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As Jet Star sat on the ground, wrist caught in his sleeping friend’s vice grip, he reflected on the past few days.
It had been the worst few days of his whole entire life.
It all started, as it always does, with Party Poison almost getting ghosted. Not that that’s a rare occurrence or anything, but usually they shake it off with a sharp laugh (even if the accompanying smile didn't quite reach their eyes) and forge ahead.
This time was different.
It happens to every killjoy from time to time— you get caught on an off day, you're a bit slow on the draw, and you get hurt. Most of the time, you're lucky it wasn't worse and you thank the witch for letting you live to fight another day.
But sometimes it can't get much worse— which was the situation Party had found themselves in after running into Korse and his goon squad while out on a solo run. Thankfully, Korse had wanted to play with his food first that day, and backup arrived before he could… no, Jet didn't even want to think about that. What would've happened if they hadn't shown up in time.
But there were a lot of things that happened that day that Jet didn't let himself think about. Couldn't let himself think about it.
Like the way Party had looked when the rest of the crew finally got to them.
From their hiding spot, Jet could see Korse leaning over Party as they laid bleeding in the sand, whispering something in their ear. He could see the way that they twisted and contorted their body in a feeble attempt to put some distance between themself and the exterminator. To get away from his words. Jet could see red hair fisted between Korse’s fingers, holding the killjoy’s ear to his still moving lips no matter how hard they tried and squirm away. Whatever Korse was saying to Party was clearly worse than anything he could have done to them with a blaster.
It made Jet’s skin crawl.
It wasn't until after the firefight, after he, Ghoul, and Kobra had managed to run Korse and his Dracs off, after Jet had already started to tend to Party’s most urgent wounds that he was able to see the look on his best friend’s face. They looked….. utterly broken. Like some kind of fucked up glass doll— their skin porcelain and their eyes vacant, their limbs on too loose joints, barely holding together. He would do anything to forget that look. To forget how small Party felt in his arms as he examined them. To forget the small sob that escaped from their throat before they realized it was Jet gently taking their face in his hands— not Korse.
Jet hoped that Ghoul and Kobra hadn't seen the way that his hands began to shake as he worked.
That was days ago, and Party still wouldn't tell anyone what had actually happened. Actually, Party hadn’t said much of anything since, about the incident or otherwise. They just laid in the room that they shared with Ghoul in silence, staring at a wall. Of course— everyone had tried to get a rise out of them, hoping that any reaction would be better than no reaction. Jet brought them chocolate that he probably (most definitely) spent way too many credits on, hoping that the redhead’s favorite treat would spark some life back into them. It sat on the table next to them for days, uneaten, melting in the hot desert sun. Ghoul, being Ghoul, would sit for hours next to their partner, telling them stories and jokes and running his mouth, hoping that Party would join in. That was swiftly brought to an end however after Ghoul had made some stupid joke about the city and Party started panicking. It took hours for Jet to calm them down— but at least now Jet knew that Party could hear them. He wasn’t sure before.
The only progress that was made was yesterday when Kobra managed to get a few words out of his sibling— their hands signing so hesitantly and shakily that Jet wasn't sure if they were really words or not. Jet couldn't make out what Party had signed, but he could understand Kobra’s response:
“Real. We’re safe, we’re out.”
Jet couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief when he saw the exchange, but that relief immediately soured when Kobra stood up and hurried out of the room. When Jet had chased after him to ask what had happened, Kobra only signed back a curt “Not now” before gliding out the door and disappearing. Jet could hear his bike roar to life and gravel spray behind him as he pulled away. Ghoul later informed Jet that whatever Party said had upset Kobra so badly that they had also stopped talking. Great. Add it to the pile.
Even Fun Ghoul had gone silent— which was a feat in itself, and perhaps the most concerning thing to happen all week. In the past, there were times when Jet had prayed to Destroya for Ghoul to shut their mouth, begging for a moment of peace uninterrupted by his constant narration— but now that it had happened, Jet was on the verge of praying for the exact opposite. He’d give anything for the stupid jokes and inappropriate comments, anything to break the oppressive silence that hung so thick in the diner that Jet felt like he was choking on it.
The only sound that Jet could count on the past few days was the sound of Party screaming in their sleep every night. Jet, of course, was always on call to help soothe the redhead back to sleep— after all, Ghoul slept like the dead when his hearing aids were turned off and Kobra couldn't handle the noise (Jet definitely would prefer to only have one panicking Venom Brother on his hands at a time). He would sit on the floor next to Party, careful not to touch them, murmuring soothing words until they startled awake. What hurt the most was that Jet could barely offer much comfort beyond words— his first and last attempt at grounding Party with a tight hug (something which normally worked like magic) ended with a black eye and a bloody nose for Jet.
But after what had happened tonight, Jet decided that screams were preferable to the alternative— At least Party startled themself awake that way, breaking the illusion of whatever nightmare was running through their mind. Eventually. But tonight as Jet was laying awake, keeping watch (Ghoul had tried to convince him to go to bed, but Jet refused. It was his job to take care of everyone after all) he didn't hear screams. He hadn't been sure what he was hearing, actually… some kind of muffled choking noise? He thought for a moment that maybe someone had gotten a midnight snack and was now choking on it (wouldn't be the first time… thank you Ghoul), but when he rushed to follow the sounds, Jet found himself at Party’s door.
There were a lot of things Jet Star wished he could forget about the past few days, but seeing Party Poison quietly sob in their sleep was definitely at the top of the list. That was his last straw.
Jet sat there for what had felt like an eternity, trying in vain to calm his friend— but Party just wouldn't wake up. They just sobbed and sobbed until their throat was raw and no more noise escaped, and Jet continued to do his best to sooth them. It was the most horrible thing he had ever seen.
Jet wondered if maybe this was all a dream, if it was actually him who was having a nightmare and he would wake up any second. He’d wake up and everything would be fixed. Or at least this night would never have happened. But then Jet would feel the throbbing behind his eyes, the way they stung with unshed tears, and the mounting pressure in his chest that was threatening to tear it’s way out, he would feel Party’s breath dance across his cheek as they wept, and the way the mattress shook beneath where his head lay next to his friend. No dream felt like this.
He had to hold it together. Even if just for Party.
Jet had begun to weigh the pros and cons of another black eye and bloody nose when suddenly he heard a small voice whisper:
“Jet?”
He whipped his head up and found himself staring into Party’s haunted eyes. They were awake. Jet could have wept for joy right then and there.
And so, Jet sat with Party. They didn't speak much beyond muttering out a continuous stream of tearful apologies, which broke Jet's already shattered heart into a million more pieces. He tried desperately to reassure them that, no, you have nothing to apologize for, but even when they finally stopped, Jet could see in their eyes that they didn't quite believe him. Jet wished he could beam his love and understanding straight into his friend’s brain. He wished he could climb into their skull and hack away at all the gunk, the trauma, the darkness, and fix everything. He wished he could do anything to help.
Party fell asleep with a hand wrapped tightly around Jet's wrist, fingers pressed to his pulse point. It was the first bit of physical contact they had had with anyone for days (aside from one disastrous time Ghoul attempted to tuck a stray piece of hair behind their ears— after that Jet decided that he needed to be there when Ghoul sat with Party. It was doing them both more harm than good.) and even though Jet knew it was a move borne out of anxiety, it was better than nothing. They held onto Jet like they couldn't quite believe what they were feeling. Like they weren't actually there, living and breathing.
Jet wondered what Korse had said to them. He wanted to snap the bastard’s neck with his bare hands.
After a while, Jet felt his body begin to ache— how long had he been sitting there? However long it was, it was enough to make his bones creak in protest when he eventually wriggled out of Party’s grasp. As Jet padded away quietly towards the bathroom, the world began to pitch and tilt around him and he was suddenly very aware of how exhausted he was. It was like the weight of the past few days had finally settled on his shoulders all at once, and it made his head spin. Literally. Jet stumbled to the toilet and sat down, narrowly avoiding crashing to the ground. He was thirsty, he was hungry, he was tired. He was sad. But there wasn't time for that now— Jet could see the beginnings of the day shining through the frosted glass pane in the bathroom. Destroya, was it already morning?
He sighed, desperately trying to loosen the tightness in his throat and clear his mind. A new day meant new problems to solve. And Jet couldn’t rest until it was all fixed. That's what he was here for, after all— to fix things. Now that Party was talking again, he would fix them. Which would fix Kobra and Ghoul. And once everyone was fixed, they could go on a run for supplies which (Jet had noted yesterday with only a small amount of panic) they were running very low on. And then once they have supplies, they can… save the world or something. And then—
Jet was suddenly very aware of how hot it was in the bathroom. And how small it was. And how much shit he has to do. With the tightness in his throat increasing, Jet made his way over to the dirty mirror and looked himself up and down— Witch, it was so hot in this bathroom, he could feel the sweat that began to form on his neck. He felt like he was suffocating. Jumping into action, Jet began to braid his hair out of the way, but his fingers kept fumbling the strands and forcing him to start over. If he could just get his hair off his neck everything would be fine.
But Jet's hands began to shake harder and harder, making weaving his hair into any semblance of braids impossible. His huffs of frustration began to take on an edge of something new… was it panic? Grief? Exhaustion? All of the above most likely. But he didn't have time for that now. If he couldn't do something as simple as braiding his own hair, how was he supposed to take care of his family? No— he just needed to try harder. Keep going. Take a deep breath.
But his chest was too tight to take a deep breath, and a desperate sound forced its way out of the back of Jet’s throat when he tried, echoing in the tiny room. His arms ached and his body shook as he raked his fingers through his hair, praying to Destroya to just get it right. If he could just get his hair off of his neck he could—
His fingers slipped again.
The next thing Jet Star knew, he was on the ground, the cool tile providing at least a semblance of relief from the hot, stagnant air he was choking on. Was he dying? Jet felt like he was dying. But that was stupid— no one dies from suffocation in a bathroom. Right? Besides he couldn't die, he didn’t have time to die, what about Party and—
Jet suddenly heard a ragged sob punch through the sound of his labored breathing. Was that Party again? They had only just fallen back asleep and—
Jet noticed the wetness on his face. Oh. He was the one crying.
With that revelation, Jet Star finally broke. He noted somewhere, deep within his sleep deprived brain, that this was way, way overdue— a thought that was immediately shot down by the rational part of his mind that reminded him no, you don't have time for this you need to get up and—
But no matter how hard he tried, Jet star could not stop what had started. All of his attempts to swallow down his sobs only yielded more violent cries that he was certain would wake everyone up. And he couldn't wake everyone up, they needed their sleep desperately. So Jet focused his energy on staying quiet, and riding out the storm.
Only nothing ever works out in Jet's favor does it?
As he cried, an unending reel of the past few days played through his head, and it was like he was reliving it all, all at once. Party crumpled in the desert. The deafening silence in the diner. The way Kobra’s hands shook as he responded to Poison's first words. The meals he had to skip to make sure that their supplies wouldn't run out, to make sure that everyone else got fed. The look on Ghoul’s face when Party flinched away from their touch. Party’s hand desperately gripping Jet’s wrist, as if they weren't convinced he was really there. Feelings, sounds, images, smells all blurred together and came crashing down on Jet all at once, assaulting his mind, making him shake even harder. He was drowning. He was suffocating. He was being crushed alive. Maybe he really was dying.
Then a knock at the door pierced through the chaos. It was as if the world had suddenly stopped spinning beneath Jet’s feet and his inertia had sent him flying through the air, limbs akimbo, still reeling from the memory of past motion. Ripped from his panic, even if momentarily, Jet had enough sense to try and stay quiet. He would sort this all out, no use in bothering the others. Best if they just left him alone.
But whoever was on the other side of the door apparently had no intention of doing so because moments later, after an embarrassing whimper managed to bubble up through Jet’s throat (Destroya, he hoped whoever was out there hadn't heard that) there was another knock.
“Jet? Are you in there?”
It was Fun Ghoul. Shit, he had woken them up. Tears began to well up in Jet’s eyes once more, the guilt of—
“I… I don't know why I asked, I know you’re in there,” Ghoul continued, “can I come in?”
Ghoul probably had to go to the bathroom and here Jet was hogging it. Fuck. Jet tried his hardest to level out his voice, swallowing down any evidence of emotion. “Yeah, just give me a sec. Sorry.” Jet rasped out, not quite succeeding in his goal of sounding normal.
He could hear Ghoul shifting his weight rhythmically outside the door— something he did when he was nervous. “No, no problem I just, uh… are you okay?”
That question was apparently the wrong question to ask because suddenly the inertia ran out all at once and Jet came crashing back to the earth, face first. He began to shake again. Jet knew he couldn't answer Ghoul’s question— and not just because his voice would break. He just couldn't face the honest answer.
No.
But the answer shouldn't be no. In fact, it couldn't be no, Jet was the one who had to be fine. He was always fine. Good old Jet Star, reliable and fine, so fine, and cool, and never ever panicked, and always helpful, and—
“I can practically hear the gears grinding in your head dude, I'm coming in” Ghoul said as the knob turned in its socket.
Jet did his best to hide from Ghoul’s view, curling in on himself as tight as he could. At least that way he might be able to save face. He felt them kneel down next to him, throwing off waves of apprehension. Jet just knew if he looked, ghoul would be wearing that wide eyed, intense look he always does when trying to diffuse a bomb or deal with one of Party’s moods (which were basically the same thing). It was a look that meant everything he did was calculated, cautious, ready to take on whatever consequences may come from one wrong move. Jet didn’t want to be a bomb.
“Hey Jetty,” Ghoul breathed softly, “what are… uh.. What are you doing on the ground?”
Jet let out a pathetic, earth shattering sob that had been building in his chest ever since Ghoul had knocked on the door. So much for saving face.
Ghoul quickly realized he was way out of his depths, and a panic began to creep into his voice, “Hey! Hey no, you’re okay!” they blurted out. Jet couldn't help but feel guilty that he was the cause of the panic in their voice.
Ghoul took a deep breath, “I’m sorry…. Shit I’m not good at this stuff Jet, I’m sorry— usually….” he paused for a moment, and with a sinking sense of irony added, “well, usually you’re the one who’s good at this stuff”.
That was enough to make Jet huff out a miserable laugh, which apparently had sounded more like a sob because Ghoul only seemed to panic more, “No, it's okay it's okay, yeah? Um… can I… can I touch you? Or no?”
Jet considered the question for a moment, but before he could even make up his mind on whether or not he should say yes, whether or not he deserved to give in to his weakness, his body acted on its own accord and launched itself into the smaller ‘joy’s arms. The sudden action was enough to send both of them toppling to the ground.
After a noise of surprise from Ghoul, they wrapped their arms around Jet and squeezed tight. Ghoul prayed that Jet would find the same comfort in the action that Party usually did, because it was pretty much the only trick in his book for helping to calm someone down. Not that it had helped Party much lately.
Ghoul wondered in passing if this was all about Party, but thought it best not to ask. He hoped nothing had happened, and swallowed down the spike of fear that shot through his body— surely Jet would've said something by now if something had happened to Party. He needed to focus all his attention on Jet right now.
Then another thought floated across his mind— When was the last time Jet had slept? He had been running around after the three of them putting out fires seemingly 24/7 since Party’s incident. But maybe it had seemed that way because he really had been on call 24/7— he was probably exhausted. And when was the last time he saw Jet eat? Their limited supplies had lasted them longer than Jet had said they would and usually he was spot on with that kind of stuff. The thought made Ghoul pull Jet in even tighter. What else had he been sacrificing for the crew?
The pressure of Ghoul holding him was enough for Jet to finally let himself go. He began to cry in earnest, his breathing picking back up (much to Ghoul’s dismay) and his body was wracked with tremors. Growing increasingly more panicked themselves, Ghoul put on his best soothing voice in an attempt to calm his friend down.
“Shhh it's okay, just breathe.” Ghoul whispered as Jet burrowed his head into their neck. “Everything's gonna be okay, Jetty, I promise. Just breathe.”
If Jet didn't want to die of embarrassment before, he definitely did now. He just couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his face and he was beginning to worry that they never would. Witch take him now. But he continued to crowd Ghoul, as if he was attempting to burrow into their chest, and tried his hardest to follow his soft instructions— breathe in, hold it, and breathe out. Breathe in, hold it, and breathe out. Ghoul continued to whisper to Jet as he clung to them, and Jet could tell that they were trying their hardest to send waves of calm in his direction. That's what he would've done, after all.
After a while Jet managed to calm his panicked sobs into a stream of gentle tears, the shaking had all but resided (except, he noted with a grimace, in his hands. He hoped this wasn't becoming a regular thing). Jet felt Ghoul snake their arms out from around his body and gently take his face in their hands, lifting his head off their shoulder. Jet was too tired to shake him off as they held his face, inspecting him with worried eyes— it was too much, seeing the concern in his friend’s eyes, and Jet was embarrassed, guilt washing over him. So he just closed his eyes, and leaned into the contact.
Ghoul wiped away a tear that rolled down Jet’s face. “What happened?”
That was a loaded question. Jet’s mind raced to come up with something, anything, to say that would even begin to touch on what had happened. There was just too much. Way too much. And Jet still couldn't help but feel he didn't have the right to complain about any of it because it was all just a part of his job. It was his job to fix everything. It's not Ghoul’s fault that he wasn't able to do the one thing he was supposed to do, so why should he burden his friend with that? He shouldn't even be crying right now, he should be—
Ghoul shook Jet gently “Hey. Again with the gears turning. I can't hear for shit but even I couldn't miss the sound those motherfuckers are making”. At that, Jet felt himself crack a watery smile, one that Ghoul returned. Jet could practically feel the relief washing over their body. “So what's up? You can tell me, Jet. Always.”
Jet let out a sniffle as a new wave of tears washed over him “I- I cou- I couldn’t… I-”
Ghoul rubbed circles on Jets cheeks, soothing his hitching breath, “Its okay sweetheart, take it slow”
“I… I couldn't br- braid.. I couldn't braid my ha-hair,” Jet sputtered out, “it… I was- and it was s-so h- it was so hot and I… I couldnt g-get it… I couldn't get- get it o-off me”. Jet wished that Destroya would strike him dead where he lie. “It's.. its stu-stupid but I… I’m s-so.. Sorry I… never mi-mind.”
Jet tried to wretch himself out of Ghoul’s grasp. After hearing himself say that shit out loud he realized how stupid he was being. He just needed to walk it off and—
But Ghoul just pulled him into a hug. “No, it’s not stupid Jetty. And even if it was stupid, it’s been a long couple of days dude, you deserve to be upset over stupid shit. Destroya knows we all are.”
Jet just cried harder “I can't be… I ca- I can't be. I- it’s s- it’s so much I- I gotta fix every-everything! It's my.. my job!”
“Fuck no, Jet, no, its not your job to fix everything. I’m so sorry if we… if I ever made you feel that way. Destroya.” Ghoul could hear his own heart breaking. He wondered if Jet could hear it too. “That’s not a job for one person dude. No matter how good they are at it.”
Jet wondered what he was good for then. If he wasn't able to fix everything, help everyone, then what did they keep him around for?
Based on the choked sound that Ghoul let out above him, Jet also wondered if maybe he had said that out loud.
Ghoul could feel his own eyes start to water. “Jet I… mi amor why would you say that, I…” Ghoul took a deep breath. They couldn't both be crying. “I love you so much. Kobra and Poison too even if those motherfuckers don't always know how to show it.” Ghoul paused another moment, before continuing, “and like who cares if you can't solve everyone's problems? Like not every problem is meant to be solved. Right? Not everything can get fixed. Sometimes it just…. blows up and evolves. Like how Party makes those sculptures out of shrapnel they find? And they like… ugh, Witch, never mind— this is a terrible pep talk. You know what I mean.”
Jet made some non-committal noise that apparently wasn't good enough for Ghoul because once again, he felt them pulling back to cradle his face in their hands.
“Jet” ghoul said, voice surprisingly stern “Hey dude look at me”.
Jet reluctantly opened his eyes, looking into Ghoul’s face, their eyes glassy and full of emotion. “Sorry” he whispered before he could stop himself. But Ghoul just shook their head.
“No, no apologizing mi amor, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he insisted before continuing on in that same stern but soft tone, “I should be apologizing. We all should. I'm sorry we weren’t there for you like you were for all of us.”
Jet sniffed and opened his mouth to dismiss Ghoul's apology, but the ‘joy cut him off, “just accept it okay? Please. You deserve it.”
Jet swallowed the dismissal right then and there. Something about the intensity with which Ghoul was speaking made him believe them, no matter how hard the little voice in their brain, the one that tells him it's all his fault, was telling him otherwise.
Ghoul continued “but Jet, I mean it. It's not your job to fix everything. You can't. And even if you could, you shouldn't have to. You’re so much more than like a... a fucking tool box or something dude. You’re my family and I love you and so does everyone else. That's why you’re here. No matter what you do that won’t change.”
Now Ghoul was actually crying— he barked out a laugh and let go of Jet to wipe at his eyes, “Ugh— shit man, what the fuck! Now I’m crying too!” and at that, Jet launched forward and tackled Ghoul into another bone crushing hug that sent them both toppling to the floor.
“I love you too” Jet said, with the steadiest voice he had had for days.
---
You’d be hard pressed to find any killjoys who would miss the rare opportunity to see the sun rise over the zones— an occurrence that was only rare because you’d be hard pressed to find many killjoys who could muster up the willpower to wake up that early. It was like an unspoken rule in the zones: if you’re up before the sun, it's only polite to sit with her as she wakes up too. It was a rule not many broke.
But despite being one of the most magnificent dawns of the season, otherworldly hues of purple, orange, and gold painting the sand and sky until they were nearly indiscernible— there was no one around to witness it. It's not that there wasn't anyone awake— yes, the sun could sense, there were two lone souls awake on that morning of her most magnificent work yet. But they were too busy to turn their eyes to the horizon that morning. She couldn't help but be a bit bitter— and so she shone a bit hotter and higher in the sky for the rest of the season.
Jet Star, one of those two lone souls (unaware of the sun’s new grudge against him) could tell it was going to be a hot one as he watched the light filter into the bathroom that morning— but he couldn't find it within him to care. Not when Ghoul was sitting above him, perched on the toilet, braiding his hair. He couldn't find it within him to care what the new day brought as Ghoul’s fingers moved deftly through his curls with a precision that could only come from a bomb maker’s hands. Feeling the warm weight of Ghoul’s legs on either side of his body, Jet couldn't even find it within him to care when he finally drifted off to sleep, right there on the cool tile floor, all while Ghoul jabbered on about their newest invention.
Jet woke up the next afternoon on the bathroom floor with a pillow beneath his head, a blanket over his body, and two neat braids in his hair, close and tight to his scalp. He could hear the sound of Ghoul’s laughter in the kitchen followed by a voice— Kobra’s, finally— bitching about something Ghoul had done. A sense of relief washed over Jet at their bickering— things were starting to return to normal, at least in that department. Jet stretched on the floor, mentally cataloging the things he had to get done today— so lost in thought that he didn't notice that someone had come into the bathroom until a foot lightly tapped against his shoulder.
Jet scrambled up to see Party Poison— still looking gaunt, exhausted, and extremely injured, but noticeably better— standing over them with an inquisitive look on their face. Jet could’ve cried tears of joy for the second time in 24 hours. Thank the witch they were on their feet again.
Before Jet could say anything, Party raised their hands, “What are you doing on the bathroom floor?”
Jet just laughed, and Party looked even more confused, tilting their head like some kind of puppy. It made Jet’s heart swell.
“You okay?” Party signed with that same anxious look in their eyes Jet had seen last night. It was a look that, unfortunately, will probably take a long while to get rid of.
Jet stood up. “Yes. I’m okay” he said, signing along for good measure. This seemed to relax the redhead a bit, and their shoulders dropped minusculely as they nodded in response. Progress.
The two stared at each other for a moment before Jet realized that, oh, they probably have to use the restroom. Gathering up his makeshift bed, Jet apologized, making their way out of the tiny room. But before Party could close the door, Jet stopped them.
“I love you” Jet signed and Party, although a bit caught off guard, reached over and tentatively, so tentatively, grabbed Jet's hand and squeezed it, the beginnings of a smile forming at the corners of their lips. Jet knew what they meant.
I love you too.
The tightness in Jet’s chest loosened for the first time in days.