Title: Jay Humbug, pt II of II
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, post-Dogma, very long for a Christmas carol
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: Songfic. Generally R for language, but it jumps to NC-17 in 
the middle. Mentions of m/m sex, homosexuality, prostitution. 
Graphic depictions of m/f sex (involving Jay, warning you now).
Status: New
Archive: Drop me a note and it's yours. And on that note...
Feedback: kel@crazysheep.net
Series/Sequels: Christmas offering for the year. Shouldn't need to 
be a sequel. But it was split in twain for the posting.
Disclaimers: Still making zip, zilch, nada writing about other 
peoples' creations. Jay and Silent Bob belong to Kevin Smith and 
View Askew Productions. And hell, at this point, though it's a side 
credit, to Miramax. Death, of course, belongs to Vertigo/DC Comics 
and Neil Gaiman the incredible.
Notes: Bit of fangirl boasting: my copy of Nerf Herder's first album 
is signed "Thanks for singing `Sorry' with me--Parry". They came 
through town (when I was living in Portland, Oregon) and sang four 
songs off their album, `Sorry' being one of the four. At that time 
their song "Van Halen" was on heavy rotation on the Box. I must have 
sunk $30 into keeping that vid playing, too. Nice little star 
moment, and great for a Scrooge riff as well. Also: there's an 
unaccredited quote in here from "Adventures in Babysitting". Not 
that hard to find, just wanted to mention it. And Rufio is based on 
Iggy Pop, the master with the melty face. I have no idea why. 
Lastly: Bartleby's in here, briefly, along with Tricia Jones. 
Mention of Metatron. Don't think there's any other non-original 
characters.
Summary: Jay wishes he'd never slept with Bob. 
Warnings: Partial deathfic. Angstyfic. Breakupfic. Marriagefic. 
Yes, all of that. Plus angst, did I mention angst? It all does work 
out in the end, or I wouldn't be writing it right now, but sheesh. 
Angst. Heavy Angst. Leaden angst. Ho ho ho... Oh, and some of Jay's 
dialogue here sounds like it was written by Quentin Tarantino, not 
Kevin Smith. Sorry, we just saw "Four Rooms" again last night and it 
affected me, apparently.

"Jay Humbug"
by Kelandris

*sorry I showed up at your wedding
sorry I tried so hard to get in
sorry I screwed up your picture
sorry I had sex with your sister*

Whatever invitation he'd had to the wedding had been revoked, if he'd 
ever had one. But he still dresses up to the nines--well, okay, 
maybe to the four-ninety-fives--and walks off on the big day. He 
needs to see Bob, at least one more time.

Rufio tries to talk him out of it. Jay shakes his head, knowing that 
none of the other man's protests are going to work. Rufio's pretty 
enough, even if they aren't sleeping together, but there's just 
something about Bob. He's gotta figure out why Bob left him, maybe. 
Maybe that would help him understand something about why he has these 
big fucking fears. It's not the commitment angle--hells he's been 
committed before, so it's not as big a problem. It's that love 
thing. It's that love shit that fucks him up. He can't trust 
people, maybe. He can't trust them to mean the things they say.

Like an echo in the back of his head, a thin, small voice: **Maybe 
that's why you took up with someone called Silent Bob in the first 
place. You didn't want someone saying shit they didn't mean.**

Okay, maybe. But Bob spoke. Usually only when he really felt 
comfortable, or there was no other fucking way to get the thought 
across. But he spoke volumes with his eyes, his eyebrows, his hands, 
the way he stood. The way he moved.

The way he kissed. 

And Jay couldn't turn his back on that. He has to know. So he 
drives off in a cab to the church, hoping he'd learn something useful 
before Bob's family has him killed.

By the time he gets to the church, there's quite a crowd. He has the 
driver let him off at the side entrance, slipping in and walking over 
to the clerestory as his eyes rapidly scanned the room for evidence 
of bruisers running his way. Nothing.

He hears a giggle behind him and whirls, knocking over a freestanding 
picture of Bob and Tricia, putting an elbow through it when he 
struggled to get back up. Ignoring the mess on the floor, he turns 
his attention to the girl.

She was very pretty, standing by one of the stained-glass windows, 
wearing a pale green bridesmaid's dress. She has hair as dark as 
chocolate, eyes darker still. Familiar eyes. Eyes he could have 
sworn he'd seen before. Her face is round, her figure lush and 
curved in all the right places, and as he scopes her form, he 
realizes she's smiling like she's hit the mother lode.

"S'up," he says casually. He leans back against a pillar, eyebrows 
waving.

"Nyever hev I seen such hair on a men," she says. Ooh, fresh off the 
boat even. Her accent is thick, nearly untranslateable, but he knows 
it, why does he know it? He smiles, struts forward, nearly leans 
against her, while she just giggles.

"Baby girl, maybe I gots more you haven't seen," he purrs against her 
neck.

"I highly doubt it, but..." She looks around, sees a confessional 
door. She motions towards it, and Jay looks around, shrugging. 
Kinky. They move inside, adjusting until Jay's sitting down, the 
girl's sitting astride him. He lifts her dress, tracing a finger 
along her underwear, and shit, she's already dripping for him.

"Mmm," she says, bucking forward, then looks around.

"No, no, this will not do. I must--" And she stands, moving back a 
little, pressing on the walls with her hands.

"Bitch, what the fuck? We don't have a lot of time here!"

"I know. I know. Shut up," she says, and drops to her knees in the 
cramped space. Jay can no longer move his legs, she's wedged up 
against him. She unzips his gabardine pants, pulling out his cock, 
staring at it appreciatively. 

"*Bozhe moi,*" she gasps, wrapping her red-nailed hands around the 
base and squeezing. And suddenly it comes to him, what he's doing, 
what he's about to do, and he feels sick and thrilled and scared and 
anxious all at once.

"You're Bob's sister," he breathes. He thinks for a moment. 
Couldn't be the bitch with the boyfriend, she had a kid last he 
checked. Was there a third? He couldn't remember. Which left this 
luscious model, here. "You're that one went to Russia or some shit."

She slowly shakes her head, still working his cock. "*Nyet*, I go to 
Georgia, is next to Russia." She giggles again. "Still, I hev been 
to Moscow, I hev seen Red Square. And I am always told, you, 
Ninotchka, are Russian in your heart."

Then she swallows him and he bucks forward, sending his length deeper 
into her sucking mouth. Jay hears her moan appreciatively. She was 
sucking so hard he was tempted to blow in her mouth, and he didn't 
dare look down at that crown of deep brown hair, those lips around 
his cock so *much* like Bob's... A few more minutes and she was unprying 
herself anyway, straddling him.

"Ah, you take me now, yes?"

"Yes," Jay says hoarsely. "Yes, fuck yes." He didn't even bother 
undressing her; there wasn't room enough to do an even half-assed 
job. Instead he just slides the soaked strap of her panties to one 
side, and slides inside her like a dream. She bounces on him, hands 
on his shoulders, and her smile grows feverishly wide.

"Yes! Yes! Fuck me, baby!" she cries, in that giggly amused tone 
she'd had through this entire conversation. And he fucks her as much 
as he's able in the small, confined space. He realizes at the last 
minute, right before he shoots his wad into her slippery core, how 
much noise they're making.

**Fuck, we're dead. We're dead. We're gonna get--**

"AHHH!"

Two throats screamed in unison, shuddering together as they pant 
through afterglow straight to uncomfortable. And that's when the 
door is torn open, and Bob's angry face pokes in.

He shakes his head. "Nina, I'm sorry, I expected this of you, but--"

And his eyes widened, taking in the face behind hers, the long, blond 
hair cascading over the gabardine-covered shoulders.

"Jay?" There's real pain in those eyes now. Not the anger he 
expected, though he's dead sure that's coming. He swallows, pushing 
back against the wall of the confessional.

"*Why*,, Jay?" Bob asks. If anguish had a voice, that would be it. 
And that was it for Jay.

**That's enough of fucking that, here's Jay, here I fucking go, 
walking right out the fucking door. Just fucking *try* to stop me, 
Lunchbox.** 

He pushes past Nina, knowing if he looks at her he's going to be 
trapped there and then Bob's going to ask him questions and he 
doesn't have any of the answers. None. Zip. Zilch. Nada. *Nyet*.

Can*not* deal. Can*not* deal with how badly he has fucked this up. 
Pulling his pants up, zipping them shut, he quickly squeezes past 
Bob, running for the door.

**God knows,** he wants to say. **I wanted you instead, had to fuck 
something. She was convenient. She was--** Shit, she wasn't Bob, 
and nothing else would sound right.

"I'm sorry," he gasps, and then was outside, the breeze and the sun 
like knives over his sensitized skin.

*what can I do?
it's over it's over it's over it's over
what can I do?
I am a loser*

The whole of the next day he stays at home, curled up in an easy 
chair. At first Rufio tries plying him with tea and toast, thinking 
he's sick. Then the phone calls start coming in, the phone calls Jay 
won't acknowledge. And he can see Rufio wondering if he's maybe a 
different kind of sick.. Then Rufio sits beside him for a long time, 
stroking his hair in silence. That seems to hurt most of all.

Finally, Rufi leaves.

Jay's beyond caring. He was fucking everything up *so bad*... Was this 
what he had wanted? Was this really what he wanted? Shit, to think 
that all this time Bob was the stabilizing influence in his life. 
Oh, he relies on the guy, sure, and he trusts him to get him out of 
any shit he gets into. But just the mere fact that Bob being 
*around* stops Jay from being irretrievably stupid--that was, shit, a 
completely cracked statement. Way up in the stupidsphere.

But then, so's he, apparently, and he curls into a smaller ball in 
the chair, whimpering.

Plus, Tricia and Bob were married now. Regardless of what had 
happened at the party, nothing he did now would change...that...

The light bulb over his head flickers into glow. Wait a minute. 
Today was the 25th. That meant party. That meant *another* party, 
at Bob's parents' place, like they always had. Yeah. Trish and Bob 
might even show, bein' as how they're both the sentimental type who'd 
postpone a honeymoon to spend some time with family.

Yeah, Jay thinks. Excellent idea. But he can't go alone. He crawls 
out of the chair, quickly dresses, and grabs a half-empty bottle of 
Jack Daniels, drinking quickly. He reaches for where he puts the bus 
pass at night, and it's not on the counter. Shit. Jay moves through 
the kitchen, drinking and cursing, looking through drawers...and then 
stops, a smile growing on his face.

What the hell was *this*?

He lifts a little glass vial from the junk drawer, full of faintly 
greenish clear liquid. Written in silver pen across the bottle 
was "LSX". He uncaps the tiny thing, inhaling, shaking his head at 
the sharp tang. Smells like LSD. What was the X part?

He looks down. Liquid courage in one hand, liquid courage in the 
other, and hell, he can dig out five bucks or so from the change jar, 
right? He can fuckin' take a cab.

He reaches for the phone, carefully pouring the contents of the 
little vial into the bottle of JD, and begins drinking steadily. 
Tinny voice on the other end of the phone makes him smile again.

"Yeah, want a cab sent to..."

Shit, he forgot where they lived again. He fumbles for a piece of 
mail, reading it verbatim, and the guy says, ten minutes.

Ten minutes. He checks the fluid level in the bottle. Just about 
right, he thinks, leaning back against the easy chair again.

*sorry we broke up
sorry I missed you
sorry I wanted
only to kiss you
sorry I promised
to love you forever
made you feel guilty
oh, when you left me*

A drunken and very wasted Jay opens the door of the cab, nearly 
falling out, tossing the ten-spot he'd managed to find at the 
driver. He has a goal in mind now: the front door of Bob's family's 
house. Everything else will resolve itself later.

As he walks up the walkway, he has to suddenly pause, and carefully 
step from paving stone to paving stone. They're all tilting 
underfoot, and crackling with green energy. Shit, why didn't anyone 
tell him the house wasn't stable? He'd have brought the butterflies�

He shakes his head, moving towards the door, crouching further and 
further the smaller it gets. Finally he's close to the house and the 
door, frustrated, snaps back into shape.

**Good, you fucker,** he thinks, opening the knob like a rose.

There are ten billion people in the house. Jay is terrified. How 
the hell did they put ten billion people here? And then a familiar 
face spots him, and a familiar groan hits his ears, and he smiles. 
Just the fucker he was lookin' for. 

Bob has grey in his hair now, big sweeping wings of it, they flap 
gently as if he's waiting for clearance before takeoff. He snorts, 
checking him out.

"Shit, what was I thinking? Like I wanna fuck you now. You don't 
look half as good today as you did two days ago, you silent fuck. 
Even if you can suck like a Hoover on overdrive." 

Smiling sarcastically, he pats his crotch, giving himself a quick 
grope-n-fondle for the boy's benefit.

Bob furrows his brow, turning to someone behind him.

"Escuse?" he says, and the voice isn't Bob's. Then he hears another 
familiar voice behind him, a second familiar groan. Oh, shit, Bob 
was behind him all the time. Tricky *fuck*, he'd snuck up on him! 
He turns around, preparing to give Bob the tongue-lashing he 
deserves. The thought gives him momentary shudders, but he fights 
the urge down, turning in a wide circle until he's sure he's cleared 
the parking lot completetely..

He blinks, once he's pointed the other way. Wait, this fucker has 
tits. Oh, shit, Trish. He snarls at her, tossing small viridescent 
bugs her direction. They crawl up her body into her hair and fly 
screaming off, plummetting thirty stories to their deaths. He stops 
throwing bugs. It's just too loud.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Trish is hissing at him, her forked tongue trailing heat patterns 
through the air.

"Wanna talk to Bob, bitch. This ain't your business."

She looks down on him from her great dragon's height, her golden eyes 
the size of dinner-plates.

"I think it is, Jay," she rumbles from the fire-heights. "Being as 
how Robert's my husband."

"Yeah, yeah, all that means is you fucked him after I did. Where the 
hell is he?"

"Here," says a dark, *very* familiar voice, and he dives off the 
cliff towards it. When he surfaces, Bob's pulling him up, sounding 
exasperated. 

"You're drunk, Jay."

"Like you fuckin' care."

"I care, Jay. I care. I cared before we broke up, I care now. Why 
do you have so much trouble believing that?"

For a moment hope yearns in him, and he nearly gives up everything, 
leaves the house, goes home to have a quiet cry and maybe some dish-
flinging and then settle down to the serious business of weed and 
boning. 

But there's a crack in his skull, and it grows larger as they speak. 
He walks further into the room, seeing the glitter of glass on every 
surface, afraid to touch anything, for fear he'll become another 
glass *objet* de Bob's family. 

He looks up again, rage distorting his features.

"Cos you didn't even wait a fuckin' week before takin' it up with 
Tricia here! One motherfuckin' week and you were gone, baby, Fuck. 
Ing. GONE. Do you fuckin' understand me? I never had a fuckin' 
chance, and you know it."

"You had your chance--"

"Yeah, yeah, and maybe I blew that one, too, because here I am, and 
here you are, and here fucking Trish the Dish is, here, but it's not 
s'pose'ta to be this way. It's not. I never lived with fuckin' 
Rufi, I lived with you. Always with you. Never moved away, but here 
it's all fucked up and strange..."

Bob comes forward, holding out his tentacles to entangle Jay, and Jay 
completely boils over. He shoves Trish away, watches her fall 
through the door, and then swings wildly at Bob.

"Fucker!" he's screaming. "Don't let me go! You're not s'pos'ta let 
me go, *ever*!"

But the swing overbalances him, and he falls backwards, trying to 
catch himself on the glossy wood table. His fingers, though, they 
don't want to work, and he keeps falling. Bob's eyes are wide now, 
and he's still falling, now far out of the reach of Bob's hands. And 
he's still falling. Why the fuck is he still falling?

The back of his head hits the latticework glass of the big bay 
window, and he's falling backwards with such force that his head 
cracks through, cracking the latticework over the lead. His head 
falls through the glass, the sound of shattering that close to his 
ears about the most disorienting thing he's ever heard. He feels 
glass slice deeply into the back of his neck, and his body goes 
dead. In that moment, he's meat, hanging from the partially severed 
neck, and part of him is screaming still.

**Not s'pos'ta to happen this way! Not s'pos'ta to happen this way! 
Not--**

And the glass breaks with a shredding sound, the wood with a 
splintering one, and he falls backwards again, the glass further 
fracturing and puncturing his heart, his kidneys, his lungs, his arms 
and legs. He falls out of the window when the glass falls, and 
breathes shallowly when he hits the snow on the lawn.

And he sees Bob race from the front door, sees him kneel over him, 
holding his hand. He can't feel it, but he sees it, and knows Bob's 
there. He sees the genuine pain, the fear, the heartbreaking loss 
register in Bob's eyes, and he knows what an idiot he's been. He 
clings to the sight of Bob's face as long as he can, but it's getting 
dark out here. It's getting very...very...dark...

*sorry I showed up at your dinner
sorry I said those things to your father
sorry I crashed through your window on acid
sorry I made a mess
sorry I bled to death*

Jay blinks, opening his eyes. Stars overhead. Cold snow 
underneath. 

**I died,** he thinks. He rolls over, expecting not to be able to do 
such a simple thing, and realizes he's lying in the lip of an alley, 
on a bank of snow and slush pushed up from the steet. He shakes his 
head, trying to get his feet under him. He feels cold, and numb all 
over.

A girl uncoils from shadow in the alley proper, causing Jay to jump 
back. She wasn't there, then suddenly, long limbs step out of 
nowhere, carrying a white-faced girl with heavily outlined black eyes 
forward into what light there was. She wears black, unrelieved, 
unornamented black, in the form of black pegged jeans and a black 
tank top. She also wears a heavy silver ankh, nearly bigger than one 
of her hands.

"What the fuck--"

Jay shakes his head, glaring at the girl. "Man, you are gonna catch 
your *death* out here, dressed like that. Get the fuck home already."

She smiles slightly. Jay notices that part of her eyeliner came down 
in a little spiral under one eye. Damn, but that looks familiar. 
She walks closer to him, and he realizes how little she is.

"This is not a safe neighborhood, chicklet," he says soberly.

"I'll be fine. It's you I'm worried about."

"Fuck off! Why?"

She gestures at the alley floor, and he's genuinely startled to see 
an empty bottle of Jack Daniels there, standing next to the empty 
vial of whatever-it-was, and a shard of bloodied glass. He shudders, 
looking back at her.

"You think that `s the way to solve your problems?"

"Hey, you know what they say--get thrown from the horse, get right 
back on, right?"

"Hmm. I don't think so. But that's not why I'm here."

She takes a long look at him, and he looks down, wondering what she 
finds so engrossing. He sees when he looks down. He blinks, 
shaking, waiting for it to turn out to be another bad hallucination. 
Nothing fucking changes.

He's all sliced up, his clothes hanging from him, deep slice marks 
all over his body. He reaches a hand behind him, swallowing, trying 
not to think about it... Oh, fuck, shit, shit shit shit, it went right 
in! It went right into that hole in the back of his neck that the 
glass left.

Shuddering, Jay looks back up at her. She just nods.

"You said two days ago, you wished you'd never slept with Bob in the 
first place. You still think that?"

"Fuck no."

*what can I do?
it's over it's over it's over it's over
what can I do?
I am the loser*

"So." She leans down, picking up the shard of glass, turning it over 
in her hands. "Throwing yourself at the boy, *then* rejecting him, 
didn't work. Moving out and watching him get married *obviously* 
didn't work. What haven't you tried?"

He looks down at himself. Still cut to ribbons by the window. Head 
isn't swimming with the acid, though. What the fuck? Plus he can 
walk. This was fuckin' weird...

"Jay," the girl says sharply. "I agreed to this gig as a favor to...a 
friend, and I don't want that friend disappointed. At the same time, 
if you're just going to overdose again on something because you can't 
deal, I might as well take you off now, rather than waste my time. 
Are you hearing me?"

Numb, Jay nods. He bites his lip. "Who the hell *are* you?" he asks.

"Death."

"Death," he repeats. She nods. He blinks for a moment, then cackles.

"Oh, that one's fucking *rich*! And you're complainin' about *my* 
drug use!"

She rubs her forehead for a moment. Then she looks up, her dark eyes 
sparkling.

"It's like this, Jay--you wished this to happen. And in this 
timeline, you die. But if you still want to be with Bob--if you don't 
think he's better off with Tricia--"

"FUCK Trish! Man, she had him once and she wasn't that interested in 
him! Me, though--"

"You what?"

He swallows, looking into her eyes like stars.

**Shit, don't say it,** part of his brain urges. **You're safe if 
you never say it. They own you if you say it.**

He stands up, not noticing as the slash marks fade from his body, the 
horrific bleeding wounds heal.

**So maybe I need to be owned,** he thinks. He thinks about Bob. 
Man, nothing would be worth shit without him. Can't even drink 
properly without him with me. I am just a useless--

*what can I do?
it's over it's over it's over it's over
what can I do?
I am a loser
I am a loser, oh-oh*

**Shit.**

"I love him," he whispers. "I wanna be with him."

"Okay," she says, and the world dissolves into grey sparkles. "Don't 
make him want to leave you." Forms resolve out of the mist: walls, 
floor, windows.

"How do I do that?"

"Don't piss him off more than you have to. Tell him you love him now 
and again."

"Tell him I--fuck that shit, lady, I ain't--"

"And make sure he never feels he's more alone with you, than he would 
be by himself."

"Shit."

":Yeah." She gives him a gentle push towards the bed, which now 
holds Silent Bob, sleeping on his side. The sheet had slid down, 
draping over his arm but not his lower torso and hips. Damn, but he 
was pretty.

"Merry Christmas, Jay," Death whispers, and she's gone.

"Yeah," Jay says, staring down at Bob. "God bless us, every one."

He nudges Bob, leaning on the edge of the bed as he watches the man 
sleep. 

"Hey. Hey, Bob? Bob, I'm back."

Bob blinks towards wakefulness, hearing Jay. He sits up, looking 
around, and Jay's there, sitting on the side of the bed. Sitting up, 
he pulls the blond into a fierce embrace, holding him closer than Jay 
had ever allowed before.

"You're back," he whispers, against Jay's hair. "You left--so angry--
and I, I, didn't look for you, I should have, I should have looked 
then, but I was mad, I came home, and then you didn't--I called 
everyone looking for you--"

He breaks off, licking his lips nervously, and pushes away from Jay.

**Catch who suddenly talks,** Jay thinks, but it hurts him, that he'd 
pushed the big guy to this as his only means of communication.

**Never again. Never fucking again.**

"I'm sorry," Bob says slowly. `I didn't mean to push. I don't care 
if we're sleeping together. I just want you around. Friend, 
roommate, whatever you're comfortable with. Okay?"

**Shit,** Jay thinks. **Ain't none of us gettin' away that easy.**

He shakes his head, pulling Bob towards him. Softly, he kisses the 
startled lips, kisses each of the dark eyes closed before pulling 
back.

"I..." His throat seizes up, but he says it anyway, knowing what it 
meant now.

"I love you, okay?"

He hears Bob gasp, but looks down at his hands before he could see 
the expression in his eyes.

"And I'm a shit. And I'm tryin' to get over a lot of...everything. 
Just fuckin' everything. You...forgive me?"

Bob sighs, exasperated, and Jay smiles. *That* had come through loud 
and clear.

"Well, `en, what're we waitin' for? `s Christmas, dude! Merry 
fucking Christmas!"

Laughing like children, they run out to see what Santa--or in Jay's 
case, a lovely little Goth chick named Death--had left for them.

END
(Song is Nerf Herder's "Sorry")
*****
Kelandris the Mad
when do I get my fingers back?