Of Sunsets and Sand Dunes

by RoyaleBullets

Summary:

He's known for being selfish. They say it to his face every chance they get. Then why is he ready to die for something when they're not? Why is he ready to give everything up? Why is he alone?

Notes:

Overall, this story is based on the album and the comic. I haven't read the comic though, so please excuse the inaccuracies around the characters. Feel free to correct me in the comments! Just know that I will not change anything in the story because it's already planned out.

Chapter 1: This is my Deathwish

Summary:

This is his Deathwish. And it seems to be only his.

The sun sets just over the horizon, shining over what’s left of the desert. The wind rushes through as if in a hurry to be somewhere even though there’s nothing else around for miles, and the light reaches almost everything in view.

Party Poison stands just a bit away from the gas station, thinking. He’s been thinking for a long time, but there’s a decision to be made, he can’t possibly overthink it. In fact, as he kicks a stray pebble in the sand and watches it roll straight into a cactus, he can’t think of a thing to do. But he knows, he knows what will happen if he can’t make a decision.

There’s someone behind him. “It’s a fucking deathwish.”

Sure, it is. Poison knows that, although he hasn’t voiced anything. He turns to see Kobra Kid, shriveled up and tired from the heat, with possibly nothing useful to offer to Poison’s thoughts. So Poison kicks another pebble, and Kobra says something else, “He’ll be pissed at you either way.”

Poison can’t think of a single thing to answer with. He can’t think at all. Kobra’s footsteps are silenced by the softness of the sand, but Poison can still hear him walking away. He looks at the sun once more, he doesn’t care if it blinds him, and watches it disappear behind a hill, casting nothing but darkness as far as the eye can see.

~*~

There’s an impending feeling of doom hanging over his head. Poison feels it in every pore of his body, in every breath, and it only gets worse with every second that he’s not doing what’s supposed to be done. The decision is obvious. He has to do it, and it looks like he’ll be doing alone, too. What’s his life anyway? He’s just another rebellious Killjoy. There were many like him. Poison dare say he’s one of the last.

There’s a slap on the table that echoes throughout the small store of the gas station, and he’s snapped out of his self-pitying state. He turns his head, there sits Ghoul, angry, annoyed, his eyes shining brightly in the faint light from the ceiling. Poison doesn’t want to see him right now because the look on his face will affect the decision that’s already been made.

“You’re relentless,” Ghoul grits through his teeth. His breathing is heavy, Poison can see that he’s fuming with hatred, and his hand’s on his gun as if he’s ready for a shootout in any second.

Poison finds little interest in listening to Fun Ghoul’s whines and complaints. He turns back to the window and stares out into the dark desert, where the cactuses are hunched over in the wind. Through the reflection, he can see how Kobra leans on the doorway that connects his room with the main store, watching their argument with amusement as if it doesn’t concern him, too.

There comes another slap on the table, and the attention is now on Ghoul again. He brushes hair out of his face, watching Poison with an expression that can kill, really. But Poison knows the decision is obvious to Ghoul, too.

“You’re selfish. You’re not thinking of anyone else!” Ghoul decides to yell. It peaks Poison’s interests, and he pulls out a chair, seating himself right in front, looking at the prick who's really beginning to resemble one of them.

“That’s the thing. I am thinking of someone else. I’m thinking about her.” He defends himself rather calmly, more so than usual, poking the table with his soft, sensitive touch. Everyone knows that Poison is sensitive, it’s obvious that it annoys Ghoul.

“If we do this, we’re going to die, Why can’t you see that?”

“Oh, I can see everything just fine, thanks. But when did you become more important than her?” Perhaps, Poison chose a wrong set of words because the look on Ghoul’s face resembles something like hurt, but he can’t dwell too much on the fact because Ghoul’s expression suddenly changes into anger, and he really does pull the gun out from its holster.

“You’ve got no respect for anyone but yourself! You’re a fucking selfish piece of shit who wants to get us all killed because of some fucking girl?”

And so Ghoul flinches because the slap on the table that echoes throughout the building is probably the loudest one yet. Now it’s from Poison, who’s standing, looking down at Ghoul with distrust and anger, and whose hand is also on his gun. They stare at each other for a few moments, Poison is looking for anything that resembles just a bit of remorse in the Killjoy’s eyes, but he sees nothing, and it angers him even more.

He wishes he didn’t like Fun Ghoul, it would have been so much easier to kill the guy.

“Since when did you become more important than The Girl?” he repeats with a sort of dangerous tone, one with which even Kobra stiffens in the corner of his eye.

Suddenly, there’s absolutely nothing in Ghoul’s eyes except for betrayal, he puts the gun back in its holster and stands, keeping his gaze locked with Poison’s. His chair falls onto the floor with a kick, and Poison doesn’t move as Ghoul stands over it, breathing heavily. It’s almost amusing to watch him, really, because Poison can see that he knows what the right choice is, Ghoul just doesn’t want to die, which is ridiculous because there’s nothing to live for in the desert anyway.

“Since when did you choose her over all of us?” is what Ghoul mutters under his hair, then walks away into his room with a slam of the door. Poison is left, almost dumbfounded if he wasn’t grounded with the sheer fact that she could die. He looks at Kobra Kid, whose expression is nothing short of agreement, then he also disappears from view behind his door.

Poison breathes, feeling hardly any air reach his lungs as if there’s nothing but sand throughout the whole abandoned desert (which there isn’t, really), and the single light on the ceiling flickers from age. He feels bad for making it seem like his Killjoys mean nothing to him. They’re his friends, his family, the only people he can really trust in the whole fucking world, and they were so close to blasting each others’ brains out less than two minutes ago.

Poison pushes himself off the table, hearing the screech as the metal skids across the floor, and he wants to kill something. He wants to kill anyone and everyone to show them just how powerful a Killjoy can be. He also knows he can’t do that, and that sends the table flying across the room until it almost hits a window.

The decision is still obvious.

~*~

“The Martyrs? That’s your plan?” Jet Star asks, grilling his lizard.

Poison sits grumpily on the sand, munching on his own critter without the company of the rest of the Killjoys. Usually, the morning after an argument, everyone’s fine. Ghoul comes crawling back with a compromise he thought of at night, and Kobra looks guilty from his lack of interference.

Today, however, it’s just him and Jet Star, the smartest of the group, perhaps even the nicest, who can certainly cook the best out of the four. Jet Star’s smart because he goes to sleep early and misses most of the late-night fights the three have because they’re tired. Mostly, it’s Ghoul and Party Poison who disagree. Mostly, Poison thinks, it’s just Ghoul’s stupidity that he disagrees with, and his stubbornness he argues with.

And munching on the crispy lizard that Jet Star had thrown at him, Poison feels incredibly awful for fighting yesterday, he knows how he may have sounded, but he can’t apologize because neither of the two others has even come out of their rooms yet.

“The Martyrs are the best option since everyone’s too fucking scared of a few guns,” he mutters grouchily under his breath.

“It’s not a few, you know that. You can’t blame them for being afraid.” Jet Star sits near him. They’re both leaning against the wall of the store, hiding in the shade from the scorching desert sun.

“I can blame them for fucking running away.”

For a few moments, the only thing Poison hears is Jet Star’s enjoyment of the grilled lizards, so he listens for movement in Kobra’s room since they’re right on the other side of the brick wall, but there comes none, and Poison’s mood turns for the worse.

“Party, we’ve been running from all of them since the beginning. You can’t just…tell us to run toward them.”

“I’d run toward them for the rest of my life if it meant saving her.” There’s a soft and sad tone to his voice, and the lizard is forgotten in his hands as he thinks of the dangers The Girl has been through. The statement leaves the two in a serious silence because Poison isn’t known for being a hero. He isn’t known for doing heroic acts. Poison’s just an angry person, who thinks shooting is the only way out of a desperate situation because every other method has failed so far.

Jet Star has stopped munching on the lizard, but Poison doesn’t turn to look at him. He’s lost his appetite because of the painful realization (of what has to be done if no one will do anything), and then he really will be the selfish son-of-a-bitch Ghoul’s labelled him as.

“So what about those Martyrs?” Jet Star asks suggestively, and for once, Poison can hear the concern in his voice.

“I have no idea.”

The Martyrs. The in-betweens. They’re not Killjoys, and they’re not Dracs. They’re the real heroes, and Poison is afraid of becoming one of them because he’ll never let go of adventure. He’ll never let go of freedom. Maybe he is selfish for thinking that, but he can’t help it. He’s seen how they work, how they think, his mother was one, and she died doing the one thing Poison’s afraid of. Being selfless. He throws the unfinished lizard into the sand, watching it disappear behind a cactus.

“The Martyrs have been known to help Killjoys in the past, sure,” Jet Star states. “What makes you think they’ll help us now?”

“They’ve gotta.”

“And your plan if they don’t?”

He’s afraid to even think of it. He just grunts.

“They will, Jet. They will help us.”

Jet Star sets the grilling stick onto their outdoor table, and stands, offering Poison a hand, then the two walk into the store together. It’s strangely quiet, as if completely empty, and Poison won’t be surprised if he finds out that the other two aren’t even there. Instead, he picks the thrown table and sits across from Jet Star, who’s got the map of the Zones already laid out.

“Here. We’re here,” Jet points to a small area of Zone 4, searching for Poison’s following gaze. But Poison knows what he has to do, and mapping doesn’t matter because he knows the location of the Martyr village, and doesn’t need anyone else to help him anymore.

“Forget it, Jet. I’ll go see the Martyrs, and we’ll figure out the rest later. I’ll just go apologize.”

That visibly shocks Jet Star just a bit, simply because Poison has never apologized for anything, and everyone was sure he’ll never do such a thing, but things change, especially because Poison is starting to realize what he’ll have to do.

When he opens the door to Ghoul’s room, no one’s there. It’s stuffy and emptier than the desert itself, and it takes Poison a moment to register what he sees. There’s a mess on the floor, as if the Killjoy was in a hurry to get somewhere, the drawers of supplies are open, and Poison feels a cold chill run down his spine. He shoots headfirst into the drawer, rummaging through it, looking for that one thing that Ghoul can’t live without, and he can’t find it. He can’t find it.

So Poison runs to Kobra’s room, catching Jet Star’s attention, who’s pointlessly looking through their map of the Zones, and the same mess greets him. It’s almost like Ghoul went through both rooms, searching for what he thought was necessary because Kobra’s supply drawer has also been opened. And it’s also gone.

Poison really wishes he could kill himself right about now.

~*~

The Trans Am’s motor makes a noise as if it’s about to break down and explode, but Poison doesn’t care. He’s been with the Killjoys too long to lose them, he’ll find them at all costs. The car is going far too fast for its own good, it will break down in any minute, but all he can think of is to go faster.

Jet Star stayed at the gas station, in case the two idiots decide to return. What were they thinking? Clearly, it’s Ghoul’s doing. Poison hopes that it’s Ghoul’s doing because he’s taught Kobra to be better than that.

“So fucking stupid,” he mutters to himself. Sand is flying into his eyes through the rolled down window as the car speeds down the empty broken road, passing an occasional cactus or desert tree. Poison swears that he’ll blow Ghouls’ brains out when he finds him, then hang Kobra by his jacket because what was so fucking confusing about stick together. What was so fucking confusing about not going there anymore either.

Poison doesn’t even know how they got there because it’s a long drive as it is, and walking is even worse, not to mention they wouldn’t even have made it without dying from heat exhaustion. Poison’s sure that they’re there, why else take the helmets?

When the place comes into view, he slams the breaks down, and as the car screeches slowly to a stop. His gaze doesn’t leave the tracks. He searches for the two idiots on the race roads, expecting to see Ghoul’s yellow jacket along with a cactus joint somewhere, but the valley-like roads only show dust and the dead spirits of famous Killjoy racers. Poison’s heart clenches because he remembers them, and he misses them, and the few Killjoys left are fucking around after an argument like children. They’ve got no respect for the dead.

Just as Poison jumps out of the car, turning around in a frantic, searching for the two among the long, curvy roads, the faint hum of a motorbike reaches his ears. He turns to face it, and it’s not long before Ghoul’s helmet comes into view, speeding down the roads until, eventually, it zooms past him. A few moments later, in which he stands, dumbfounded, Kobra zooms by even faster. Then it hits him, the two are racing like the fucking idiots they are. Where the fuck did they even get bikes?

And as if the heat has completely obliterated what’s left of their senses, the two Killjoys ignore Poison like he’s just desert dust and speed up, following the race track without a care in the world. Instead of finding a compromise, instead of helping The Girl, they’re just having fun. They’re having fun here.

Ghoul should be the first to help. The first to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness.

Poison fucking hates them. And he hates this fucking track.

But he’s got an idea. He sits in the Trans Am, the motor on and ready, watching his mirrors for the faintest of yellows or reds, hardly breathing from how hard he’s focused. When Ghoul and Kobra reappear for the second time, they speed past, Poison slams the gas down and speeds off with them.

Now, there’s absolutely no way that the old car can handle that kind of drive, the roads are twisted and uneven, and it’s an absolute fucking Deathwish to be biking on them, so it’s not until Ghoul’s behind him again and about to zoom by for the third time that Poison sets his plan into action. He turns the wheel right while Ghoul’s nearing him, blocking the road as the bike’s skyrocketing at full speed. The asshole turns sharply to the right as if in a panic, and hits the border of the track, then part of the Trans Am. The impact sends Party’s head forward. The Killjoy flies over and lands in the sand in front, rolling around until he hits the border of the track and doesn’t move.

Poison’s breathing is heavy and his hands are gripping the wheel as he looks at Ghoul’s lifeless body, his helmet turned just a bit to the side and his chest is still, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. The spiteful ones live the longest, as they say. Poison’s not the least bit worried, instead in shock, his veins pumping with adrenaline, and he watches
Ghoul through the cloud of dust that formed under the tires.

The faint hum of another bike fills his ears, and he sits still as Kobra jumps off and runs to Ghoul, taking off his helmet in an instant to listen to a heartbeat that’s hopefully still there. Judging by the look on Kobra’s face, there’s nothing to worry about because he’s angry instead of upset. Poison lets out a breath, the adrenaline leaves his body and the realization sets in. He almost killed Ghoul. He almost killed one of the last Killjoys.

Then Kobra’s rushing to the Trans Am, Poison doesn’t miss the way his hand’s on his gun, and before anything can be done, Poison steps out of the car, meeting Kobra’s head with his own weapon. He knows he won’t shoot. He knows he’s too afraid to lose his brother. But he doesn’t lower his hand, and Kobra doesn’t back down. They exchange an angry glance, Poison watches how Kobra grips his gun, debating whether or not to point it.

“Calm the fuck down,” is what he settles on because quite frankly, Kobra looks like he’s about to kill him. After hearing a huff, Poison steps back and puts the gun in its holster, walking past Kobra without looking him in the eye. He picks up Ghoul and drags him to the backseat of the car. Kobra’s angry, but it’s not long before the third Killjoy is in the car, and they speed away home.

“You’re a fucking animal,” Kobra says, eyeing Ghoul passed out in the back. As for his statement, Poison thinks that ‘animal’ as a description doesn’t suit him. He’s more relentless when it comes to getting what he wants, after all, Killjoys are like that, and Poison is an extreme.

He shrugs in return. “I guess Ghoul was right then. I’m selfish, relentless, and choose The Girl over all of you. I’m the worst fucking person in the world, worse than them and their fucking bullshit, worse than those who’ve killed the rest of us, and worse than all those who’ve tricked us into doom. Fucking yes, Kobra, I’m the worst motherfucker in the world for wanting to save one of the last people who mean something to me, and not wanting to let her perish under them. I’m fucking sorry, yeah?” Poison lets out a long breath and grips the steering wheel so tightly, he thinks it might burst. He hears nothing from Kobra’s direction, and maybe that’s for the best because he doesn’t want that gun to be used anytime soon.

“Forget risking your lives for her anyway. I’ve got a new plan.”

There’s no other way anyway. There’s no way he’s going to be able to rely on Ghoul, now is there.

Chapter 2: Knives in the backs of Martyrs

Summary:

Party Poison leaves, only to find out that nothing is like it was before.

“You fucking twerp!” Ghoul throws a pebble at Poison, then ducks down behind the counter as if expecting one to be thrown back. Poison doesn’t retaliate because he thinks throwing stones is too childish, even for them. Instead, he stands firmly by the window, his worry and concern for Ghoul’s wellbeing gone with the tumbleweeds of the desert. Even though the Killjoy’s got a bandage on his arm from flying over a car, he still throws rocks pretty well.

Ghoul then reappears with a larger pebble and throws it again, Poison moves his head a bit to the side, the stone hits the wall instead, and a smirk threatens to appear on his face.

“You missed.”

Just then, another pebble hits the side of Poison’s forehead as he’s turning his head, and the smirk disappears because he can feel the trickle of blood. He angrily looks at the rebellious Killjoy, and instantly, Ghoul is under the counter again, probably afraid of something bigger than just a pebble.

“Forget everything I said about saving The Girl! All right? Forget it!” Poison shouts across the room, even Kobra’s appeared at those words. Silence suddenly rings through the gas station as the Killjoys wait for what’s more to come from him.

Ghoul’s eyes pop out from under the counter, letting Poison know he’s listening but rather distrustfully regarding more pebbles. With fear, Poison looks at the floor for a moment, at his dusty shoes, then sits at their dented table (since it’s been thrown around a lot), and sighs. From the corner of his eye, he notices how Ghoul carefully stands, and he’s the first to sit at the table with him. Poison doesn’t start talking, so Kobra sits down after a moment, and they wait silently for Jet Star. Poison is too busy thinking about what to say.

The decision is obvious. It’s already been made.

Jet Star appears shortly, stops walking to the entrance of the store to grill lunch, and instead sits with the rest, joining everyone’s expectant looks directed toward Poison. So Poison begins.

“We all know how important The Girl is to me, yes?”

Everyone nods reluctantly, everyone except Ghoul, but Poison can see that he understands. Poison hates him for everything, honestly, but he’s never blamed him. He takes a deep breath, scans all of their expressions and looks at his hands folded neatly together on the table.

“We also know that she’s one of the last remaining Killjoys, much like ourselves, yes?” He just wants to clarify that everyone understands that in this case, the pros outweigh the cons, even if a con is death.

“Finally, we know that Better Living has her. And they have plans, obviously, and we know that we don’t know what those plans are. Most likely, they’ll turn her.” Silence echoes heavily through the store. No one says a word, but Poison knows they all agree. Even Ghoul.

From here, Poison isn’t sure how to continue. He’s got too many things to say, they’re all of equal importance and should all be said firstly. His fingernail taps the table repetitively, to the point where Kobra stares at him like he’s insane, Ghoul groans quietly to himself, and Jet Star just waits. Poison knows how important this is. This will probably be their last conversation as the four Killjoys.

“I’ve made a decision. As the leader of the four Killjoys, I’ve made a decision for all of us,” he starts. Despite his strength and bravery, he’s afraid of what the others will say. “You’ve all said that you don’t want to die for The Girl, that she doesn’t matter any more than you do. Well, the plan has changed since then,” He pauses. “None of you are going.”

Silence echoes through the building, Poison swears that as he stares at his fingers, he can hear the wind outside, throwing the sand around. It’s suddenly too bright for him to handle, and he hides behind his fiery red hair.

There suddenly comes another slam against the table, he can tell it’s from Ghoul.

“Bullshit.”

Everyone looks up to see Fun Ghoul, his back straight and his gaze full of life, and he stares right into Poison, who’s obtained a look of defeat. Ghoul doesn’t say anything more, maybe because he’s realized what Poison actually meant. Maybe he’s realized that there will possibly be only three Killjoys left and that there’s no way Poison won’t at least try to save The Girl.

Kobra suddenly turns his head. “You’re going alone?”

Poison looks at him for a moment, then at everyone else. Ghoul is still upright and alert, and Jet Star resembles nothing other than a disappointed father. “Yes and no. I’m going without the Killjoys, but not entirely alone. I’m taking the Martyrs.”

Poison stares mostly at Ghoul because well, he’s right in front of him, and he seems to carry the most emotion at the moment. Poison also wants to observe what the Killjoys’ future leader will have to say. He’s not entirely disappointed.

“You’re fucking stupid. You’re a moron, you know that?”

“Actually, I believe that ‘Killjoy’ and ‘moron’ aren’t all that different in the first place.”

Poison’s joke doesn’t make anyone laugh. In fact, it only upsets Ghoul more.

“You’re going to waltz headfirst into Better Living, take The Girl, and leave? That’s your master plan?”

“That’s always been my plan. Its execution is really the only thing that changes.”

“The Martyrs won’t help you,” Ghoul tries instead.

“They will, don’t worry.”

At that, Kobra looks at him strangely. Of course, he doesn’t say anything, instead switches his gaze over to Jet Star, but there’s nothing interesting on his face either.

“It’s settled then,” he adds.

“No, it’s fucking not!” Ghoul yells.

Poison looks at him. Since nothing important has been said, he decides that their conversation is finished. He stands, tucks the chair in neatly, and stares at it. It’s the leader’s chair, and it’s been his for a while now. For some reason, Poison really can’t help but think he’ll die. Maybe that’s because there’s no realistic way he’ll survive the dozens of reinforcements that BL has, not to mention S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, which is really something else as well, plus the fact that he’s too proud to just escape. Poison also wants to send a message to them, so all in all, he knows he won’t live through it, and he wants to make it seem like he’ll come back.

“Ghoul, you’ll be in charge while I’m gone.”

Only his footsteps are heard as he walks to his room and shuts the door. He tells himself to think of The Girl rather than death, and how scared she must be. Everything inside hurts, but he knows he can’t stop. Ghoul won’t bother him anymore. They won’t throw stones at each other. He won’t eat lizards. He won’t see his brother anymore. While that all terrifies him, he just can’t leave The Girl alone.

It almost feels like he’s saying goodbye as he cleans up all his things. The only thing he plans on taking with him is MouseKat which completes his rebellious Killjoy look as he stares at himself in the mirror. His fiery hair is covered by the furry blue helmet, the yellow bandana is tied firmly around his leg, and his gun’s in its holster. Poison’s fucking ready to take them all on.

There’s another slam against the table that echoes through the building, though his gaze remains on himself in the mirror. The slam’s clearly from Ghoul again because he hears a muffled yet clear “Fuck!” and knows that it will only be harder to leave with every passing second. He slips out the window of the room – saying goodbye will hurt too much – then he’s gone with the sunset of the desert.

~*~

Not taking the Trans Am was probably the worst decision of his life. Poison’s so tired, he thinks he might die. The desert is cold, wind howls through the canyons, and every corner looks the same. Poison’s too afraid to admit that he’s lost.

With what little energy he has left, his feet tread through the sand. Water is literally the only thing on his mind right now, and the only thing he hears is his panting. He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking. It feels like years. It’s probably only been about ten hours. Suddenly, everything becomes blurry, and Poison falls to his knees, he could have sworn that the village was just around here. But he says nothing aloud because his body falls flat into the sand.

~*~

The curtains move from the slight wind, letting a warm breeze rush through the tent. It’s bright there and just a bit noisy from the wood chimes that are hitting each other. A scorpion crawls out of the sand just outside, then disappears back in, probably thinking that the sun’s too hot, and that it’s gotten away. It hasn’t, though, because a Martyr stabs it with a long, red hot poker, the singeing of flesh and a wail are hardly audible, and it’s being pulled from the sand, twitching with the last of its power.

The Martyr brings the poker upwards, sniffing the critter, then walks into the tent, where Poison sits on his makeshift bed, already awake, already alert, and thirsty out of his fucking mind. He knows exactly where he is, although he’s not sure how he got there, and the fried scorpion is a sight he’ll never get used to.

“You’re awake,” the Martyr says into his scarf, staring at the large blue MouseKat head. Poison respects that they haven’t taken his mask off when they found him, although it’s been incredibly hard to breathe. He doesn’t even know how he’s lived through all that.

“And thirsty,” he adds.

With that, the Martyr disappears with the scorpion, giving Poison time to think. The Killjoy isn’t sure when Martyrs started to wear scarves, he also isn’t sure who that person was because their whole face was covered. He can’t help but fear that the village is hiding from BL now, which he can’t have because he needs a team. A team to ‘waltz headfirst into it,’ as Ghoul had put it.

Shortly, the Martyr appears with a small glass of water, and Poison gladly takes it into his hands, but he doesn’t want them to see who he is. So he sits there sheepishly, holding that glass of water and staring as the Martyr stares back.

“Something else?” they ask.

“Yeah. I’d like to speak with Green Tree.” In Poison’s opinion, that’s only a name a Killjoy would carry. And in a way, Green is a Killjoy, just more selfless, or so he’d been in the past.

The two walk through the village, where Martyrs are up and about, cooking, gathering supplies, running around. To Poison, it looks more like an olden village; the underdeveloped, pre-apocalyptic places where people lived. Everything here is like in Ancient Egypt, although Poison’s never been there. He’s only heard stories of such.

Like an idiot, he carries the glass of water in his hand while others stare at him through their white scarves. No one there looks familiar because they’re all hidden behind the cloth. He doesn’t remember his mother covering her face with a dusty, lifeless tone, he doesn’t remember the Martyrs staring at color as if it was extraterrestrial. Things have changed, he supposes, but he’s not sure if he wants to know why. Martyrs used to be better than this.

The tent they reach is larger than the rest and visibly dirtier. It’s holding on by shreds, definitely old as well, and Poison has a flashback of when he used to see his mother there. The memory slows his steps for a second.

The Martyr holds back the flimsy entrance for Poison to walk in, and the Killjoy hesitates momentarily. His hand absentmindedly reaches out to the clothed person next to him, handing them the untouched glass of water, and he enters the tent, feeling the curtain fall behind him.

It’s quiet. Serene. There’s color everywhere, unlike the rest of the village. There are posters of the past Killjoys, loosely strapped to the fabric wall; there are souvenirs, microphones, hats, and guns, piled around messily yet somehow in order. Poison’s eyes almost fall out of their sockets at the sight of the old masks, he even recognizes one similar to his mother’s. Maybe it actually is his mother’s.

Green Tree is nowhere to be seen. Poison knows he’s here, though, because it smells incredulously of dates, sweet and soft. There’s something that resembles Iggy Pop playing on an old speaker somewhere, Poison really doesn’t understand how the hell Tree, who lives in a fucking tent, leads a better life than the Killjoys.

There’s a bed off to the side where Poison decides he should sit and wait for Tree, humming to the tune of a song that sounds vaguely familiar. He doesn’t sit for very long because soon, a familiar white figure pops its head in with nothing but curiosity in its eyes, but its face is also covered in a scarf, and Poison just doesn’t understand what that’s about.

The figure steps in while he watches carefully, the scarf is taken off, and there’s a huge grin on a familiar face that he’s just been dying to see. The one and only Green Tree.

“Party!”

Tree’s taking off the white cover entirely, revealing nothing but color underneath as he runs to bring the Killjoy into a hug. He smells like dates as well, and Poison’s drooling because he hasn’t eaten those for the longest time. While they pull apart, Tree’s smiling wildly as if someone had just given the answer to all of his problems.

“You look happier to see me than I do,” Poison grins back, Tree joins him on the bed.

“Welcome back, my friend. Someone told me you were in town. They treat you well here?”

“Undoubtedly,” Poison says, although he’s slept through most of the hospitality. “I especially love the music.”

At that, Tree lets out a laugh, kicking off his dusty shoes and falling onto the bed, making the old mattress squeak just a bit. Poison watches him until the attention’s on him mixed with a curious look.

“So what brings you here then, huh, Killjoy?”

“A favor.”

Tree hums. Poison senses disappointment.

“Please, Green.”

Tree pulls himself off the bed with a sigh while Poison watches. The Martyr’s blue shirt blends in with the colorful background as he takes out a box from under the bed, opens it, and puts something in his mouth, meeting the Killjoy’s empty MouseKat stare.

“That fucking mask will be the death of me,” Tree says with his mouth full. “Date?”

“Water, please, actually.”

After some time, they haven’t said much more to each other, only sitting on the ground with their legs crossed like children, with Poison still in his mask as he stares at the pile of fruit in front of him. He holds his glass of water, but he can’t find the will to drink because he suspects that Green Tree’s changed, and taking MouseKat off is like revealing his identity all over again.

Finally, though, he takes off his mask, meeting Tree’s curious gaze. His hair feels disheveled and sweaty, his face has bits of sand on it, and his lips are drier than the desert as he opens his mouth for a breath of air. MouseKat sits right to him now, and hungrily, Poison swallows the glass of water in what seems like a fraction of a second, all while Tree’s watching him with a smirk.

“You’ve changed,” Tree says.

“Older. I’m still a Killjoy.”

“There’s no doubt about that.” He pauses. “Your forehead’s got blood on it.”

Poison grins. “That’s Ghoul for you.”

Tree sips something in a mug, which Poison thinks is date tea because the whole village reeks of the sweet smell. He didn’t think that things would have changed so much, he didn’t think he’d ever have to see this fuckface ever again, but there he is, sitting and eating cheap fruit that miraculously started growing in the desert. He didn’t know that anything but cactuses grow in the desert at all anymore.

“How are the rest of them?” Tree asks. It takes Poison a moment to figure out what’s being questioned of him, and he frowns when Ghoul’s face appears in his head. He feels guilty.

“Fine.”

“Your favor then?” Tree puts his mug down. Poison does the same.

“The Martyrs, well. They've changed, haven't they?”

Tree frowns, moving his gaze onto the floor, and doesn’t say anything. Poison knows something’s happened to them. He can’t quite figure out what because the Martyrs have never been known to be afraid. There are rumors that they even have a sorcerer who’s kept them hidden, helping them do their good to people who need it. Poison doesn’t know much about that, though. His mother had never told him.

When Tree’s frown doesn’t go away, the Killjoy starts to think maybe he’s done something wrong. “Green, if I said something-”

“No. It’s not you,” he says and stands, picking up both mugs, and puts them somewhere into the mess of souvenirs, Poison just notices how his cup had the symbols I ♥ NY in big red letters. He’s uneasy.

“Green Tree?”

The Martyr is looking at his fabric wall filled with posters, the lives of the most fabulous Killjoys, and Poison can feel his sadness, maybe even regret. When Tree turns to look at him, a cold chill runs down his spine and doesn’t go away until the Martyr averts his gaze.

“Come walk with me.”

Green Tree and MouseKat walk side-by-side along the edge of the village, out of sight from most others. There are a few who turn their heads and stare strangely, Poison thinks that’s because Tree isn’t wearing the white cloak and scarf anymore, but they’re suggested to turn away by the look on their leader’s face.

“No one’s called us The Martyrs in a long time, Party Poison,” Tree begins, and Poison is listening intently. “After your mother’s group left, there were only a few of us in the village. When she didn’t come back, we knew that our few were the only ones alive.”

Poison swallows down air, staring at the sand that sticks under their boots. It’s incredibly hot under the sun, and MouseKat only makes him sweat more, but he waits patiently for something else to be said.

“Then Better Living found us,” Tree sighs. “The Sorcerer promised we’d be hidden from everyone, including Killjoys, but as soon as the village was raided by them, he was nowhere to be found. Dead. And when you didn’t show up to become a Martyr after your mother, we knew we had no choice but to do what they said.” He stops walking to look Poison right in the eye. “I became a leader without any power. We’re under them now, looking for Killjoys to send their way, to finish off the last of you.”

Poison stiffens at the thought of being betrayed like that. He's standing still. It’ll be an easy way in, but he’d rather die than get turned. Even though Tree can’t see his face under MouseKat, it’s pretty obvious what he’s thinking.

The Martyr takes a suggestive step forward. “Don’t worry about that for now, though. None here have even seen a Killjoy before. I purposely haven’t given them the wanted posters, or the vivid description of color,” he jokes, but Poison doesn’t laugh.

“Why are you telling me this?” the Killjoy asks instead.

“For you to understand that whatever favor you wanted from the Martyrs can’t happen. Most of us aren’t even Martyrs anymore. They’re a few slobs that BL didn’t feel like keeping. Quite frankly, there are only four of the real us left. And one of them is the one I sent to look after you.”

Poison doesn't move, staring into Tree’s back before it turns to look at him. “So what now? Four of you left, no sorcerer, and you stay under their power like this?”

Tree doesn’t say anything, he watches the fur in front of him instead. Poison continues, “What about those posters on your wall? You’ve got the very best up there for god’s sake! And the few masks our Killjoys wore!”

Tree starts to shush him, urges him to calm down, but Poison’s blood is pumping so heavily that he can hear it through the mask. How dare Green Tree pretend to be one of the Killjoys when following BL’s orders? If he was a true Killjoy, he’d rebel until death, and he’d die with his mask on, not a fucking white scarf. Poison won’t have it. He wants to forget about ever asking for help from this traitor.

“My mother’s mask is in your room! My mother’s!” Poison tries to whisper and fails, instead, the words come out venomously. Suddenly, his hand’s on his gun, and Tree definitely notices that because his eyes darken with fear.

“Party Poison, you know I had no choice! They would have killed us all!”

“You should have fought for yourself and died with your mask on. You should have been ghosted like the rest of us!” he says, but the gun isn’t pulled out of the holster and it isn’t pointed. Poison can’t help but want to give him a chance.

“You know I’m a Killjoy. You know that I would never give up one of our own,” Tree whispers.

There’s the reason that Poison has been afraid of being put into words. It’s true. Green Tree, just like many Martyrs before him, is a Killjoy. In the end, though, Poison thinks he should decide. He's better - the leader of the Killjoys - so Tree answers to him. They’re all supposed to answer to the one and only Party Poison.

Now he finds out that there are only four left, all wearing white gowns instead. Poison looks at Tree’s blue shirt and reminds himself of the posters in the tent. The Martyrs have been holding on, there’s no doubt about that, but they’ve chosen to fall under different command. They’ve chosen not to die with glory.

“You make me sick,” is what Poison grits through his small, crooked teeth. Tree deflates like a balloon under him, Poison is suddenly towering over him like a giant with his hand on the ray gun, but nothing more is done because the Killjoy walks away.

He walks back to the tent and scans the tables. His mother’s mask catches his eye rather quickly, so he grabs it, tucks it into a pocket, and leaves, hearing how Green Tree runs into the tent and struggles to put the gown and scarf on.

He doesn’t look back as he hears Tree’s yells, the fake Martyrs eye him suspiciously, but Tree didn’t lie, they actually don’t know what a Killjoy looks like because he walks right out of the village. Suddenly, it becomes quiet. When Poison turns around to look behind him, the village is gone. It’s vanished by the magic of their sorcerer, who Poison suspects is still alive. Most likely, Tree lied about that. Killjoys don’t lie.

One thing’s for sure in Party Poison’s mind as he walks through the sand, under the scorching sun. Ghoul was right: the Martyrs didn’t help him. Jet Star was right: he was stupid to think they would. Kobra Kid was right: Party Poison is a fucking idiot with a Deathwish. He’s a fucking idiot who wants his Killjoys back now, but they’re probably a million miles away, and The Girl isn’t any closer to being saved. All in all, it’s been a terrible day.

Then, he thinks he must be all the way in Zone 6.

The sand feels like hell under his feet. There’s another overwhelming sense of dread hanging over his head as if the scorching evening sun isn’t enough. Party’s just a few waterless moments away from having a panic attack. The blue Pegasus jacket is drenched with sweat, and his pants feel like they’re ripping at the seams. His hair is flowing lazily in the slight wind, MouseKat firm in his grasp, and he treads through.

He doesn’t know how many days it’s been, how long ago Green Tree, one of the last Martyrs alive, stabbed him in the back and left the knife inside. Poison feels so betrayed because his mother used to be part of that team. The leader of the team. He remembers how she told stories of one little boy who was going to grow up to become something the Martyrs needed. Now, Poison just wants to go back and stab that little boy in return, to show his mother how wrong she was. It’s no use, though, because this Killjoy is unbelievably and utterly lost.

On top of that, his eyes must be playing tricks on him. He’s seeing something that can’t be there, just can’t, it must be the dehydration. What he sees, is a small little building, much like the gas station back home in Zone 4. It’s been a speck in his vision for a long time, only now he can see some details as his feet carry him with whatever energy they’ve got left.

The word Diner sticks out the most to him. There may be something else written, but everything’s too faded to make out, especially for Poison. Even if it is a mirage, he will not lose hope, he tells himself, but his body is slowly shutting down, and there’s hardly a chance of survival anymore. Not unless there’s actually someone there, and they’re looking out the window right now, waiting to help with a bucket of cold water. But that’s too much of a luxury to even imagine.

Poison’s closer and closer to the Diner with every step. He’s practically at the door. Not much is visible through the windows, they look like they haven’t been washed since the beginning of everything, but he can’t tell where the hinges are. He can’t find the handle, his hands are searching the glass. It feels too rigid beneath his fingers, almost merciless. Then he’s on his knees because they’re too weak to hold him up. MouseKat’s on the ground, his hope and spirit crushed underneath him, and he cries whatever water he has left. Poison feels alone, he feels abandoned, and he sobs as his arms weakly pound on the glass. Maybe there’s just no one there. Maybe it’s just the day that the great Party Poison, leader of the Fabulous Killjoys, son of one of the most honorable Martyrs of all time, and friend to many who’ve needed him, gets ghosted.

It could just be that kind of day.

Notes:

It's already started to snow here. Hope it's not too confusing, but this is my original(?) little addition to this universe. Comment, please?

Chapter 3: Traffic Report

Summary:

Party gets judged by his hair color in this one.

“I had to see it to believe it.”

“His hair’s a little redder in the posters. Are you sure it’s him?”

“You’re going to judge him by hair color? Pony, I can’t believe you.”

“It’s just that I don’t see this dude living up to your stories, I just can’t, it’s-”

“No, no. It’s him. It’s definitely him.”

“And you’re sure he hasn’t been turned, then thrown out in Killjoy clothes to find the rest?”

“Pony. That’s ridiculous. Dracs would never think of that. They hardly know how to point guns in the right direction.”

“Then what the hell is he doing so far out of Battery City?”

There are hushed whispers that slowly make Poison stir. Something soft cradles him, like a warm blanket perhaps, and there’s something soft under his head. He can’t imagine still being alive, there’s got to be a reason for that, he thinks. Otherwise, he would have been ghosted a long time ago, burned to a crisp under the sun and disappearing with the rest of the desert. Yet twice now (Party’s having an incredible sense of déjà vu), he’s waking up in an unknown place, with some unknown people, who have some unknown stories to tell.

He’s just afraid of what it’s going to be this time.

It takes him some time, but he opens his eyes, and he can’t fucking believe it.

It’s dimly lit, maybe by a candle (really, Party wouldn’t be surprised), but he can’t be wrong about the large figure standing in the small room: the face of which he’s seen rarely, but the voice of which he can never be mistaken of.

“Fuck,” is what he says aloud, although it just slipped out on its own. Poison’s aware he’s been staring for a few moments now and doing nothing more, then he sees another figure nearby. It’s shorter, definitely more slender. One word to describe it would be polka dots – even in the dark – polka dots, a crop top, and a helmet.

“You’ve got to be shitting me, Dr. D. Party Poison doesn’t freeze like that,” the smaller figure says, crossing its arms. If he could, Poison would put them in their place, whoever they are.

“Maybe he’s just a fan,” Dr. Death Defying smirks, meanwhile the Killjoy is trying to gather his energy to say something else. Because he doesn’t freeze. If anything, he’s been closer to setting himself on fire under the scorching sun.

~*~

“We thought you’ve been ghosted for real,” Dr. D. says. Poison sits in front of him, his gaze on the upcoming sunset, and a cup of something or other in his hands. He trusts Dr. D., although he’s not sure how much.

“Found you right at our doorstep,” he continues, “out cold and hardly breathing. You four have been under the radar for quite a bit. I haven’t made any reports,” he shrugs, “although-”

“No.” Party looks at his mug, then back to the sunset. At home, at the gas station, the hills cover the sun, and the Killjoys can’t look at it in its finest beauty. He’s jealous of Dr. Death Defying even though he’s always thought he hated the sun. “No reports. No one can know I’m here.”

“And why’s that?” Dr. D doesn’t have a look on his face that matches his tone. Party eyes him for a bit, then a shadow appears among the other tables in the diner. Someone who Dr. D. has called Show Pony. They don’t speak, instead just lean against the wall with their arms crossed. It seems to be their favorite way of standing.

“Because.” Party has a sudden feeling that he’s being watched. “I came from the Martyrs. Chances are they’re going to be looking for me.”

“And what?”

“I don’t want them to know where I am.”

The atmosphere in the room suddenly quiets down, but Poison’s enjoying the sunset. He doesn’t drink from his cup, although the other two in the room are probably hardly noticing that.

“He’s running, Dr. D.,” Pony says suddenly. “He’s running for the hills. Killjoys don’t run. They stare danger in the face.”

“This danger has too many faces. I don’t know where to stare first,” Party defends.

Dr. D sits straight, another indecipherable expression his face. “Party Poison, what the hell happened to you?”

Poison doesn’t answer. His eyes tiredly roam over the Dr.’s, and he finally sets the untouched cup down onto the table between them. Show Pony takes a mocking step forward, and Poison can see the warning glance that Dr. D. gives them. He ignores them both.

“The great Party Poison, with his flaming red hair, and his yellow bandana. The great Party Poison,” they take a step forward “is afraid of a few enemies?”

Suddenly, their figure is towering over him, almost blocking the view of the sun. If he missed the setting, he would’ve had them standing on the opposite end of a gun.

“Unless you’re running from your friends?” Pony suggests scornfully.

“Killjoys never turn their backs on one another. Even you should know that,” he answers firmly, then look to Dr. D. with a serious face. “There’s a problem. With the Martyrs. And there’s a problem. The one that sent me to them in the first place.”

“But you’re alone?”

“The boys and I have had a disagreement. In this, I’m very much alone.”

Pony’s been ordered to leave, which Poison is sure doesn’t have them very happy. The sun is finally gone, and the looming darkness that’s spread across the desert lets him focus.

He doesn’t quite know what to say or how to say it, but Dr. D. waits patiently, which he’s grateful for.

Poison leans against the cushion of the booth. “You’re Dr. Death Defying. You’ve given hope to lost souls, crushed it for others. More importantly, you report the truth. Is that so?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Poison glances at him momentarily. “Some time ago, I met someone. As of right now, they’re very dear to me. They hold a significant place in my heart, and maybe they’re the reason why I occasionally resemble less of the renowned and reckless Party Poison.” Even though Dr. D. may not suspect anything, Poison can hear Show Pony shift in their hiding place. They’re obviously eavesdropping. “This person is originally from Better Living.”

Dr. D. stiffens, and Party takes his time to wait for a response, though none comes.

“Recently, one of the Killjoys took her somewhere nearby for an adventure of sorts. To the racetrack. And came back without her.” Poison’s vaguely aware that he’s revealed more information than he intended, but now he’s just pissed at Ghoul for ever having that adventurous idea. Now he just hates that racetrack. Ghoul should’ve been ghosted for her, not for Party to find him bruised and bleeding because he fought a bit, then hid.

“Party, this girl, she could be gone. She could be ghosted. Or turned.”

“I don’t want to believe that.”

“How long?”

Poison doesn’t answer because he knows what’s going to be said.

“How long?” Dr. D. repeats.

“Two weeks.”

There comes no answer. He’s forced to look at him.

“Poison, they wouldn’t keep anyone alive for that long. They wouldn’t keep anyone alive for three days.” He sighs, matching the Killjoy’s distant gaze that lingers somewhere on the sand outside. “It’s like clockwork there. They take someone the moment they’re needed. Show Pony knows all about it. They’ll tell you.”

“BL would keep her alive.”

“Yeah, if they wanted you.” Dr. D. initially has a sarcastic tone in his voice. Then his face falls. “Unless they wanted you.”

Poison doesn’t answer because he’s suspected something like this all along. BL wants the Killjoys. They have to want the Killjoys or else there’s absolutely no reason for The Girl to still be alive. Dr. D.’s breathing slows, and he has a regretful expression on his face.

“So why are you alone in this?” he asks firstly. Poison knows, however, that the man has many other questions, though they may never be answered.

“We had a disagreement. I wanted to save her, but two of us voted against that.”

“Fun Ghoul?”

Poison cringes at the name. He misses them.

“And what about the third? The one who took your side?” Dr. D asks.

“He’s flexible. If it’s for the greater good, he’ll side with whatever’s right. But I couldn’t.” Poison looks at his fingers. “I couldn’t make Jet Star side with me just to even out the vote. Fun Ghoul’s my right hand. Kobra’s always been with me. They disagreed, and the vote was over before it even started.”

Poison hopes he’s not making a mistake in telling Dr. Death Defying this. He can never be certain that he’s not two-faced, although, he supposes, no one can be sure of his own intentions either. It’s like stabbing in the dark for everyone.

“But Party, you’re the leader. They do what you say.”

“I can’t force them. I will never be that kind of a leader. Don’t even think of me like that.” He stares at him warningly. “I know your broadcasts. I’ve listened to them, I’ve listened to the names of the ghosted that you give out every week. I’ve listened to the tone of your voice, your sincerity. And the way you talk about us, about the Fabulous Killjoys, you already know that we’re not like that. That I’m not like that. If we do it, we do it as a team, or else there’s no way that we get out of it alive.”

“I understand.” Although, it doesn’t seem like he does. “You’re friends, family. Not a leader and his followers.”

Poison doesn’t have to say anything because Dr. D. knows that’s the truth. It’s out in the open, and it’s been out in the open since the beginning. Perhaps, it’s one of the reasons that Killjoys are so hated by Better Living.

“As for the Martyrs,” Poison continues since the silence was starting to drag on, “you know that they’re… that they’re related to me in a personal way.”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“Well, they are. Green Tree is their leader. He was an apprentice of the previous leader, back when the group was still called The Martyrs on the streets of Battery City. Legend had it that they helped. That they recruited and saved people. That’s why they were called Martyrs – they died more than anything.”

“I’m well aware of the story. You forget what I’ve been through, Killjoy.”

Poison spares Dr. D. a glance in silence. “They were colorful, like Killjoys. We were practically one family. That’s what you don’t know. And then the leader died.”

“She was an extraordinary woman,” Dr. D. says suddenly, but Party knows it better than him.

“So Green Tree took her place. I was asked to, at first. But I refused. I’m a Killjoy. And I never wanted to unite the adventurous and reckless, with the selfless. I chose my family.” Even though, quite frankly, his mother was probably worth more than just a quick empty funeral. Now, Poison thinks he should’ve stepped in.

He continues. “Green Tree said that they were attacked and that no one was left alive. The village comes in black and white now, with four Martyrs to the Martyr name. The rest – hundreds – are all Dracs. Or something of the sort. I left without asking for their help.”

Dr. D. suddenly looks tired. “I know you may feel betrayed. But in this world, I can't exactly say I'm surprised. Anything can happen after all.”

Silence.

The doctor continues, “You think that you should’ve stepped in as the leader. That you should’ve saved them all. Fought off the Dracs, kept the village. Why? What’s it to you?”

Poison won’t say. His mother’s Killjoy mask in his pocket where it should be. It reminds him of what he’s fighting for: one of the only things he’s got left. “They helped so many. And now? They can help no one.”

“Fine. I’ll report the Martyrs tomorrow. But I can’t help you.”

“That’s not all.”

Dr. D. closes his mouth instantly. He’d wanted to say something, and Poison waits because maybe it was important, but nothing is said.

“I know that the Martyrs have a sorcerer. Supposedly, he’s kept the village hidden. Green Tree told me he was dead, but he was lying.”

“Martyrs don’t lie.”

“They’re not Martyrs anymore. The village disappeared as soon as I stepped foot outside the boundary. The sorcerer’s still there.”

Dr. D. is quiet for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face. “I still can’t help you. I’ve got nothing to help you with. “ He sounds sincere. “But I can report all of it, if you’d like.”

“No. The idea is not to let anyone know anything. If Dracs hear your report, they’ll know, and I can’t have them know. Please, Dr. Death Defying.”

"Then what the hell are you going to do?"

Party looks at the dead desert. He misses her so much. "I really have no fucking clue. But I will do anything. I will do anything as long as I got someone on my side."

The doctor glances at him for a moment then reaches out his hand. Party shakes it.

"Thank you."

In this case, much to Party Poison’s limited content, all parties have agreed.

Notes:

So I didn't acknowledge this in the last chapter but these fuckers are back together, and I am perhaps the last person on the entire fucking planet to talk about this. Comment?

Chapter 4: We're All Liars

Summary:

Show Pony offers to help, but Poison is left wanting to shoot the polka dots.

Notes:

Bert McCracken makes an appearance.

“I still think you’re a fraud.” Show Pony’s figure appears in the doorway of the dimly lit room. The candles from the night before are lit again, mostly because his room doesn’t have any windows. Pony’s arms are still crossed, and their face is still hidden under a helmet.

“I don’t care.”

“But I do.” They walk into the room where Poison’s lying on the bed with a developing plan in his head. There’s no time for polka dots. “You’re not a Killjoy.”

Poison moves closer to the wall because Pony is towering over a bit too threateningly for him. They take the opportunity to sit alongside.

“Show Pony, right? I’d think that was a Killjoy name, but you’re no Killjoy either.” He turns to them. “We don’t hide with news reporters.”

“I’m not hiding. I’m his assistant. And his friend. And I don’t want to live with four frauds who carry the Fabulous name.”

“Show Pony, there’s so much more to it than just a name. We’ve got character. Difference. We’re different.”

“Too different.”

Poison grins. “You and I are the same, actually.”

Pony scoffs.

“You eavesdropped yesterday. Assistant to Dr. D. or not, friend or not, you disobeyed him. Like a rebellious Killjoy.”

“It was for the greater good.”

It’s Poison’s turn to scoff. “If only that could my excuse for everything. But this, Show Pony, what I’m doing right now, this is for the greater good.”

Pony’s quiet. It’s clear that they’re thinking. Then they say, “You asked about Better Living, and the Dr. told you that I’ve been there.”

Party stays quiet.

“I have. If this girl is so important to you, as a Killjoy, as one of the last Killjoys, I’ll help you.”

Poison turns his head against the rough pillow, but there’s nothing to look at except for a helmet. There are no eyes that leak the truth, only the tone of their voice, which Poison has no choice but to consider sincere. He turns away. “That would be greatly appreciated, yes.”

That’s how the two end up in a booth back in the diner. The sun’s in its highest peak, and the wind is so still that the smallest of sand specks won’t move. Show Pony’s sitting quietly, and Party leans against the couch cushion.

“One word,” Pony says. “Dracs. They’re everywhere. They’ve got guns, reinforcements, their aim is definitely better than a Killjoy’s. You’re not getting out of there alive. Not on your own.”

Party’s suspected that. “Where do you come in?”

“Nowhere. But I can get to the Martyrs.”

Party scoffs. “That’s no use. I’ve already been there.”

“You’ve talked to Green Tree. You called him a liar? A traitor? It’s true, they do have a sorcerer. I’ve seen him.”

“Liar.”

“It’s the truth. He’s there. And I can get you to him.”

Silence echoes through the abandoned building. Dr. D. is nowhere to be found, and Pony has this tone in their voice. Daring and adventurous. Too reckless even for Party Poison. They’re definitely crazier.

“Why would I need the sorcerer?”

“If anyone can help you, it’s him.” Pony leans forwards. “We just have to find someone to get us to him.”

“You’re talking out of your ass. There are no Martyrs left.”

“One’s enough. It won’t be Green Tree. But if there’s at least one left, one who is a true Martyr, then they’ll double-cross everyone around, all the Dracs, even if it means death, because it’s for the greater good.”

Party’s looking at them. There’s a truth to their words. It could work. But there’s an infinite amount of possibilities as to how this could go wrong. There’s an infinite amount of ways that they could die, and Dr. D.’s took fucking old to be left alone.

“What’s it to you? What’s in it?”

They shrug. “An adventure.”

“Fine. I’ll think about. But on one condition.”

Pony’s shoulders instantly slouch.

“You’re staying here.”

Pony’s quiet for a few moments. Motionless. Then, “Bullshit.”

“I can’t leave the Dr. alone. You’ll talk to me via radio.”

“Fucking bullshit, it’s my plan.”

Poison’s leans forward, poking a finger into the chipped table. “You said you wanted to help. This is the only fucking way I’ll let you.” There’s no way he’ll let them get caught.

Pony shoots themselves out from under the table. Their hands are probably looking to tighten around something. “Selfish!”

“Killjoy,” Poison corrects.

“Arrogant!”

“Killjoy.”

“A fucking moron!”

“‘Moron’ and ‘Killjoy’ are practically the same thing.” he smiles to himself. The words hurt because they were once for another stubborn and hotheaded Killjoy. He misses Fun Ghoul.

Pony turns around in an angry frantic, stomping their foot and waving their arms in the air. “A fucking egotistical piece of shit that thinks he can do anything!”

“Wow, maybe you should tell Dr. D how much you hate working here.”

But Pony doesn’t listen because they’re already out the door, childishly stomping into the desert. The sand flies around them for a bit before they disappear behind a hill.

Party Poison squints. The seat’s uncomfortable and the sun is burning him even through the window, making his head feel like it could light up in any moment. He stares at the pretty shadows around the desert. Maybe he should move here after this is all over. He likes Show Pony.

~*~

Dr. D. has a grin on his face as he wipes down the old walkie-talkies. There’s mischief in the air, Party can feel it, and it doesn’t help him focus as he studies the map Show Pony gave him. Speaking of which, they’re nowhere to be found.

“Feeling free?”

Poison scoffs to himself. Dr. D.’s been getting it all wrong lately. “I’m a Killjoy. I’m always free.”

“But maybe you finally feel free. This mission might get your blood pumping, huh? Let you loose.” Now he’s just being mean.

“Yeah, sure. Paternity makes me forget about freedom. I’m free, I am. But with her, I have a purpose. Someone to care for.”

“A dad? This girl’s your kid?” Dr. D. sets down the cleaned radios, something that resembles disbelief on his face. “Party Poison. I never would’ve thought of that.”

Poison’s really just trying to study the map. And it’s really not cooperating with him. All he can think of is how scared she must be. How alone. He hates Ghoul for ever taking her to that racetrack, for ever thinking it was a good idea, and then refusing to go and save her. He hates Ghoul.

The map is no use. With a shallow breath, Poison crumples it up and throws it across the diner with Dr. D.’s eyes on him. He thinks that if Show Pony wants to die for him, who the hell is he to stop them. They’ve got the map in their head anyway.

Poison doesn’t look at the Dr. as he stands. “Tell Show Pony that they can come with me.” And he’s out the door with MouseKat under his arm.

The sun is really burning him this time. He gets woozy from just standing. It doesn’t take long for Show Pony to appear in front of him, leaning on one hip with what he suspects is a grin on their face. It’s almost as if they’d known Party would’ve called them anyway.

“Shall we?” Poison asks, although it’s rhetorical.

“We shall.”

Show Pony’s definitely got a body. Not quite curvy, but confident, and definitely built for something like the desert. They move with such ease, Poison thinks they might not even be human, and the polka dots are so colorful in the light, he thinks may go blind.

“Staring much?” There’s a grin in their voice.

“Yeah, sure. You even got a gun?”

“Sure.”

And it seems like decades before they arrive at a vaguely familiar landscape of dunes, though Party can’t really tell because it’s all the same. It’s definitely becoming harder to breathe in MouseKat, but Pony’s having the time of their life in their helmet. Poison wonders if they even breathe at all.

They stop. Pony certainly doesn’t have their head in their ass because the walk is nothing as long as when he left the Martyrs to find other help. Unless they’re gone in the completely opposite direction. There’s nothing here for miles.

“Are you lost?” he asks.

“What makes you say that?”

“We're in the middle of nowhere.”

Pony spares him a sideways glance. “They’re right here.” They point into more empty desert space, and Poison looks at them like they’re crazy. Because really, they are.
And what was Poison thinking? Of course, the village isn’t there. Of course, it’s disappeared. And of course, he was stupid enough to think this Killjoy’s plan would work. Even with MouseKat on, he’s sure his annoyance is portrayed well enough. Show Pony scoffs.

“You think I dragged you all the way out to the furthest end of Zone 5 just to stare at sand? There’s only one way to get in this village. I want to know if you’re up for it.”

Really. They must be joking. Party’s not in the mood for jokes. “You’re relentless.” He can’t help but admire them, though. “And I’m ready. How bad can it be anyway?”

For some reason, it feels like Pony just smirked.

Their hands are going up in the air, the sass leaks through their whole body. Their head falls back, and Poison is sure that he looks obnoxious as he stares at them. It’s impossible to look away. And suddenly, possibly throughout all of Zone 5, their voices echoes.

“The Fabulous Killjoys are here!”

Then Party Poison just wants everything in the world to swallow him whole because Show Pony had conveniently left this part of the plan out. He still stands there obnoxiously, with MouseKat’s big eyes staring into nothing and a tube going into its mouth. He thinks he might die.

Show Pony’s fine, though. They’re fine, happy even. Recklessly excited, more than Party’s ever been. He’s thinking of The Girl because if his thoughts derail even for a second, the gun will be fired in the direction of the polka dots.

Then, suddenly, from under a sand dune, he sees a colorless Martyr. Its eyes are void, the scarf and gown covering everything else, and Poison keeps his hand on his gun. Pony steps in front of him, their hips swaying side to side and nothing but confidence in their voice.

“What a pleasant surprise! We were just talking about you.” Their voice doesn’t quiver. Not even for a second.

And then there are about ten others that appear from under the sand dune, marching like an army. Poison is glad Pony’s in front of him. They’re hiding his gun.

“You Martyrs. You’re nice fellas. You’ve got nice style. But not like us Killjoys, right Party Poison?”

He really wants to kill the polka dots now because what the fuck. In anger, probably, the gun is pointed at the back of Show Pony’s head, just out of view of the Martyrs.

“Right.”

They don’t move, not even when Poison cocks his gun. He tells himself that he’s hiding his weapon, but really, he just wants to shoot something. Pony just happens to be in the way.

“Now, dear folks. We’ve gotta be somewhere. Would you be kind enough to let us in?”

The Martyrs are standing rather emotionlessly, and it’s painfully inconvenient when all of them take out their guns at the same time. Like robots. This isn’t how Party remembers Dracs.

“Oh now,” Pony takes a step forward. “There’s no need for that.”

He doesn’t even blink when a Martyrs suddenly falls to the sand, thinking maybe it’s Pony’s doing. His finger’s almost pulling his own trigger by itself now, and not a minute into the fight, all the Martyrs are dust while Poison’s gun fizzles.

Pony turns around. “What the fuck? I was going to handle that.”

“I thought you started it.”

Not a moment later, another Martyr appears from under the dunes, eyes vibrant with life. Poison knows not to shoot because of the Killjoy gun they’ve got in their hand. Then the scarf is taken off and thrown to the sand by scarred hands. A Killjoy. Poison lowers his gun.

His eyes are blue, his hair a dirty blonde, and his voice is raspy from either thirst or cactus joints as he grunts. His eyes narrow on Party. “You’ve got no business in calling yourselves out like that. Though, Party Poison, you’re even better with a gun than they say.”

Party knows.

The Martyr treads through the sand, past the dead bodies that are already beginning to smell in the heat. Poison watches him carefully as he shakes Pony’s hand, then comes near him, their eyes following one another.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Party Poison.”

This man’s got charm, though Party doesn’t voice his thoughts. His gun’s back in its holster and he shakes the hand covered in scars.

“What brings you here then?” the Martyrs asks.

“You’re a Martyr?” Pony stumbles through the sand to get nearer, almost as if with jealousy that Poison’s getting all of the attention. “One of them or a traitor?”

“I’m no traitor. I’m Green Tree’s right hand. And he’s told me what you said, Party. About the Martyrs.” He looks at the empty blue stare. “Bold words for someone who walked away.”

“You sided with them,” Pony says.

Poison’s gaze doesn’t move, but he thinks this conversation is completely out of place in the midst of the heat and dead bodies.

“Does it look like I sided with them? We’re undercover, the last of us. Saved your ass, didn’t I?”

The Martyr seems to be keen on talking only to Party, and Pony steps in again, “You know me, right?”

"Yeah, I do."

"Help us?"

The Martyr raises his brow, but Pony doesn’t give him a chance to speak, “We need to see the sorcerer and then we’ll be on our way.”

Even Poison turns his head at the tone in his their voice, and the Martyr stiffens. “He's dead."

"Bullshit."

"I’m no traitor,” he says.

It takes a few moments of staring before anything is done. The Martyr is the first to walk away. He gestures for them to follow.

Chapter 5: Panic Switch

Summary:

Blood Bunny goes through one of his angsty phases in this one.

Notes:

The chapter title essentially has nothing to do with the chapter, but it's a great song by Silversun Pickups.

The village isn’t crowded anymore. In fact, there are no Martyrs in sight. Blood Bunny, the blue-eyed, dirty-blonde-haired Killjoy, says that Green Tree’s ordered them all inside their tents. That’s ridiculous.

Poison walks through with MouseKat on as if no one deserves to look at the real him. Pony’s walking by his side and gives off a feeling of uneasiness, though they’d never admit it. Poison can tell that they’re nervous.

Blood Bunny is supposedly leading them to Green Tree’s tent, but it seems tense. Party feels like maybe he’s betrayed the Martyrs somehow. His uneven breathing must be heard outside the mask because Pony’s holding his hand not a moment too late and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“We’ll find her.”

Pony’s hand feels oddly feminine - a soft, gentle touch that he didn’t think they had in them. It’s comforting. To him, it seems Pony likes to act tougher than they actually are. He squeezes it back.

“What do you think of Blood Bunny?” Party asks Pony in a whisper and lets go of their hand when it starts to feel too personal. As if he’s becoming too dependent.

Pony shrugs. “He’s a Martyr, I can see that much. He’s not a Drac for sure, but that doesn’t mean he’s got nothing to hide.”

Party’s quiet for a moment, and the three approach the big tent that he’s already seen. For some reason, it feels uglier and older this time around. He quickly turns to Pony, “I thought you said you have a gun.”

“I do.”

Blood Bunny’s holding the flimsy entrance into the tent. He himself is squinting with impatience although he doesn’t say anything. Poison suspects that he knows what they’re thinking.

Pony’s the first to go in. “Green Tree?”

When Party steps in and the curtain falls shut behind him, there’s definitely something wrong. The souvenirs which had once been messily arranged around the space are now everywhere. The floor isn’t visible anymore, it’s covered with fallen posters and broken glass. Pony’s just staring now, and Poison can see how they turn their head out of the corner of his eye.

“Was it like this last time?” they ask.

Poison can’t find the words to speak. He looks to Blood Bunny, who seems virtually unfazed. The Martyr simply steps over the mess to get to the table with the Killjoy masks, where Poison had taken his mother’s from.

“It wasn’t like this last time, was it, Party Poison?” he asks, but it doesn’t seem like he wants an answer. He picks up a Killjoy mask which Party recognizes to be Cherri Cola’s.

There’s a sting in his chest.

“You really did quite a number on Tree, telling him that he wasn’t a Killjoy anymore. That he made you sick.”

Party doesn’t answer because it’s true, and he still stands by what he’d said – it’s what he truly believes. But Blood Bunny has a look on his face: he’s expecting an answer. Poison’s ready to reach for his gun if needed.

“Killjoy,” Pony says, “You’re still a Killjoy. Green Tree is still a Killjoy. There’s no written definition of what being one means, but betrayal is definitely not in the books. If you want to do what’s right, if you want to prove to the leader of the Killjoys that you’re still worthy, then you’ll help us.” They have a warning tone in their voice that matches how Party feels. The gun is most likely still an option, even with Pony’s quick interjections.

Blood Bunny keeps his gaze on Pony for a bit, there’s a subtle smirk on his face, and suddenly, Poison can’t help but feel protective over them. Blood Bunny’s up to something. The gun comes out of its holster. It’s pointed at the Martyr, but his smirk doesn’t disappear. Poison just hopes that Pony also has a weapon.

“I suggest that you don’t do that,” Blood Bunny says dryly. He puts the mask down.

“Give me a reason not to.” Poison thinks it’s the first time he’s said something to this Martyr. It’s not the best way to start a relationship – the best to end one, though, he supposes.

Bunny walks away to the bed and sits, all while Party’s gun pointed at the space right between his eyes. Just a pull of the trigger.

“Green Tree told you that we don’t have a sorcerer. Why the hell are you waltzing into our village and asking for one?” He's got this patient look in his eye, showing off his crooked teeth as he stares right back.

“Because we don’t believe him.”

“The sorcerer doesn’t want to be found.”

“That’s not an option.”

Blood Bunny scowls in a somewhat angry way. His hands grip the edge of the bed.

“The sorcerer or you’re ghosted,” Poison says monotonously. Even he’s a bit surprised at how he sounded, though he also wants to add something along the lines of how you should’ve been, but the thought goes when Pony shifts nervously behind him.

Bunny’s face suddenly shows nothing but anger as if he knows what Poison’s thinking. “I’m no traitor.”

But Poison doesn’t shoot. He’s not stupid. He’s not going to make the rest of the robotic village run after him with blazing guns. His arm isn’t lowered, though. There’s only silence. He doesn’t want to admit defeat.

Pony steps forward after a few moments, taking their place right in-between the two men that look like they could rip each other’s throats out. Poison’s pointing the gun at the back of their head again. He thinks it’s funny.

“Listen to me, Blood Bunny. Traitor or not, taking their side wasn’t right, but no one’s blaming you.”

Poison disagrees with a quiet grunt. Bunny probably hears it because he leans over to look past Pony, but Pony sidesteps to block his view. Party’s trying to hold back a laugh.

“Why is the sorcerer hiding?”

A few moments pass with nothing happening. With nothing being said. Then, “Because he’s afraid.”

Just like Dr. D. had been surprised in finding out Party’s looking for a kid, Party’s surprised in hearing those three words. His smirk behind the mask falters, and suddenly, it’s too difficult to breathe in it. His hand’s shaking slightly, it feels like hours pass. When there’s no air left in the mask, and Party’s gasping just to fill his lungs halfway, he lowers his arm. The gun’s back in the holster, and the MouseKat is in his hands. He probably smells worse than the dead bodies out front.

“What do you mean he’s afraid?” he asks. Then he grips Pony’s shoulder and pulls them to the side. Maybe they stumble into the table, but Poison’s not sure. He’s facing Blood Bunny now, naked face and all, and the legendary red hair that falls messily around it.

“He’s afraid of S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W.”

Bullshit. “Bullshit,” Party practically screams. Blood Bunny’s getting under his skin and he knows it.

“I mean it. Green Tree has been trying to keep him hidden because otherwise, he’ll unleash all doom. The ‘crow’s better now, they say. BL’s improved him.”

Poison can’t believe this. “So what? He’s afraid of a little competitive improvement?!”

Bunny shakes his head. “Not everyone’s problems are yours, Killjoy.”

Party’s recalling a book he once read, titled ‘one thousand and one ways to kill a bitch.’ It was a good book and one of the only useful things he’s read besides Kibble ingredients. Bunny’s not amused either. He seems serious, especially with that click of his tongue.

“You’re wanted, Party Poison. All around Battery City, there are posters with your face on them. We’re scared into forgetting your heroics and remembering your mistakes. The world’s changing.”

“I know that. Don’t you think I know that? The four Fabulous Killjoys have been wanted for a very long time now, and they haven’t been caught. Except now, there are five of us. And she’s in trouble. So get me a fucking meeting with the sorcerer before I leave you bleeding alongside Green Tree’s mistakes.”

Blood Bunny looks like he didn’t know about The Girl. Well, of course, because no one does. He looks to Pony. “There’s another one?”

Silence comes from their direction, but Poison doesn’t turn his head. He thinks maybe he’s hurt them by pushing that hard, but he’d kill everyone here twice if it meant saving her. Pony’s still quiet, but Bunny’s face then shows that he has his answer. It seems that the Martyr in him wakes up.

“There are five Fabulous Killjoys? Five?” There’s hopeful disbelief in his voice.

Poison leans closer to him. “Remember your duty to us. Remember your oath.”

“It’s not like you’re ever going to let me forget it,” he grits through his teeth.

At least he caves in. There’s no telling in where Green Tree is, although Poison doesn’t ask. Pony’s walking behind him, there’s no more confidence in their step, and he’s starting to feel bad. Killjoys should know, however, not to turn on each other, not when something like a life is at stake. Poison expects their forgiveness sometime soon.

Blood Bunny’s also pissed. He’s more grunting than walking now that they’re in the middle of the desert, presumably far away from the village. From him, Poison expects betrayal. He’s only left curious when they climb over a dune – there’s a Martyr tent standing in its lonesome. Bunny’s ragged steps come to a halt, and Poison can hear his uneven breaths. Then a swallow of presumably nothing but dry, desert air.

“Through here.”

Poison’s expecting him to go in, but the Martyr doesn’t move. Then he’s expecting Pony to go in, but they also keep their place. The tent’s grayer than the others, grayer than Green Tree’s. Not to mention that it’s in the middle of nowhere and quite far away from the village. It’s not what he’d expect a sorcerer’s tent to look like. Small and old. He steps forward by himself anyway because there isn’t enough air under MouseKat to voice that many words.

Ominous is one way to describe it, although Poison’s having difficulty describing anything. It’s dark inside, dimmer than the rest of the desert tents. There are cactuses just about everywhere, stacked on shelves and on top of books. There are runes drawn on every surface – Poison’s only heard stories of how those are supposed to be magical. As he steps forward, the light disappears entirely, leaving him alone in the darkness for a moment, as if the sunlight had just vanished. Then the light reappears, and there sits the great sorcerer.

He looks up at the Killjoy, whose heartbeat can be felt in every pore of his skin, and the two eye each other, though Poison’s mostly just trying not to pass out. It really is incredibly hot inside now that he’s in MouseKat again.

“Killjoy,” the sorcerer says. “What brings you here?” His eyes then close, almost as if on their own. He’s sitting with crossed legs in the middle of the tent, and something strange (like Kobra Kid’s towel from back home) on his head. However, he seems relatively unfazed to the Killjoy’s arrival. Maybe the Martyrs were lying.

When nothing more is said, the sorcerer opens his eyes, giving Poison a stare that sends shivers. “Sit.”

He takes a step forward and sits in front of the devil’s child with a mirrored pose. MouseKat’s on the ground next to him. For some reason, it’s cooler here. He can finally breathe.

“What brings you here?”

Poison gathers up some strength. “I need your help.”

“Killjoy, this whole world needs my help. Am I going to help it? No.”

“That’s not very high and mighty of you.” So far, Party’s not impressed. The sorcerer’s certainly gotten the theatrics down, though perhaps he missed the memo of basic mannerisms.

The sorcerer’s expression changes to one of disapproval, he furrows his brows. “I’ve got energy to control.”

“I’m sure you can clear your schedule.”

Fire lights up in the corner of the room, and Party’s vision darts in that direction. It’s in a vase, controlled and limited, but the heat’s still radiated, and the noise is still heard. When Party looks back to the sorcerer, his eyes aren’t a crystal blue anymore. They’re orange.

“You don’t know what you speak of, Party Poison.” He says the words with such a mocking tone, that Party Poison think he feels superior. But a gun can kill anyone in the desert, right?

Party decides to switch the blame. “You’re hiding. You’re afraid.”

“True.” The sorcerer’s expression isn’t daring anymore, and the fire disappears. He shrugs, uncrossing his legs and walks to the back of the tent. Poison watches him.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been gathering my strength. I told the Martyrs not to bother me for a reason, you know. And Blood Bunny’s right – I can unleash all doom. For now, I am preparing to.”

Poison’s a little slow in understanding what he means. Eventually, it catches up, and he’s left wondering how in the motherfucking-

“I can read what you feel.” Of course, it’s answered for him. Perhaps, he can feel how much Poison wants to kick his ass.

“Green Tree’s given up the Martyrs.” Party’s looking for someone to fault, evidently.

The sorcerer turns around with a book in his hands, then comes back to sit across from the Killjoy. “A long time ago.”

“You could’ve helped them fight off the Dracs.”

“For what? For them to come back? For them to come back with reinforcements and knowledge of the existence of a sorcerer? No, Killjoy. I think the right thing’s been done. The only thing that could’ve been done.” He closes his eyes again and takes a meditative pose with the book in-between them both. Poison has the impression that he’s doing yoga.

“You could’ve saved them. You could’ve saved everyone who’s ever asked them for help, everyone who ever will ask them for help, everyone who’s known them as The Martyrs. But you didn’t. And now Green Tree’s been lowered to working for them.”

The sorcerer’s eyes open suddenly, then close after he sees Poison. “Green Tree is no longer with you in the living, though, he’s still very much with me. As of now, he doesn’t like you.”

The words had been said so easily, they’ve practically been begging to roll off the tongue. Poison had almost missed them. Now he’s sitting and blinking and staring at the crazy man in front of him, whose posture is firm and calm as if losing someone like Green Tree is perfectly normal. Essentially, they’re all fucked now.

“He’s dead?”

The piercing blue irises are staring at him again, and his hands fall to his knees. “To you, yes. To me,” the sorcerer slowly turns his head to look somewhere in the room, just off to Poison’s right, “he’s very much alive.”

The Killjoy doesn’t want to know if Green is standing right next to him. It’s fine if he never knows. He tries a different approach.

“There’s a fifth Killjoy. I need you to help me find her. And then I need you to help me get her out of there.”

The sorcerer looks at Poison, then furrows his brows and clasps his hands together again. There’s a random gush of wind that flows through the tent, Party looks around for some reason as if to find where it’s coming from. His hair flows in the sorcerer’s direction. Definitely a smell he won’t forget. It’s one of the first times he’s felt wind in a while.

“Yes, I can see her,” the sorcerer says suddenly. There’s a slight smile on his face until it starts to falter.

“How is she? Did they hurt her?”

The sorcerer bows his head, and the wind dies down. Poison’s having trouble finding his breath.

“She’s fine. She knows you’re coming for her.” There’s a strange tone in his voice, but Party can’t quite place it.

Then he’s quiet, and Poison can’t help but ask, “What? What do you see?”

“Her. And a smile.”

There’s a warm feeling that spreads in the Killjoy’s chest. At least she knows she hasn’t been abandoned. At least she can smile.

“She’s telling me something.” The sorcerer furrows his brows again, one of them even twitches as if he’s trying to get a better read. Long moments of anticipation pass, but Poison doesn’t say anything. He’ll remain calm.

Then, like a candle burning out, the tension disappears. The sorcerer’s hands fall to his knees, it’s almost like he’s waking up again. And he stares at Poison for a few seconds. It seems he’s trying to figure out what to say.

“Let me see your hand.”

So Poison’s stretching out his sweaty hand which had probably been meant for more than just a gun, had it been a different world. The sorcerer takes it between his own and bows his head again. More moments of anticipation. Poison just wants to kill somebody already.

“I can see…” he trails off, “I can see green.”

“Green Tree?”

“No. Green.”

“What green? The color green?”

No answer. The sorcerer’s focused. Then nothing. He lets go.

“What?” Poison asks in a frantic. “What did you see?”

The sorcerer looks like he’s thinking again. “You’ll find out.”

“I’ll find out?”

“It's bad, but I can’t change what’s to come. It won’t be easy. And you’ll find out. It’s meant to be.”

Poison doesn’t care. “I don’t care. How can I help her? Tell me how I can help her.”

The book that's been lying between them suddenly flies open, and the pages turn by themselves until the sorcerer stops them with a sharp poke of his finger. He looks down at it and reads it. “I can help you. I can tell you what to do.”

“And? What should I do?”

The book closes, and the man takes the meditative position from before. “I can tell you that you have to go. All will be worth it.”

Bullshit. “You’re fucking kidding.”

The sorcerer doesn’t look amused.

Poison’s trying to envision it. “It’s possible?”

“Anything is, my boy. From now on, I assume you know your way to The Girl?”

The fucker knows everything, even her name now. “I have someone who does.”

“Then I suggest you apologize to them. And one more thing.” Darkness surrounds the tent again. “There’s a storm coming.”

Then nothing.

Notes:

Comments are greatly appreciated, thanks.

Chapter 6: Pathetic Excuse

Summary:

Party Poison starts his existential crisis rather early in life.

Notes:

On a happy note, the reunion show was yesterday, and instead of watching another episode of Suits, I was slightly tipsy and in tears as I stared at my childhood heroes through my smart TV. Here I am writing fanfiction about said heroes. A big thanks to those who streamed from Shrine.

Before anything else can be done, Party Poison has MouseKat in his hands and a wind is pushing him out the entrance. He doesn’t even have a second to say his thanks, although it seems that the sorcerer knows all that he’s supposed to. It’s deemed as a success in his books now.

Blood Bunny’s sitting on the sand with his face in the sun, and Pony is leaning against a dying cactus. Neither of the two look very happy to see him, although Pony’s got more of a hopeful expression. He’ll apologize to them later. Instead, he turns to Blood Bunny.

“You didn’t say Green Tree was dead.”

Bunny scoffs. “Who the hell are you to mourn him? The Dracs killed him.”

“And the sorcerer? He wasn’t hiding from me. He didn’t even need convincing to help me.”

“That’s because he knows who you are – whose son you are. He knows why you came. He knows everything.”

“He said you’ll help me rescue the fifth Killjoy.”

“It’s obvious that I will. I’m a Martyr. And now I’ve got nothing else to live for except a selfishly relentless Killjoy.”

Poison watches as Bunny’s face changes into a scowl. He’s right, though. Party Poison was always known for being selfishly relentless. His three friends back home, however, had thought differently up until recently.

Pony shifts so they’re no longer a leaning statue, instead, it seems like a call for attention.

“Pony,” Party calls, “I’m sorry for pushing you earlier.”

It’s forgiven. He can tell. But Pony doesn’t voice any thoughts about it. Instead, they say, “I thought I was a Killjoy.”

A laugh from Blood Bunny. “You’re only a Killjoy when he needs you to be a Killjoy. Right, Party Poison? Because as soon as he’s done, Killjoys like Green Tree get ghosted. They die as something other than a colorful, selfish, relentless, reckless-”

“Are you done?”

“-piece of shit.”

Then he’s walking away from the two. The sand feels sturdier under his feet, the air feels cooler. The weight on his chest is almost unnoticeable. He likes this feeling. But it’s delicate. It can disappear if it wants to; become crushed under the weight of the world instead. He knows it all too well.

It's hope.

~*~

“And so the journey begins.”

Pony, for some reason, thinks it’s important to wipe down the grenades before storming a highly secured building full of the world’s recent mistakes. They’ve probably got a smirk on their face, and Poison doesn’t have the energy for it. He’s trying to study a fucking map again.

“Yes, I suppose it does. Does Dr. D. know?”

“About my little plan? Of course, he does. He says he hopes I make it back, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind finding another assistant.”

“I’m sure he won’t.”

“What? Find one?”

Poison grins. “No. Mind.” And the dirty washcloth is thrown into his face.

There are footsteps coming from the other rooms, presumably where Dr. D. is just rummaging around for supplies. He hasn’t shown much worry since Pony’s shared the plan, though Poison can sense the tension. Maybe he’s just trying to hold it together for all their sakes.

The Dr. then waltzes in with a stack of papers in his hands and throws it in front of Poison, right on top of the map. The cloud of dust that flies in his face makes him sneeze.

“You know,” Party says sarcastically, “I was reading that to keep us alive.”

Dr. D. sits across from him in the booth. “This is more important than a few-minute delay of map-reading.”

And all the tension he thought was gone comes rushing back. Pony puts down the grenades, they’re left staring at the papers just like him. He furrows his brows. “Dr.?”

“Letters. I want you to write letters.”

“For?”

“The Killjoys. And The Girl.”

“Letters?”

Pony shifts. “In case you don’t come back.”

Again, these people are full of bullshit. Poison’s just about done with all of their pathetic little problems and the wholeness in their hearts. Killjoys don’t write goodbye letters. Getting ghosted makes you one with the desert. There’s no such thing as a goodbye.

“Dr. D,” Poison looks at him with an incredulous expression. He starts pulling the map out from under the stack of colorful papers. “Get that shit out of here.”

The doctor sits still for a moment, almost as if he wants Poison to reconsider. But Poison doesn’t. He knows he’ll come back from this. With magic, with Pony, and with Blood Bunny, he knows he’ll come back. There’re three of them. How can they not?

Just when Party thinks Dr. D.’s given in, Pony quickly takes the papers from him. The two look at them.

“What? Letters are important.” They look to Poison, although because of that stupid helmet, no one can tell what they’re thinking. “I have some friends that I want to write to. You know, in Battery City.”

“Suit yourself, Party Poison.” Dr. D. walks away, and Party mumbles something under his breath.

“What was that?” Pony’s wiping down the rest of the grenades with a new washcloth, though it doesn’t look any less dirty. They’ve got a sarcastic tone in their voice.

“Fucking pathetic excuse for a Killjoy.”

Pony’s shoulders slouch. “Who, me?”

“No, who the fuck’s talking about you?” He’ll come back. He knows it. He’ll come back with The Girl in his arms and be welcomed by Kobra, Ghoul, and Jet Star back at the gas station. Together, they’ll watch the sunset over the hill. It’ll happen, and they’ll be happy.

“You can’t be that hard on yourself.” Pony lets the washcloth hang from their fingers, though Poison’s slightly worried that the grenades are going to go off any minute. He doesn’t care what they think.

“Where the hell’s Blood Bunny?”

Just as if on cue, there’s a shadow that moves outside the diner. Blood Bunny’s figure appears in the doorway, and the jingle of the entrance bell has Party staring at him. The Martyr’s got a mischievous look in his eye, accompanied by a very distinct layer of sweat. In his hands, he’s got a couple of guns that are probably begging to be fired, and his mask – a white bunny face with red streaks on the cheeks. As cool as it looks, Poison’s still trying to study the fucking map.

“Did someone call for a bunny?” Of course, Blood Bunny’s grinning. He looks quite attractive ruffled up and panting, and Poison should really be focusing on the map.

“Fucking sit down.”

Pony must notice the tone in his voice because the second washcloth is being thrown at him. They must know what he’s thinking. He won’t be surprised if Pony’s thinking the same thing.

Blood Bunny falls onto the chair more than he sits, then he’s got this lazy comfortable look: his limbs are more spread out than organized. Poison stares at him for just a second too long. He has a feeling that Pony does, too.

“So?” The Martyr says, “What the hell’s the plan?”

Poison slides the map across the table to him and points. “That’s where we need to be.” His finger slides down. “This is where we are.”

There’s a low whistle from Bunny. “That’s a long walk.”

“There’s no way we’re going to have enough energy to do anything afterward. We’re going to need a car.” Poison’s waiting for suggestions.

“Beats me.”

Pony shifts with a grenade in their hand. They’re looking at Poison, but he’s not sure what they want. Until, of course, “You have a car.”

And then the whole world possibly deflates right under his ass. He does have a car. A functioning, gorgeous, rare-ass Trans Am. Does he want to get it? No. Does he want to see Fun Ghoul’s face when he leaves with it anyway? No.

“Fuck you.” Poison really just says out into the open because he’s pissed, but it doesn’t look like Pony’s hurt. In fact, there’s a grin in their voice.

“Chickenshit’s afraid to face his best friends.”

Party crumples the map and throws it at them. There’s anger in a lot of places inside him right now, and Blood Bunny opens his mouth. If that Martyr says something stupid then Poison will kill him.

“Can I help somehow?” Bunny is obviously not sure of what’s going on, but Party was not expecting that kind of answer. He’s staring again.

Pony walks to the table and sets the polished grenade down. It’s shining rather incredulously. “You can. Party?”

“Do whatever the hell you want. Just get my fucking car.”

~*~

The door’s looking a little sadder to him this time around, especially with Blood Bunny’s dirty fingers knocking on it. He goes around to the back where the car is supposed to be, but there’s a rather painful feeling in his chest when he sees Kobra Kid.

The front door opens. He doesn’t see anything. It’s only what he can hear while waiting for the opportunity.

“Hello there!” Blood Bunny says. Poison made sure the Martyr didn’t look like a Drac, or else Ghoul would have snapped his head clean off at first glance. At this hour, Ghoul’s usually in the diner.

“The fuck are you?” It is Ghoul, though a bit angrier than usual. Poison can envision him gripping the door.

Poison had told Bunny that he has to smile ridiculously often. Nothing pisses Ghoul off more than someone with a happy smile, for some reason. Then he hears, “We’re Dr. Death Defying’s associates, here to offer you a survey!”

And into the picture should pop Show Pony. They’re supposed to be carrying papers with the surveys. Though really, Poison just drew some shit in there for the Killjoys to know who took the car.

“I don’t need no fucking survey.” Ghoul’s probably trying to close the door on them. Poison’s waiting for his little brother to leave. It hurts to see him. It hurts to hear him.

“No, wait!” There’s clattering and grunting as if Pony’s trying to get in front of Bunny. “These will be of incredible interest to you. Dr. D., you’ve heard of him, right? Yeah, well, he’s heard of you.” It becomes quieter, calmer. Ghoul probably gives in because the papers shift.

It’s quiet for a few moments. Poison’s looking at his brother. Kobra’s gotten older? No, impossible. It’s only been days, though he’s not sure how many. Maybe it's been longer than he thought. The Killjoy’s upset, he’s cleaning his gun, sitting on a little stool in front of the Trans Am. Poison’s hidden in the shade and behind the corner of the building, and it breaks his heart not to be able to tell him he loves him. Maybe he’s stupid, maybe he should tell him the truth. But before Party can gather up the strength to say something, Ghoul yells from inside.

“Jet! Kobra! Get in here!”

And the front door’s being closed with a loud slam, there are muffled footsteps that come from behind him. Then there’s a hand on his shoulder. Poison’s trying so hard to say something, to get his baby brother’s attention, but the hand’s pulling him out of view until Kobra’s gone. The back door closes, then the lock clicks.

Blood Bunny’s the first to walk to the beautiful car. He’s inside the car when yelling starts to come from the diner. The hand on Party’s shoulder is Pony’s. They’re soothing him or trying to. The Killjoys are fighting. Poison wants to tell them to stop. That he’s here. He right here, goddamn it! He didn’t leave for fun! He really misses them! He wants their help! He wants them back.

Maybe he’s been out for longer than he thinks, just staring at the shut back door, because Pony’s soothing hand is then shaking him awake. Blood Bunny’s making impatient faces. He blinks, the yells from inside are only getting louder. Then there are footsteps everywhere throughout the diner.

It’s like Poison’s shoes have a mind of their own. He’s running to the car, Pony gets in the back, and the gears shift, the brakes are lifted, the wheel turns. It’s definitely loud enough for everyone inside to hear. There’s so much dust from the whirling tires that it’s impossible to see, but Party feels his baby. He feels her motor. The gas is slammed on at just the right time – he’s facing the endless amount of desert sand.

“Fuck yeah, Party Poison! Make some noise!” Blood Bunny yells.

Just like that, they’re gone. But through the mirrors, he swears he can see Kobra running after him. Then Ghoul. Then Jet Star. They’re all running after him. What a fucking asshole he is.

There’s an angry slam against the steering wheel. “A fucking pathetic excuse for a Killjoy!”

Notes:

I know this fic isn't getting as many hits as my other ones, but I really like this story and its universe, and I think it's really unfortunate that people aren't as interested when it's not Frerard. I will finish this to the end, and since it's mostly plot-oriented, there aren't that many chapters left. In this case, comments mean a lot to me because it's a story I actually talked to myself in trying to put together. (!) Thank you to those who have been commenting already, I'm looking at some discos, critics, and lovers of growth.

Chapter 7: Immaculate Misconception

Summary:

Breakdowns, angst, and sobbing messes. This chapter makes or breaks it. Party Poison throws shoes.

Notes:

Perhaps I’m too old if I remember House of the Dead and you do not. I'm also off today and next week so maybe we'll finish this fic sooner and move on to something a little more...mystical. As well, the chapter title does not have anything to do with Christianity - it's a paradox in this case.

“He still hasn’t calmed down?”

Party Poison’s having an incredulous sense of déjà vu. He’s in bed again, dim candlelight is all around. Shadows have been playing with him a lot – he thinks he’s been seeing The Girl’s silhouette, but every time he turns his head, she’s not there. Of course, she’s not. It’s just his guilt.

“The last time I went in there, he threw a shoe at me. Maybe we should wait another few hours?”

Show Pony and Blood Bunny are in the diner, he thinks. There are silenced whispers which really aren’t whispers at all, talking about how sad and pathetic he really is. Party hates them both.

In lighter news, he supposes, the cactus joint between his fingers is feeling quite amazing. He’s pretending to think of a plan. Throwing shoes at Blood Bunny seems more fun, though.

“We don’t have another few hours.”

And then the door to his room swings wide open, and he can’t quite tell if the air clears up. Maybe he’s been in there for longer than he thinks. Something snatches the joint from his hands, and something else grabs his shoulders.

“Party Poison, we do not have time for this,” someone says. It sounds like Pony, it feels like Pony, but Poison just wants to sleep. He has all the time in the world.

“Get up, goddamn it!”

Poison grunts and closes his eyes, letting himself go completely limp in Pony’s arms. They’re warm. He wants to hug them.

“What’s he been smoking?” Blood Bunny, Poison’s sure of it. He wants to politely tell him to fuck off because he’s bothering the Pony-hugging plan, but there’s a slapping sound soon after.

His eyes come open, he’s faced with a helmet first, then fucking Scarface over there, who’s judgingly crossing his arms. Martyrs are such pieces of shit, Party wants to-

“Poison! Party Poison! Look at me!”

His attention lazily switches back over to Pony, helmet and all, he can tell they’re stressed. They’re holding him by the Pegasus jacket, suddenly he feels the strain on his hanging neck. Then the sting on his cheek. Did he accidentally roll into a burning candle?

“Get the fuck up before Blood Bunny slaps the absolute living shit out of you!”

Ah, so it was Blood Bunny. Poison wastes no time in taking out his gun and pointing at the first thing he sees past Pony. There’s a series of ‘whoa! whoa! whoa! ’s’ coming from somewhere in the room, he thinks maybe he’s already pulled the trigger. His back feels the hit of the mattress, the gun’s not in his hand anymore. Darkness surrounds the room.

Maybe he accidentally shot himself. That would be easier.

~*~

“Just shut the fuck up and let me think!”

Party’s pacing in front of the diner. Pony was sitting against the window, but he can’t tell if they’re there now. Blood Bunny has this serious look in his eye as if he finally started to care at some point, but Poison’s having a lot of trouble seeing anything but the sand under his feet. At least it’s quiet now.

“Party, everything is going to be fine. We’ve got it under control.” Considering the tone, it’s probably Pony.

“How can you say that?” He’s mad even before he realizes it. “How can you promise something like that? As if you’re sure things won’t go to shit the second after I set foot in that building. They’ve been after me for so long, it’s fucking-” He stops himself because there are just too many things he’s sure will go wrong, he doesn’t know where to start. He thinks if he voices his thoughts, they’ll come true. “We can’t fuck this up, and if we do, everyone dies. Everyone.”

There’s a hand on his shoulder. Pony. He can’t even begin to describe just how much he needed that touch.

“No one is going to die. But right now, we need you to stop panicking.”

Then it’s fucking happening. They’re in the car, Blood Bunny’s cocking all the fucking guns in the back, Poison doesn’t even know what half of them do. Pony’s next to him in the front, they’ve got the map laid out on their lap like a fucking tourist going on a field trip. Everything is making Poison pissed. He presses his foot on the gas when Blood Bunny’s head pops in between them.

“Whoa easy there, racer. Don’t get us killed before we even get there.” He smirks at Pony, who’s probably shaking their head. Instead, Party grips the wheel.

“You say that like it’s a fucking game, Bunny.”

“Yeah, Party Poison. That’s ‘cause it is. Kill or be killed. Shoot or be shot. Sounds like fucking House of the Dead to me.”

Party’s trying to breathe. “What in the fuck is that?”

The Martyr cocks another gun. “A fucking video game.”

By the time they’re there, Poison has sweated perhaps all through his jacket and twice around. It’s a fucking shitshow, and Pony tells him he smells. Fuck them.
The car is quite a distance away from the building, hidden behind three or four large sand dunes because Dracs apparently like to slither around (or in their case, fucking walk like they’ve got a fucking tail up their ass). Poison’s trying to breathe again. It’s not working until Pony pulls him out of the car.

Oh. It was just stuffy in there.

“What’s the matter, Killjoy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or three.” Blood Bunny’s holding out a rather large gun for him, he mentioned it was a ‘shredder,’ whatever that means. Party grabs it mostly to boost his ego.

“You’re the fucking ghost, Martyr.”

“Ladies, ladies.” Pony stands between them, the shriveled map in their hands looks like it’s been soaked in Poison’s sweat. “There’s no need to fight. We can settle this properly, and everyone will get their slice of cake. Though personally,” they take out their gun from its holster, pointing it right at Party’s head. He’s surprised, but he doesn’t touch his gun.

Then they kick him, and Party’s falling against the car when a gunshot echoes through the sand dunes. Just as he turns his head, there’s a muffled thud of someone falling.
“I’d prefer their head on a stick.” A Drac on the hill. Pony shot him.

When he catches his breath, it feels like it wants to run away again. “You gave me quite a scare, Show Pony.” Poison’s heart is only asking to be ripped out, that’s how fast it’s beating.

“I like the dramatics.”

His head fucking hurts now.

~*~

“There. The guards. We need those fucking assholes to leave.”

Blood Bunny decided it was best to watch the way the Dracs move before going in blind. The three of them on the hill are looking through rather long guns, Poison didn’t even know such things existed. Like a big fucking magnifying glass. He remembers how he used to burn insects with those.

“You’re a fucking twat. We could’ve been in there by now, and halfway out.” Pony’s been disagreeing with a lot of the Martyr’s decisions, but Party thinks there’s a bigger reason for it than just the fact that they don’t agree.

“These things take time to learn. You said you’ve been in there before? Yeah, well, that must have been a long time ago. They’ve restocked quite a few things.”

Poison is not listening. He’s just admiring how large this gun is. It’s rather boring-looking, there’s no color, but Bunny promised it would do some fucking damage. His finger brushes the trigger, it’s not all that different than the gun in his holster, though there are a lot more nooks and crannies than he can deal with.

The two others (unfortunately, he had lied down right in-between them) are bickering at each other. Something about time and donuts, another thing about sleep and beds. Pony’s complaining all around, and it’s starting to become too hot in the sun for Party to handle everything. Luck’s on his side, though. He’s wearing his mother’s mask.

“Poison, what do you think?” Bunny asks, but Party doesn’t want to look in his direction because the Martyr’s mask is distracting. Like something out of a horror porno.

“I wasn’t listening.”

“That’s a shame, I could have used your opinion.”

“Not the fucking time, Blood Bunny.”

Pony’s twisting some big rods that are attached to their gun, there’s something like a reloading sound, then they point, “There!”

“Don’t shoot! We can’t make any more noise.” Bunny looks through the magnifier. Poison does the same.

The guards are switching. Poison doesn’t understand what the plan is. They were supposed to be down there already. He looks to Blood Bunny. It’s almost like the Martyr can sense what he’s thinking.

“Calm your fucking colors. I’ve got it.” There are two gunshots that echo through their ears, but they’re different. Almost like squeaks instead. Poison stares at him.

“A silencer. Bastards won’t hear a thing.”

Surely enough, when Poison looks through his magnifier again, the Dracs are on the ground and lifeless, and he watches them for just a second extra to make sure they’re down.

Then Pony says, “Where’s my silencer?”

Bunny throws something like a pebble at them. Great. It flies right above Poison. “Amateurs don’t get any.”

“Bunny, where the fuck did you get all this shit?” Party goes back to admiring his gun, but Bunny’s already packing his up.

“A courtesy of Green Tree. He said they were from the old days.”

The three make it down to the car again and switch guns. This time, Party’s given the mean-looking one which is supposed to take a few heads off. Pony whines because they’re given something that’s supposed to be less enthusiastic when it comes to leaving holes. Bunny, of course, takes the meanest one, and Poison trusts him with it. He has no other choice anyway.

By the time they’re at the gates, the Dracs are still quite dead. No one had come to pick up their asses or sound any alarms which Party finds a little strange. When Pony offers to switch clothes with the assholes to “blend in,” everyone scowls.

“I’d rather be dead.” is the ultimate response Bunny gives. He’s actually wearing a black sleeveless suit. To Party, it seems that he’d ripped the sleeves off and covered it in dust to look cooler. It worked.

And so those three idiots decide to leave the bodies out by the gate for maximum color. Bunny leads the way to the supposed back door of the building, Party can almost feel The Girl. She’s probably right on the other side of the brick wall, waiting for the opportunity to run.

Pony jogs up to the Martyr. “How the fuck do you know so much about this place?”

“Green Tree made us work for them, remember? I picked up a few things on the way.” He shrugs, and his biceps flex beyond Poison’s understanding. “At this point, get your bombs out. We’re going to have a little fun. Party?”

“Ready.”

“Pony?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m so ready. I fucking wiped these babies down and everything.”

They’re standing at the entrance in the shade, Party tries to search Bunny’s gaze for uneasiness, but there’s none. “I know where they would be keeping her. We’re going to blow the rest of this fucking place up.”

The door squeaks a bit when Bunny pulls it open. He’s really leading the operation more than Party thought he would be, but no one’s complaining. The world around behind them seems to disappear when the door closes. They’re inside, their feet on the treacherous tile of fucking mistakes, and Poison cannot be happier about the pretty baby in his hands.

The hallway is small. There are a few doors on both sides of the wall, and another one at the end. Party can just imagine himself walking out with The Girl already. Out into the fucking sun and away from the eye-blinding blue light.

“Right.” Blood Bunny turns around, his gun pushing away from his chest a little. It looks as if he knows what he’s doing, so Poison does the same. “She’s going to be further inside, probably in one of the more guarded rooms. Now, I want you both to make all of these doors burn.”

And so they do. Poison throws grenades into every room on his side while Pony makes poses and noises with every flick of the wrist. It’s beautiful, but really, really loud, and just when Poison thinks of it, the alarm goes off. At least every room in this hallway is in flames now. He doesn’t even know what was in them.

Blood Bunny slips on his mask, now they’re both staring at a sex bunny with a big gun, and the last door swings open. Shots are being fired before Poison can blink, then his gun’s shooting before he can breathe.

They’re out in a bigger room, he hasn’t seen this one yet, but there are Dracs everywhere now. There are desks and chairs, all of a sickeningly pale complexion which Party decides to paint red. The supposed staff was unarmed, it seems, because everyone’s dropping like flies faster than Party has time to squeeze the trigger. Reinforcements come in, of course, but while he reloads, hiding behind some fallen desk, Bunny is enjoying himself with the grenades.

They’re moving forward. No one inside was expecting them. It’s understandable - the Killjoys are in hiding and everything - but a wakeup call was definitely in order. Party’s gun is ripping through a lot of rounds, but he’s hitting everything in sight spot on. Every Dracs he sees is dead before he can think of death, he’s going to blame that on muscle memory. Party Poison isn’t actually a cold-blooded murderer.

“Move up! Killjoy! To my left!” Blood Bunny yells, and before he can register it, he’s already there. There are a lot of fuckers in the working rooms, and there seem to be a lot of those rooms, as well.

And finally, they reach the biggest room yet. There are windows that lead to the inside of the city, and there are a ton of white uniforms. Party wishes he had brought Kobra Kid to fight by his side. He feels strangely alone.

“I got these!” Blood Bunny’s shooting like a maniac, his body is firm and steady, and his breath doesn’t even look like it exists. He’s specific, still, and Poison is strangely jealous. The Martyr waves his arm. “Party! Take the rooms on the left! Pony, the right!”

There are too many in the room, Bunny won’t be able to kill them all. At some point, there’s hardly white color left. And then Bunny has to reload. Everyone’s closing in with their guns, Pony already left to their rooms, Bunny’s alone.

“Fuck!” Everyone’s shooting at him, he ducks behind a table and starts reloading. Poison doesn’t have time for this. Before Bunny can finish, the whole room’s going up in flames with Party’s grenades. He hides for the explosion, and half of the Dracs are on the floor when he looks out. Then he disappears.

The room is quieter, and Party closes the door for maximum comfort. He’s still got a few rounds in his baby, he’s ready if a bitch decides something.
It’s like an observation office or something. There are various little stands with devices on them, various little specimens on them. Party hugs the gun closer to his chest and listens.

Nothing. It’s quiet.

He takes some time to look through their lab stuff. There are ugly tools for everything, it seems. Scissors, knives, tweezers, the rest of them Party’s never even seen. They’re everywhere, too. He can’t imagine what they use them for.

There are faint gunshots that are coming from the other rooms, but Poison’s looking for anything that relates to The Girl. He’s sure Pony and Bunny will be fine.

Eventually, it starts to feel like eons since his search began. He’s looked in every drawer, under every pencil, but there’s nothing there. It’s time for another room. He’ll burn this one down, he tells himself. Put an end to their little experiments.

Just as there’s a click of his grenade, a woman appears. Poison notices her, she’s standing in the doorway that leads to other rooms, and before he has time to think, the grenade is being put back together. She can lead him to exactly where he needs to be, no doubt.

Then she disappears, and it’s almost as if Party is forced to follow her based on the look on her face. After a moment of consideration, after a moment of hearing Pony’s cheers (probably to killing everything in sight), it feels like this is the only chance he’ll get.

The room explodes behind him as he walks out, papers fly and land before his feet. He steps on them, his eyes not leaving the door through which the woman disappeared.

The door swings open. There are stairs that lead down. The lady’s silhouette can be seen moving in the shadows, but it’s dark. He hesitates, tells himself he can do this. His gun will protect him.

The silence seems to drag on until his shoes collide with the first stair. It puts a strain on his ears, like burning holes. He tries his best to stay light and quiet, but it’s as if the gun had become heavier. Then, there’s a door. It opens.

Party’s just about done with their bullshit.

It’s a morgue.

“Welcome to Better Living, Party Poison. We’ve missed you.” She’s standing just off to the side, in the bright lighting, her dark skirt contrasts with her pale skin. She’s got a smirk on her face. Poison can’t figure out why.

“I haven’t been here enough to be missed.”

From the distance, Party hears Blood Bunny’s voice calling for him, soon joined by that of Pony. He ignores it to play the part, but there’s a heartbeat in his ears that he’s sure the woman can hear.

She takes a step forward, and though Party’s hand is itching for the trigger of his gun, she doesn’t look to be armed - there’s no point in drawing it. He’ll listen to what she has to say. He can always kill her.

Her hand goes toward one of the metal graves in the wall, but she doesn’t open it. He suspects there are weapons judging by the way she’s holding the handle. “You know, Mr. Poison, we’ve been looking for you for a while. A long time, and what we thought was counting. But then, you come willingly. It only took the right motivation - we’ll know that for next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“I’ll organize it personally.”

Party feels the blood rush through him. He’s ready to put a bullet between her eyes, leave her dead and bleeding for the Dracs to clean up. Paint these white walls red, too.

His Killjoys are smart. Fun Ghoul won’t fall for their stupid shit, he won’t do the shit Poison’s done. They’re sure to live longer than him, no matter if he comes back. Though he feels that with his anger, anything is possible.

“You’ve come for her,” she says.

Surely. There’d be no other reason to. For once, Poison’s happy he’s alone. There’s still an unopened grenade behind his back. He’s playing with it - the right timing and… poof. Even if he goes down with her.

There’s a smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re too late.”

Sure, yeah. He doesn't buy it one bit. But when her expression doesn't change, if anything it becomes slightly happier, then he realizes that it might. It might be-

His stomach drops. His heart shatters.

Impossible.

It can’t be.

The grenade belongs in that woman’s mouth and down her throat. It should blow her skin to dust, make her organs turn to liquid, paint the walls anything but white. Anything. He can’t look at them anymore.

Then she pulls out the tray. It’s a coffin. And there, surely enough, lies all of his love, all of his hope, and he feels like it’s not real. The grenade is perhaps seconds away from being pulled apart, but he tells himself to wait one more moment. Maybe it’s not actually The Girl.

But no. It is.

He drops his gun.

Her hair is still the happy shade of brown, still curly and free, he remembers how it flew in the wind when they drove through the desert dunes. Her eyes are softly closed, and her lips just slightly parted, there’s peace in her, and anything but that in him.

There’s shallow breathing. Poison can’t tell if it’s his. He can’t feel the air in his lungs, can’t feel the floor under his feet as he steps forward, closer to her, closer to something that had once been the light of his life.

He was coming, he was on his way. She didn’t wait for him, she couldn’t. Because of them. Because they killed her.

As he reaches for her, his hand trembles. The lady disappears from his view – she doesn’t exist. All he can feel is himself, alone and empty, and all he wishes to feel is his baby’s smile.

There’s a tear or two that falls, but he hadn’t noticed when they started to. All he can see is her, then he feels a heartbeat, and he wishes with every part of him that it was hers. He’d trade.

Then he sobs. Sometime, his knees hit the floor, and he’s left crying into her blanketed side, stripped of color and happiness, trying to tell himself it’s not real. It’s not reasonable. It’s not right. He should be running away, toward the sun with Pony and Bunny, trying to get away from these monsters because it’s becoming too much. Party knows this means death for him. He’s distracted. But he can’t move.

Someone shifts. “A day or two earlier, and maybe - who knows.” He’s brought back to the surface.

It doesn’t matter. The “what could have been’s’” don’t exist. And they never will now. Though Poison knows for sure that he’ll kill that woman. He knows for sure that one day, even in hell, he’ll make her suffer. He’ll make her bleed.

“You should have run, Killjoy.”

She’s wrong. Party can’t find the words to tell her that she’s wrong. He can’t find the strength to stand and do it. He can’t find the strength to kill her. But he swears - one day, he will.

There’s a click of a gun behind him. It sounds confident, daring. Efficient. Death is upon him. He finds The Girl’s cold hand and takes it. The mask on his face is taken off, he places it on her chest. Now his mother will protect her in heaven. Suddenly, he’s hoping it exists.

Then there’s shuffling of feet behind him, but he doesn’t dare look away. Someone’s running. “Party, no!”

A gunshot.

At first, he’s not sure who shot, or where. There’s no pain, and he feels no different. Then he can’t breathe, but he’s trying so desperately not to let go of her hand. There’s gasping - it’s him, he’s begging for a breath of air, but there’s none. The sharp pain in his chest is stealing everything.

He falls. Their hands unclasp, the white blends and blurs until his eyes greet the ceiling, then that light fades away. There’s too much pain, too much noise, but maybe that’s just the ringing in his ears. Something wet and warm soaks his back, but he can’t focus on it enough to understand.

Then suddenly, like a candle in a gasp of wind, there’s nothing.

Notes:

Hello. Before we proceed, I'd just like to say that if this story seems somewhat similar to any other you have read about the killjoys, just know that it is not intentional, that this story had been finished before I read any Danger Days fics for this specific reason - I wanted originality. As we move through it, you may have a better understanding of what I'm talking about.

Chapter 8: Black Gives Way to Blue

Summary:

Alice in Chains says that Black Gives Way to Blue. The Killjoys say Party Poison is dead.

The sun sets just over the horizon. There’s no wind, there’s no life. Fun Ghoul has a headache, but he stares into the sunset anyway. He’s trying to figure out why Party likes it so much. It’s just the sun. It’ll be back tomorrow.

His arms are crossed - he’s thinking. Party Poison was so stupid, he swears that the man was born that way. It was probably a terrible decision in making him the leader, and even more so one when Party named Ghoul. Now the Killjoys are led by anger.

There are footsteps behind him, soft and careful, but they stop. Ghoul knows who it is.

“No sign?” he asks.

“None.”

“We’ll find him.”

Kobra Kid’s been strong, but Ghoul expects a breakdown soon. No one’s built out of that kind of steel, and definitely not a Killjoy.

Ghoul tries to think of something to say to the kid, but nothing comes to mind. The only thing he’s sure of is that he was a fool when he yelled at Party. He should’ve known Party’s next move. He should’ve been there to stop it.

Kobra shifts behind him. “What if we never find him?”

It’s definitely possible. The desert’s big. Party could be under the sand at this very moment, but Ghoul doesn’t want to think about that. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s still with us.”

The worst out of all of them has probably been Ghoul. In the dark, in his room, he sat and thought about what to do. He’s hardly slept. He’s hardly eaten. Even Kobra’s been better. But one that faithful day, when their car was stolen, when Kobra said he could’ve sworn he saw his brother, and after Dr. Death Defying’s assistants came to visit them, he lost his shit completely.

One of those colorful strangers had given them a stack of letters from someone else – not from Party. Apparently, the fucker had refused to write anything. There was a letter for each of the Killjoys from Dr. D’s assistant. Some Show Pony.

There was another one, too, written for The Girl. Even though Ghoul knew better - it wasn’t addressed to him - he just had to find out if Party loved her more. He opened it, then sobbed for a few hours. He was so stupid. How could he ever think that?

And now, as he stands, staring at the setting sun and darkening sky, his heart hurts. He misses Party, he misses their fights, moreover, he doesn’t know what to say to Kobra. He knows Kobra doesn’t blame him for anything, but it feels like he should. There’s a tear in his eye, but he blinks it away. Killjoys don’t cry.

“Ghoul?” Kobra’s voice wavers.

“We’ll find him.”

~*~

“We know the Zones. The map won’t help us. Not anymore.” Even Jet Star seems totally miserable. His lizards haven’t been tasting quite the same.

They’re inside the gas station, having dinner. The food’s all burned to a certain level, but Ghoul can’t hold it down anyway. He doesn’t eat.

“The map will help us find the Martyrs. You said he was going there, didn’t you?” Ghoul’s becoming annoyed. He’s practically ready to crumple up the map and throw in Jet’s face. Why can’t they see that this is the only way, the only starting point they have?

“He was going there, but only because you refused to go with him.”

“I was trying to do what was best for all of us-”

“Oh, don’t give me that fucking shit! You were trying to look after your own ass.”

At this point, Ghoul slams his hands down against the table. He’s never seen Jet this mad, but he’ll retaliate either way. There’s yelling, the two are trying to find blame, to fault somebody other than themselves. The table flips over, and the map falls to the floor. Ghoul swings a punch at Jet rather weakly at first, but the fist that collides with his cheek is possibly the strongest he’s felt yet. Jet Star is really fucking angry.

“You’re calling me selfish? He meant more to me than he ever meant to you!” Ghoul pushes Jet, and it’s definitely a mistake because Jet’s reasonably taller. And stronger.

“Selfish?! No! You’re a fucking egotistical piece of shit!”

“Guys.” The two are vaguely aware of Kobra Kid, who’s standing and looking at the torn map. He had trouble reading it (that supposedly runs in the family), but now his attention is somewhere else. He recognizes something.

“I can’t believe you blame me! It’s not like you jumped into his arms and promised to follow him to the end! You were just as fucking afraid as I was!” His cheek throbs from the punch, it’s probably red. But he goes for another push.

“I wasn’t the one who’s feelings got all hurt when Party said he wanted to save a life!”

Kobra drops the map and runs to the door, then finally, Ghoul leans sideways to glance at him. His nose is bleeding, and his hair is messed up but when he sees what Kobra’s running toward, it doesn’t matter. Before Jet can strike a punch, he turns him around, and it becomes quiet in the gas station. One thing they hadn’t noticed was that it was already nightfall.

Ghoul can’t breathe. He feels like he’s about to pass out, but even that seems like a luxury. The only thing keeping him stable is his hand on Jet’s shoulder. It’s almost like the air just disappeared because his throat refuses any to pass through.

The doorbells jingles, and in stumble two strangers, one which Kobra tries to help. The strangers are bleeding, sweating, falling to the floor, covered in sand. It’s pitch black out, and somehow, they’re here. Ghoul recognizes them, and all conflict is forgotten. They were the ones to deliver Party’s letters. They stole the car. What the fuck?

Ghoul runs to them before he can think, and catches the bigger stranger from falling. He’s heavy, but Ghoul tries to lower him down as cautiously as possible. The other stranger is already in Kobra’s arms on the floor, sobbing and grabbing at his clothes. Jet Star stays still. The only sound is the sound of the strangers crying.

“He’s – he’s,” then they trail off. Ghoul can’t think. He can’t think.

The one in his arms is manly, buff. He’s bleeding from his chest, but there’s no knife, it must be a gunshot. Since when did ray guns leave a bullet? Before he can ask, Jet’s back with tissues.

Everything’s passing by in seconds. The helmeted Killjoy is still trying to grab at Kobra, maybe pull him into a hug. They’re still crying, still sounding suffocated in their helmet. Ghoul doesn’t know what to do. What would Party do? What would Party fucking do?

“Please,” they sob, “Help Bunny.”

Ghoul’s frozen. He can’t breathe. He doesn’t know what to do. It takes him perhaps an eon to even register that Jet Star is trying to pull the stranger out of his arms. Jet takes a knife, rips open his shirt, and there it is – a real fucking gunshot wound. What the fuck is going on?

Kobra’s trying to soothe the other one, but they can’t stop. It’s heartbreaking to look at, terrifying to hear. Ghoul can’t help but think of the worst. The floor is suddenly the best option to stare at while he catches his breath.

“Ghoul,” Kobra has his attention. “Tell me what to do.”

Then the helmeted stranger is hyperventilating. They’re panicking. They’re grabbing at their chest and pulling away from Kobra, begging for air. The helmet, the stupid helmet. Ghoul pulls it off, he doesn’t have much of a choice.

He’s met with a thin face and long black hair, covered in sweat and tears and blood. The helmet weighs heavy in his hands, and he drops it when the stranger falls to the ground entirely and continues to cry.

Ghoul’s trying his best, goddamn it.

“Bunny. How is he?” Their chest rises and falls quickly, Kobra’s near them, holding their hand.

“Jet, how’s the Killjoy?” Ghoul asks, but his gaze stays locked on the helmet near his feet. He’s definitely seen them before, though they’re no longer the cheery soul they’d once been.

“Alive. There’s a bullet in him, I think. But he’s no Killjoy.” There’s a hopeless tone in Jet’s voice that makes Ghoul look over.

“Then who?”

“He’s a Martyr.”

And the room is silent again apart from the gasping breaths. Party was supposed to find help in the Martyrs. Ghoul's mind is racing.

Kobra tries to soothe the stranger between them. His hand runs through their hair, he tries not to touch the blood on their face, Ghoul can tell. At least someone’s doing something – Ghoul can’t move. Some leader.

“Shh, it’s all right. You’re here. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.” Kobra’s a miracle. Ghoul pretends the words are also being said to him.

“Party, is that you? Oh no, Kobra. You’re Kobra,” they sob. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Ghoul feels the world collapse on top of them. He feels like digging a big hole in the sand and burying himself alive. It’s what he deserves. It’s his fault. Kobra looks at him, but he’s not mad. He’s afraid.

“I’m so sorry, Kobra. We tried. We tried so hard.”

There’s a voice from the other stranger, Bunny. “Pony?” he croaks.

“I’m so sorry.”

Ghoul lets go of their hand. He can’t. He just can’t. The bedroom’s calling his name. The sleepless nights seem like heaven compared to this. As he runs to his own room, somehow, he finds himself in Party’s. Suddenly, after the door slams shut, it’s quiet.

There’s a layer of dust everywhere, making it seem like no one’s been in here for years. That’s sure as hell what it feels like. It’s dark everywhere, and the window gives off a shade of blue. At least there’s a moon outside.

Soon, he finds himself on the bed, at first, sitting, then curling up in Party’s blanket and letting those tears spill. He can’t take it. What did he do? The darkness seems to take pity on him, though his beating heart is a reminder. The night envelops him. It seems like hours. But he falls asleep, leaving Kobra alone in a time when he’s needed most.

He can only think that the worst has happened. They’ve already been worried. Now this. Ghoul can’t help but blame himself. He can’t face anybody. The night hides him, something he’s grateful for.

~*~

“Show Pony’s asleep. Blood Bunny’s asleep and with a fever.” Kobra’s sitting at the table with bloodshot eyes that match his jacket. His hair hasn’t been washed in what seems like years, but maybe he’s just sweating more than usual.

It’s morning, and Jet Star doesn’t greet Ghoul as he walks around. There seems to be a goal in his mind, Ghoul will respect it. His attention is on Kobra anyway. He sits across from him, as if afraid of coming close.

“I’m sorry.” Ghoul twitches in the chair. “For everything.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Moments of silence that seem to drag on forever. Ghoul taps the table, his heart beats louder, though. Then Kobra says, “They told me he’s dead. That he died in the building, holding The Girl’s hand when someone shot him.”

“S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

There are footsteps behind him. Heavy. Unfamiliar. Ghoul listens to them as he watches Kobra hold in a tear or two.

“Green Tree,” someone says.

It’s one of the strangers – Blood Bunny. Ghoul turns to see him, there’s a bandage around his chest and a tired look in his eye. The dark, dusty clothes are no longer on him, he’s shirtless and his muscles look defined in the sunlight. Ghoul doesn’t know how he’s walking right now, then he drags out a chair and sits with them. More silence.

“Green Tree,” Bunny begins, then swallows, “was the leader of the Martyrs. He was named by your mother, Kobra. Party’s mother, who was a Martyr herself. Party told me that you didn’t know that, though I guess there’s no point in keeping anything from you anymore.”

Kobra’s listening intently, though his gaze is on the table and weak. “I didn’t know that, it’s true. Then again, I don’t know anything Party knew. I don’t care about my mother anymore.”

There’s a moment of silence in which they sit, and Ghoul stares at his fingers. It feels like it’s not real. As if he’s going to wake any second now, but the world just drags on. He doesn’t like anybody here. It’s almost as if this Show Pony and this Blood Bunny are only there because Poison is gone. If they wouldn’t have come, Party wouldn’t have left.

“Recently,” Bunny says suddenly, “We went to Better Living. We stole your car. We left you letters which weren’t from Party Poison. They were written by Show Pony for you because he refused to write anything. He thought he was going to come back.”

“What happened?” Kobra asks. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Bunny spares a sideways glance. “When we got there, she was already dead. They put her in the morgue and stripped her of color. Party found her first, but it was too late. And Green Tree, Green Tree was supposed to be dead, and I think he is. But he’s been turned. He’s a Drac now, and he was the one who shot Party in the heart. It was so strange to see him. I mean, Party practically exiled him out of life anyway, Tree went to the headquarters and just didn’t come back. They told me that he died. I had to shoot him. I had to shoot my own brother in the head because he was the one who shot Party. But it was too late. We ran.”

“So she's dead?” Kobra asks. Ghoul’s never seen him like this before.

“Long gone,” Bunny whispers. “Party left his mask. I saw it on her chest.”

“So there was no fucking point since the very beginning then? Nothing worth fighting for? Nothing worth leaving and stealing and yelling and killing and-” the kid doesn’t finish because he hides his face in his hands. Ghoul watches as Kobra starts to cry and there’s a slight stab in his chest. He feels like he’s responsible for him now. As if he’s the big brother now. Only he knows that it will never happen because Kobra will hate him for this one day.

A few minutes drag on, Jet Star can be heard shuffling in a back room. Bunny rubs his hands together with a solemn face, “The last letter Show Pony wrote, I should tell you, was for The Girl. They sort of made it look like Party himself signed it. I just – if anyone was wondering.”

Ghoul’s started to sweat. It’s too much, that’s obvious. He lost a brother, he lost a friend, a leader. Everything’s going to shit with him. He should never have doubted Party Poison, but now it’s too late.

“You’re still wanted,” Bunny says. “Now more than ever. We took out more than half of their Dracs. They’re looking for you now.”

I hope they find us, Ghoul thinks, I hope they have the fucking nerve.

Blood Bunny darts his eyes over to him, but he can’t find the will to care. It’s true. Party Poison has died, and he feels nothing but pain. He thinks it’s all his fault. He thinks he’ll be hated by everyone here. He thinks that Jet Star should’ve pushed him to the ground and beaten him to death. Because that’s what he deserves.

Ghoul becomes angry. Maybe it isn’t the best thing to be driven by, but it’s all he has. He’ll use it as wisely as he can.

He wants to finish them all.

He wants it to be the end of everything. The end of color in Battery City.

Notes:

Happy New Year! New decade! New MCR stuff! New heartbreaks!

Chapter 9: The one in which Show Pony says Horseshit way too Much

Summary:

"Fucking horseshit! I hope you fucking know that this is fucking horseshit, and all of you and all your fucking [existence] is fucking horseshit ... Have some fucking standards..."

Notes:

I'm going to pretend that this gap in updating was actually canon to the story's lore. Let's say this is two months later. :p Shorter than usual because I'm trying to get back into the swing of the story.

He’s made friends. There’s been a closeness between him and this other person, this other Killjoy, and although it hasn’t really been mutual, he thinks of it a close friendship in his head. He hasn’t talked to them much, hasn’t been with them much, but he’s always watching and waiting. Like right now. As if that can do anything.

His mind is often filled with everything, and then suddenly, it’s as if it’s filled with nothing. In either time, he usually stands and stares as if at something when really, there’s nothing there at all.

“You know,” someone says, “Sometimes, I think there’s something wrong with you.”

He wouldn’t say that. He wouldn’t say something because there are many things wrong with him. He laughs it off internally though and lazily turns his head to glance at the Martyr. Now that Ghoul thinks of it, Bunny has been making himself rather comfortable around here lately. Comfortable, while Ghoul’s been miserable.

After a while, Bunny leaves him alone again. It’s been like that for some time now, with Ghoul just being checked up on, then left alone. It’s like he’s just floating around in this world he doesn’t belong to anymore. He feels emptier and hollower, and he feels alone. He feels replaced.

He often gets sad in thinking that. It’s like he feels bad for himself, and while he can admit it to himself, admitting it to the imaginary Party Poison in his head is slightly harder. He thinks Party is judging him, so he judges himself. It’s a vicious cycle.

Apparently, the Martyr hadn’t left very far because he’s back next to Ghoul’s side far earlier than Ghoul had expected.

“If you’re not going to go inside,” Bunny stands in front of him, “Then you’re more than welcome to join the rest of us at the table.”

Ghoul’s eyes follow the Martyr walking away. He hadn’t even realized he was still standing in front of Party’s room. The reason this time being that he heard someone crying in there and was convinced Party came back. It’s obvious he’s losing his mind a little. More so obvious that Bunny is literally only making it worse.

The friendship that he had with this crying person in Party’s room has suddenly vanished. He looks back in front of him, just to see a closed door in silence. Then as he turns back to everyone at the table, he can feel just how out of his mind he really is.

“Ghoul, come on.”

With everyone’s eyes on him, he takes a seat and waits.

“This meeting has literally been forced onto me because no one else was going to do it. I’m almost sorry, but at the same time, this place has begun to mean a lot to me, especially since I see how everyone’s struggling, and how that struggle isn’t going away. So really, I’m not sorry. If you think about it that way, you’ll understand that I’m struggling too so maybe it’s all that bad.”

Ghoul’s not really listening to Bunny’s mundane voice that sounds like it gives a shit. Obviously, he doesn’t. Ghoul doesn’t even know why he’s still here.

He stares at the ceiling; he stares at the floor. Then he plays with his fingers under the table and twirls his thumbs. Once in a while, when he looks up, Kobra is looking at him, but he pretends not to notice and just keeps staring somewhere.

He doesn’t know how long the meeting goes, but every time he looks up, Kobra’s face is becoming more expectant as if Ghoul should be saying something. There had been a few words he caught like ‘leader’ and ‘strength,’ but it really doesn’t matter to him anymore. A couple of weeks ago, when this had started, he told Kobra to take over. And while it wasn’t announced to everyone, Kobra agreed to let Ghoul go from the leader title. Maybe that’s what this is about now that Ghoul thinks about it.

Once more, his eyes find Kobra’s, and it’s serious. It becomes even more serious when Bunny asks him something. Something like “are you all right with that,” and Ghoul knows he did bad by not paying attention again.

“Fine, I’ll come back to you later,” is what Bunny says instead. Whatever he had asked, Jet Star says yes, and when Ghoul fails to react once more, Kobra starts to deflate. He says yes, too.

Ghoul doesn’t have a clue as to what Bunny wanted. He thinks his answer is a yes since Kobra had said so, and quite frankly, as long as they leave him alone, he doesn’t care what they want. Just as he opens his mouth and croaks out a ‘yeah,’ a voice screams out ‘no’ from the hallway.

He turns his head.

“You’re not serious? Are you serious? Because it’d be pretty fucking pathetic if you were serious,” they say. “And the rest of you? What the fuck are you guys thinking?”

“I’m thinking,” Kobra says monotonously, “That the leader has to be someone who can actually lead.”

Immediately, all faces are directed at Ghoul.

He starts stuttering, and his finger lifts itself subconsciously as if he’s trying to get a point across when in reality, there’s no point there whatsoever. Sometime later, Bunny tries to start talking instead, but Show Pony barks at him. Whatever fraction of a point Ghoul had, it’s vanished entirely.

After thinking about it, Ghoul decides on what he really thinks.

“Do what you want.” And after that, he solemnly looks at Kobra.

And once again, Bunny tries to say something. But he doesn’t because Pony comes and starts to drag Ghoul by his collar out of his chair.

“Fucking horseshit! I hope you fucking know that this is fucking horseshit, and all of you and all your fucking agreeing and discussing is fucking horseshit,” they start dragging Ghoul out of the kitchen and into the hallways as they continue yelling, “Have some fucking standards not to fucking agree with everything some fucking Martyr is saying. It’s not like he’s a fucking Killjoy!”

Pony throws Ghoul into his room and waltzes toward his suitcase. They start messing up drawers and making a mess with his clothes as Ghoul sits and rubs his aching head after he’d hit it against the doorknob.

“He’s just some fucker who couldn’t do his fucking job and save the fucking leader of the Killjoys! Only to fucking decide that the current leader isn’t good enough of a leader? I call fucking bullshit on that! Only to fucking decide that he wants to become the leader after all these weeks? Such fucking horseshit, un-fucking-believable!”

The suitcase is filled up with the most random bullshit as Ghoul continues to sit in the corner and stare at this circus show. Eventually, after many other insults and mean words, Ghoul’s suitcase is filled and Pony waltzes out of his room, going into the next room over. Their voice just gets slightly muffled through the walls, but they continue to yell through the silence, so Ghoul gets a peek of the kitchen table. No one’s moved from it.

Pony’s monologue continues until they drag their own suitcase into Ghoul’s room. They drag him up to stand, fix his hair all while yelling in his face, put his jacket on for him, and pat him on the back. Then they grab both suitcases and kick Ghoul in the shins so he starts walking.

Only when Ghoul’s standing in the doorway of the entrance does he realize what this means. There’s absolutely no coming back from this. Pony all but pushes him out the door while continuing to say all they think about Blood Bunny.

In the end, they only turn around and with both suitcases in hand, they say, “Fuck you guys, honestly. No matter what has happened, it was Party’s decision to leave on his own. You keep fucking blaming Ghoul? Yeah, well, Party named Ghoul the leader. What fucking honor bullshit are you talking about, Martyr, when you do the opposite of what Party did. Fucking hypocrite, I swear.”

When the door slams closed, Pony lifts both suitcases and continues to mutter something under their breath, something bad about Bunny, Ghoul thinks, and they walk forward under the scorching sun into the sand dunes of the desert. If Ghoul wasn’t so fucking confused, he’d probably find this funny, but this is actually fucking sad, he decides. He follows them anyway. Even offers to carry his own suitcase.

Notes:

So on a serious note, 2 months since I last updated and I'm sorry. The only thing I have to say for myself is that Motionless in White had one of the best performances and it was the fifth time that I went to see them. Also please comment if this is even in your feed anymore.