Chapter Text
“We need a pet. Something not so big that it can jump on everything and eat all we got, but not a parrot that’ll repeat the shit you say during sex. No Bulldogs, either, I don’t want to be known as the dick with the Toddler Eater 3000. Something that doesn’t eat the apartment would be rad. This shithole needs more life.”
“No dogs? Bunnies sound like a good choice, then. Wait, did you say ‘we’-”
“Good idea, Peeks! Ok, let’s go to the animal store or whatever-”
“Woah woah woah woah, slow down, Darnie! We are not getting a bunny! How are we gonna treat it? I can’t stay, I have… work.” Pico rubs his temples in frustration at the sudden destruction of his seemingly normal, balanced life. Minus the mercenary work. He rakes in $3,000 daily (at minimum) at the cost of never knowing when his last mission will be.
“Then let me do the shit cleaning and all that. You know money ain’t a problem. We need a bunny. Feed it carrots and watch it bite your ass. Upload it to XHub and it becomes famous for-.”
“This is a bad idea.” Pico rolls his eyes and puts his focus back on his target in the streets below. Carson Hayes, a millionaire whose wealth gave him the illusion of immortality, wears an orange suit every Tuesday night to eat at Terenzio’s on the outskirts of Newgrounds. The restaurant was famous for its luxurious, over-expensive, mind-melting Italian Pico wishes he could get his hands on. The bank wouldn’t give as much as robbing Terrance’s during its busiest night would. As tempting as it is, Pico has no interest in it. The untraceable bullet he loaded into the cartridge of his sniper rifle is worth 20,000 dollars, if he lands the shot. All things considered, that was cheap money for Carson. Two guards dressed in black follow forty feet behind him, and three walk in front of him in the shape of a triangle. His business on the surface is philanthropy and global healthcare. Pico frowned. It’s a front for the real meat and potatoes of his profits. Carson Healthcare supplies arms to underground criminal syndicates halfway across the world. That’s what his visits to foreign nations are for. In turn for helping crime syndicates suppress a population on the brink of a government overthrow, he gets boats full of gold delivered right to his back door. The big, national newspapers will hail it as a terrorist attack on a revolutionary, humble mind of the generation. What a joke. “This is the easiest trigger I’ve ever had to pull.”
“Then pull it already. I’m starving, and the compound I put on your bullet can only remove fingerprints for so long before melting the-” A quiet zip of air expelling from the sniper whistles in Darnell’s ear. A body slumps to the floor on the street. The boom of the sniper comes next, not audible to anyone outside of the block. Then the screams cause too much panic for anyone to know which murky shadow on the rooftops around them caused the assassination. Blood rushes down and mixes with the rest of Carson’s suit, creating the color of the sunset Newgrounds bathed in two hours ago. “Gun.” Carson Hayes, elimination bounty of 20,000 dollars, fanatic egotist, is deceased after writhing on the ground and choking on his blood for thirty seconds. Pico smirks as he exhales.
“Told ya. Easy trigger.” If he were still inexperienced, he’d bask in the raw chaos below. Those times have passed and the scars were there to prove it. Pico immediately disassembles his sniper and packs it in a violin case as neatly as time permitted. He adjusts his suit and bowtie so it doesn’t look messy. The band playing for Terenzio’s tonight would be wondering where their last two string players would be, who were tied up and unconscious on the first floor of the building. The two would be gone before anyone realized it was a part of the plan. Darnell, rolling a joint by the rooftop’s busted down door, tapping his foot on the ground to count how long the two had before the cops arrive, is calculating how much money he needs to steal from under Pico’s nose in order to buy a bunny. “We’ll split up. Take the road down Ferris Street and pass the train tracks to get back to the safe house.”
“Can we even call that dump a house?” Pico jostles Darnell on his way through the door and down the clanking metal steps. “We have so much money, why not get something better?!”
“That’s too obvious, dumbass!”
“Love you too, Peeks! Fuckin’ A.” Darnell is the one rubbing his temples now, cursing under his breath. Red and blue overtook the gorgeous scenery Newgrounds was known for, desecrating it, like water to a fire. He waits until Pico’s footsteps recede–the ginger is on edge now, and Darnell trailing him only makes it worse–before stepping over the broken door and disappearing into the night.
+++
“Authorities have given no comment on who the shooter may be at this time, signaling that their only lead is the letter “P” written on the back of the fired bullet. They say that the trajectory means it came from a rooftop, so all buildings in the area of the crime scene have been evacuated. Newgrounds mourns the loss of the gentle millionaire Carson Hayes, who was shot and killed at the scene. In honor of his devotion to the city and beyond, his public funeral will be held at the city hall before his body is buried at the Flower Hill Cemetery. Auctions for various keepsakes from his manor will be donated during the ceremony afterwards. In his will, Mr. Hayes wrote that ‘My treasures should not be barred from this world if I were to pass, but rather spread amongst the people, as all things should be.’ We’ll have more details about tonight’s events on NNews 5 tomorrow morning at 7am. Back to you, Chris, on the weather.”
Darnell is blinded by the glow of the eight TV screens flashbanging his eyes. Someone forgot to dim the brightness, or maybe that’s the fault of only using his lighter to guide himself in the darkness. Their handiwork on the big screen, who would’ve thought. Clutching his hoodie to keep it up whenever people walked by, Darnell finds himself unable to tear his gaze away from the screens. Five minutes of fame, and then the weather, the same mundane shit people read up on every day. Does anyone even care? Pico, Darnell, Nene–an indispensable trio who do whatever the fuck they want for themselves with nobody else in mind. They all have body counts, sometimes even going for contests on who can take down a bounty first. Their skills are unmatchable and their determination is to the point of insanity. For all they have done, or will do, life has rewarded them with three WANTED posters in the Sheriff’s office. That’s it. Beyond that, to strangers, their lives mean nothing and should be snuffed out like putting molten aluminum in an ant hill. Darnell shouldn’t care what other people think–Pico would kill him for thinking naïve; of course this is the risk of their line of work–but how fucked are they if something happens to the three of them? No allies, no backup plans, no friends. Fond memories in bars and karaoke with the local rap star Boyfriend (albeit after they broke into the house) won’t cut it. They needed more. They needed a life beyond this mess.
A loud thump on the ground makes Darnell gasp and jerk his head to the left, fingers centimeters from wrapping around his special gold revolver and pulling it out to gun down the shadows. Minus the blaring TV’s, the streets remain calm, but the thumping continues.
“Ow!” A surge of pain out of nowhere makes him throw his leg up in the air. A tiny trail of blood and dirty water trickles down onto his sock. “Motherfucker-” Darnell pauses. “Oh.” Ferocious and clearly full of thoughts of world domination was the bunny trying to chew on his leg. The fur is brown, though Darnell deduces it’s likely a coating of dirt and whatever other muck the city throws around. With sharp teeth and blue eyes, the bunny senses it can't eat through Darnell’s skin and bounces off of him, leaving a small open wound behind. Darnell expects it to bounce away, but he sees that it’s too slow to even do that, taking a full minute to hop across a crevice in the sidewalk. Based on his position to the TVs, and the trashed alleyway next to him, the bunny must’ve been by itself there long enough to become willing to eat anything. It needs proper attention and care, or it will die by sunrise. Darnell weighs his options:
- Make Pico pissed off that he decided to get a bunny off the street
- Make Pico pissed off that he decided to get a bunny off the street, but Pico ends up liking it
- Pico nurses the bunny back to health, because he would shoot a bullet at anything but small animals
The wound needs cleaning, anyway, Darnell thought. He shouldn’t run around with it for long, in case of an infection. Seeing the odds in his favor, Darnell cautiously approaches the bunny with both hands ready to clasp around it. The bunny thumps at him again, sniffing the wretched air coming off of Darnell.
“What? What? You wanna die out here in the streets? You wanna starve to death, little bro? I don’t think so. Stop being such a hardass.” Whether or not it understood is beyond Darnell, but the bunny inched closer until it laid itself in the palms of Darnell’s hands. It’s a miracle it survived this far. Bunnies, as far as Darnell knew, could die at being touched the wrong way. One stronger than that is a must have, and the solution is being cradled underneath his hoodie as he walks back to the safe house Pico and Darnell have been using for the last month.
+++
“Is that what I fucking think it is?” Pico looks up from the couch with disapproval in his hollow eyes. “It looks like its mom gave birth to it in a dumpster. Or a sewer. I don’t want anything to do with it.” Pico lies, keeping the composure of a cold-blooded, ruthless killer, who has no room for a sopping wet bunny. Darnell scowls back at him. His boyfriend is stubborn, believing distractions lead to a bullet in the head; if that is true, Pico would’ve never devoted himself to his ex for more than a year. “Just go clean it already.” Pico waves Darnell away. He stares absent-mindedly at the floor while the sink runs in the bathroom. He buries his face in his shirt and listens to the squeaking of the couch.
“Come on little guy- stop- hey! Ouch, man! Shit, you’re like a second Pico. As if one wasn’t enough.” The insult echoes from the bathroom and bounces around the walls of their tiny cabin in the woods. Owned by Pico’s grandfather before he passed, it was meant for hunting trips the family would go on every season, mainly late fall. Cobwebs decorate the corners of the walls with spiders stringing up helpless flies. The worn couch Pico sits on has a faded pattern of white roses. As a kid, he’d paint certain roses red where their thorns touched the petals of another. That was one of the more creative beatings, being slapped around by a wet paintbrush afterwards by a father who couldn’t understand why God didn’t give him a perfect son. Bet he’d be proud now; he took his father’s liking of killing to the next level and his remarkable ability to create grief wherever he walks. Darnell will be next to touch it, it’s just a matter of when. Pico furrows his brows, biting back screams of frustration.
Darnell is the only person keeping Pico sane. Life is a chemical imbalance without him that threatens to explode from instability. More elements introduced to the compound seem to re-stabilize it: Blue, Darnie, Nene, Cherry, Work, this bunny. Mere seconds of bloated hope and celebration before the erlenmeyer flask shatters into hundreds of tiny shards. The compound melts on the tiled floor and is deemed too dangerous to come into contact with other elements. The best form of protection is isolation. Look at what happens when you live like a normal dude , Pico thought to himself. A cycle of pain you think will be the good ending you want each time . You don’t deserve that. Darnell deserves better .
“Alright,” Darnell steps out of the bathroom with a blue bunny in his hands. He gently strokes the cleaned fur with two fingers between the bunny’s ears, which causes it to nuzzle itself against Darnell. “Say hello to Pico Jr.” Once again, Darnell refuses Pico’s nightmare of a life and molds it into the dream he fights off each day. Darnell shoves Pico Jr. at Pico’s face, and his woes absorb into the delicate blue fur, like Baby Blue did when they were still together. How happy his life must be without him. Pico gingerly scooped the blue bunny up from Darnell and laid it in his lap, stroking it behind the ears. The bunny sniffed his dusty shirt, then clung onto it with its tiny nails. Pico didn’t pay attention to the sound of the fancy cotton tearing, as he knew he’d burn this clothing by the end of the day, anyway. Climbing up Pico’s shirt, it fell back down after reaching his breasts. Pico snickers.
“Did you just laugh?”
“Did not.” Pico frowns, once again getting into a defensive position on the couch, cradling the bunny the same way he would with Darnell.
“You did. I saw that. You- you fucking laughed!” Darnell furiously points at him the way a cop waves a gun at anyone within a half a mile radius. Pico Jr. also points at Pico by brushing his shirt with a front paw. Pico lifts it up onto his shoulder. “Look at the little dude go.”
“Ow.” Using Pico’s hair as support, Pico Jr. nestled itself on the ginger hair, nibbling on loose strands. Pico didn’t move an inch, afraid it would become spooked and fly off. It smelled like vanilla and dish soap, thanks to Darnell’s vigorous efforts to clean it. Strangely, the scent brings back practice duets with his ex. Either his shampoo was vanilla, or he actually cleaned himself with dish soap and had no idea. Maybe he did. Pico scoffs.
“I know blue’s your least favorite color, but c’mon, it’s a cute ass bunny.” Darnell plops on the old couch next to Darnell. The springs squeak so loudly the two look to each other in momentary fear that the couch would collapse and they’d die with the sharp end of a rusty one hundred year old spring up their asses. The squeaking subsides and the two let go of their held breath.
“It’s a crazy one.”
“We’re crazier.” Pico sighs. Pico Jr. continues to eat his hair like carrot cake. “We don't need to take watches out here. No one but my family knew about this place, and whatever asshole currently owns the deed to the land or is a landlord or whatever. You take the bed.”
“You’re not joining me?” Darnell begins to undress in front of Pico, casually slipping out of his suit the way an angel would undo their robe before dipping their feet in the waters of heaven. His burnt physique always left the ginger speechless.
“I… need to watch the bunny. Uh, Pico Jr. That feels weird to say.” Darnell bends down so Pico can undo the tie for him. He throws it across the room before helping unbutton the white shirt. Two fingers trace along Darnell’s scarred, soft breasts. He presses against Darnell’s heart, listening to its quickening pace. Darnell swats his hand away. The exhaustion in his eyes shows he isn’t in the mood, but still doesn’t leave without giving Pico a kiss on the forehead.
“Consider it our kid. Then it won’t be so bad." That makes it worse for Pico, who blushes at the comment. "I’ll get food for it tomorrow. Stores won’t be open this late at night.” Pico places the bunny on his chest as he lays down on the couch. Too tired to get a pillow for his head, he opts to use the dusty blanket on the floor. Rolling it up and placing it behind his head, he finds it better than half of the sleeping situation he’s put himself in. Pico Jr. curls up and quickly closes its eyes for the night. Darnell shuts the loud, creaking wooden to the bedroom behind him. That leaves Pico staring absentmindedly at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. His luck will run out again for him one day. He strokes Pico Jr. between its ears. Who’s going to pay for that when it does this time?