"Yeah, Peach, you bitch! Get back in second where you belong," Jesse crows, maneuvering Yoshi back into first. He glances down the split-screen to catch a glimpse of Badger's ranking. "Whaaaat? How're ya still in eighth?" Jesse asks in exaggerated disappointment and shoots a green shell back at Peach when she draws too close, laughing at the direct hit. "Yeah! No scope!" Jesse is drunk, got a totally nice buzz started. Totally buzzed. Buzzing? Like a bee.
"Can bees get drunk?"
"What?" Badger laughs and shakes his head. "Focus on the game – Peach is gonna beat you."
"Like hell!" Jesse growls and focuses on the race again. Digging out the 64 had been a brilliant idea. Classics never died, and the gritty graphics always sparked a sense of nostalgia. Drinking while playing only made the games even more entertaining. Everything is warm and his limbs are heavy. And fuzzy. But, y'know, not fuzzy fuzzy, like his ears. Which are aggravating and keep twitching and even though he'd taken off his beanie and swipes at them occasionally, they won't stop. They're warm, too. Like his hands, which have a pulse; he can feel it around the controller. Do they always have a pulse? Why did he never remember that when he was sober?
"I'm still in eighth because this level is fucking stupid," Badger grouses. He swears vehemently when another penguin slids into him. "Seriously? Seriously? Is Luigi a penguin magnet or something?!"
"You gotta drift, man; right trigger."
"Shut up, I know the buttons."
Jesse laughs, and concedes genially, "Alright, alright." Everything is tilting slightly. To the left. He feels like he's on a boat: tilt, tilt, tilting with the tide. Swaying.
"Dude, you're gonna fall over. Stop leaning to the left."
Jesse chuckles thickly. "Oh. That's me?" he asks, then attempts to clarify, "Me? The ocean? Doing that?" He drops a full trail of bananas and watches as Peach and Toad wipe out on them. He grins sloppily at Badger, who's sitting next to him at a very funny angle with the whisky bottle held to his lips.
Badger smiles back and pushes Jesse upright. "Yeah, dumbass, that's you doing that." He takes a long pull from the bottle before setting it between them again.
Yoshi crosses the finish line – in first, because Jesse is a badass, thanks – and the blond sets the controller on the ground to stretch contentedly. Jesse hums, not quite in reply but simply in acknowledgement of Badger having said something. Badger's voice can be soothing sometimes, when he isn't being an ass. Jesse is torn from his musings when Chompy, Badger's scrawny marble tabby housecat, scampers into the room chasing a neon green plastic ball that evidently holds a bell inside. Jesse's ears slant towards the sparkling noise, but he aggressively strangles his curiosity. Chompy rolls with the ball and thumps solidly into Jesse's side, giving him a cursory sniff when he regains his paws. Jesse reaches down to scratch the cat's back for a moment and the housecat, seemingly compelled to live up to its name, twists and chomps down on Jesse's hand, albeit lightly.
Jesse grins and strokes a thumb across Chompy's cheek just before the cat springs away, batting the ball back down the hall. Jesse hums again when Badger says something else, but hopes he isn't agreeing to anything because he's stopped following the conversation.
The food which Badger had treated him to had been mildly greasy and spicy which was not Jesse's favorite, but it had been filling. Jesse hadn't known how hungry he'd truly been until he'd started eating. He'd even taken one of Badger's enchiladas when the man had offered. And at the end they'd had sopaipillas, but not from the Sopaipilla Factory in Santa Fe – which wasn't truly a factory, but could be, if it wanted to be. With workers at conveyor belts and ovens who wore little hats, making sopaipillas all day. Jesse likes his sopaipillas with honey. Lots of it. Honey is good; makes the kitty gene quiet. Best to blame the kitty gene. Adults aren't supposed to like sweets as much as he does; it definitely has to be the kitty gene. Housecats don't like sweets, do they? Would they eat sopaipillas with honey?
"Sopaipilla," Jesse mumbles and follows it up with a breathy chuckle, pawing lightly at the whisky bottle to watch the amber liquid slosh around. Badger's liquor cabinet always had the good stuff – the man's mom wouldn't allow cheap drinks into the house. Badger didn't always share though, only when Jesse knew he'd done something to make the other man think he owed him, or if Jesse had been looking particularly wretched. Jesse assumes it's easily the latter that inspired Badger to open the cabinet tonight.
Badger finally crosses the finish line – in eighth, because he apparently loves penguins a lot – and sets his controller aside as well. "Yeah, you already had three, with enough honey to drown a bear," Badger reminds with a gentle nudge of his elbow to Jesse's side.
The friendly contact against sensitive ribs elicits a purr from Jesse. The blond frowns sharply and struggles to choke the noise back. He clumsily edges away from Badger. "Sorry. That, uhm—I… I didn't mean to do that."
Badger shrugs. "It's fine."
"No," Jesse sulks. "S'dumb. Annoying." He scrubs at his face in irritation before swiping the bottle up and taking another drink. Should probably stop drinking. He's really only used to cheap beer anymore, choosing to spend money on pot and crystal over liquor, and now only saving his spare cash. But anytime he isn't at one-hundred percent, it's harder to limit his mutant tendencies.
"It's cute," Badger teases, "like a little kitty. Chompy purrs a lot, too."
Jesse huffs and scowls at the television as the game lists the race stats. They'd forgone the horror movie marathon after Badger'd sensed Jesse's hesitation in picking through the slasher movies he'd originally presented; all gore and twisted faces on the cases. Jesse had had enough of that in real life to last him a while, but didn't want to say anything, didn't want to look weak. He'd almost settled on one he figured would turn his stomach the least when Badger had knocked them to the floor and mentioned the additions to his comedy collection without much subtlety. When he began to dig around for those lighter movies, a few old game cartridges had fallen out of his entertainment cabinet and Jesse had been unable to resist asking whether the other man still had his console. The distraction the games provided was very welcome to Jesse and the addition of liquor had made the night even better.
Jesse turns the bottle over in his hand. "Tha's why it's dumb," Jesse slurs. D'ya know how often I got m'ass kicked for that shit? School was embarrassin'. It was okay when I was lil'." It was better to avoid contact entirely, made things easier. Jesse tugs at one of his ears self-consciously, pulling roughly at the furry edge until Badger flicks the back of the offending hand.
Badger takes the bottle back from him and makes an unimpressed noise. "People are assholes, man. You can't let losers get you down." He takes a pull from the bottle and adds, "'Sides, we met in high school."
Jesse smiles. "Yeah, Junior year was cool." Well, minus meeting Mr White. If he could have avoided that damning twist of fate, things might be better. He watches as Badger leans forward to turn the system off before grabbing the remote. The brunette switches the tv mode to display the desktop of his tower, pulling up his Netflix account.
"Louis CK?" He suggests considerately.
Jesse grins. "Yeah." He yawns widely, flashing his teeth, a soft mew escaping at the end. He scrubs at his face again. The food and drink are beginning to make him sluggish. He's content, and even the thought of sleeping on Badger's floor is a pleasant thought. Carpeted floor definitely beats the linoleum of the Crystal Ship. He doesn't exactly want the floor but knows he hasn't properly bathed in days and doesn't want to push his luck with all that Badger has already given him by demanding the sofa. Maybe if Badger is still feeling generous in the morning, Jesse could bum a change of clothes and a shower. That hopeful idea and the sound of Badger laughing – nearly doubled over – at the comedian on the screen sparks a quiet rumble from within his chest and before Jesse can choke it back again, Badger rubs his knuckles down the entire length of Jesse's spine absentmindedly.
The blond all but melts to the floor, warmth rushing up his back, turning his muscles to water. He curls up on his side as that damned rumble continually crawls out his throat. Badger's knuckles make another pass and Jesse reaches clumsily for his hoodie from where he'd discarded it earlier, atop his new sketch book and Conté sticks, to bury his flushed face in it. He waits expectantly for Badger's teasing or laughter, ears pressed tightly to his skull and eyes screwed shut. But after a few moments of nothing more than that comforting downward slide of knuckles against his back, Jesse relaxes, ears returning to resting position and his white-knuckled hold on his hoodie loosening. His anxiety had suppressed most of his purring but now that he isn't afraid the other man is going to make him feel worthless, the sound grows in intensity. The only noise in the living room is Jesse's deep rumbling purr and the uninterrupted comedian's voice.
Jesse feels ashamed that an act meant for Chompy, a pet, something lesser, should make him feel so safe and warm. When a few chuckles escaped Badger, Jesse forces himself to pretend that the man is simply tuning back into the comedian's set; the blond can't be entirely sure because it is near impossible to focus on anything other than the warmth radiating from his spine up to his skull.
Purring had always had a sedative affect on Jesse, but combined with the liquor, it is overwhelming. He feels himself slipping at a dizzying speed. The room is undulating around him. The floor is a living thing, tilting beneath him. He frowns slightly, and twists until his hips rest snugly against Badger's side and his shins press into the front of the sofa they'd been leaning against. The new position anchors the blond – the room stops spinning and he kneads at his hoodie contentedly for a moment. The top of his torso and his face remain in the same position, hidden in his hoodie and facing away from Badger. The curve of his spine is still somewhat exposed to his friend's steady hand, the knuckles running firmly down the knobs of vertebrae they can reach before trailing across his ribs.
The blond interrupts his purring with another yawn, punctuated again by a mew which is muffled by his hoodie. He blinks sleepily into the dark material when Badger carefully drapes the blanket from the back of the sofa over him.
"Go to sleep, dude," Badger orders softly.
Jesse's eyes slip shut again. He offers a short series of rhythmic purrs before he lets sleep drag him under.
||[]||[]||[]||[]||
Jesse startles awake from a discordant dream suddenly, unsure as to what ripped him from sleep until he hears it again: gunshots. Badger swears sharply from somewhere above him and Jesse springs to his feet, before ducking down again and dive-tackling Badger to the floor out of the line of potential fire.
"Whoa, hey, what the fuck?" Badger struggles against Jesse for a second until he freezes under the blond, staring up into Jesse's panicked eyes.
"Wha—what's happening?" Jesse croaks out, glancing over his shoulder, lying protectively over the brunette. It takes a second for his surroundings to register. They're in Badger's basement, and they're alone. He's tackled Badger far enough that they're nearly against the television. The screen draws his attention as another series of gunshots crack over the speakers – a FPS and Badger's character is taking damage, leftmost edge flashing red. His ears flick erratically, tracking the noise as it zips across the surround sound; the speakers set into the ceiling directly over the sofa behind them are what cause another icy drop of fear to travel down his spine. But the danger is all artificial.
The blond sighs heavily just as the adrenaline spiking through him clashes with the embarrassment that he can feel heating his face now. "S-shit, sorry. I thought…" Jesse frowns, grinding his teeth. He starts trembling in the aftermath of the scare and moves to pull away but Badger's arms rise up to wrap around him firmly.
"Sorry," Badger says gruffly. "I wasn't thinking, man. I shoulda put in a different game, or muted that shit, or woke you but you look like you haven't slept in days and I didn't want—"
"S'ok," Jesse mumbles, hoping to stop Badger's guilty rambling. The man always talks too much when he's nervous or worried. He consciously uncoils his muscles, all tight with fight-or-flight energy, and wriggles out of Badger's hold. He scrubs his hand through his hair and down his face in embarrassment.
Badger laughs in a slightly strained tone. "Damn, man, but you're quick. Didn't even know you were awake until you were all over me. You and your crazy kitty-ninja moves almost gave me a heart attack. I wouldn't do well in war, dude."
Jesse huffs a laugh out his nose and quirks a smile at him. It's all he can offer. He's still shaking like he has the flu and he can't get his jaw to relax.
Badger uses the controller to turn the PlayStation off, desolate battlefield and gunfire disappearing in a flash. He flips the tv mode to his computer again, kicks up Netflix and queues up a few comedies from the recommended list.
By the time Badger looks at him again, Jesse's jaw has relaxed but he's still off-center. He hopes his eyes don't look as crazed or as teary as he fears they do. He glances up warily when Badger stands. He tenses, ears snapping back to his skull when Badger reaches for him; not quite a full flinch, because he fought that down, but close enough. It's enough to make Badger hesitate for a beat before offering his hand again to the blond. Jesse chokes on his embarrassment at the sad expression on Badger's face and grabs the other man's forearm just as Badger grabs his. The brunette easily lifts him from the floor before dragging him back to the sofa. It's been made up with sheets and a couple thick blankets, a pillow thrown carelessly near one armrest.
Before Jesse can protest – he was only going to make the whole setup dirty – Badger pushes him into the makeshift bed.
When he lands in the plush blankets, his instinct is to burrow further. It's such a contrast from the floor of the Crystal Ship and even the carpeted floor he had earlier that a stilted purr rises weakly from his confused frame. His muscles still shake with useless adrenalin and he startles again when Badger sits next to his head.
Badger reaches out and cups a warm hand around the back of Jesse's neck silently, 'scruffing' him. Jesse's body immediately loosens. His limbs draw up to his core and his mind goes blank – he doesn't even have the energy to feel humiliated the longer Badger keeps his hand there, massaging the muscles lightly. The contrast between Badger's hold and Tuco's – because that sadist had grabbed him often by the neck and memories of that psycho are exactly where Jesse's mind had gotten stuck when he'd heard the artificial gunshots – are day and night. He feels safe here, and the lack of control is willingly endured if Badger has the wheel. He knows his friend won't do anything to him.
Badger eventually removes his hand and sighs heavily above Jesse. After being 'freed,' Jesse's energy and instincts burst forth again and he nuzzles into the blankets, digging into the soft comforter. He ducks under the blankets when Badger lifts them for him, pressed as close as he can be to the back of the sofa. His muscles have stopped jumping and he butts his head against Badger's leg in a clumsy thanks.
"Sorry," Badger tries again hoarsely.
"Quit apologizing, Jesus," Jesse mumbles into the sofa cushion, hidden beneath the comforter.
It doesn't take but a few heartbeats before Badger asks, "What was that about?"
Jesse frowns, though Badger can't see it. He hesitates, fists flexing. "Already told you some of what went down, with Tuco."
"Yeah, you did."
Jesse doesn't offer anything else. He hopes Badger will be content enough to connect the dots himself. He doesn't want to admit that he can't sleep because he keeps having nightmares where things go wrong. Nightmares in which Tuco flies into a demented rage and beats the shit out of him again; or where Mr White successfully convinces Tuco that Jesse is the only one he needs, readily allowing Jesse to be sacrificed so that he can escape; or hell, even nightmares that twist with old man Salamanca eating the ricin – the guilt is unexpectedly devastating. There had been a few nights when Jesse had snapped awake out of nightmares positive he'd been shot; heat from phantom bullets ripping through his chest so convincing that he'd had to pat himself down, always surprised when his hands didn't come back bloody.
"Don't wanna talk about it?" Badger prompts.
No, not really. He just wants to forget it. He wants to forget turning people into meat slushies, of having guns aimed at him, of being shoved in his own goddamn trunk. He wishes he had a Reset button he could punch. Wishes he had the courage to drop everything and just drive away. Drive on a straight course until the fuel and cash and fear bled away, never turning back.
Badger's hand fumbles its way to the back of his skull under the blanket. He flinches at the initial contact but doesn't say anything when Badger starts scratching behind his ears. He can feel himself relaxing in inches. His mind is a stopped sink that is slowly filling by means of a dripping faucet; his thoughts are getting lethargic again. He must be pretty pathetic for Badger to coddle him this much. The other man rarely touched him unless he was injured or on a bad trip.
"You've been in bad spots but you're still good, man. Yo, you thought we were getting shot at when you woke up, right? And that had to be scary, but, like, you woulda saved my life. Right? Like Batman or some shit."
Jesse thinks back to his automatic impulse to protect Badger, even going so far as to shield him with his body. Not that Jesse has much sense of self-preservation these days, almost wishing for something to end it, but the fact was that before he was even fully conscious, Badger had immediately been his top priority. The thought is sobering. "Apparently," he says gruffly. Badger's hand falls still in surprise, and Jesse butts his head against it to get him to continue.
Eventually Badger continues, fingers moving deftly against Jesse's skull. The blond sighs beneath the covers and draws his knees up to his chest, tucking himself into a small ball. The other man doesn't push for more conversation and gradually Jesse slips into sleep again, cocooned in warm blankets that smell of vanilla detergent which summons memories of Aunt Ginny's baking before cancer ruined everything.