doing This: I also really loved the realism in Ana’s reaction. It feels so viscerally true that she, as a mom, and especially with a baby now, to be super defensive and dismissive of the idea that she did neglect Mariana and Jesus so thoroughly. And it is complicated by the fact that she was using at the time so she very well might have zero memories of things she did and/or times that she left them alone.
I feel so much for Mariana, though, and I do hope that her therapist helps her process what happened in the office, so that she can start to realize Ana’s reaction is about Ana and it doesn’t make Mariana and Jesus’s memories of what happened any less valid.
Before Your Daughter Gets on the Stand With That Story. Check That Out: Yeah, Stef, Callie’s story of getting Doug Harvey’s toothbrush out of the trash isn’t really gonna stand up in court when Gray has video evidence of her in his house taking it from there.
We Can Still Do Stuff, You Know, For You?/Hell Yeah: I’m glad Jesus and Emma are still working on their relationship and trying to figure things out. (Check out the cane standing next to his bed.)
Did You Hear About Anchor Beach? There’s a Rumor They’re Turning It Into a Private School/ Where Did You Hear That?/Some Anonymous Twitter Account. I have a hard time believing that Emma would not check out the anonymous Twitter before sharing it with Jesus. The very first thing Jesus did was check out the handle and the tweets. And now, he knows. Finally. Oh crap.
For more: Fosters Recaps
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