Work Text:
John regrets going to Go-Nuts so late.
The floors haven't been mopped in half a decade, the soles of their shoes stick with each step, the corners of the windows have marks on them, and the tacky pink and oranges clash together. Isolated from most of the town, it's nearly silent.
Somehow, both he and Jack take comfort in it.
Somehow, it led to the worst possible thing to happen.
He leaves; the smell of ash and burnt hair is forever ingrained in his head, to the point where it almost feels real.
To the point where it is real.
-
"That mug is dirty, you're going to get sick." Jack points out, a slightly disgruntled look morphing on his face.
"I don't have time to get sick." John gruffly shot back, taking a sip from his coffee-stained mug as if to make a point. "I just needa know what's in that house."
The cork board, a skewed mess of yellow sticky notes and hastily-taken photographs, along with pinned papers that were decorated with paragraphs upon paragraphs; John hasn't cleaned up the board, nor his office, in months. He's not sure how long it's been since he last slept, and he's not even sure when he last ate.
"Look," Jack proposes, taking a step closer to his partner. "How about we take a break since we hit a dead-end? How does that sound?"
"But I've gotten so much-"
"We should Go-Nuts for donuts." The deputy smiled, and John found that he couldn't look away.
...On second thought, perhaps some donuts would be nice.
-
John remembers simpler times.
Remembers auburn hair and lively green eyes and remembers tiny shoes and puffy pink gloves.
Halloween was her favourite holiday, she had mentioned.
'Halloween is when I'm able to spend more time with you,' She said, 'Halloween is when you aren't working, and I get to dress up like you!'
His heart swelled that day. He didn't find much purpose in his life until his daughter came along.
"What do you want to dress up as this year?"
"You!" She said with an open smile, missing two of her front teeth.
"But you went as me last year, kiddo." John let out a small laugh.
She hummed as if ruffling through costume options in her head. "But you're so cool! I want to save the world and go pew-pew with you!"
"Well, alright," John compromised, "You can go pew-pew with me on Halloween, but don't shoot any strangers this time- and, because I know you can get a little trigger happy, you've gotta tone it down."
The girl pouts.
"If you're able to do that, then you're able to get some extra candy as a reward, yeah?"
His daughter grins devilishly, "You've fallen into my trap!" She giggles- or cackles, and runs away brandishing matching nerf guns in her hands.
-
The fluorescent lights bask everything in an orange glow. Walking upon the salmon and jaundiced tiles felt like entering a men's bathroom at a run-down gas station. What was mostly redeemable about the place was that it smelled of fresh pastries and how it was... Mostly clean.
At least the cashier was polite.
"Hey, double J!" The cashier shot the two a grin, only sporting one dimple on their left cheek. "I haven't seen y'all in a couple of days, what's up?" Idly spinning on the swivel chair behind the cheaply designed desk, they chewed on a fat wad of pink bubblegum. So pink, that it matched the colour of their dyed undercut.
"Oh, nothing much." Jack half shrugged, "What about you, Gabriel?"
Gabriel hummed, black hair contrasting against the bright hues of the store. "Slow day. I swear you guys are the only ones supplying my income. Nobody else comes here besides y'all."
"I reckon," John muttered, eyeing down the food warmer that held a wide arrange of donuts and other pastries.
"Six-pack donuts again, yeah?" Gabriel grabbed two tall cups, setting them down on the counter along with two lids.
"Yep!" Jack beamed, grabbing the cups before heading toward the slushy maker.
The cashier pressed a couple of digits into the register, ringing the cops up. Ducking into their seat, they reach underneath the counter to get a signature Go-Nuts box; fit for exactly six donuts. "Want anything new? I made cinnamon twists today. They're your daughter's favourite, right?"
"Grab two, thanks."
"How is she, by the way? Is she doing well?" Gabriel spun in the chair, back facing the sheriff as he grabbed metal tongs to pick up Jack and John's usual order. "Last I heard, she had a high fever. Still sick?"
John tapped his fingers silently against the counter, "Gettin' over it. Temperature has gone down, thankfully. Still a little nauseous, though."
"I'm glad she's doing better. No kid should have to deal with that." Their gaze softened.
"Yeah," John responds, quietly.
The conversation ends there.
John has a butter taste in his mouth.
They leave Go-Nuts, and he snaps open a metal lighter.
-
"Daddy?"
John stirs awake, letting out a small cough. "Yeah, sweetie?" His voice was husky from the couple hours of sleep he had gotten and glancing at the clock perched on his nightstand, he only realized that it was only two hours since he was last awake. Sitting up, he pushed a bush of his hair out of his face.
"...Can I talk to you?" She asked, pausing right before the entrance of his door. Her hands were bunched up at the edge of her dress, pulling at the hem and wrapping it around her finger. Fidgeting and shuffling.
"'Course." The sheriff cleared his throat, tapping at the space on his bed. If it were years ago, someone- a woman- would have been there. "What's up, kiddo?"
She sat down on the edge of his bed, halfway off of the mattress, as if she didn't feel like intruding.
It's nearly silent. The cicadas outside churn the quiet on for longer. John waits patiently, and doesn't try to force an answer out of his daughter.
"...I don't feel good."
"How so?"
"I don't feel happy," She shrugged, studying the floor as she kicks her legs back and forth. In her hands, she held a soft plush; running her hands through the gentle texture. "I'unno. It's like... No matter what I do, I don't feel..."
"Good enough?" John supplied.
His daughter turned, face sour. It's a couple of seconds before she gives him a solemn nod. "...I'm sorry. I don't try to feel like that, but- I-I just can't help it." She shook her head, auburn curls bouncing.
John felt a piece of him crack. "Oh, sweetie." He gathered her up in his arms, pulling him close. "You'll always be good enough for me, you don't have to do anything to prove that. You're fine just the way you are." Rubbing soothing circles into her back, she melted into his hug- pressing her face into the crook of his neck.
"It's okay to feel like this. Sometimes, I don't feel good enough, either. It's hard to get out of that mindset, but it'll be okay. I'm glad you came to me about this, sweetie. Does anyone else know?"
"Kevin does." She murmured into his shoulder, "I told him, uhm, a week ago. He told me to go talk to you about it."
"I'm glad Kevin knows about this, too. You shouldn't have to bottle anything up."
She falters. "But I-I... I didn't want to make you upset. What if I was a burden and you didn't want to deal with me anymore, or you got mad and-"
John's face softened, "I would never get mad at you, especially when it comes to something like this. You're my daughter, you aren't a burden to me, I promise you."
"I'm sorry." The girl's voice broke, turning watery at the end.
"Gosh, no- none of this is your fault, you don't need to apologize, kiddo. I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but I promise you that it will be okay. If you ever feel like this again, you can always come to me. I'm proud of you, and I'd hate for you to be bottlin' things up."
She lifts her head from his shoulder, nose red, and eyes shiny. "Really?"
"Yes, really. Pinkie promise?" He suggested.
For the first time in the past couple of days, she smiled and brought out her pinkie.
-
"Are we going to tell her later?" Jack asked, a slushy in his hand and a box of donuts in another. John had a matching slushy.
The deputy, a blue, and the sheriff, a red.
"I suppose." John shut the car door, hearing the click of the lock initiating. "Ain't like we'll have free time like this anytime soon."
The man hummed, "Alrighty."
"You're fine with that, right?"
Jack blinked, tilting his head. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Tucking the slushy under his forearm, his now free hand came down to intertwine his fingers with John's. "Your daughter would be happy knowing it. I mean, I don't think it's a surprise. We don't really hide it anymore."
John stalled for a second or two longer, gaze sliding from Jack to look at the ground. "Yeah, yeah, okay," He takes in a deep breath, trying to remedy his anxiety. "Alright. I love y-"
"What's that smell?"
"What?" The sheriff turns to look at his partner, frowning. Smelling next to nothing, considering how his office could easily be compared to a literal dump and how he hasn't showered in a couple of days; you tend to become nose blind to disgusting smells after a while, when you are disgusting yourself.
"It's... John, you turned off the coffee maker, right?"
"'Course I did," John explained, "Mayor Shitmore is always pointin' out that I keep it on. As if my coffee maker affects him-"
Jack shook his head, letting go of John's hand to fumble with the lock, keys jangling and clinking. "Jeez- why's the knob so hot?" He asks once he wraps a hand around the dainty knob.
The moment the door opens, a gust of heat hits them.
John smells it now. Understands what Jack is referring to.
He looks in, eyes looking at him back.
In the middle of his living room is a red-cloaked bastard.
In the middle of his living room is a monster that holds half of what used to be a match, they are half of what used to be a human-
In the middle of what was once his living room is-
"...John-" A weight falls onto his shoulder, yet it glides through his nerves like a blade severing the pain receptors- referring to them as null. "...John...- can..."
The voice continues.
"...Hear me?"
No, he can't. He can't do anything.
Because he's only in his early thirties before he realizes that the one thing keeping him going is most likely gone, burnt to a crisp.
Because he's only in his early thirties and he's never imagined making it this long, he's finally in his dream job yet the world is so fucking bleak and-
John is only in his early thirties, he is still young. He barely has had a life so far, and he is still a coward.
Cold seeps into his sleeves and it's only then that he realizes he dropped his slushy. Looking down, the ground is red from the poor drink. A waste of money, a regret.
He should have never gone to Go-Nuts. Shouldn't have even entertained the thought of catching a break if he knew what was going to happen.
John's shaking, and he doesn't know why.
(He's too consumed with his angst, his concerns, and his everything to think of why.)
The smell is so strong- it stings his eyes, gathers in his clothes, and eats away at what he can and can't see. The smoke- it's too thin to make out of what's most of his interior, leaves him wheezing with each deep breath.
It hits harder than any cigarette ever will.
Vaguely, he sees Jack reprimand the arsonist; sees the skin on the cultist's hands curl and festers as big, bulging, flaming red blisters pop and form. John understands that he's doing next to nothing to fix the house- it was too much of a mess, anyway; but understands that he hasn't done anything besides contribute to that mess.
The cultist packs a mean right punch into Jack's left cheekbone, while the other man lets out a grunt- muted by the roaring flames, and restrains the monster by hooking his arms by the armpits.
"John," Jack starts, and he sounds normal. Sounds fine despite it all. "I've got this handled. Go, okay? Get whatever you need."
"Okay," John says, quietly.
He moves, finally.
He moves, frantically.
Looking in closets, underneath beds, and behind the hidden compartments in his office. John doesn't know what he'll find, doesn't know what will end up with all of his belongings, but what he does try to find is his daughter. The sheriff isn't sure how long his house has been lit, but he does know that it's been going on for long enough.
It's only been a couple of minutes, yet the wafting scent- the heat- the bright flames- it's starting to get to him. Not even halfway through the search, his head starts to throb and his vision blurs with each glance or violent movement of his head. Each breath he lets out is a heave, and each inhale is a toxin.
John doesn't think he'll ever be able to get rid of the smell, doesn't think he'll ever be able to get rid of the memory of it.
His foot catches onto the edge of a fallen book, and a plume of black ash wafts up as he sets a hand on the warm wall.
He can feel it give way, feel his pressure press against the wall, and can watch it sink in on itself like rotting meat.
It's the wall that connects to his daughter's bedroom, he realizes.
Managing to get to the room, the door is shit tight. His head is swimming, and the thundering of his heart is burning his ears. If he were to look down, his palms would be dry, and grey, yet somehow sweaty from all of the fires leftovers he touched.
Grasping onto the knob- it's heated, too hot, it may even give him blisters, but his determination is a forest fire itself.
Anything for his daughter.
He starts to open the door, calling out her name.
What if she's asleep? What if she's out with one of her friends? She didn't tell him that she'd be out today, so shouldn't she be safe, in the confines of her room?
Her room is shock still- or maybe it's John who's frozen.
Everything looks normal, and that is what is frightening to him. The door, while it did provide some precaution and security, didn't explain why the girl was not there.
One thing that scares him is not knowing where his daughter is.
One thing that he realizes is that he's afraid of everything; of not knowing enough, of not doing enough, of not anything, if not everything.
Grabbing onto the nearest thing he sees out of desperation, going through the motions, not genuinely processing what was going on around him- what he finds in his hands is something soft.
He feels like he's dying.
Looking down, he can feel a part of him crack.
He wants to scream.
In his hands is a snail plush that never leaves his daughter's side.
Looking back at where he came from, his body sways, and he lets himself be consumed by the overwhelming black hole.
-
"I'm so sorry, John," Jack says, wrapping a deep weighted blanket around his partner's shoulders before sitting beside him on the edge of the ambulance. The deputy is sporting some nasty burn marks, on his forearms along with some bruising- no doubt from the recent struggle he was in. "We shouldn't have gone to Go-Nuts. We could have gone another day, or-"
John still doesn't know where his daughter is. Doesn't even know where the bastard that caused this is.
The lights surrounded them, flashing and protruding. The sirens blare into his ears and carve themselves into the walls of his skull. From this angle, he's able to see the firefighters work on his house and able to see a couple of others try to filter out the smoke. John's house was halfway caving in, all of his belongings, crushed-
His clothes, his hobbies, his important documents-
If he just had more time, he could have-
All of the research he's done, all of the information he possessed-
All of her stuff- all of the photos of her, all of her-
John clutches on the lone snail as if it's his lifeline, and he breaks.
It's all he has left.
-
"Now that you're more lucid, let's get some questions out of you. We've already got some answers out of your, uh, partner, but since you're the one that lives here, we ultimately got to go with your word." A firefighter stands before them, the fire is out. While they were tall, they weren't as tall as Jack, yet their presence loomed over them from how the cops were sitting.
Clearing their throat, the firefighter asks, "Did you have anyone else living with you?"
John tries to answer, he really does, but it's Jack who speaks first. The deputy has an arm wrapped around John's shoulders, an extra weight that grounds him like crystallized magma. Jack's weight is the nail in the coffin, a drive that pushes him into the ground.
"Yeah," Jack speaks up, "His daughter. She should have been home, we never let her be alone for too long."
"Ah," the firefighter faltered, "I recognized that you had a room for another person, but I didn't realize-"
"What?" John asked, quietly, "The hell did you just say?"
"We didn't find a body, sir." The firefighter said, just as quietly. "I'm sorry for your-"
She's not dead.
She's missing.
The snail plush is a mockery to John.
"I have so much work to do." He gasps out.
Because who is he when he isn't working?
-
"You and papa Jack." She says one day, doesn't stop calling Jack 'papa' even though John has stated multiple times that Jack isn't her father.
"Sweetie, she ain't your father." John tries because he and Jack have never put a label on their relationship, never called themselves anything more than partners.
Work partners, to be more specific.
Close work partners.
She pouted, "But look!" Presenting a photo, her auburn curls bounce with each movement. The photo in her hands is of them all,l a prime example of a happy family. "It's me with daddy and papa! We look just like the other families, and I get to have two parents now!" She smiles with all her teeth, bright and cheery without a care in the world.
"Oh," John's breath escapes from him, "But wouldn't you want..." A mother, instead of a father, like all of the other families.
"I like it just the way we are! Me, you, and papa Jack! Three of us against the world! We go pew-pew and fight against all of the bad guys!"
"Yeah," John finds himself agreeing. "You, me, and papa Jack."
The three of them are in their own bubble, in their own circle, in their own family.
Just the three of them, nothing less.
Bonus:
Art of the Go-Nuts cashier.
