trxck-r-treat

[trxck-r-treat]

Traffic Report, part 2

Part 1

A/N: The first part of this is meant to be able to stand alone, so I wasnt sure if I was gonna put the rest of it up here. But here it is. It's also all on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/18729646/chapters/44425648

TW: major character death, grief, alcohol, self harm mentions

"Poison," Ghoul says the next morning, standing beside the bed where they lay shrouded in blankets. "You gotta get up."

They don't respond. He sighs and tries again. "Pois."

Poison barely moves, barely even twitches for a few moments, and Ghoul thinks maybe they're asleep. Then they shift and roll sluggishly until Ghoul can see a shock of frazzled red hair and matching eyes.

"Hey."

Party stares at him, and then blow out a wobbly breath and pull the covers back up.

"Hey, wait, come back." Ghoul reaches out and pulls the covers down a little, and they groan and squeeze their eyes shut.

"What." they say after a moment, voice icy and rough with sleep.

"Please wake up."

He honestly doesn't want to disturb them, but he has to. It's mostly because he knows they shouldn't lay in bed for this long wasting away. It isnt healthy. It's at least half because of that.

"Party, please."

The other half is because the silence is getting fucking unbearable. Ghoul feels like ghost in a haunted house, wandering the halls like he has been for days, waiting for Poison. The diner is so quiet now. The silence is like a thick static hanging in the air, and it makes his thoughts that much louder.

Finally Poison sighs and sits up, slow and heavy and shaking. Their eyes are red and bleary and their skin is pale, almost grey. They look older than they did before it happened. It's been two fucking days.

And now they're staring at him like he just pissed in their Power Pup.

"What." Again.

He sputters kind of helplessly for a moment. "I- I just- can you fucking talk to me, Poison?"

"What do you want," they say as snottily as they can manage.

He takes a low breath and tries to swallow the anger in his throat. "I want you back," he says, and it comes out low and cracked.

They blink, stare at him with their fingers twisted into the sheets. "I'm right here, Ghoul-"

"But you're not!" He cuts them off, voice rising. "You're fucking who knows fucking where. You can't just drop out of the world like this."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm still here!"

Because the diner isn't empty yet, but the two of them are sure as fuck acting like it.

But they're still staring at him, eyes tired and full of disdain, like they don't even want him in their sight. So he huffs and turns and storms out into the hallway.

He goes into the bathroom beside Party's room. He's still buzzing with anger, and before he can think he slams his fist into the wall next to the doorframe with a crackling bang that shakes the tiny room.

He hears a muffled, startled curse from the bedroom, and then a shuffling noise, and then suddenly Poison is standing in the doorway.

"Oh, you're up?" Ghoul spits without thinking. Poison wobbles like they've been hit and their mouth snaps shut, and a little bit of regret rises into Ghoul's throat. But he doesn't say anything, he just stares, and they stare back, eyes dark and steeled and stormy.

Finally they let out a breath, slow and wavering, and shake their head. They turn and shuffle out of the bathroom.

"I'm going back to bed," he barely hears them murmur, just before the door slams shut.

For the rest of the day the silence screams. Ghoul stalks the halls, more ghostlike then ever, and his footsteps don't even make a sound. He doesn't speak to Party.

When he next sees them they're not in bed, they're sitting at the diner booth staring into a bottle of vodka. Ghoul doesn't exactly think he should count that as an improvement.

He sits down across from them. They don't react.

He watches them tilt and slump against the wall, hands shaky as they pour out a torrent of bitter liquid that splashes onto the table. It takes them too long to get their balance as they pick up the drink, and he really wants to go over and steady them.

"Party," he says softly.

They look up and blink at him sluggishly. "What."

He takes a deep breath. "You okay?"

"Ha, yeah," they scoff. Their voice is thick, rippling like a puddle of water. "I'm. Yeah, fuckin' shiny, Ghoul." They sound so tired. They look tired, like they might pass out there against the diner window.

"Hey, maybe you should go back to bed," Ghoul suggests tentatively.

Poison fixes him with a blurry lopsided stare. "You said-"

"I know what I said, but I didn't mean... look, Party, this isn't helping you, okay?"

Party stares some more. They swallow thickly. "You know fuck all about what's helping me."

"I just don't want-"

"Leave me alone, Ghoul."

"Party," he says, trying to keep his voice from breaking.

"Just leave me alone!" They look up at him and now it's their voice that cracks. "Please."

He stands and turns away rapidly so they don't see the tears in his eyes. He hears a thud that could be Poison's fist against the wall or their head against the table. He doesn't check.

As he's about to slip into the back rooms, he hears a small, low voice say "wait, don't."

He stops.

"D-don't leave me alone, I'm sorry, please, just-" Their words are running together so he can barely understand them but they suddenly sound so terrified, so honestly scared that he would leave them there.

He blows out a shaky breath, turns and goes back to the table.

They're trying to stand but keep slipping back into the seat, so he gathers them up into his arms. They stand like that for a while, and Party is swaying, but Ghoul is still and silent.

"Bed," he says. It isn't a question.

They nod helplessly.

It's not easy getting Poison into bed. Or maybe it is, or it should be, but it takes so much more energy than Fun Ghoul even thought he had. He manages it, though, silently and stiffly like he can't feel the exhaustion behind his eyes.

Poison won't look at him, they're just staring at the floor like they've done something wrong. That's fine. They're no longer starving or drinking themself to death and honestly, that's as fine as Ghoul can see it getting.

He scrubs a hand over his face, sighing, and flicks his eyes up toward the ceiling. He's so, so tired.

They wake up that evening and throw up three times. Ghoul is at their side, watching himself as with stiff movements he pushes their hair away from their face and holds them and comforts them. He watches himself get the miserably hungover killjoy back into bed. It doesn't take as much convincing. They still won't look him in the eyes.

He lets himself collapse once they're back asleep, but by now he doesn't really see a point. He rests but he's still tired when he gets up.

"Ghoul," Party croaks out the next morning. They're still hungover, he can tell.

"What."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he says reflexively, and then says, "For what?"

"I... this."

"What's this?"

"What happened to them...-"

"Are you okay?" He says after a moment, a reflex, because his mind's going places he doesn't want it to.

"No," they say. "I'm sorry."

"For-"

"I'm sorry I'm not okay."

Ghoul stares at them, saying nothing. He doesn’t have anything to say, though he gets the feeling there’s something specific he ought to say. Something comforting, something that would get that fuzzy, empty haze out of Poison’s eyes even if just for a second. But now, when every shred of normalcy is gone from his life, he can’t quite bring the words to his mind.

Show Pony would probably know what to say. Or Dr. D. Or Jet Star. Hell, Kobra Kid wouldn’t even have to say anything, he’d just give Poison that cocky little sibling mindmeld look and-

And Ghoul’s mind is wandering again, and he pulls it back from the edge of that particular cliff with enough force that it pulls him out of bed. The blood rushes to his feet for a moment and his vision goes black.

He rubs his eyes and blinks away the pounding pain in his temples, and when he can see again Poison is siting up and staring at him.

“Are *you* okay?” they ask, kind of sarcastically. He likes hearing that tiny, snarky little edge in their voice, like a flickering little memory of who they were a few days ago.

He sighs and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m just… I- can I- do you want me to stay here?”

They blink at him for a moment and then shrug.

Part of him wants them to say yes. Part of him- no, most of him, actually- doesn’t really want Poison out of their sight.

“I’m gonna go get some water,” he says anyways. His head is pounding and he isn’t even hung over.

He walks to the kitchen, catching his balance on the doorframe as he passes. His eyes snap to the floor as he crosses the main room, and he skirts around the radio sitting on the table. God, his thoughts are like fucking minefield recently. He's tired of treading carefully and trying not to set them off.

He gets to the kitchen and opens the icebox and by then he's almost forgotten why he came, his mind is filled with static as he tries to keep Dr. D's voice from echoing through his head.

He stands there, he doesn't know how long, as the cold stings his raw cheeks and he tries to think.

Water. Right.

He grabs a bottle and closes the icebox, and hurries back into Party's bedroom.

"Water," he says pointlessly, setting the bottle down on the little nightstand. Poison is fiddling absently, not looking up. Ghoul scrubs a hand over his eyes and sits down beside them.

It takes him a second to register what they have in their shaky hands, and as soon as he does he takes it and sends it spinning through the air in one practiced movement. The knife lodges itself in the opposite wall.

It takes Poison a second to register that the knife is not in their hands. They stare at it where it landed, and then speak, their voice creaky from disuse. "Ghoul, what the fuck."

"Don't play with knives, Poison, don't scare me like that."

"What, you... you think I was gonna-"

"I don't know, I'm just being cautious, okay?"

"I wouldn't- I wasn't-" they sputter weakly.

"Okay. I get it, I just... here, I'll give you something better to fidget with."

He searches for a moment, and then slips a bracelet off his wrist. It's the one with the carved wooden beads, symbols blessed by the Witch.

He hands it to Party. They stare at it blankly, stimming with clumsy, uninterested movements. And suddenly Ghoul is thinking of Kobra and he breathes out a sigh that makes his chest feel empty.

"That was Jet's knife," Poison nearly whispered.

"You really think I would try anything with you there?"

He doesn't know. "No," he says. "But sometimes I'm not there, what about then?"

They hesitate. Only a few moments but it's too long. He hears his breath come out shaky.

"Ghoul, I wouldn't-"

He turns on them, and maybe his face is a little more angry than he wants it to be because their mouth snaps shut and their eyes go wide.

"You won't," he hissed. "Don't even fucking think about it. You won't because I'll be there, you hear me?"

"Okay-"

"I'll fucking be there."

"Okay. I'm sorry, okay." Their voice cracks and their eyes are swimming. "Okay- okay- I'm- I'm..."

He pulls them into his arms as they dissolve, their muttering turning to sobs. They're still clutching the bracelet.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, trying to calm them, and they whisper it back, shaking. "I'm so sorry."

For getting upset, for making them upset, for not being there. For not being enough. For everything.

Later, while Party is still in bed, Ghoul hides all the weapons in the diner.

#danger days #killjoys #party poison #the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #fun ghoul #death tw #alcohol tw #self harm mention

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ohhh my god the Traffic Report fic had me CRYING. that shit is so GOOD.

KJSKHDJ!!! thank! I hope crying in a good way

I wrote it for myself as sort of a vent and didnt really expect to post it so I'm pleasantly surprised that people like it

I'm gonna post a sequel/chapter 2 and you can read all of it at https://archiveofourown.org/works/18729646/chapters/44425648

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KSHSJSHJSHS THANK YOU

I'm so glad you liked it!

Part 2/sequel is coming soon

Traffic Report

TW: Major character death, grief, angst, shock

Summary: Bad news from the zones tumbleweeds… Ghoul and Poison hear the traffic report. Jet Star and the Kobra Kid are ghosted, and Ghoul has to keep himself and Poison from falling apart.

2k words

Keep reading

[trxck-r-treat]

Traffic Report

TW: Major character death, grief, angst, shock

Summary: Bad news from the zones tumbleweeds... Ghoul and Poison hear the traffic report. Jet Star and the Kobra Kid are ghosted, and Ghoul has to keep himself and Poison from falling apart.

2k words

When they hear it, crackling through the static of Poison's radio, they both freeze. Ghoul stares at the radio. He has to rewind, mentally, to process what he just heard, because it can't have been- When he heard Dr. Death's voice it hadn't even entered his mind that it would be anything but a routine report, and this-

His mind is racing and he feels like he's going to be sick, like he just got punched in the gut.

He is pulled back to earth by this weak, wordless noise of distress, and then the sound of a body slumping to the floor. Shit, Party.

He turns to see them on their knees, face white and stricken and eyes wide.

Party looks like they've just been shot, like they're about to die. Yeah, okay, focus on that, focus on them. That's better than the images flashing through Fun Ghoul's mind.

"No," someone says, voice breaking, and it takes his brain a second to realize it was Poison, and then somehow he's on his knees beside them.

"N-no, that's not- that can't- they can't-" They swallow thickly and try to catch their breath, which is coming in short, ragged gasps.

Ghoul isn't actually sure if he himself is breathing at all, his chest feels empty and his vision blurs, but he tries not to focus on that.

"Hey, Party, breathe," he hears his own voice say shakily, and hey, yeah, that's probably a good idea. He tries to steady the other killjoy's breathing as he restarts his own. But the icy, empty feeling in his chest doesn't go away.

Poison is shaking. He puts his arms around them and let's their head fall onto his shoulder.

"Just breathe, breathe," he keeps saying. He holds them close. They're shaking so much. He doesn't know what else to do.

They're still sitting like that when they hear a knock on the door, and then footsteps, and then Show Pony appears beside them.

"You heard?" she says needlessly. Her eyes are red.

Poison hasn't moved since she arrived, Ghoul isn't sure they know she's there. He shifts gingerly so as not to disturb them as he looks up at her.

"Is it true?"

The logical part of his brain has been telling him it is, trying to prepare him to face reality, but he can't help but feel nearly the same shock as before when she nods. Poison isn't even looking at her but even they go stiff and start shaking again.

Pony crouches to her knees and offers a hand toward them. "Here, I can take them-"

"No." He jerks back and pulls the trembling killjoy closer, protective. They still haven't moved. "No, I- they're-" he sputters. He finds himself wanting to say something like 'they're mine, you can't take them away from me, you can't take any of them.' But it's too late for that.

"Alright," she says, her voice softening as she sits down beside them. She sounds so sad. "Alright, Fun Ghoul, it's alright baby. I'm sorry." And suddenly he is the one shaking and sobbing and feeling like he's falling to pieces, and her hands are on his shoulders, but his arms are still around Party, he has to keep holding onto Party the way he couldn't hold on to-

He shoves that train of thought off its tracks with a shuddering sob. Because he can't think about them right now. He can't think about anything.

"You two should go lie down. The floor isn't comfortable."

It"s funny because Ghoul can't even feel it. He pretty much can't feel anything other than Pony's hands on his shoulders and Poison shaking in his arms. "Come on, can you stand up?"

He can. Maybe. He doesn't know about Poison, though. He shrugs.

Show Pony puts a hand on their shoulder and Fun Ghoul feels them shrink away, pull closer into his chest.

It's hard to speak when everything's so fuzzy and his tongue feels too big for his mouth, but he manages, sharply. "Stop. Don't touch them."

"Ghoul-"

"No, don't, you can't- they-" he trails off, and then she very deliberately meets his eyes with a wide, calm stare.

"I'm not gonna hurt them." She pulls his hand into hers from where it lies at Poison's waist, and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "Ghoul, you have to let go of them, okay? I know you want to help them but I need to get them off the floor."

He stares at her for a moment, and then slowly let's go. Poison doesn't move. Ghoul half expects them to collapse as soon as he moves away from them, but they don't, they're just stiff. He makes his way to a standing position and they're still just frozen on the floor, looking blank.

"Party?" Pony says softly. She waves a hand in front of their face. "Come on, baby, look at me."

They meet her eyes hazily, and make this soft, stuttering sound in the back of their throat like they're about to say something, but they don't.

She's brushing their hair out of their face and straightening their jacket. Her tone sounds like she should be talking to a child. "Hey, shh, it's okay. We're gonna stand up, alright? Come on." She offers them her hands, and when they don't react she takes them by the arms and guides them up off the floor.

It isn't that hard for Pony to get them to stand, they're not completely unresponsive, they're just all quiet and a little wobbly. But it seems like she's  holding their weight as she maneuvers them into the bedroom. Ghoul mindlessly follows.

She sits Poison down on the bed, picks up the blanket and wraps it over their shoulders, and then she kisses their hair and murmurs something that Fun Ghoul can't hear. She's so gentle with them, like they're going to shatter. They don't react. They're just staring with wide unblinking eyes at the floor, mouth opening and closing like a fish, and it's starting to scare him how completely gone they are. He half wants to shake them and scream at them to wake up, snap out of it, come back.

But Ghoul just watches, frozen in the doorway. "W-why... why are they..." He gestures at the dazed killjoy.

Pony looks back at them, this sad, pitying expression on her face. "They're just in shock. Give them a little time, alright? They'll be okay."

Ghoul seriously doubts that. They can't be okay, he won't even be okay. Nothing is ever going to be okay again, not for Ghoul and Poison.

He practically stumbles over and slumps down on the bed beside them, and puts an arm around their shoulders. They crumple into his chest immediately. They're still shaking.

"Do you need anything?"

He blinks, and looks up to stare at Show Pony.

'My family,' he wants to say, but he doesn't. He just shrugs noncommittally.

"Alright. I'll be back," she says. "I'll bring food. You should sleep."

He nods, and then sighs and looks down, listening to Pony's footsteps receding.

He stares at Party. Their eyes are closed but he can tell they aren't asleep. He agrees with Pony: they need to sleep. He can't do much but stroke their hair away from their face and try not do disturb them until their breathing evens out, but he focuses on that. He can't think about anything other than Party Poison, keeping them safe and keeping them alive. He won't let himself think of anything else. Because the only other places his mind could go are the places he failed, and he's not going to fail this time.

He sits there for a long time, and the sky gets dark, and Poison becomes a dead weight in his lap. He just watches them and breathes and feels his insides twist with every inhale. He doesn't move. He doesn't even cry.

He doesn't remember falling asleep, but he wakes up in a really weird position. He's folded over with his legs hanging off the edge of the bed. Poison is crumpled in his lap, and his head is resting on their hip. Everything hurts.

He starts to sit up and memories of yesterday flood back, and that hurts infinitely more than his awkwardly twisted spine.

He pulls himself up, and then stops because Poison is asleep, and really the last thing he wants is to wake them. They shouldn't have to wake up and suffer through the same icy shock and pain and racing thoughts as yesterday.

Suddenly he really wants to go back to sleep. And why not? He looks down at what remains of his world, still and quiet in his lap. And then he flops back, stretching out across the bed. He tries to forget what happened as he slips back into a graciously dreamless sleep.

When he next looks up it's much brighter out the window. Poison has shifted so they're facing the ceiling, and their eyes are open.

"Hey," he murmurs. He sits up and they don't move. "You slept awhile, I think. You feel better?"

Poison blinks up past him, and shakes their head weakly.

He sighs because of course they don't, and he doesn't expect them to. He definitely doesn't feel better.

"Show Pony said she'd be back," he says. They look at him blankly, brows furrowed.

"She said- you don't remember? She said she'd bring food."

There isn't any recognition in their eyes, they just roll onto their side with a grimace, curling up under the blanket.

"Are you hungry?"

They swallow and shake their head.

Which, bullshit. He knows they're hungry. Or rather he knows that they need to eat whether they want to or not.

It's worrying if they don't want to though, because normally they never turn away food, especially if they're sad. There were problems when he first met them, but after a few close calls and a very angry telling off from Kobra it barely came up again. It's been so long since then.

But nothing's normal anymore. This is so far beyond anything that's happened, to either of them, and nothing makes sense now.

It's got to just be the effort it takes, but shit, Ghoul will spoon feed them himself before letting them starve.

He tries again later, after a day of watching them lie still and do nothing.

"Party. You've been in bed for a day and a half. You haven't eaten, and that's not like you. You're barely even sleeping, man, you're just lying there. This has to stop at some point."

Poison doesn't respond. They're lying still, eyes open but blank. They look dead. Ghoul forces that thought out of his mind.

"I'm gonna bring you some food, okay?"

Still no words, but they let out a wobbly sigh and their red rimmed eyes flick in Fun Ghoul's direction. So at least he knows they heard him. He nods at no one in particular, sighs and starts towards the kitchen.

In terms of food, their options are limited. There's Power Pup, but as soon as Ghoul sees it his mind is thrown back to the time he and Jet were laughing at Kobra's failed attempt to eat it without gagging. He pushes the can and the memory away.

Other than that there isn't much. There's juice, and yeah, that might work. Low effort, simple, and maybe it isn't technically food but at least it's something.

He grabs the can of juice and goes back to the bedroom.

"Hey, here," Ghoul says. He holds out the can and Party stares at it. He waves it toward them. "Pois. Come on."

They just keep staring, eyes wide.

"I don't want that," says a low, broken and barely familiar voice.

"You have to have something. You can't starve yourself. If you go without food for long-"

"Not long," they croak. "It won't be long."

He blinks. "What?"

They're silent for a few moments, and then they give a long wavering sigh. "A-are they-" they start flatly, finally looking up to meet his gaze and taking the drink. "Are they coming home. I want them to come home, wh- When will they come home?"

Ghoul stares, unable to answer. Poison’s eyes are so tired and lost, waiting for a response. But he can see, behind the haze clouding their eyes, they know the answer already. Poison knows in their heart they're never coming home.

He stares for a moment longer, and then sits down beside them and takes the drink from their frozen hands. "Here," he says, opening the can. "Come on, Party."

He puts it back in their hands and then presses a kiss to the side of their hair. They fumble for a second and take a tiny sip.

He hopes the calories will help cut through that fog in their eyes. They look so lost, so absent.

"When will they come home?" he thinks to himself. "When will you?"

#Danger Days #the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #party poison #fun ghoul #funpoison #killjoys #death tw

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(I should probably credit @geetrick this is based on their idea)

46

It wasn’t good to be out in the desert this long, not when the sun cast ripples of heat across the sand, warping the horizon. It wasn’t healthy.The dehydration and the heat, it made you see things. Mirages. Just mirages, that’s all they were.Poison stared at the shimmering form on the horizon, the flickering yellow figure suggesting the outline of a person. It was so familiar. It was just a mirage, they told themself, so why did it seem so familiar. That bright shimmer of yelllow, that particular shade, why did it feel like a buried memory? Like a half forgotten friend?They scrubbed a hand over their eyes, and willed away the specter and the sense memory of TV static. It was just a mirage. They were getting dizzy. It wasn’t healthy to be out in the desert this long.

[trxck-r-treat]

46

It wasn't good to be out in the desert this long, not when the sun cast ripples of heat across the sand, warping the horizon. It wasn't healthy.The dehydration and the heat, it made you see things. Mirages. Just mirages, that's all they were.Poison stared at the shimmering form on the horizon, the flickering yellow figure suggesting the outline of a person. It was so familiar. It was just a mirage, they told themself, so why did it seem so familiar. That bright shimmer of yelllow, that particular shade, why did it feel like a buried memory? Like a half forgotten friend?They scrubbed a hand over their eyes, and willed away the specter and the sense memory of TV static. It was just a mirage. They were getting dizzy. It wasn't healthy to be out in the desert this long.

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Jetpoison Fluff:

Jet Star was bored. Bored and lonely. He had been sitting in his workshop alone fucking around with circuits and wires and soldering tools for hours. Ghoul and Kobra were out who knows where on their bikes. Poison was home, but he hadn't actually seen them because, based on the cursing and coughing and muttering and occasional engine noises he heard from outside, they were working on their car. As usual.

Jet missed Poison, and he was at his wits end with this uncooperative hardware. He sighed and stood, stretching the kinks out of his back, and then headed towards the front door.

He got outside and went to the driveway to find Poison. Of course, there they were on the ground, covered in sand and engine grease and half under the Trans Am. Jet smiled and tapped on the hood. "Baby, come out."

They said something, but it was muffled and garbled and he couldn't understand it at all. He sighed and dropped down, sitting criss-cross on the pavement.

"Poison. My sweet greasy boy. Come out from under there."

When they didn't respond, he grabbed their combat boot and pulled until they slid out on their little mechanic creeper. They squinted and wrinkled their nose, and then clumsily spat out the flashlight they had in their mouth. Then they smiled up at him. "Hello."

"I miss you."

"I'm right here, Star."

"But you're out here," Jet replied. "And I'm in there. It's so lonely inside."

"Why don't you come out here and help me, then?" Poison smirked, grabbed the little flashlight and slid back under the car.

Jet sighed dramatically and flopped back into the sand. "When will my greasy sweetheart return from the war?" he lamented.

They laughed and slid back out, and Jet sat up happily. Poison sat up a little and then reached up to grab his collar and pull him down into a kiss.

"You know what you smell like?" he said softly just as they pulled apart.

They sighed. "What?"

"Engine grease."

"Okay, I get it! I am greasy and disgusting."

Jet giggled. "You're beautiful. Go take a shower."

"I'm busy," they whined.

"But I want to cuddle you," he replied. "Go get clean so I can cuddle you."

Poison bit back a dopy little smile and scrambled around, trying to slide back under the car. They kicked and fumbled like an overturned beetle, but Jet Star held their creeper in place.

"Really, Pois, take a break," he said, sobering just a little. "You've been working for hours. The sun's gonna get to your head, sweetheart."

"I'll be fine."

"Come inside with me."

They sighed. Then they clumsily rolled off the creeper and fell into the sand, getting even dirtier. They scooted over and nuzzled into the side of his leg. Jet smiled.

"Okay," Poison murmured.

Jet ruffled their hair as he went to stand, and once he was up he reached down to take Poison's hand and haul them to their feet. He landed a kiss on their forehead.

Poison giggled as Jet shoved them toward the front door. "Go take a shower, my sweet greasy boy."

They rolled their eyes, putting up their middle finger at him. "Stop calling me that!"

Jet Star just laughed and followed Poison inside.

#danger days #the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #killjoys #jet star #party poison #jetpoison #partystar #mcr #my chemical romance

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It's December so hopefully I'm gonna start posting again

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Send me a number and I’ll write a micro story using the word or phrase

(creator note: I recommend 3-10 sentences but go for a longer piece if you really feel it! Replace pronouns as needed for the character / point of view)

don’t leave 

this was a mistake

[I] trusted [you]

one chance

help

illusion

silent fury

sunbathing

falling

righteous

drastic

candles

too loud

overgrown

trembling hands

in dreams

empty

flinders

sea change

alone, finally

collapse

nap

sated

tender

senseless

how dare [you]

hide

something about [them]

sweat

harsh whisper

breeze

dust motes

saccharine

bauble

filthy

total control

defy

soak

accursed

pet

comfort food

savior

undone

cheap

svelte

shimmer

crave

rampage

nightfall

accost

#i know i just reblogged this but no one sent me any :( #which is fine just... if u want to its here #:D #sorry im thorsty for writing prompts

[trxck-r-treat]

Fireworks

Kobra Kid had always had a love-hate relationship with fireworks. Meaning that he loved them in theory, but in practice there were some issues that he'd rather see worked out.

Mainly the noise. He foggily remembered back when he and Poison were kids in Battery City, and they had seen fireworks shooting up from the desert. Then they had been distant and he had been hypnotized by the bright lights and colors, something so lacking in his city life. And even then, he thought they were too fucking loud. From the desert they were even louder.

His sibling, a known pyromaniac and all around crazy person, didn't have that problem, which is why Ghoul (also crazy) had taken them with him to test his half assed homemade fireworks. Which is why Kobra was now laying across the booth in the darkened diner, muttering the occasional exasperated curse at the sky.

As a particularly loud explosion shook the ground, he flinched, crossing his arms around his chest. It sounded like gunshots. And it wasn't that he was afraid of gunshots, it was that... No, yeah, he was afraid of gunshots, because gunshots meant firefights, and firefights meant action and adrenaline and, yes, even after all this time, fear.

"Hey, Kid," a voice said, shaking him from his thoughts. He opened his eyes to see Jet Star, dim and upside down in the doorway.

"Jet," he replied, and his necklace fell out of his mouth and onto his face. He struggled to roll over and get into an upright position while the other killjoy watched.

"You okay?" His voice was soft and creaky. How could he sleep through this?

Kobra nodded, straightening his sunglasses, and then jolted as another explosion sounded.

Jet Star raised an eyebrow and nodded. "Fireworks, right?"

"'S fuckin' pointless," he agreed around his necklace, which had already found it's way back into his mouth.

Jet looked around at the empty diner, and then back at Kobra. "You know you don't have to just sit out here... in the dark... with your sunglasses on... It's quieter in the back.

Kobra chewed his pendant thoughtfully. They heard another explosion, and he twitched, his breath catching in his throat as his hand flew to his raygun on instinct.

He knew this shouldn't bother him as much as it did, but that didn't do much to stop it. It was like there was some kind of switch in his brain. Either he was calm, quiet and apathetic, or full of adrenaline and ready to fight. There was no in between. That was how his hellbrain worked and it was fucking annoying.

He slid off the table and picked his helmet up. Jet had gone back into the kitchens, where the killjoys "rooms" were located. The rooms were actually closets and freezers but they made do.

He hesitated, standing at the doorway to his own converted closet-room. He wanted to sleep. He needed to sleep, seeing as how they had all been up fighting dracs for the last few nights and they probably would be again tomorrow. But he couldn't sleep with this noise, with this energy and anxiety running through him. He just needed to calm the fuck down, really, but he couldn't.

He found himself standing in front of Jet Star's door.

"Uh... J-Jet?" He said softly.

The lump on the bed shifted and sat upright. "Kobra. Whas goin' on?"

Kobra had almost forgotten why he was here, but he remembered as another explosion caused him to slam his hands over his ears and curse loudly.

"Oh. Right, fuck." Jet stumbled off the mattress and toward Kobra, who was about to tell him not to worry and to go back to sleep. But then why was he here? Plus he was extremely distracted by the noises outside and the way his heart was beating against his chest, and now Jet was already standing beside him.

"Hey, it's alright, man. Look, it's just fireworks, okay?"

He nodded. Jet put a hand gingerly on his shoulder just as another firework went off, and he bit down hard enough to make his teeth hurt. The older killjoy frowned.

"Just those two fucking idiots with their loud as fuck fireworks. You know they'd probably stop if they knew it bothered you so much."

He sighed, letting the necklace drop from his mouth. "No, it's fine. I'm fine, it's just-"

Boom.

"-really fucking loud," he squeaked.

"I know." He looked up into Kobra's wide, anxious eyes. "You haven't gotten any rest in like days, man. You need to sleep."

"Can't."

"I know," he said again, sighing and shaking his head. "Here. Come here."

Kobra stared.

"Come here, you asshole." Jet reached out, pulled him in and hugged him tight.

"I- Jet Star, I'm fine," he croaked. He wasn't complaining, because it was actually nice and Jet Star was always weirdly good at this kind of thing. But he really was okay, mostly.

"No, you need sleep and you're going to get sleep."

"I-"

Boom.

He twitched and buried his head in Jet Star's hair. Jet held him tighter. He was shaking, twitching, suddenly filled with nervous energy.

"Kobra." Jet said, hushed but stern. He rubbed his shoulder reaasuringly. "It's just noises, Kid."

"I know," Kobra replied calmly. "I fucking know, but they're loud as shit."

Jet said "I know," for the third time.

The other killjoy let go, and Kobra tried not to be disappointed when he walked away. He picked up his pendant and chewed it thoughtfully.

"Kobes."

He looked up to where Jet was standing next to the bed.

"Whuh?"

"Come here."

"..."

"You clueless fuck. Get over here."

Boom.

"Jet, I'm okay-"

"No. You're going to sleep if I have to knock you out."

"You couldn't."

Jet Star snorted softly. "You're probably right. Get over here."

Kobra sat down and Jet pulled him down onto the pillow, throwing the blanket over their heads.

They sat in their little cocoon of blankets while Kobra appreciated the darkness, and the pressure and warmth of Jet's arms around him, and the relative quiet. Jet stared at him. He fiddled with his necklace.

"If you told them to stop, they'd stop."

"I know." He sighed. "I don't want them to stop. I just..."

Boom.

"Jet... back when we were in the city and Poison and I would see the fireworks from the desert... man, it was great. I mean, I hated them, but Poison loved them. They would tell me all this stuff about how we were gonna escape, how we would get away from the city and make it out here to the desert and we'd finally be happy."

"And you did," Jet said, enthralled, as Kobra trailed off.

"Yeah, we did. And now we're here, and Poison is supposed to be happy. But half the time I see them they just look... disappointed? I don't know. The desert isn't a happy place but I just... they said they'd be happy out here and I want them to be happy."

Another series of loud bangs rattled the windows. He flinched, and Jet pulled him closer.

"I just wish their happiness didn't sound like a fucking armed attack."

"Listen, Kid," Jet whispered. "We're good, okay? We're safe. You can relax."

He was trying, damn it, he had been trying and failing all night. But Jet Star was making it a little easier.

Jet tightened his hold around the younger killjoy. It was good. It was calm and safe as he felt like he was in the diner, not in the middle of a gunfight. He heard another explosion, although it sounded a little more distant and soft. He thought of Poison, of those rare happy nights in the city and of the first few days in the desert.

"Sleep, Kobra."

He let his eyes close.

Boom.

That sounded like a good one, he thought absently, his face buried in the covers and Jet's hair. He could almost hear Ghoul and Party whooping with delight, almost see the sparks showering the desert sky.

Part of him wished he was there with Poison, but most of him was happy to be here, cocooned in the warm dark quiet with Jet. He had always had a love hate relationship with fireworks.

#danger days #the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #kobra kid #jet star #mcr #my chemical romance

[trxck-r-treat]

Partytrick, part 5

(Part 1) (Part 4)

"Party, we have to keep going."

Poison looked down. They had been staring up at what few shards of sky they could see through the dense canopy. It wasn't much, but it was better than looking forward through the suffocatingly thick woods. Ahead, they could barely see Patrick's face. His eyes were just two glittering pinpoints.

"I know," they said, pulling their attention back down to focus on him. "I know, I'm coming."

"You don't have to look. You can close your eyes or something. Just keep walking."

They huffed. "I'm fine."

"You seem kind of not fine. Which is okay, but-"

"I'm fine," they insisted. "I was just... checking... the stars. You know, to navigate."

Patrick looked up at the clouded, starless sky. "...right. Well I hope you know where we are. And where the police are."

"The police ain't gonna catch us," they said. "We're far enough, and even if they found us we could probably take them, right?"

It was dark, but they could see Patrick staring at them strangely. "What?"

"You're so weird," Patrick said. "You're not afraid of the police who are hunting us down, but you're afraid of trees."

"I ain't afraid of fucking trees!" Poison straightened defiantly, and then suddenly some horrible, cold, gnarled monster claw was scratching at the back of their neck, and they shrieked and jumped into Patrick's arms.

As they caught their breath, they realized that, A) they had not been snatched up by a demonic forest dwelling monster, B) they were in Patrick's arms, and C) Patrick was laughing at them.

"Poison, baby, it's just a branch!" Patrick stammered through his laughter. "You're tangled in a branch, calm down."

"Stop laughing at me!" They realized they were clinging to Patrick's shoulders, and tried to take a step back but the claw scraped coldly on the back of their head, yanking their hair.

"Alright, alright, just stand still," he chuckled. He reached up and started to pull the snarled branches from Poison's hair. "You're getting more tangled."

They scowled bitterly as Patrick pulled at their hair. "That doesn't count. That one attacked me."

Patrick was still kind of giggling, and it was decidedly not cute considering Poison had just had a near death experience. He bent down and picked something up off the ground and dusted it off. "Here," he said, and put the fedora on Poison's head. "Now come on. We really have to go."

He grabbed Poison's hand and started off, and Poison sighed and followed.

"I think we're far enough," they said after another few minutes of tramping through the darkness. "We should try to get back to the road."

"Are you sure?" Patrick turned and squinted through the darkness behind them. "Or are you just trying to get out of the forest?"

"No, I'm serious. Those pigs ain't tracking us anymore. We'd hear them, right?"

They both stopped and listened. The forest was loud, full of crackling branches and ghostly wind and all kinds of noises from animals that Poison had only heard about in stories. But there were no voices, no footsteps.

"Alright. Which way's the road?"

Poison looked around. "I- I... fuck. I don't fucking know."

"Alright, just close your eyes and think."

"How the fuck is that gonna-"

"You did it before. Come on, close your eyes. Think."

They took a wavering breath and closed their eyes.

"Alright... alright, we've been going diagonal, we have to turn around."

"How can you tell?"

I don't know, I just can," Poison said. "Spend enough time running around in an empty desert, you know which way you're going."

"You want to turn around? What if we end up back at the hotel?"

"Not all the way. Just a little, just... dammit, we have to get out of this forest."

"Okay. Then let's turn around."

Poison opened their eyes. Patrick's face was inches from theirs, eyes sparkling and teeth barely visible in a little reassuring half smile. They nodded.

With Patrick's hand in theirs, Poison started picking through the dense foliage, cringing away from crunching underbrush and snagging thorns. They stared solidly ahead and tried to bore a hole through the darkness with their eyes. It didn't work, and they squeezed Patrick's hand tighter.

"Hey, Poison?" Patrick said after a few minutes.

"Yeah?"

"I have a question."

"Ask away, sweetheart."

Patrick was silent for a second, and then slowly said, "You know last night... or, well, this morning I guess? When we..."

Poison swallowed. "Yeah?"

"And I..."

"Yeah."

"Yeah..."

Patrick fell silent. Poison hadn't thought that the forest could actually be more uncomfortable than it already was. They were wrong.

They tried to think of something witty to say but nothing came to mind. Fuck. They had been effectively not thinking about that, letting it float in the back of their mind all blurry and glowing and abstract, unanalyzed and unquestioned. And then they had entered a forest and they had been distracted enough that they almost forgot about it.

The silence was getting as thick as the darkness. One of them was going to have to say something eventually, right?

"Um," Patrick faltered. "Did you... was that... were you..." he cut himself off with an awkward little laugh. "Um. Nevermind."

Thank the Witch, Poison thought to themself, but for some reason they said, "What? Say it."

"No, nevermind."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Just forget it. I'll ask you later."

Poison opened their mouth to say something, but then they sighed and let the silence settle back in. It was pointless, trying to drag it out of him. Especially when it was probably an apology, an excuse, an it-didn't-mean-anything, and they didn't think they wanted to hear it.

After a while, Patrick spoke. "Um, Party? I'm not sure but I don't think this is right."

Poison broke their forward focus and looked around, and realized the forest had grown thinner. And there was light now; a sparkling spatter of windows and streetlamps and neon signs that twinkled between the trees.

"Shit," Party breathed. "You know what city this is?"

"No."

"Well, should we turn around?"

"I mean," Patrick sighed thoughtfully, peering ahead through the trees. "We were gonna end up in the city anyways, right? We couldn't just live out on the road."

Well, they could. "I mean, I guess," Poison said. And they were eager to get out of the forest. But a city would almost be worse. "Alright. Let's go, then."

The two trudged on, and the forest grew thin, and soon they were crossing the tree line onto a hill looking out on a glittering little city.

"Fuck," Party sighed, feeling like they could actually breathe again, taking in the wet, crackling cool air. "Fucking finally. I hate forests."

The two started down the incline, slipping and skidding and stumbling, still holding each other's hands for balance. Soon they were standing on pavement, staring ahead into the rows of boxy brick buildings. It reminded Poison of when they had first appeared in this world, which wasn't nearly as long ago as it felt now.

"Where to?" Patrick asked.

Poison shrugged. "Fuck if I know. This isn't my universe. Maybe we should find another car."

"Or a bus stop. Or a subway station."

They huffed and smiled. "You with your ethics."

With that the two started into the new city, and honestly, Party was only slightly less confused than they had been the first time.

~~~

They had gotten out of the alleys and onto the empty city streets when the first few drops fell. They had felt that weird sharp crackle in the air, a telltale sign, but the air was so different here that they couldn't be sure. Then Patrick had looked up at the starless sky and said "hm," a little warily, and then the first little drops had splattered onto the pavement.

Party gasped and looked up, and tiny raindrops landed on their face. They held out their hand, and caught the sparkling beads of water. "Holy shit, Patrick, look."

Patrick raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? It's raining," he said.

"It's raining," they repeated emphatically. The drizzle was already picking up, and Patrick was headed toward the awning of a nearby store. Poison stared up through the sparkling air.

It had been far, far too long, since it had last rained in the desert. And even then, that was barely a sprinkle and what had fallen was acid rain, corrupt with years of chemicals, warm and too bitter to be of much use. It stung your eyes and mouth and left a gritty, slimy residue on everything.

This was nothing like that. This was cool and clear, and left a soft, clean smell in the air.

They took Patrick's fedora off and let the water wash the dust from their hair, laughing breathlessly. "Patrick, don't hide! Come play in the rain!"

"Yeah, okay, Gene Kelly," Patrick called sarcastically. Poison didn't know who Gene Kelly was and it didn't matter. They kicked at a shimmering puddle and watched the spray of droplets bounce onto the asphalt. The dampness was creeping through their torn jacket and chilling them, making their fingers sting, but they didn't really care.

Patrick was watching them, expression amused and concerned. "Poison, you're soaking wet."

"I know!" they shouted back gleefully.

Patrick laughed and shook his head. "Come here. You're gonna get sick."

"I ain't gonna get sick from water," they said, bouncing toward the awning.

Patrick sighed, and then darted out from the awning to grab Poison's hand. They pouted and only resisted for a moment before they let themself be pulled back under the cover.

Patrick looked Poison up and down, and raised an eyebrow. "You're shivering," he said.

"I'm fine," they smirked, trying not to chatter their teeth because goddamnit, they were cold. Being completely drenched was a lot less of a relief when you weren't in a desert.

"You need to dry off and warm up," Patrick said. He reached up and brushed aside the hair plastered limply over Party's face. "You're all wet, you're gonna get pneumonia. Or hypothermia. Come on, let's go inside somewhere."

As Party stood shivering and giggling breathlessly, Patrick started pulling off his leather jacket.

"Hey, s-stop that. I ain't that c-cold. P-put your jacket back on."

"You're shaking."

"I'm f-fine."

Patrick huffed and shrugged his jacket back up, and Poison smiled smugly until suddenly they were pulled into Patrick's arms.

"The fuck?" they squeaked. Their face was inches away from his.

"You got to play in the rain, Poison, now can we go somewhere dry? I don't want you to get sick." He was holding them tight like he was trying to hug the warmth back into them, staring up at them with earnest.

They swallowed thickly, and then grinned. "Alright, sweetheart, I'm coming."

Patrick smiled a little before he turned, keeping one arm around Poison and rubbing their shoulder. "You're so weird," he murmured under his breath, and Poison laughed. "There might be a subway station up ahead if we keep going further into the city. Then we won't need to steal a car."

Poison nodded, and leaned into Patrick's shoulder. And okay, yeah, the rain was fun but maybe the safety and shelter of the awning and the warmth of Patrick's arm around them was pretty shiny, too.

(Part 6)

[trxck-r-treat]

I L O V E your story!! I can't wait to read part 5!!!

SKSJKDSJDKSJ tysm!!!! I'm so glad u like it! I've had writers block but I'm actually working on part 5 right now kdjafsjadfs

[trxck-r-treat]

I just read partytrick and I love it so much!!! It's so good and interesting I'm so glad I saw it!!♥

SKSJKSJSKKSJSJ AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA thank you so much oh my god wowLowkey in shock that somebody likes my writing (especially since it's such a weird ship)Its @devilpatrickstump 's idea tho so I can't take full credit for that story

[trxck-r-treat]

Partytrick, part 4

(Part 1) (Part 3)

Tw: alcohol

~~~

Inside the room, as soon as the door shut Patrick started pacing back and forth, breathing quick and hard and shallow. Poison sat down on the bed and then watched Patrick, raising an eyebrow in concern. "Hey. You okay?"

"Y-yeah, yeah I'm just-" He cut himself off, pulling in a hissing breath through his teeth and scrubbing his hand over his face. "Fuck. It feels so weird. It's like... like there's something trying to get out of me."

Poison opened their mouth and went to stand, and Patrick quickly said, "Not literally, not like the snake." And Poison nodded in relief and sat down.

Patrick continued. "It's just this feeling, this energy, and it's just so weird, ugh!" He gave this soft little scream and went over and put his head against the wall.

Poison watched, concern growing. "You should sleep. Try to calm down."

"I can't," Patrick said. He turned and leaned back against the wall. "I can't with this feeling I have. It's like caffeine. But, like, way too much, like when you feel like you're gonna throw up and your eyes hurt."

Poison sighed and nodded, intimately familiar with the effects of caffeine. They stood and started to walk around the room kind of aimlessly, like the cure to extreme music-induced discomfort would just appear in the corner or the coat closet if they looked.

It didn't, but there was one of those... those things, Poison didn't know what they were called. The little refrigerators they used to have in hotels. Or rather did have in hotels, in this universe where hotels and refrigerators were both things that existed.

They opened it and found a few bottles in disarray, and picked up a bottle of clear liquid. They examined the label. Which was pointless, considering they knew fuck all about types of alcohol, other than desert moonshine and that shit they make in the Lobby that tastes like gasoline.

It looked alcoholic, which was good enough for them. They walked over to Patrick and held it out to him.

After a moment he opened his eyes, glanced at the bottle, and then squeezed his eyes shut again like he was sensitive to the light. "Do we have money for that?"

"Yeah, probably," Party said. "And if not we can just fill it with water and put it back."

"You know it's," he looked at the clock. "Not even nine a.m.."

Poison shrugged. "I have time travel jetlag so it doesn't count. And you vomited up a snake. You need a drink."

Patrick gave a long wavering sigh and took the bottle.

~~~

Not long later the two were sitting crosslegged on the bed, and the bottle was mostly empty. Poison was slumped over onto their elbow and watching Patrick sway kind of fuzzily in front of them. His eyes looked lost, like there was some kind of puzzle in the tacky pattern of the bed sheets. It reminded Poison of Jet Star for some reason.

"I miss my friends," they said softly. They paused for a moment and then said, "And... I know your friends are dead and I'm sorry and this ain't half of what you gotta deal with, but-"

"It's okay," Patrick said, the bottle swishing hollowly in his hands as he rocked back and forth. "You don't have to act like you're fine just 'cause things could be worse."

"But things are worse, for you. Your friends are dead." Patrick was waving the bottle in front of their face and they took it, took a drink, and scoffed. "Shit, my friends are probably dead too. You know where we were before I... fuckin' exploded or whatever?"

"Where?"

"In the middle of a firefight. And I was up against a wall with a gun to my head, and-" They sat up suddenly, wobbling for a second, a horrible thought floating into their mind. "Shit, Patrick, wh- what if I'm dead? Or what if I'm in a fuckin' coma or something? If I got sh-shot... What if this is all in my head? Fuck." They dropped their head into their hands, slumping over onto the bed again.

"It's not. You're not." Patrick said quickly. "Don't say that. You're scaring yourself."

"Damn fuckin' right," they mumbled, because they were fucking scared.

"Hey, Party. Look at me."

They sat up and looked at Patrick, who was tilting in front of them like he was trying not to fall into their lap.

"This isn't a dream," he said as evenly as he could manage. "Okay? You're here. Really. You're not dead, you're not in a coma."

Poison stared into Patrick's eyes. His eyes were blue with little flecks of gold, they reminded Poison of the sky at dusk.

Patrick lifted one hand from the bed, and because that was his only hand he immediately fell forward. Party put their hands up and caught him, those soft blue eyes inches from their face. Patrick blinked kind of dizzily before getting his balance, and then he lifted his hand, this time successfully, and brushed a few strands of hair away from Party's face. "This is real," he said softly. "I promise."

"How do you know?"

And for a moment they just stared at each other, eyes blurry and swimming, and then Patrick suddenly leaned forward and kissed them.

They wobbled back as he fell into their arms, and they were still trying to get their balance when he pulled back.

He blinked at them, tilting his head like a puppy. "Doesn't it feel real?"

They coughed and cleared their throat but their voice still came out squeaky as they said, "I couldn't tell. Do it again."

He laughed, and then his lips were on theirs again, tasting like salt and vodka, and his hand was in their hair. And, fuck, it didn't feel real. But not really in a bad way, not right now.

Patrick pulled away again, and they made this desperate little noise in the back of their throat and clung to him. And then they blinked and let go and looked down sheepishly at their hands.

"S'okay. I'm not goin' anywhere," Patrick murmured, dropping his head onto Poison's shoulder. He was heavy pressed against them, almost nuzzling into their neck.

"You should go to sleep," they said, stroking a hand absently through his hair. As they said it, their own exhaustion hit them. They had spent last night fighting and running and traveling between dimensions, and if that hadn't been enough they felt all sluggish and tipsy now. And this bed was more comfortable than any of the cots at the Diner, not to mention Patrick's warm weight against their chest.

"Patrick," they mumbled softly. "Patrick, I wanna sleep."

Patrick sat up after a moment, and then shifted and flopped over. He pulled Poison down onto the pillow next to him. "Sleep," he said. He blinked at them with the eye that wasn't buried in the pillow, and clumsily brushed their hair out of their face again. "C'mon. Go to sleep."

"But... shouldn't we keep watch? What about Scarecrows?"

Patrick hushed them, giggling a little. "There aren't any scarecrows here. We'll be fine." He pet their hair softly. "You're tired. Sleep."

No Scarecrows. Right. No such thing as Scarecrows in this universe. They nodded hesitantly.

"Goodnight Party Poison," Patrick just barely whispered, and then he closed his eyes and went all soft and heavy against the pillow, his breathing slow and even.

"Night, dust angel," Party said, before their eyes got too heavy and they couldn't help but let themself drift off.

~~~

When they woke up, it took them a second to remember where they were. Everything was so soft and warm, they were so obviously not in the Trans Am, and even their cot in the Diner would be stiff and cold and not nearly as comfortable. Where the fuck were they, the City?

They reluctantly opened their eyes, and then the memories floated back. Oh, right. Mysterious explosion, alternate dimension, helpful stranger.

Honestly they had expected it all to be gone when they woke up. They'd find Ghoul shaking them awake and telling them not to fall asleep in the sun, you know how that fucks with your head. And they'd tell him about the crazy dream they'd had, the fight and the explosion and the cute little man with the missing hand, and he'd be all 'told you so', and then they'd both go about their day like nothing had happened, because it hadn't.

But this was what they had been talking about this morning, wasn't it? Whether any of this was real. And Patrick's argument had been pretty convincing.

Fuck. Fuck. Alright, that had happened. Let's just assume all of this is real, and this morning had actually happened.

Either way they needed to get up. The sky outside the window was dark and the clock showed it was past 7 pm. They sighed and stretched and then pulled themself up off the pillow.

Patrick was still curled up next to them, asleep on top of the covers. Poison slid off the bed trying not to disturb him. They could let him sleep, he needed it. Meanwhile they just needed to assess the situation, make sure they were safe for now.

They walked over to the window, pulled aside the curtain, and looked outside to the parking lot, and then their blood turned to ice.

"Patrick!" they hissed, ducking down below the windowsill. "Patrick, wake up!"

"Nnn," Patrick whined. They scrambled over to the bed, keeping low even though the curtain was closed, and shook him awake.

Patrick opened his eyes and blinked up at them for a moment. "Wha...? What is it, Party?" he murmured thickly.

"There's police outside and they're taking our car!"

Patrick sat bolt upright. "Shit! Wh-what do we do?"

"We get the fuck out of here."

Patrick rolled off the bed and hurried to the window, and peeked through the curtain. Red and blue flashes sliced into the dim light of the room. He ducked under the windowsill. "Holy smokes, they're right out there! Are you sure we can't just hide in here?"

"No way," Party said. "The car's out there, they know we're in here. Only thing we can do is run." They looked around the room and spotted the fedora laying next to the bed. They hurried over and grabbed it.

"But how are we gonna run without a car?" Patrick's voice was high and fast and cracking. He slumped back against the wall under the window, almost hyperventilating.

Party took a wobbly breath to slow their own rushing adrenaline, and then hurried back over to Patrick and crouched down in front of him.

"Patrick, look at me. We're gonna be okay, I promise, but we have to go right now. All you have to do is follow me. I'm gonna get us out of here. You trust me?"

After a moment he nodded.

"Alright." They held their hand out to him. "Give me your hand."

"Like... my real hand, or- ?"

They sighed. "Goddamnit, Patrick, just come on." They grabbed his hand (his real hand) and pulled him up off the ground, and the two ran out of the room.

In the hallway, Poison made quick work of tying their hair up and putting the hat on over it. Then they examined their surroundings. They obviously couldn't just go through the front, but they figured there would have to be a back door somewhere around here. They started off deeper into the row of doors, away from the lobby, and Patrick followed.

It wasn't too long before they found a fire exit, and then they were outside in the cool evening air. Poison's guesswork navigation had been right; they were behind the building, hidden from the cops in the parking lot out front.

See, this almost felt like home. Running and hiding, fighting back or slipping through the shadows, trying to survive when the whole world is after you. It was a cat and mouse game in which Poison had years of practice. Of course, being the mouse was always less than ideal, and they liked it better when they had a car, and gun, and three other people watching their back. But they could make do.

"Where do we go?" Patrick asked breathlessly. He was still holding Party's hand in a white knuckled grip, staring around with wide eyes through the darkness.

Poison pointed ahead. "The trees. We can hide in there and circle around back to the road."

Patrick nodded, and then they both ran forward toward the trees, trying to balance speed and stealth. They didn't stop until they were surrounded by darkness, well past the edge of the forest.

When they did finally stop, Poison kind of froze, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the darkness, and it was like they were on an alien planet.

"Holy shit. Holy shit," they murmured, staring at dense foliage surrounding them.

Poison had often heard from Ghoul how strange it was transitioning from the inner City to the desert. A big part of it was just the terrain, he said. When you were so used to the cramped, claustrophobic closeness of the City it was hard to adjust to the miles of flat land, open skies and distant horizons.

This was the exact opposite of that.

"What's wrong?" Patrick said as Party spun around in a circle, staring shiftily into the woods around them.

"It's just... so many trees," they stammered. They had never seen so many plants all in one place, and yeah, they knew what a forest was in theory, but they had never expected to actually find themself in one. It was so dense and dark, everything was so close and it felt like it was getting closer. It was fucking with their mind, there were just too many places to hide. And who knows what could be hiding in here, when it was so crowded, there were so many shadows, so much darkness, everything was just so close-

"Hey, Party, come on," said Patrick's voice, cutting through their racing thoughts. "Don't freak out. I'm supposed to be the one freaking out, you're supposed to be the one getting us out of here."

They turned to face him. He was giving them them a wobbly little smile, squeezing their hand again.

"Yeah," they said. They cleared their throat to keep their voice steady. "Of course, honey, it's fine. I'm fine. We have to go."

Patrick nodded. His eyes were big and shining, the only thing Party could see in this stifling darkness.

"Alright, we have to go," they muttered again. "W-we have to go... goddamnit, I can't see shit." They scrubbed the hand that Patrick wasn't holding over their face, pressing their eyes shut until they saw stars. "Okay," they said finally, pointing to the right. "We have to go that way. Parallel to the road."

They opened their eyes to look at him, and he nodded again. He was still smiling a little, shakily. They managed an uncertain half smile in return, and then they both turned and started off through the darkness.

(Part 5)

[trxck-r-treat]

I wanna post partytrick part 4 or whatever but idek whos reading it and it's just not. getting. written skshksjj

#even if no one's reading it except me #i want it to continue #but it ISN'T fmllll

[trxck-r-treat]

Partytrick, part 3

(Part 1) (Part 2)

Tw: blood/gore, body horror, emetophobia, snake

~~~

"Are you still hungry?"

Poison raised an eyebrow. "Patrick, we just got food." It couldn't have been more than an hour since they left the gas station. They were still on the same road.

"I know, but like, if you want more we can stop somewhere else-"

"I'm fine. Stop worrying about me."

Patrick scoffed. "You tell me you haven't had any real food in years and I'm not supposed to worry?" he muttered almost to himself. Party laughed.

"Look, I promise I'll eat lots of real, human food later, okay?"

Patrick gave them a skeptical look. "Okay..." he said, and then turned back ahead, brows furrowed in this adorably pensive expression. And then the car fell back into silence.

Poison turned to Patrick, and opened their mouth to say something, but then they closed it and just stared. He turned and gave them a questioning look and they quickly turned their eyes back to the road.

"What?"

"Nothing," they murmured. It wasn't nothing. They had an endless amount of questions, about their situation and about Patrick's. But they got the feeling that just casually going, "hey, you may or may not have killed a few people, what's that like?" would be insensitive.

"Seriously, you okay?"

They realized they were staring at him again.

They huffed and shook their head. "Yeah. Sorry, it's just, this is weird. This whole fucking... fucking thing that's happening."

Patrick blew out a shaky breath and nodded.

"And I just... I keep turning and thinking it's gonna be someone else there." They realized it was true as they said it.

"Oh," Patrick said. "Who?"

"My brother. Or one of my friends. I don't know, it's weird not having them here."

He gave this little hum of agreement.

"Shit, I'm sorry, kid, you don't have to feel sorry for me, I mean, your friends are-"

And then they watched Patrick's face fall with this sudden pained expression, and they cut themself off. Nice going, dumbass.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry, that's not-" they sputtered, trying to backpedal and get their foot out of their mouth. "That was so fucking- I didn't mean- I- fuck." They sighed and shrunk down in their seat. Why were they like this. "I'm sorry, that was fucking stupid. I'm just gonna stop talking. Let's just listen to the radio or something." They reached over and turned the radio on.

"No!" Patrick yelped, and slammed the volume all the way down to zero.

"Woah, alright, we don't have to."

"I'm sorry," Patrick said, putting his face in his hand. "It's just... this thing that happens to me. It's like I'm possessed or something. I- I lose control, and then I black out and I wake up somewhere else. And I'm not sure, but it seems like it happens whenever I hear music."

Poison blinked. "Seriously?"

"I think so."

They nodded slowly. "Alright. No music then."

"Do you think I'm crazy?" he murmured into his hand.

"Honey, my current working theory is that I'm a time traveler from another dimension, so I don't really have room to call you crazy."

Patrick was silent, and after a moment Poison turned to him. He was still crumpled in on himself and now he was breathing hard.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Pull over."

"What? Why-"

"Poison, pull over right now," he said urgently, voice cracking, and Poison pulled off the road.

Almost before they fully stopped he was stumbling out of the car and onto his knees. "Patrick, what's going on?" Poison asked, but before he could answer Patrick retched and spat thick red onto the ground. Poison shut their mouth and scrambled out of the car.

Patrick was making these horrible choking, gagging sounds, and then something was coming out of his mouth, something long and red and moving, what the fuck, and if they had been lightheaded before they suddenly had to grab the car door for support as they watched the squirming thing force itself from Patrick's throat. They wanted to look away, they knew Patrick probably wanted them to look away, but they couldn't, they were petrified.

After a few excruciatingly long seconds, a snake, dark red and ringed and covered in blood, dropped into the grass and slithered away.

"What the fuck," Poison breathed out in shock. For a moment they were still frozen, staring at where the snake had disappeared in the grass. And then Patrick made this weak, pained sound and wobbled, and they dropped to their knees to catch him.

Patrick fell into their arms. He was shaking, taking big sputtering gulps of air, his fingers twisted into Party's jacket. "Hey, its alright," they whispered, knowing that it wasn't. "You're okay, baby, it's over now." They held him and cast a horrified glare at the ground around them, a little afraid that the thing would come back.

"I- w-why-" they sputtered hoarsely. "Why is this h-happening to m-me?"

"I don't know, kid," Poison said softly. "I really don't know."

They hushed him and stroked his hair as the two rocked back and forth, clinging to each other.

Finally, Patrick spoke. "Tell me you saw it," he stammered, rough and breathless. "Tell me I'm not crazy."

"Yeah," they replied. "I saw it."

"Oh, god," Patrick nearly sobbed. He dropped his head onto Party's chest "Oh god, oh fuck, what... what is my life?"

"Look, Patrick, let's just get back in the car, okay?" they said, because they couldn't think of anything else to do in response to somebody coughing up a snake.

Patrick sighed and nodded, but made no move to get up.

"You don't have to help me," he said wearily. "This- you- you're already trying to get back to your, like, home planet or whatever. You don't have to-"

"Patrick," Poison said. "I'm helping you."

He sat up. "But why? I already told you I may have killed multiple people, and if that wasn't enough I just vomited up a fucking snake. Why aren't you running away?"

"I am running away, and you're running with me. Okay?"

"But-"

"Patrick. I've seen shit. I've killed people. You're not scaring me off, and you're not gonna just sit here and deal with this.... this curse or whatever alone."

"You think it's a curse?"

"I don't know. I don't know what it is. We'll figure it out, okay?"

Patrick looked at him uncertainly, and then let out a long wavering sigh and nodded. And then he shifted and the two of them stood and went back to the car.

"The snake..." Patrick said breathlessly. "I- I've seen it before. It's a message, I think."

"From who?" Party sat down and kind of hovered a hand awkwardly over Patrick's shoulder, for... comfort? Support? What? They didn't know.

"The people who did this to me," he said, "who turned me into this. I remember when it happened, there was this... this, like, table, and all this food and that, that fucking snake." He shuddered. "God, I'm not even afraid of snakes but I never want to see one again."

"Me neither," agreed Party. They watched as he leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. "Are you alright? Maybe we should, like, find a doctor."

"A hospital would just turn us in," Patrick said.

"At least somewhere to rest? A flop for the night, you know? Unless you want to sleep the car."

Poison would be fine with sleeping in the car, of course. They spent practically every other night huddled for warmth in the Trans Am, they were used to it, but they got the feeling Patrick wasn't. And the guy had just... well, he should have a proper place to sleep.

"But we don't have money," Patrick replied.

"Eh. Shouldn't be too hard to come across."

~~~

It wasn't. After driving a little longer they found their way to a motel, and then it was just a matter of finding the right pocket to pick. Patrick had been kind of ambivalent about the process but Poison promised they hadn't taken all of that random guy's money. Just enough to pay for one night in one room.

"Wait," Patrick said as they were about to go into the motel, turning to Poison. He looked them up and down for a moment, raising an eyebrow.

"What?"

"You're just so..." he made this ambiguous gesture in Party's direction, and after a pause said, "Maybe you should cut your hair. And dye it something less eye catching."

Poison's eyes went wide, as they scoffed and shook their head. "No. No way, fuck that. I- I couldn't, that's my fucking colors, I couldn't just-"

"Alright," Patrick said. "I know. Colors are important, I remember you said that."

They nodded.

"But come on, Poison, you're like a neon sign. Um. Here, how about this..."

Patrick took off his fedora, reached up, and settled it down on Party's head so it covered most of their hair. He adjusted it a little, tucked a few strands of their long hair under the hat, and then took a small step back.

Party smiled. "Do I look cute?"

"Yeah," Patrick breathed. And then he coughed and stammered, "I mean. Uh. D-don't go hanging around police stations or anything, but that might do the trick, mostly."

They laughed. "Alright. Then come on, sweetheart, I wanna sleep."

They opened the door and stepped in, and then froze. Tinny, staticky music was floating through the lobby.

"I think I left something in the car," Patrick stammered too loudly as he spun back around. "You can check us in, right?" Before Party could answer he was hurrying away, and the door was swinging shut.

Poison blinked, stared at where Patrick had disappeared, and then turned back to the room. It was empty, other than the kid behind the front desk, who was eyeing them uninterestedly and snapping their gum.

They walked up to the desk, suddenly aware that they had never been inside a motel that wasn't abandoned before. They glared for a moment at the radio on the table behind the desk before refocusing themself. "Uh. We need a room."

"Single or double," the kid intoned.

"What?"

"One bed or two?"

"Um." Party stared back toward the door. Would Patrick have a problem sharing a bed?

The kid blew a bubble impatiently.

No, Patrick would probably say to get the cheapest thing, otherwise Poison would have to resort to thievery sooner rather than later. "Single?" they said kind of hesitantly, and then said, "yeah. Single."

Because of the cost. Not because of how cold and lonely and completely alien the idea of having an entire bed to themself sounded.

"That's sixty for tonight," desk kid said, and Party pulled out their stolen bills and worked out sixty, and handed it over.

Besides, worst case scenario Party could just sleep on the floor.

The kid handed them a key, and at the same time the music faded and the radio went to commercial, thank the Witch. "I'm gonna go get... him..." Poison said unnecessarily, and then they turned and hurried back out to the parking lot.

Patrick was standing right outside, leaning against the brick wall with his eyes closed and his hands in his pockets.

"Come quick," they said, making him jump a little as he looked up. "The music's off but it'll come back."

He nodded and followed them back in, and the kid pointed toward the hallway and said "room number three." They made their way across to the room as quickly as they could, and the music stayed off.

(Part 4)

[trxck-r-treat]

Partytrick, part 2

(Part 1)

It didn't take long to find their way to a street, since Patrick seemed to know the place and led the way. As they hurried along, Party looked up at the buildings they passed, becoming more visible under the slightly glowing sky. Tall and dark brick, nondescript, not like the graffitied walls and flickering neon of the lobby or the bright streamlined architecture of downtown. It was weird. Party had never imagined a city could be anything other than the City. They had never imagined that their world would go beyond what they had already known. And yet here they were, somehow.

"Hey, hold on," Patrick said, stopping in a pool of orange streetlight. They had reached the end of the alleyway maze, and a graciously cop-free street lay in front of them.

Patrick turned and swung his hook at Party, and they jumped back reflexively.

"Oh. Right, sorry, I forgot about the..." he waved the hook awkwardly. "Um. Give me your hands." He reached forward more slowly and kind of nudged his hook against Party's wrists, until they showed him their hands. Then he hovered the fingers of his right hand gently over their palms. Most of the glass was gone, but there were cuts and deep scratches all across their hands and a few gritty crystals of broken glass still digging into their skin.

"I don't know if I should get that glass out, because that's gonna make it bleed."

"Take it out," Party said. "I ain't driving with glass in my hands."

Patrick nodded, and set about gingerly pulling out the little glass shards, and then said, "Wait, driving?"

Poison just stared around at the shadowed street, wincing occasionally while Patrick worried at their hands.

By the time he let their wrists go they had found their target, a dented old Ford parked in front of an empty, darkened storefront. "Alright. Let's go-"

"Wait, turn around."

They raised an eyebrow, but turned reluctantly, and Patrick started pulling and picking at the back of their jacket.

"Do you know you have shards of glass in you all over?"

"Uh. No? Didn't really notice." Which was true. What with the dizziness and the ringing and the broken feeling in all of their bones, the glass hadn't exactly been at the front of their mind.

"You didn't notice when you went through a window?"

"Well I wasn't conscious when I went through it, so-" they were cut off, biting down on their words as Patrick unstuck a particularly deep fragment from their shoulder. "Ow. Fuck. You done?"

They felt Patrick gently brush off the back of their jacket, and then he murmured, "I'm done."

"Is my jacket all fucked up?"

"It's not too bad."

They shrugged the torn up jacket back into place over their torn up shoulders (which hurt like hell now, conveniently). "Thanks, sweetheart. See? We're helping each other." They turned as they walked toward the old car, shooting Patrick a grin. He gave an uncertain little half smile in return.

They got to the rusty old vehicle, and Party turned back around to examine it. They ran their fingers along the edge of the door.

"Alright. Give me something to jimmy the door open."

"We're stealing a car?"

"Yeah, you got a problem with that? 'Cause we're both already fugitives, apparently, so I think that ship has sailed."

Patrick gave them an uncertain look, and then swallowed and said, "Alright, what do you need?"

"Something pointyish and metal. A crowbar's what we really need but whatever you can find."

They turned to the car, examining the locks and the steering column through the window, and then Patrick tapped on them and something was placed in their hand. They looked down at it. It was a hook.

"Holy shit! Is this your fucking hook hand? Did you just detach your fucking hand and give it to me?"

"It's not my hand," Patrick said. "And it's pointyish and metal."

"I mean. Yeah, but. That's... it's weird! That's, like, your hand."

"Look, you want to open the car or not?"

Party huffed, and then they looked down at the hook hand, which to be fair wasn't, like, dirty or dripping blood or anything. They started to pry open the front door of the car.

"It's not even a hand," Patrick said softly, gesturing with his wrapped up stump. "Would be great if it was, but it's just a hook."

"But hey," Poison grinned as they pulled the door open. "It worked."

It didn't take long for them to get the car running, though if they had any tools other than Patrick's hook it would have gone quicker. Clawing their way into the inner wiring wasn't exactly elegant. They could see Patrick watching them the whole time while they worked, this indecipherable expression on his face. "Do you do this a lot?" he asked as they touched two crudely stripped wires, and with a loud spark the engine rumbled to life.

"Hotwire cars? Yeah, but like, who doesn't commit vehicle theft every once in a while?"

Patrick was just kind of staring at them. Poison sat back in the driver's seat and revved the engine. "Well, come on, honey, we ain't got all day. Let's hit the red line."

Patrick closed his eyes, and took a wavering breath. And then he crossed to the other side of the car and got into the passenger seat.

"Which way to leave the city?" Poison asked.

Patrick pointed down the street ahead of them. Poison nodded and hit the gas, and the two sped off through the early dawn.

~~~

"So," they said once the sun was up and they were driving down an empty two lane road outside the city, surrounded by fields and trees and more green than they had seen in their whole life. "You're saying there's no BLi here?"

"No? I mean, I don't know what that is."

"No Helium Wars?"

"No."

"Hm. So no killjoys, huh."

"That's what you said you are?" Patrick said. "The leader of the Fabulous Killjoys, right?"

"Yeah, unless I'm stuck in this universe where there ain't any killjoys to lead."

"But what are Killjoys?"

"Well, you know, we're like..." they stopped and thought for a second. "We're, like, the ones who fight back. The rebels against the corporate agenda. A system failure for the masses, antimatter for the master plan. Louder than God's revolver and twice as shiny."

Patrick blinked. "...what?"

"Yeah, I don't know either."

"Well," Patrick said obligingly. "It sounds cool." Then he added, "We're almost on E."

Poison looked at the dash. "Shit. There a Pegasus station around?"

"A- wh- a gas station? There should be one in the next town, probably not too far."

"Do you know where we are?"

"Um. Kind of?" he said, and then looked down sheepishly. "Well, not really. But there's got to be a gas station around, just keep driving."

Poison sighed and kept going, scanning their surroundings, hoping that the car wasn't going to sputter out and die on them. But sure enough, the fields and trees started to give way to small buildings, and before long they were pulling into a gas station.

"Do you have any money?" Patrick asked. Party reached into their pockets and pulled out what they had, a couple of carbons, and handed it to him.

He stared at it. "Um. I don't... I don't think I can use this, this looks like monopoly money."

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that."

Patrick scrutinized the plastic bills. "Jeez. So you really are from the future, aren't you? I mean, not that I didn't believe you before, but..." He held up a bill to the light and squinted at it, and softly sounded out a few of the Japanese syllables.

"日本語を話せますか?" Party asked. Patrick smiled.

"A little. I'm bad at it, though, I keep trying to learn and then giving up."

They nodded. "私の宇宙で誰もが日本語を話す."

He thought for a second. "Uh... わかりません? I don't understand. Sorry, I told you I was bad at it."

Party smiled and waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine. I said in my universe everybody speaks Japanese. So, uh, how are we gonna pay if not with my monopoly money?"

Patrick reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet, and clumsily took out some worn green bills with one hand. "I've got this. It's not a lot but it should be enough for now." He sighed and shoved the bills back in his pocket, not bothering with the wallet, which he had dropped onto the seat. Then he opened the door and got out. "I'll go pay. You, uh, probably shouldn't let people see you, you're still all... bleeding and stuff."

"Oh, yeah." They had actually almost completely forgotten about the fact that their back and face and hands were all cut up and covered in blood.

Patrick stuck his hook hand in his jacket pocket and walked away toward the little building.

Meanwhile, Party figured out how to pop the gas tank, and then got out and just kind of absorbed their surroundings. It was weird. It didn't feel like a real gas station without the Dead Pegasus branding and the staticky looping Mousekat ads playing on the little TV. It felt like something old and strange, like it should be in a museum.

And, shit, the air was different. All cool and soft, without that dusty desert dryness or that permanent smell of sand and sun and gasoline. That was what really fucked with Poison's head, because they couldn't even breathe without being reminded of how far from home they were.

They thought back to home, to Kobra and Ghoul and Jet and Grace. Were the others looking for them? Did they even know Party was gone?

And then they remembered where they had left them. In the middle of a gunfight, surrounded by white lights and glass walls and with enemies on all sides.

They forced themselves not to think about that. Not now. Worrying wasn't going to help get them home.

Poison was pulled out of their thoughts as Patrick showed back up, carrying a plastic bag.

"The police are looking for you," Patrick said. "It was on the news. They said you bombed a deli. And destroyed like half a city block. A few people were taken to the hospital."

"Oh, shit. Are they okay?"

"It said they're fine now." He dropped the bag on the roof of the car, reached in and pulled something out and then threw it at Party, who caught it on instinct. It was a plastic wrapped sandwich.

They stared down at the sandwich incredulously. They examined it, turning it over in their hands.

"Is that okay?" Patrick asked. He had pulled out another sandwich and a bag of chips. "I didn't know what you'd want but I figured you might be hungry."

They blinked up at him, and then down at the sandwich. Then they unwrapped it and very cautiously took a bite, and they almost couldn't believe it when it was cold and fresh and didn't taste like metal. "Holy shit. Holy shit."

"What?"

"Fucking food. Holy shit, I haven't had actual food in so long."

"Why not?"

"Nothing grows in the zones, and all the food from the City's pumped full of drugs." They shoved half of their sandwich into their mouth, relishing the fact that they could actually chew it without being assaulted by the taste of slightly expired mystery meat. "Oh my god. I fucking love food."

Patrick was staring at them. "So what did you eat if you didn't have food?"

"Dog food, usually."

He made this horrified face. "Dog food? Are you, like, okay?"

They shrugged. "Eh. You get used to it. Hey, are you gonna finish those chips?"

Patrick quickly pushed the bag of chips over to them. He was still giving them this weird look, all wide eyed and soft and sad. It reminded them of Fun Ghoul, for some reason.

Patrick crossed to the driver's side and picked up the gas pump while Poison was busy stuffing their face with chips. They let themself be distracted by the food a few moments longer while the tank filled, and then it finished and they both got back in the car.

"We're still low," Patrick observed. "But we should be fine for a while, right?"

"I think so," Party said. "Hey, thanks for getting food for me."

Patrick shrugged. "Thanks for stealing a car for me."

"Thanks for almost getting caught by the police for me."

"Well, that was more because of you, not really for you-"

They laughed. "Well, thanks for forgiving me." Then they pulled out of the gas station and back onto the road, and rolled down the window. They felt the strange feeling of the cool air, and of being full of actual, decent food. Other than that, they could almost pretend they were in the Trans Am speeding down Route Guano. But suddenly, part of them didn't really want to.

(Part 3)