Title: A Year In The Life: August and Everything After
Author: Kel (kel@crazysheep.net)
Rating: R for extreme situations; no kissing, no fondling, not even
butt-grabbing
Archive: Charles always has permission.  Anyone else, just ask and
it's no doubt yours.  But ask first.
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Fandom: Askewniverse, what else?
Summary:  August brings the contemplated life.  Which is not one of
Jay's strong suits.
Disclaimer: To paraphrase Charles, "Not mine. All hail Smith."  And we
gotta hail him anyway for bringing the boys back for the next film he
said he wasn't gonna make.
Notes:  As usual, I must say, 'Damn, I wish I knew where this was
going.'  I have an inkling, but I'm just hoping I can restrict it to
two stories...'cos I HAVE to.
Warnings:  I come close to deathfic here.  It's *not*, I am here to
*tell* you it'd not, but it's...*close*.  *Real* close.  Plus there's
obsession and a taste of madness and one active baby and one
(mentioned) actively dead demon and shrouds.  If any of these are
triggers for you, back the hell away.
Soundtrack: "This Is Not Hell", Jimmie's Chicken Shack; "Ashes",
Embrace; "Laid", James

Dedications:  While I don't usually do these, this story has several.
 To nyghtshayde, and starla, and ren, who kept me writing this,
whether they knew it or not.  To Lanning Cook, for writing the
"Identical" series, which obscurely fostered this one to toddlerhood.
 And to Charles, who started this whole damned thing in the first
place, and whom I was determined not to disappoint.  In the midst of a
busy life, I finished this.  Now I can collapse in a corner someplace.
 Fly with it.


A Year In the Life: August and Everything After
by Kelandris


It had to be a dream.  He had to believe in that, it *had* to be a dream.

He knew it had to be a dream because it was dark, all over.
Everything, everywhere, everywhere he could see--or couldn't see.  It
was dark all over, not even a thin little sliver of reflected shine to
focus his eyes on, and he felt like he was going to get a fucking *eye
cramp* if he kept having to focus this hard.

And then--hey, can we talk about the voices?  He kept
hearing...*whispers*, just far enough away from him that swinging
didn't make contact with anything but cold air.  Whispers, whispers
from something...some *things*...just out of his reach, and yeah,
fuck, *that* was unnerving, that was gonna get under his fuckin' skin
but *good* if he was...here...for...a while...

"Fuck," he said aloud, and then wished he hadn't, hearing the way the
words echoed and fed back and disintegrated into whispers and giggles.
 **Where the fuck is here?**

***

Bob came to the hospital with the body.  It was the least he could do.
 He kept brushing wetness off his face, so he knew he was crying, but
he couldn't *feel* anything.  He watched Jay's cotton-shrouded form
roll off into the distance, and couldn't get past the sense that he
was missing something.

He knew it was going to hit later.  Sometime tonight, it was going to
hit like a hammer, that Jay was gone...that Jay was *really*
gone...and then he'd...Well.  He'd have to deal, then, wouldn't he?
Walk out of the hospital.  Get on with his life.  Business of living,
and all that.  The dead stay dead, and the living walk in front of the
nearest bus.

"No!  I can't!" he screamed, and then slapped his hands over his
mouth.  He looked up and down the corridor; not even a nosy orderly to
step forward, which made him lean against the wall in complete relief.

He looked down the hall towards the door marked *Morgue*, and his
heart clenched again.  He couldn't do it.  He couldn't leave here
without Jay.  He couldn't--he couldn't...

*Fuck*, but he needed coffee.

***

The first time he brought his arm up, the first time he realized he
*had* arms, he banged them into the low, low ceiling of
wherever-the-fuck-he-was, and there was a nearly deafening metallic
clang.  He shrieked like a girl, kicking his heels, banging his fists
against the metal, and when he heard the voice, he thought that that
was it, he'd finally done it, drugs or some other fuckin' thing had
driven him *right* the fuck over the edge, and--and he was--

But he recognized the voice.

What the fuck?

"I *said*," the voice repeated, sounding irritated and intoxicated and
English all at once, "I c'n help you get *out* of there, you little
hoodlum, if you'd just *ask*."

Ask.  He could ask?  And...that voice would let him out?  Out of the
fucking cold metal, and the whispered voices, and that sense of
giggling...*somethings* far, far away?

"Fuck yeah," he said, his voice a cracked thread.  "Get me the fuck
outta here."

"Your wish is, as they say," the voice said.  And then creaking and
clicks and hinges protesting, and welcome, painful blue light filling
his eyes as the metal tray he was stretched on slid out from the slot.

Jay felt cloth moving over his body, and, when it slid down over his
face, he saw Metatron leaning over him, a sheaf of black hair
obscuring one eye.  Damn, he'd never been more grateful to see that
flying fuck.  He blinked, slowly focusing, and then got scared.

"Fuck, dude..."  He moved to sit up, and Metatron lifted him from the
metal tray, winding him in the white sheet he'd been under.

"Am I--*dead*?

The angel cocked his head, sighing.

"Well, my lad, that's part of the problem."

***

Bob heard a crashing noise beyond the morgue doors and his entire body
tensed, but then two men in white coats came out, joking with each
other about spilling a tray of scalpels and how hard they'd been to
pick up safely.  One of them leered at him, his lips twisting to the
side, as he walked by, and Bob turned away from the morgue doors for
the very first time, looking after him.

Fuck.  That guy...that morgue guy...he'd looked just a little bit too
much like--

Fuck.  *Brodie*, almost.  But...*not* Brodie.  Like--like--

Bob seized his chest, whimpering suddenly, as it came back to him.

**Like Azrael.  Fuck, that crazy demon guy, with the horns, and the
attitude.  The chest that just caved in and spurted black oil
everywhere when I hit him with the golf club--**

Fuck!  Fuck, fuck, *fuck*!

Bob took off running for the morgue, flying through the doors, flying
towards the white double door at the end of the long white hall.
Flying towards the rows of small metal squares hiding long metal trays
and all the bodies.  All the bodies, and one of them Jay's.

He had to find Jay...Jay's *body*.  He had to know.  He had to know
that fucking demon hadn't...hadn't done *something.  To* him.

Fuck!

***

Jay looked down, clenched the sheet tighter around his chest.

"*Fuck* me, mother*fuck*--why am I the fuck *naked*?  I do not *want*
to be in the fuckin' morgue *naked*, okay, dude?  We *gots* to find me
somethin' else to fuckin' *wear*, here!"

"First things first," Metatron drawled.  "You've got a choice to make."

Jay peered at him suspiciously.  "What kinda choice?"

"Whether you want to live...or die."

"What?"

The angel sighed.  "Do I need to use smaller words?  You *have* a
brain, my boy, *use* it for once."

Jay's eyes narrowed.  "I am *way* too sober for this."

"That's the point."

"*Fuck*, man, if you're not even going to make fuckin' *sense*--"

Metatron sighed, and walked away to lean against one of the autopsy
tables, gleaming under blue light.  He was wearing grey and blue
today, layers of it, billowing in a faint wind that didn't seem to
touch Jay.  His black hair gleamed with blue glow.

"There are two ways to look at your situation.  The first is, you were
killed by some crazed half-grown drug addict, out of his head on
something you *didn't* sell him, but for which you will, no doubt, be
blamed, and that's the end of it.  One junkie incarcerated; one junkie
dealer dead; the world goes on."

Jay thought about that, his brow furrowing.  When he looked up again,
he looked a good ten years younger.

"What's the other way?" he said, his voice trembling.

"The `other way' goes like this: a demon took an interest in you, some
while ago.  Oh, not a *large* interest, but a passing interest.  He
viewed you and the Pillar of Silence out there as...two mildly
entertaining bugs, let's say, the type of very small creature who
cannot, in any way, ruin his grand plans."

Jay blinked.  "This is about that pimpdaddy motherfucker in the ice
cream suit, innit?  *Shee*-it!"

"In a word."

"But we killed him, I saw dat.  Bob got him but good with the club.
*You* `member that, right?"

Metatron shook his head.  "You can't *kill* a demon, child.  Demons
are eternal.  As are *most* angels."  He looked away.  "Most of the
time.  At any rate, all you can do, bein' mortal, is prevent him from
having an earthly form in your world for some small time."

"Huh?"

Metatron sighed again.  "Put simply: you slowed him down for a while.
 Now he feels that killing *you* is the best way to make *Bob* turn to
his side of things.  And he'd like nothing else than to destroy the
Prophets of the Last Scion."

"Why the fuck is he after *our* asses again?  Mother*fuck*--"

"Humiliation," Metatron said softly.  "Buried rage.  Pain and fear.
Boredom.  Pick one.  But he's circled back to you, so the question is,
do you live or die?  Put in other terms, I suppose...do you give in?
Or do you let him win?"

"Do I let him *win*??  Dude, what the *fuck* you on?  If you think for
one goddamn *moment*--"

"That's your choice."

"My choice is to stay *dead* and he *doesn't win*?  What the fuck
kinda choice is--"

"Listen, lad, this is serious.  This is world-changing.  You live, the
world gets harder.  You die, the Prophets die, but the world stays the
same.  What do you want?"

Jay snorted, walking away from the angel, walking towards the door of
the morgue.

"Dude, alls I want is some hot as fuck chick for a lap dance, a pile
`a twenties to keep her goin', pitcher of beer and a bag `a weed.
Man, that's all *any* motherfucker needs, in the *entire* fuckin'
world, and you ain't gonna convince me otherwise--"

He reached out, intending to push the morgue door open, and just
fucking *leave* the angel and his crazy ideas.  The door flew open
before his hand reached it, though, swung wide open *through* his
wrist, and he watched with huge shocked eyes as Bob ran
straight...through...him.  He ran through Metatron, too, on his way to
the far side and the metal bays.

For a moment both the dead boy and the angel watched the living man
pull open drawers with abandon, and Jay hissed air into his lungs,
clutching the front of his sheet over his heart, when Bob
found...found his *body*.

Bob stared down at him, his face empty but streaming tears, and then
he bent over the body, shoulders shaking.  Jay couldn't take it.  He
stalked over to Metatron, grabbing him by the soft black lapels of the
billowing cloak, and said hoarsely, "Bring me back.  Fuck if the world
gets harder.  I can't--I can't *leave* him like that, dude, you don't
*know*--"

"I do, actually," the angel whispered.  "You're going to have to wait
a bit, though."

"What?  But you said--"

"Hush."

Metatron carefully disentangled Jay from his cloak, and half-walked,
half-drifted over to Bob.  He seemed to--gather *presence*, somehow,
become *denser*, more...*material*, if that made any sense.  He put a
hand on Bob's shoulder and it didn't sink through.

"Robert," Metatron said.

Bob looked up, wiping tears off his face.

"You need to do somethin' for me, lad.  It won't be easy."

Bob blinked, looked down, squeezed his eyes shut, and opened them again.

"What is it?" he asked.  His voice sounded rusty, clogged, thick.  Jay
hurt to hear it.  His Bob, forced to words because his stupid ass got
himself offed.  Man, that was *all* the fuckin' universe needed.
Talking Bob...talk about the world coming to a fuckin' *end*--

--which was when he realized he'd missed part of the conversation.

"--do that?" Metatron asked.

Bob shrugged.  He looked down.  He shrugged again, and slid his arms
carefully under the body.

"Where do we go?"

"The airport, to start with."  Metatron looked over, his expression
solemn.  He mouthed words in Jay's direction, his eyes unfocused,
while Bob carefully arranged Jay's dead body in his arms.

**Keep up.  If you can,** Metatron mouthed to him.  And what the fuck
*that* meant, Jay had *no* fuckin' clue, but it had to mean
*something*, right?  It had to--

And there was a flash, and Bob and the angel were *gone*.  He blinked
and looked around, and he noticed his body was missing, too.  Fuck!
Now what the fuck would he do?

He wrapped the sheet tighter and walked to the door, spent a
humiliating ten minutes trying to open it before he managed to figure
out he had the whole dead thing here.  He'd seen *The Frighteners*.
He knew what this shit was about.  He just had to figure out how
to...how to...

Yeah.  Walk right through fucking doors.  This could be cool.  He got
a little lost walking around in the hospital--he hadn't seen which way
they'd come in, and he wasn't entirely sure where the fuck he was
now...and then he felt something.  It was weird.  It was like someone
reaching inside his chest and pulling on one of his ribs, pulling him
forward by bone and connected viscera and pumping muscle.  It was
*not* pleasant.  It came...from somewhere north.

*Pull*.  It happened again.  He knotted his fingers in the front of
the sheet again, closing his eyes.  Fuck.  That *hurt*.  That was like
a heart attack that went through all of him.  And there it was again.

He turned north, and walked forward, and everything blurred.  It made
him dizzy.  He paused for breath, feeling that *pull* still coming,
and realized he'd walked halfway across the motherfuckin' *state*.
Damn.  Where the hell--

He stopped, breathing hard, not bothering to think through how a dead
guy was out of breath, and looked around.  Dark streetcorner.  Edge of
silver against the cloudline to the east.  Must be early, then.  He
blinked, watching the line of silver grow, the silver begin to be
touched with nascent pink, and suddenly jumped forward three feet.
*Something* had touched him.

He whirled, looking behind him, and nothing was there.  Just dark
space.  Dark space and...dim, shadowy, blurred outlines of buildings,
and...dark, dark, *dark*--

Giggling.  He whirled again, looking at the sky.  Still silvering.
Color still fading in, like someone was randomly colorizing the
picture.  Pink, then a hint of orange, then the barest slice of coral
fading to gold--

Jay looked over his shoulder.  *Dark* back there.  Dark and getting
*darker*.  He swallowed, taking a step forward, afraid he was pulling
the darkness with him as he traveled.  He inhaled and his chest
*twisted* with the *pull* of whatever-it-was, and he stopped breathing.

The *pull*...now it was coming a little more towards the west.  Oh,
man.  This was *so* not anything he'd signed up for.  Shadows were
gathering behind him, and he had the distinct feeling he wanted to
stay out of their way, so he closed his eyes again and took another
step forward.

Jay, trailing the winding sheet, flashing so fast across cornfields
and industrial parks that even those sensitive to ghosts couldn't
track him.  It almost felt like he was flying, only he never got far
from the ground.  Until...right *now*.  Until he realized he was six
inches off the pavement--now a foot--now six feet--holy *shit*, how
far up was he going to *go*, and where the fuck was he going to end *up*--

When he stopped, he nearly ran into Bob, who was looking at the angel
for guidance.

"It's all right, my boy.  Knock.  Knock and the door will be opened."

Bob's mouth twisted a little, but he bent his head in a short little
nod, and freed a hand to knock.  It looked like--maybe evening,
somewhere, like maybe six or seven o'clock.  He tried to remember when
he'd died.  It was around midnight, wasn't it?  Shit.  He'd spent the
whole fucking *day* dead?  Didn't that mean his *brain* was now soup,
or somethin'?  He didn't want a soup brain.  He *really* didn't want
to stay like *this* forever, either, though, and what had that fucking
angel meant when he said the world would be harder if--harder than
*what*, was the fuckin' question *really*, and if he couldn't even
answer *that* in a straightforward fashion then--

The door opened.  Short little dark-haired girl standing there, in the
frame of a green-painted door.  Looked like hand-painted ivy or some
shit on it, with gold...fuck, they weren't letters, they were some
kinda weird alphabet that wasn't fucking *English*, and the girl
looked more than a little pissed.  She was cute, in a 'Hi, how are
you, can I gouge your heart out with a spoon?' kinda way.  Vicious but
sexy.

She had on a pair of black jeans which ran down to big black Docs and
up to a black Bathory t-shirt with a motif of grey thorned roses
running down her left tit.  He liked her already.

But then, Jay'd always liked Liz, even more for the fact that his
affection was decidedly not returned.

He turned towards Bob.  Who swallowed, clutching the body in his arms
tighter.

"Is Bethany here?"

"It is *dinner time*, you maggot, and you haven't even *called* in six
months, so why the fuck--"

From inside the house came an elfin giggle, and a low, resonant voice
Jay wasn't sure he'd get to hear again.

"Let them in, Liz.  The sprog wants them in."

Liz sighed, looking at the two on landing outside her second-floor
apartment, and shrugged.

"Okay, c'mon in.  I'll chop more lettuce," she said, and walked back
to the kitchen, stopping only to tousle the dark hair of the baby girl
in Bethany's arms.

Jay stood, just inside the door, somehow unable to get past the
threshold.  He stood and breathed slowly, watching the room.  Bethany
looked tired, but happy.  Happy looked good on her.  She carried that
little kid like her arms had been created just to carry her.

Her tits were bigger.  Fuck, yeah.  How could he have forgotten?

"Hey, Bob.  What can I--oh, my God," she said, and stepped forward.

The baby in her arms ignored Bob, and ignored the body.  She stretched
towards the door, keening.

"Hey, hon, calm down, I gotta see--"

The kid was really ramping it up now, stretching her arms towards the
door.  She was kicking her feet against Bethany's stomach, just as one
of Bethany's hands flew to her mouth.

"Oh, Jay.  Oh no.  Bob, oh, Bob, what happened--"

Bob had no chance to answer: Hope *screamed*.  She screamed and
reached towards the door and Jay suddenly connected the dots and
backed away, his eyes wide.

"Come on, kiddo, come on over to Unca Jay," he whispered.

Liz came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands.

"Is that what I think it is?  You *fuck*, you brought a *dead body*
into this house?  Do you even *think* that's appropriate?  You need to
get the hell *out* of here, *right* the hell *now*--"

Bethany looked towards her, pained, and then took several steps to the
side as Hope reached out and fisted her hands in midair.

"KA!" she screamed.  Everything went still.

"What did she say?" asked Liz.

"What did she say?" asked Bethany.

Jay reached out with the hand that wasn't holding the sheet on,
crooking his fingers.  "Come on, kiddo, I ain't gonna wait all day."

***

Bob felt the hairs on his neck rise.  Slowly, slowly, he backed away
from the group, and did the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life:
he laid Jay out on the couch, and walked towards the door.

He swallowed, looking into the gathering dusk.

"Beth?" he asked.

Beth blinked, struggling with the baby.

"Yeah, kinda busy right now--*Bob?*"

"Bring Hope...*here*."

He reached out, hearing Hope struggle behind him, screaming "KA!" over
and over again.  It was all she'd gotten down of their names, or at
least all she could retain for vocalization now: "Ka" for "Unca Jay",
and "Ba" for Bob, and that had worked for them for almost two years
now.  They hadn't seen Bethany, or Liz, or Hope, for almost a year
now, but he hadn't forgotten.  How could he forget what the Last Last
Scion called them?  *Ever*?

Bethany stepped forward, ignoring Liz's protests behind her.  She
stood at the door, staring at Bob.

"Is it--?"

Bob nodded, hoping it was.  Hoping Jay really *was*, somehow, standing
out there, and only Hope was left to see him there.  He closed his
eyes, inhaling.

"Do it."

And Bethany leaned forward, letting Hope's small chubby arms reach out
past the doorway barrier.

***

Jay actually *felt* when Hope touched him; it was a cold inrushing
soundless thing that shuddered him from the concrete outside to the
couch inside, vibrating through him like he was a harpstring and she'd
just plucked him, stem to stern.  He blinked, and it was his *eyes*
blinking, and above him was ceiling, and out of the corner of his eye,
he saw Liz walking towards him.

He opened his mouth, and nothing came out but air.  He tried again.

"Bahhh..."

"Ba!" Hope screamed.  She threw her arms around her mother's neck,
shrieking laughter.  "Ka!  Ka back!  Ka, Ka!"

"Ka, Ka," Bethany said indulgently, and then whirled towards the couch.

"You were--oh, *man*..."

Liz sank down in the nearest chair, shaking her head.  She looked at
the angel, shook her head again, looked towards the couch, where Bob
was on his knees now, holding Jay close.

"Jay, Jay," he whispered, over and over into the gold of his hair.

"Yeah, dude, calm down, I'm here," Jay said, and looked at Metatron.
"I'm here.  It's okay."

Metatron stepped forward, then, cupping the chin of little Hope and
raising it up.

"You did quite well, my girl," he said indulgently.  "*Quite* well.
Your...godmother...will be proud."

Hope giggled, patting Metatron's chest.

"Gel," she said proudly.  And nodded.  "Gel!"

"Yes, indeed."  He kissed her forehead, then walked around the stunned
Bethany to Jay's side.

"If it helps you at all, it was a test for her, not for you."

Jay looked up, rolling his eyes.  "So all that shit about the world
being harder was just...what, bullshit to get me moving?"

"Oh, no.  Azrael's still after you.  He'll come up with something
worse if he's not stopped."

"What?" Liz said.

"What?" Bethany said.

"This was just the first shot," Metatron said dourly.

The stove in the oven dinged.  Liz sighed, getting up.

"Well, that's dinner.  It's just meatloaf and salad, but you're
welcome to stay.  Who wants to feed the baby?"

Two male arms and one angelic shot up, and for the first time, Bethany
and Liz smiled.  They stared at each other, and starting laughing.

"Fabulous!" Liz said.  "Volunteers!"

And Bob helped Jay sit up, touching his face, sitting beside him.  It
was good.  Maybe...just maybe, it was *enough*, right now.

Jay sat back, watching as Liz dished out portions onto plates.  He
thought about how he'd gotten here, and how scared he'd been, and how
he *never* wanted to see that look on Bob's face again.  He thought
about having to fight a demon down, and how the fuck they were going
to do that.  He looked back in the kitchen, and decided thinking was
overrated.

Azrael could fucking *wait*.  He had a baby to give mashed whatsit to,
and a couple chicks he really *liked* in the next room, and Metatron
in a good mood, and he had Bob back.  Forget the twenties and the
weed, this was the good shit.

Everything else?  Could motherfucking *wait*.

END
*******************
Kelandris the Mad
hey pretty baby don't you wanna take a ride with me