I know, I know - another new story. I should be working on Fables, but I'm not... obviously.
Alright… um… I have no explanation for this. Blame ORy. Completely. She came up with the prompt and bugged me until I wrote it. Other than that… it's so random and weird. Really, you guys should just expect it of me by now.
It's AU… and I'm not using that term lightly. It's AU and strange and I'm not even attempting reality and I'm sorry.
But it must be done.
By the way, the title of the story is the title of a Buffy episode. So if you've seen that episode… then maybe you can guess at the vague idea of this story.
Music: in the garden, Snake was charming and Eve said 'let's give it a try'
The hot sun beat down and he felt sweat prickle the back of his neck as he walked. Up ahead he spotted a tent over one of the lawns and he made his way over, craving the shade.
He joined others under it and found himself at a garage sale – one of his neighbors that he should know, but didn't because he didn't care. It was an older couple, so there was no reason to know them. They didn't have kids his age and they weren't someone who he had to watch out for, so he didn't pay attention. He only paid attention to people who mattered – who could affect his life. There were enough of those to keep track of, he didn't need random people in his world view.
They were nice though – the couple. Renting this big canopy so people could shop out of the sun and he pretended to look around so he could stay there for a while.
"Looking for anything in particular?" the old man asked from where he sat behind the main table. He shrugged and hoped the guy would get the hint and leave him alone.
"Maybe something for a special girl?" his wife said with a sly smile and he couldn't help but smile back.
Most people in Chino weren't nice.
"I guess," he shrugged again, hoping if he just agreed, they'd stop bugging him. He didn't have the money to waste on something stupid. He barely had any money at all.
"I have lots of old jewelry," the woman stood up from her chair and it took such an effort that he let her show him it. She was right, it was old jewelry. Old, tacky jewelry.
"I'm not sure if she wears jewelry," he told the woman, hoping he wouldn't hurt her feelings. The woman just nodded and shook her head, like she expected it.
"Well, tell us if you like anything, son," the man called again as the woman sat down. He nodded and walked a little away from them. No one had called him 'son' since his dad went to prison.
He skimmed his eyes over the stuff, mostly old and useless. He stopped for a second on some old comics, but moved on quickly. He'd get killed if anyone knew he liked comics. Whenever Trey hung out with his friends in front of the convenience store and he had to tag along, he'd go inside and read the latest Spiderman. There was just something about being brought up with no friends and turning into a hero…
There was nothing he wanted and he contemplated leaving, but the old couple was nice and the shade was nicer, so he felt compelled to stay and buy something.
He could get something for Theresa. She was mad at him for… something, he wasn't sure what. But she'd broken up with him yet again and therefore, he wasn't getting laid. Which was a problem, because he was fifteen and all he thought about was getting laid.
He glanced over the merchandise again and stopped on a bottle. It was a deep red, made of glass and accented with gold paint, with a rounded bottom and a long skinny neck and a glass stopper, and he remembered Theresa saying she wanted a new vase because she broke her old one. It wasn't exactly a vase, but she could take out the stopper and put flowers in it.
So he picked it up and asked how much it was, reaching into his pocket for the crumpled up bills that he'd wanted to use for cigarettes.
Five bucks for a stupid vase - bottle, whatever. All he knew was it better get him laid. And if it didn't – if Theresa turned him down, which she was likely to do – he could give it to his mom. That might even placate her for a while. She was usually a lot nicer when she got presents.
A gift might give him a week without a beer bottle being thrown at his head or angry shouting or her current boyfriend pounding the shit out of him. It was always worse when the hitting started up again after a break, but a whole week might be worth the extra pain and remembering his mom doesn't love him enough to stop it.
He put the bottle in his room when he got home and tried calling Theresa. She – predictably – didn't pick up and he decided to forget her until tomorrow. Tonight there was a party at Jordan's house and Trey had decided he was allowed to go.
They went out at eleven, after mom and… Chuck? had gone to bed.
The party was fun and he and Trey beat everyone at beer pong. The Atwoods always won drinking games and he was surprised people still challenged them. Especially when they teamed up together.
Katie Frank was eyeing him up all night and he danced with her a bit. Or rather, he let her grind on him to the vague beat of the music while he drank and Trey winked at him and clapped him on the shoulder.
Tonight was fun. He liked when Trey was in his brotherly phase. It happened less and less as they got older – when they were younger Trey used to protect him all the time, but lately it seemed he was more of a burden than a little brother. But there were still moments when the old Trey appeared, when they laughed and had fun. So it was nice, being here with him tonight. Plus, the girl rubbing her ass into him wasn't bad either.
Too bad he couldn't fuck her. Trey called it being whipped, but he called it morals. He wasn't quite sure where he'd gotten them, since mom and dad and Trey didn't have them. Well, Trey sometimes, but not a lot. He really liked Theresa, and he wasn't going to fuck it up by screwing some other girl, no matter how short her skirt was.
That was what stuck in his head when he pushed the girl away around two in the morning and left the party. Trey didn't come with, he was probably hooking up with Sam. So he walked home by himself and let himself into the house and stumbled a little to his room.
He probably shouldn't have drunk so much. Theresa hated when he got drunk and she'd kill him for going over there with a hangover tomorrow. He really hoped she liked the gift.
He sat on his bed and felt the alcohol try to pull him into sleep, but he picked up the bottle to examine it. The thing was slightly dirty – a layer of grime that was noticeable upon close inspection. So he picked his t-shirt up off the floor and scrubbed hard at the bottle until all the grime was gone.
The effort wore him out and when he was done, he put the bottle down on his nightstand and passed out.
He wasn't sure if it was the bright sun from the open window or the sound of his mom bitching at Trey that woke him up, but he was going to bet on the latter. He only had a mild headache, but he still opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the light.
Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes, then his head, before turning and putting his feet on the floor.
It was then that he noticed the girl in his room.
"What the fuck?" he hissed, putting a hand over his heart to try and calm it.
"Good morning!" she greeted brightly, grinning at him like she knew him. He'd never seen her before in his life. Did they go to school together? And if so…
"What the fuck are you wearing?" He'd meant to ask who she was and what she was doing here, but that came out first. He couldn't help it. Her outfit was absolutely ridiculous – a red shirt that bared her stomach and what looked like oversized satin pants, and little red… well, he could only define them as slippers. Her hair was pulled up tightly and red and gold jewelry hung from anywhere it could – her ears, neck, wrists, fingers, ankles, belly button… She looked like fucking Barbara Eden from that black and white show about the genie. He looked back up at her face and she seemed confused by his question, like there was nothing unusual about what she was wearing. So he tried again. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm a Jinn," she answered without hesitation, voice still perky and bright as she stood in front of him.
"A what?"
"A Jinn. Also called jinni, jinniyah, marid…" She trailed off and looked at him expectantly. He still wasn't any clearer on who the hell she was, and it must have shown on his face, because she started to frown. "A Jinn," she repeated. "Plural: Jann…" He raised his eyebrows and she sighed heavily. "I'm a fricken genie, ok?"
"Why didn't you just say that in the first place?" he asked. After the words left his mouth, it occurred to him he should've told her to get the hell out because he was in no mood for insane asylum escapees.
"Because," she huffed, seemingly unaware that she was – in fact – crazy. "Genie is such a… degrading term. But that's all you Americans seem to know. You have no appreciation for myth and legend beyond your own Disney-fied versions of them. It's inconsiderate to other cultures and highly insulting to those myths and legends that must be tainted by Anglicized versions of our correct names, and I don't think it's fair…"
"Stop." He held up his hand and – surprisingly enough – she stopped. "Just… stop talking. Who the fuck are you and why the fuck are you in my room?" He stood up and shook his head. "You know what, I don't care. Get the fuck out."
"I can't," she pouted. "I belong to you."
If he didn't have such a massive headache, he would've appreciated that more. Actually, if he didn't have such a massive headache, he would've appreciated her more. Even if she was crazy, she was a hot mess, and if she thought she was a genie, she'd probably be up for being ordered around and calling him 'master'.
But his head hurt and crazy people were put away for a reason. Usually because they ended up freaking out and accidentally killing someone, and he did not need to be that person. He just needed to get this girl – hot as she was – out of his room.
"You don't belong to me," he kept his voice calm, so as not to upset his head any more. "You belong in some place with nice, padded rooms and lots of happy pills, ok? I don't know how you got in, but please leave. I'm going to get coffee now."
He said the last part slowly, like she couldn't understand English, before heading out his door. He hoped she'd follow and go out the front door while he went to the kitchen. Luckily mom and Trey had both left in the time he'd been talking to her, so he wouldn't have that conversation.
"You don't look like a cream and sugar type of guy."
"Holy fucking shit!" he hissed, backing into the counter and nearly falling down. "How the fuck…" He looked over his shoulder at his bedroom, then back to her. How did she get to the kitchen before him? And not just to the kitchen, but standing there with a pot of coffee and a mug in her hands?
"I told you, master," she said cheerily. "I'm a Jinn."
"Trey must've slipped me something last night," he muttered to himself, running a hand over his face. That was the only explanation. Trey liked fucking with him, and his nice mode had been unexpected. Maybe he'd just been invited along to the party so Trey could dump… like, LSD into his drink. That would explain the hot girl in a genie outfit that appeared out of nowhere and jumped from his room to the kitchen.
"You're stubborn," the hallucination told him, frowning a little. "Most masters are all over the idea, making wishes all willy nilly the second I tell them what I am."
"I don't have the energy for this," he told... it, putting his hand to the back of his neck. "Can't you just go away?"
She sighed and put down the pot of coffee and mug. Then she came over to him, pressed her fingertips to his temples rubbed slowly. The pounding in his head receded and he felt the tension drain out of him.
"Now do you believe me?" she asked, taking her hands away.
He wanted to argue, but he really didn't feel like it. His headache might be gone, but he was still tired and he wanted his coffee. So he decided to placate the LSD hallucination and nodded. "Yeah, I believe you."
"Good!" She stood back and clapped her hands together in celebration before picking up the mug and handing it to him. He leaned against the counter and drank as she took a deep breath. "Now, before we begin, there are a few rules you have to know."
"Alright," he waved his hand at her to go on.
"First, I can't kill anyone. I can maim, disfigure, turn into a vegetable, but I can't kill. Second, I can't make anyone fall in love. Love is an act of human free will and I can't control it. I can do lust, but not love, and yes, there is a difference. Most men don't seem to realize that."
"Seems simple enough," he shrugged, more amused than anything now that he had coffee in his system. Hell, if he had to hallucinate, why not a half-dressed genie? Especially if she called him master some more.
"Oh, and one last thing. Tiny, not really worth mentioning…"
"Alright."
"You can free me."
"How?"
She seemed slightly taken aback by his question and he watched guarded hope enter her face. "All you have to say is 'I wish you free'. And… bam! I'm free. So, you know… if you're ever in a generous mood…"
"I'll keep it in mind," he laughed quietly.
This was all just ridiculous. But whatever, he'd play along.
"Ok, I have my first wish," he took a deep breath and put down his mug. She brightened up considerably and clasped her hands in front of her.
"You're going to free me?" She smiled hopefully, eyes wide.
"No." He waved his hand dismissively at her and the happiness faded into an angry pout. "I wish I was out of Chino."
A strange look went over her face, but she nodded and snapped her fingers.
Nothing happened.
It was weird, because he was actually disappointed, even though he knew he was just hallucinating.
He just really wanted out of Chino.
He sat in the cold, steel chair and waited for his lawyer. He kept his face impassive and his fidgeting to a minimum.
He didn't want to piss off the guard.
But the blue jumpsuit was itchy and the cuffs around his wrists were chaffing him and he wanted to see Trey, but no one would tell him where he was or how he was or what was happening. He was fifteen and they wouldn't do anything with him until he had a lawyer. They wouldn't even give him medicine or band-aids for the cuts he'd sustained in the crash.
He couldn't believe he fucking stole a car.
Mom was gonna kill him.
Dante Miller shook his head and slammed his fist down on the hood of his car, glaring at the flat tire.
Goddamn pre-owned cars. The dealership assured him it was in perfect working order, but here he was, on the side of the road when he had a case to get to. Not that the kid would miss him or anything. Dante knew he wasn't a great lawyer – it's why he worked as a public defender instead of in some fancy, private firm.
He wasn't going to make it to the jail today and he didn't really want the case anyway. He had enough work as it was. He sighed and pulled out his cell phone and called the only lawyer he knew would take a case on such short notice.
"Hey, Sandy," he greeted in relief when the man answered. "Yeah, my car got a flat… piece of shit that it is… anyway, I have a kid down in jail that needs a lawyer and I'm not getting there… no, the paperwork's all there, I got nothing, just the call… yeah, yeah… name's Ryan Atwood… all I know's he's a minor and he and his brother stole a car… yeah… thanks a bunch, Sandy."
He sighed again and snapped his phone shut. The kid was Sandy's problem now.
He opened his phone again and called a towing service.
All of my 'research' for this chapter comes from Wikipedia. Wikipedia is my best friend. Umm... review the weirdness?
