Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sun beat down on the battered Trans Am, turning the inside into a sauna. Party Poison lounged in the backseat, boots propped against the window, sunglasses askew, a grimace pulling at their lips. Jet Star was stretched out on the hood, one hand shielding his eyes, the other clutching his stomach. Kobra Kid sat cross-legged on the cracked asphalt, glaring at an unopened can of Power Pup like it had personally offended him. Fun Ghoul, meanwhile, paced in tight circles, muttering curses under his breath.

"Killjoys, roll call," Party croaked, voice hoarse. "Who's dying the most today?"

"Me," Kobra groaned, pressing a hand to his lower abdomen. "I swear, if BL/ind ever finds us, I'll just let 'em take me out."

"Yeah, well, they can have you after I’m done," Fun Ghoul shot back, flopping down beside him. "I feel like my insides are trying to kill me. Again."

Jet Star let out a weak laugh. "We’re the most feared rebels in the Zones, but a period takes us all out in one shot. Legendary."

Party Poison snorted, shifting to sit up. "We should put that on a wanted poster. 'Armed, dangerous, and currently incapacitated by uterine sabotage.'"

Ghoul grinned, despite the pain. "Bet Korse would be terrified. He’d run screaming at the first cramp."

"Only if he’s got anything left down there," Kobra muttered, earning a round of snickers.

Jet Star rolled onto his side, propping himself up. "Okay, but seriously, does anyone have any more painkillers? Or, like, a grenade I can swallow?"

"Used the last of 'em yesterday," Party sighed. "All we got is... Power Pup and some questionable gum I found under the seat."

"I’d rather die," Ghoul said, wrinkling his nose. "That stuff is probably older than us."

Kobra nudged Ghoul’s shoulder. "You’re dramatic."

"Says the guy who nearly cried over running out of pads," Ghoul shot back, but his tone was gentle, teasing.

Party dug around in their backpack, pulling out a battered heating pad. "I got this. It’s not much, but it’s warm. Jet, you want it?"

Jet sat up, looking genuinely grateful. "You’re a lifesaver, Poison."

"Don’t mention it," Party said, tossing it over. "We’re in this together, right? Fabulous Killjoys, united by cramps and questionable life choices."

Ghoul snickered, his voice softer. "Yeah, like a real family. A really weird, dysfunctional, slightly radioactive family."

Kobra leaned back, closing his eyes. "At least we’re not alone. Could be worse. Could be stuck in Battery City with no one who gets it."

Party nodded, the corners of their mouth twitching up. "We take care of each other. That’s what matters."

There was a moment of quiet, the kind that only happens when everyone’s too tired to keep up the banter but too comfortable to need to fill the silence.

Jet broke it first, voice thoughtful. "You know, if BL/ind ever does catch us, we should just tell them we’re all synced up. Maybe they’ll let us go out of pity."

Ghoul laughed, the sound bright and sharp. "Or they’ll run for their lives. Either way, we win."

Party grinned, leaning back against the seat. "That’s the spirit, Ghoulie. Now, somebody pass me that gum. I’m feeling lucky."

And for a moment, under the harsh desert sun, with pain and exhaustion pressing in from all sides, the Killjoys felt almost okay—together, a little family, surviving one bad day at a time.

Chapter Text

The battered Trans Am screeched into the cracked lot behind WKIL 109 FMX, the Killjoys barely holding it together. Party Poison was a mess—face streaked with tears, hands shaking, their voice gone raw from sobbing. Jet Star and Kobra Kid looked pale and miserable, and Fun Ghoul was biting his lip so hard it looked ready to bleed.

Show Pony was already waiting outside, roller skates glinting in the harsh desert light. The second they saw the state of the crew, they skated over, worry etched across their face. "Whoa, what happened? You guys look like you got run over by a sandworm."

Ghoul tried for a joke, but it came out weak. "Nah, just dying. Usual Tuesday."

Show Pony didn’t hesitate. "Come on, inside. Dr. D’s got the AC running and I’ve got actual ibuprofen. Like, not expired."

Inside, the radio station was a patchwork of static, posters, and the ever-present hum of Dr. Death Defying’s voice. He spun his chair around, shades reflecting the flickering lights. "Look alive, sunshine. Or, uh, as alive as you can get." His tone was gentle, a rare softness under the bravado.

Party Poison collapsed onto the nearest couch, clutching their stomach. Jet Star and Kobra slumped beside them, Ghoul barely making it to the floor before curling up. Show Pony pressed a bottle of ibuprofen into Party’s hand, then handed out water bottles with practiced efficiency.

"Take two. Trust me," Pony said, voice firm. "You’ll feel human again in twenty minutes. Maybe."

Dr. Death Defying rolled closer, concern clear even behind the sunglasses. "You kids burn bright, but even stars need a break. Let the static do the work for a while."

"Thanks, Dr. D," Jet Star managed, voice hoarse.

Kobra cracked a smile. "You’re a lifesaver, Pony."

Party Poison sniffled, managing a shaky laugh. "You’re all too good to us."

Show Pony grinned. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep you idiots alive. Now shut up and hydrate."

The Killjoys sprawled out, letting the medicine and the safety of the station work their magic. For once, the only thing they had to fight was time—and with Dr. D and Show Pony watching over them, it almost felt easy.

The radio station was quiet except for the low thrum of Dr. Death Defying’s latest track spinning in the background and the occasional hiss of static. The Killjoys were sprawled out in various states of exhaustion, finally starting to look a little less like the walking dead thanks to Show Pony’s ibuprofen and relentless hydration campaign.

Show Pony skated back into the main room, a fresh bottle of water in hand, and plopped down onto the battered arm of the couch next to Party Poison. He nudged Ghoul’s leg with his skate. “Move over, I’m claiming some couch too. My back is killing me.”

Ghoul snorted, shifting to make room. “What, you running a marathon out there?”

Show Pony rolled his eyes. “Nah, just bleeding out like the rest of you.”

There was a beat of silence as the Killjoys processed that.

Kobra blinked. “Wait, you too?”

Show Pony shrugged, as casual as could be. “Yeah. Welcome to the club. I’ve got a heating pad stashed in the DJ booth if anyone wants to share custody.”

Jet Star groaned, half-laughing. “Is there anyone in this desert who isn’t suffering right now?”

Dr. Death Defying let out a dry chuckle from behind his soundboard. “Not in this building, apparently.”

Party Poison managed a watery grin, wiping their eyes. “Guess we’re all synced up, huh?”

Show Pony grinned back, a little sheepish but mostly proud. “Transmasc solidarity, right? If BL/ind ever tries to take us down, we’ll just hit ‘em with the cramps. Ultimate weapon.”

Ghoul cackled, the sound echoing off the graffiti-splattered walls. “We’ll be unstoppable. Or at least too cranky to care.”

Kobra, finally relaxing, tossed a pillow at Show Pony. “You’re officially one of us now. Sorry about the initiation.”

Show Pony caught the pillow, hugging it to his chest. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

The Killjoys exchanged tired but genuine smiles, the pain a little lighter now that they knew they weren’t alone—not just in the fight, but in everything. For a moment, in the safety of the radio station, under the watchful eyes of Dr. D and the ever-resourceful Show Pony, they felt like a real family. And that, in the Zones, was the best kind of armor.

The Killjoys were finally starting to look human again, color returning to their cheeks as the ibuprofen kicked in. Show Pony was curled up at the end of the couch, heating pad pressed to his stomach, while Party Poison and Ghoul shared a blanket, their laughter growing less pained by the minute. Kobra was sprawled on the floor, head pillowed on Jet’s thigh, as Jet absentmindedly played with his hair.

Dr. Death Defying, perched in his wheelchair by the soundboard, watched the scene with a crooked grin. “Look at you all,” he said, voice warm and teasing. “I must be the only cis man left in the Zones, apparently. Surrounded by the future, and here I am, the last of the dinosaurs.”

Ghoul snorted. “Yeah, well, you’re the only one who can keep up with us, old man.”

Dr. D chuckled, rolling his chair a little closer. “You know, funny thing—when I was your age, I used to raid my sister’s closet. Tried on every skirt and dress she had. Even stole her lipstick once or twice. Thought I’d make a pretty good girl, if I wanted.”

Show Pony perked up, curiosity piqued. “Seriously? You never mentioned that before.”

Dr. D shrugged, a faraway look in his eyes. “Didn’t think much of it at the time. Grew my hair out, wore heels to a couple parties. Used to wish I could just… wake up and be a girl, sometimes. Figured it was just a phase.”

Party Poison, still sniffling a little, leaned forward. “Was it?”

Dr. D hesitated, then shook his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Nah. Not really. I tried it for a while—went by a different name, even. Made a damn good eyeliner wing, if I do say so myself. But the world wasn’t ready for me, and I wasn’t ready for the world. So I put it all away, packed it up with the rest of my old life.”

Jet Star’s voice was gentle. “Did you ever regret it?”

Dr. D shrugged again, but this time there was something raw underneath. “Some days, yeah. Some days I look at you lot—living loud, living real—and I wonder what might’ve happened if I’d kept going. But I found my own way. Found the airwaves, found the fight. Maybe I’m not the girl I thought I’d be, but I’m still me. That’s gotta count for something.”

There was a long, thoughtful silence. The Killjoys looked at each other, understanding passing between them in the quiet.

Show Pony scooted closer, offering Dr. D a wry grin. “You know, you’re still family. No matter what.”

Dr. D smiled, eyes shining behind his shades. “Wouldn’t trade you for anything, Pony.”

Party Poison nodded, voice soft but certain. “You’re one of us. Always.”

Dr. D let out a contented sigh, the radio static humming around them like a heartbeat. “Guess the Zones are full of more than just rebels and runaways, huh? Maybe we’re all just trying to find the right frequency.”

The Killjoys settled back, comforted by the warmth of found family and the knowledge that, even in the wildest corners of the desert, they were never truly alone.