Title: Break of Day 
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: R for intense description of drugs (a drug, Rohypnol), 
homosexual situations, sexual implications
Status: New
Archive: The traditional places. If you don't know what the 
traditional places are, you might want to write and ask. And here's 
how:
Feedback: kel@crazysheep.net
Series/Sequels: Sequels "Swallowed".
Disclaimers: To the best of my recollection, this is intended as a 
work of satire and/or fannish devotion, with no more weight against 
the Powers that Be than a feather. I make no direct income from 
these stories and I explicitly reserve all rights to all View Askew 
characters to Kevin Smith, View Askew Productions, Jason Mewes and 
Scott Mosier.
Notes: I have no clue. This one walked into my head and threw stuff 
around in there for a while, and now we have this.
Summary: Jay deals with the aftermath of Bob on drugs.
Warnings: If you've read "Swallowed", some of the same warnings 
apply. This one's more in the realm of personal attack than sexual 
weirdness, but still.

"Break of Day"
by Kelandris


"A week, you said?"

They were watching something on the set; later, Jay couldn't recall 
even who'd been in...whatever it'd been. All he remembered was 
watching TV, and hearing Bob's slow, even voice speak four words. 
Four words that didn't even mean anything at first, hadn't even 
registered by the time he'd looked over and opened his mouth to 
say...something; he was never afterwards sure what it would've been.

His mouth stayed open as the words sank in, permeating every layer of 
his conscious mind, and he gaped at Bob like a stranded trout. Bob 
simply stared at him, lightly raising one eyebrow.

Finally, Jay managed to shake it off.

"Uh, um, yeah," he said, stumbling over the sound of gears grinding 
to a halt in his skull. Suddenly the TV was far too loud, and as if 
Bob had heard the thought, he reached for the remote in Jay's lap, 
clicking the set off, and Jay now had another thing to process along 
with everything else.

"Just a week," Bob said softly.

"Just a..." Damn, now that was three things. The sound of gears 
grinding was getting almost too loud to bear. He was pretty sure at 
this point if he sniffed, he'd smell the smell of neurons burning, 
too.

**Wouldn't be the first time, dumbfuck,** his brain thought bitterly 
at him.

Bob tapped his forehead, snapping Jay out of the fugue state.

"What?" Jay said, shreds of the ghost of an old resentment tinting 
his voice. "I answered you already."

Bob shook his head. 

"One pending."

"One..."

"Week. Was it," he paused patiently, "just one," pausing again to 
make sure Jay heard him this time, "week?" And Bob was looking at 
him again. Waiting.

Man, he was getting tired of this shit, already. Like he hadn't 
heard him the fucking first time. Now the resentment was flaring up 
nicely, and he wadded it up into a nice spiky ball, preparing to hurl 
it where it would do the most damage...and then all the air went out of 
the construct, when he remembered--again--he wasn't the injured party 
here.

Well, shit.

`Uh, yeah," he stuttered out. "It was--it was just a week. Less'n 
that, even."

"Just the five days."

Jay swallowed. He knew he was gaping again, and probably gonna get 
tapped on the head again for it, but fucking *shit*, man...How the 
fuck you hit someone that hard without even touching them? That was 
a dark talent, that was, that was fucking *genius*, in its own 
twisted way. Genius he was wishing now Bob didn't have.

"Uh, yeah," he finally said, miserably. "Just the five days. An' 
you only got..." At the burning look in Bob's eyes, Jay suddenly 
wished he hadn't spoken beyond the affirmation, hadn't said anything 
else, fuck, had suddenly lost all ability to form words at *all*.

"Got what?" Bob asked. Softly. So fuckin' softly. Serial killers 
should train under this guy, Jay thought bitterly. That tone could 
wound at twenty paces. He knew. He kept wanting to check for new 
slices into his skin, even knowing they weren't there, `cause it felt 
like he was bleeding from several new wounds.

"Only, uh, got, four days at the full dose," he whispered.

"Ah," Bob whispered back, staring at him. Jay bit his lips nearly 
through with the effort not to say anything else, and Bob didn't seem 
to want him to. He just stared at him, and Jay stared back. When 
Jay was ready to leap off the couch and light himself on fire as a 
way of apologizing--again--for what had happened, Bob looked away, 
and Jay sagged into the couch back in abject relief. His bottom lip 
was bleeding slightly and he sucked at the shallow scrape where his 
teeth had dug in those last few minutes.

**So let's get the brain in gear and figure this shit out,** he 
thought, tasting salt and copper and rusty iron against his tongue. 
**So we had some really hot sex and yeah, I figured out, I dig the 
Bob. I can deal with that. But there was shit before it the likes 
of which we ain't never had before, and that was bad and wrong.**

He snuck a look at Bob, who hadn't yet turned the TV back on, but was 
staring at it anyway, this odd look of concentration on his face. 
Whatever. He returned to thinking shit out.

**So, yeah, okay, Jay was a bad, bad boy. Like Mr. Innocent over 
here never knew. But okay. I coulda asked, but I was chickenshit, 
and Kyle was just too easy to terrorize. And I shoulda thrown the 
shit away the minute I got outta Kyle's. And I shoulda told ya. 
Okay. I know all this now. How much shit do I hafta crawl through 
before you fuckin' forgive me?**

"Forty-seven miles of barbed wire," Bob said softly, and Jay's mouth 
dropped again. Holy fuckin' shit, he'd been speakin' aloud. How the 
fuck had that happened? Oh, man, he was sunk, he was fuckin' sunk to 
his hips in shit, he was never gonna get outta this alive. He was 
*dead*, is what it was. Dead. Murdered. Stabbed.

By Bob.

Bob looked over, shaking his head.

"No. But you're gonna let me kiss you in public."

"Fuck you, man, I gots a rep to maintain, I don't have time for 
*your* fag shit to interfere with that--"

Bob stared at him, cocking his head to one side, blinking so slowly 
Jay actually saw the individual dark curving hairs brush his cheeks, 
moving together, then rise. Or maybe it was just his sense of time 
fucking freezing as soon as Bob turned to look at him, and he 
realized the shit that'd fallen outta his mouth.

"Rohypnol," Bob said softly. "Developed as a short-term treatment 
for insomnia, and as a sedative hypnotic. Adverse effects associated 
with use include decreased blood pressure, memory impairment, 
drowsiness, visual disturbances, dizziness and confusion. Once 
dependence has developed, withdrawal symptoms include headache, 
muscle pain, extreme anxiety, tension, restlessness and irritability. 
Numbness, tingling in the extremities, loss of identity, 
hallucinations, delirium, convulsions, shock, and cardiovascular 
collapse also may occur. Withdrawal seizures can occur a week or more 
after cessation of use."

Halfway through the recitation, Jay started to tremble, and by the 
time Bob was finished, fucked up as it was, he was crying. He 
scrubbed at his eyes angrily, hating the betrayal of his emotions, 
hating the fact that his cool had, for once, totally deserted him, 
hating the burning feeling in the pit of his stomach, and hating 
himself, and his ideas, and his stupid insecure need for this stupid 
fat man he stupidly called his friend--when obviously he couldn't be 
trusted to *have* friends, `cause he was such a fucking fuck-up 
without a future who would drug his friends to have sex with him 
rather than go find someone, *anyone*, fuckin' two-dollar whore in a 
back alley, like he useta be--

By the time he'd poured half of this out, Bob had pulled him into his 
arms, stroking his hair, hushing the torrent of words that flowed 
from his lips.

"You're an idiot," he said. "You know that."

Jay nodded convulsively, clinging to him. He wailed into Bob's t-
shirt, even words gone now. When he'd worn himself out, clinging to 
Bob, panting, eyes burning as he blinked more tears away, Bob sighed.

"I love you anyway," he said softly, kissing his forehead.

"You do?"

Bob nodded.

"Still?"

He nodded again.

Jay thought for a moment. Huh. This didn't have to be all bad, did 
it? Had pulled `em together at last, convinced his bod that he could 
like guys, hell, that he could even fuckin' love one, and that was 
all good. And shit, Bob was still cool on the tits and ass thing.

"Right?" he asked, saying the last few words aloud.

Bob nodded for a third time. Jay scrambled up, tearstained and 
shining, crawling into Bob's lap and laying his arms around the 
shorter man's shoulders.

"So maybe we should just go to bed, then, huh?" he asked. "Lemme 
apologize *properly*."

Bob just smiled, brushing a strand of gold hair from his forehead.

"Maybe," he said.

Fucker.

END
*****
Kelandris the Mad
wound around with razor wire