Dusted on Route Guano
Pairing(s): Jet Star/Kobra Kid, aka Ray/Mikey (Rikey)
Rating: PG-13, borderline R/15
Warnings: Angst, drama, language, the works.
POV: 3rd Person – alternating
Summary: It's amazing how quickly something bad can turn into something fatal. Ties are severed and two men are stranded. This is what really happened that fateful day on Route Guano.
A/N: A one-shot inspired by an ask Heather sent me ages ago. I only meant for it to be about 1000 words, but it kinda... took on a life of its own towards the end; and I didn't want to make it so sad, but my mind kept spewing ideas out and I just got way too into the flow of it all... Sorry in advance.
They're on the run again.
But this time, something feels different. There's a sense of unease and panic, sickening them right to their stomachs; a dull ache, throbbing, pulsing, a premonition of what's to come. Something's up. There's a change in the air, which stands almost still as they speed through it in the battered Trans Am.
It's different this time. We're done for.
Kobra Kid gives Jet Star a quick glance, well aware that each second might be his last, that each heartbeat might be his last. Well aware that he may never see his closest companion again. This could end them, and he knows it all too well. They're in too deep. They've taken on too much.
And they're about to pay with their lives.
They say Killjoys never die, but it's all bullshit. A lie built upon a throne of lies, fed to the kids of Battery City to give them a little extra hope.
Jet wishes it was true, with all his fucking heart. But it's not; nor will it ever be. Killjoys die. They die all the damn time – he's seen so many get dusted, some of his best allies lost to the desert heat and a raygun shot to the head. Time has hardened his heart and sharpened his mind, but he can't help but feel fear. He's only human.
Too young to die. Too valuable to let go.
Sometimes, Kobra wonders why he even puts himself through this. What's the point in risking his ass day by day, sleeping in the rough, and living with constant paranoia? The consequences far outweigh the benefits – he rarely gets to reap that which he works so hard to sow. His only remaining motivations have become a shortlist of just two.
One of these is the slim hope that somehow, in some way, fighting the good fight is actually brining hope to the repressed – though he often doubts it does. BLind are massive and all-powerful. The rebellion from the Killjoys can only dent the huge, unstoppable beast that is that fucking Industry.
The other is Jet. He's always been the one guy Kobra can trust in this godforsaken shithole of a wasteland. Jet's been there since the start, guiding him and watching out for him. Where all others have failed, he's kept him going, and hell, kept him alive. He owes him more than he could ever repay... and along the way, he's developed feelings for him that he never expected. And now he's scared they'll both be brought to their knees before he gets the chance to speak up.
I can hear them, I swear. They're getting closer... and closer...
It's the tension that's getting to Jet. He just wants this over with. Will they escape with their asses intact, or are they going to die? He'd rather know the outcome now and have it over and done with than feel like he's waiting for the reaper. The atmosphere's choking him, with a heavy silence hanging over them both. And with the atmosphere comes unwarranted anger, coupled with quickly growing frustration. Emotions are running at a fever pitch, threatening to engulf him.
He blames himself for this. It's his fault they were isolated from Poison and Ghoul. It could only be his fault that they managed to blow their cover and were forced to go it alone.
The guilt churns in his stomach, unsettling and physically painful. Jet no longer cares for his own safety, but he can't handle the fact that Kobra's been dragged into this with him. It isn't fair. Why should someone he cares for so deeply have to suffer the same fate?
How could I let myself pull him into all this shit?
Nervous sweat trickles from Kobra's brow as he considers the gravity of everything that's going on. It's not just his and his partner's lives at stake here, now he thinks about it – if they fall today, the shit'll probably hit the fan. BLind will get a kick out of it. They'll raise their game. The morale of the other killjoys will hit rock bottom, seeing as they'll have lost two more of their best men. To summarise – the already fucked up world gets that little bit shittier.
They can't afford to lose.
Sadly, fate is a fickle mistress, and a cold-hearted bitch to boot.
"Kobra. We've got company." Jet says, his voice tight and subdued. Kobra just grunts in response, not trusting himself to speak right now. A quick look in the rear view mirror only confirms his worst fears...
The elite S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W unit, hot on their tail, headed by Exterminator Korse.
"Is it them?"
"You know it..." Kobra mutters lowly, as if keeping quiet will keep them away.
"Shit."
"Got a game plan, Jetty?"
"Fuck knows I ain't. We're goin' down, Kid, there's no denying that. Might as well accept it now. But we ain't going down without a fight; we're going down swingin'."
Jet's voice gives nothing away – it sounds cool, calm and collected – but his body language tells a completely different story. His reassuring smile is forced as he practically snaps the steering wheel in two with his death grip, his eyes are wild, and his hair's even wilder. Kobra is no master of psychology, but even he can see right past Jet's facade of confidence.
"We're running out of gas, Jet. There's no point in heading any further, they'll catch us up in no time anyway." He says bluntly.
"A'ight, you've got a point... let's do this. We go down together, and we'll take as many of those bastards with us as we can." With a sigh, Jet pulls the Trans Am to a halt, reaching over to open the door.
Fucking do it, Kobra. It's now or never, literally.
"Jet. Wait a second..."
And as his partner turns to face him in response, Kobra darts forward, grasping the back of his neck and pulling him in to capture his lips hungrily. He savours the taste, the feel of his skin beneath his fingers, the sound of Jet's desperate little whimper – because he knows for a fact this is the last and only time he'll ever experience this.
Jet deepens the kiss, pulling Kobra closer, before being shocked into moving away by the sound of a raygun shot in the distance. "K-Kobra... I..." he swipes his tongue across his reddened lips, apparently lost for words.
"You don't need to say anything." Kobra breathes out softly, bringing his hand up to caress his cheek. "Good luck out there, Jet."
"Good luck and god bless, Kobra... See you on the other side."
It all comes down to this: two men vs the world. Surrounded by a ring of expressionless enemies, they stand strong, but completely alone.
Jet can barely feel a thing now. He's succumbed to an almost comforting numbness, a sort of surrealistic acceptance of his fate; the only sensations he feels now is the lingering tingling in his lips and the pounding drumbeat of his heart. Beside him is Kobra, looking unfazed and ready to strike.
"So it comes down to this, does it? How long we've searched for you, my dear killjoys. It's a pleasure to finally meet face to face." Korse says in a mocking tone, stepping forward with a smug air about him, hand at his holster. His attire is dull and grey, blackened in places, just like his goddamn heart.
"Fuck you!" Jet hisses angrily. "We're not gonna come quietly."
"I expected no less. Though I doubt you'll achieve much, considering the state you're in... Such a shame, I was looking forward to a challenge." The exterminator sighs with a dramatic flair.
"Right, I've fuckin' had enough of you already."
"Do your worst."
It's not a mere invitation – it's a trap that Jet falls right into.
"Don't do it, Jet. Please! It's what he wants!" Kobra pleads, knowing exactly where this is heading. Jet's rage is gonna get the best of him, and everything'll go to shit.
"I have to, Kobra." He reaches for his raygun, and within seconds the end begins. "THIS IS FOR EVERYTHING, YOU FUCKIN' BASTARDS!" Jet practically roars in rage, raising his weapon and firing at the Dracs around him.
A flurry of light fills the air, the temperature rises, and Kobra joins the fight, adrenaline flowing freely through his veins. Their enemies fall like dominoes, one by one, shrieks and screams of pain resonating, the stench of burning flesh spreading like wildfire through the heat.
Jet feels bloodlust taking over, a thirst for revenge he never knew he had coursing through him, to the point where he no longer thinks. Actions, not words. Death, not mercy. His movements are unnaturally swift, animalistic, fuelled by rage. Yet Korse just stands amidst the gunfire, a wicked grin stretching his thin lips.
"I've had just about enough of this." The killjoys barely hear him shout over the sounds of battle. "Time for Plan B."
The moment the words are said, the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W unit are upon them, tackling them into the dirt face-first before they even have time to react.
For a second, I thought we had a chance. Now it really is over. Kobra thinks bitterly, the air forced out of him by a Draculoid gripping his throat.
"It's been fun, I have to admit. Not as pathetic as I would have expected. I'd applaud you, but that would be far too much of an honour. I hope you understand." Korse's minions tug them up roughly to their knees, almost tearing their hair out in the process. Jet snarls and spits at him in disgust.
"Charming. Though I suppose it suits your nature – you Killjoy dogs are nothing but scum." He leers at them, looking down with contempt.
"Take... that... back... bastard." Jet growls, panting heavily. Kobra shoots Korse his harshest glare, unable to form coherent sentences in his current state of mind.
"I could, but that would be denying the truth of the matter." His response is met from another snarl from Jet. "Ah, but I digress. Which of you to take down first? Decisions, decisions."
He's taking pleasure in this, and it's fucking disgusting.
"It's a difficult choice, but I'll have to go far the scrawny one. Kobra Kid, I believe?" he laughs, and Jet can't stop the flurry of emotions rushing through him, tearing away at his sanity.
"LEAVE HIM ALONE, FUCKER!" He screams, his hoarse voice nearly breaking.
"Bring him forward."
Kobra is dragged through the dirt, still looking defiant – but as hard as he tries to stay strong, he knows he's failing.
"Any last words?" Korse says quietly, taking delight in his misery and reaching for his weapon.
"Yeah... burn in hell, bastard. You will fucking pay for everything you've done."
But that's not all he has to say. He looks up at Jet - who's staring at him in complete, frozen shock – with a warm expression. Silently, he mouths the words I love you. And it's at that moment Jet Star feels his heart fucking shatter inside of him.
"Such a waste of words. And no points for creativity, either. I've heard these things a thousand times, I hope you realise, and nothing ever comes to pass." The cold-hearted bastard kneels down, resting the end of his gun against Kobra's temple. "Now, it's been lovely doing business with you... but I'm afraid it's time to say goodbye."
The sound of the shot rings shrilly through the air. Jet can only watch as Kobra falls to the ground, the light leaving his eyes. Blood trickles from his mouth. His chest remains unmoving. It doesn't matter how hard Jet wishes for it, he's not breathing, he's not fucking breathing.
He wants to scream, wants to shout, he wants all the fucking revenge he can get, he wants to tear his hair out, but he can't, he fucking can't, it's impossible, and he knows it, he can feel it, it's not just his heart that's shattered – it's his mind, too. Nothing can bring Kobra back.
Nothing.
He can't help the tears that escape him, hot and salty and blazing a trail down his skin. Everything's numb, but everything hurts, so nothing makes sense, nothing makes any fucking sense, and he's broken. Everything is broken.
Survival is no longer an option.
"Kill me... you bastard... fuckin' get it over with!" He stammers out through the sobs, desperate for an end to all of this. Slowly, he edges his way over to Kobra's lifeless form. He pulls him into his arms, and it takes all his remaining strength to hold him close. His body's already going cold.
This isn't right. This isn't fair. This cannot. Be fucking. Happening.
Korse's face lights up, as if all his Christmases just came at once. Jet wants nothing more than to rip that smirk off of his face with his bare hands, but he knows it's useless. He doesn't have the power.
"Ready to join him, are we? How touching."
"Just. Do it. Please." He can't take another second of this.
"Well, seeing as you asked so nicely, I'm only too happy to oblige." He aims his weapon downwards, directly at his forehead, and sneers. "So long and good riddance, Jet Star."
He braces himself for pain, but feels nothing. The world around him fades to black...
... and he feels himself fall...
... further, and further ...
... into the darkness.
Goodbye.
"Bad news from the Zones, tumbleweeds." Dr D announces over the airwaves just days later, "it looks like Jet Star and the Kobra Kid had a clap with an Exterminator that went all Costa Rica... and, uhh, got themselves ghosted... dusted out on Route Guano. So it's time to hit the redline and upthrust the volume out there. Keep your boots tight, keep your gun close, and die with your mask on if you've got to. Here is the traffic..."
The battle may have been lost, but the war on BLind still rages.
There's hope for the killjoys yet.