I do not own American Horror Story: Freak Show.
And I can't really call this a horror story or a freak show anymore. It's just a story now :)
Jimmy, Not Moses
Winds of Change
"Harder, Jimmy, harder!" Dot cried out urgently.
"Faster, Jimmy, faster!" Bette beseeched, her voice nearly a moan.
"Don't stop now, we're almost there!"
He paused suddenly in his rhythmic exertions and they gazed up at him with pleading, desperate eyes. Begging him not to stop.
They needed him to keep going. To finish what he had started.
But instead he gestured vaguely with his hammer.
"I love you girls. But yelling at me isn't going to get these planks put up any faster. The hurricane doesn't show up 'til tomorrow. But I'm going to have a heart attack tonight if you don't take a break."
He didn't yell or even raise his voice to them.
But his face showed his growing frustration and they felt a touch, just a touch, of compassion.
Dot relented somewhat, though Bette still seemed strained.
"Sorry, Jimmy."
"We're not really used to storms like this."
They handed him a cold iced tea as he clamored down from the ladder, releasing said hammer and taking the glass in one hook.
It was really refreshing.
He sipped it again.
Mmmm, delicious . . .
Dot and Bette observed him in his damp white shirt. Jeans clinging to the thigh still propped up on the lowest rung of the ladder.
Mmmmm, delicious . . .
Cool it, sister. There's a storm coming.
Why yes, I think there is too . . .
Sister!
What? Look at Thigh Man. You know I'm right.
Well, yes.
Jimmy set down his glass and glanced up at them.
He raised his eyebrows in curious amusement.
"What are you two grinning at?"
They giggled, sounding for all the world to themselves (and Jimmy) like teenagers.
And he grinned his dimple right at them.
Oh Lord, sister, not the dimple . . .
Yes, I do believe I feel a bit fluttery . . .
Well, now you sound like Miss Scarlett O'Hara.
Oh shut u-
Oh Lord, he's bending over.
Oh my . . .
They waited all night, nervous and worried.
All the windows were boarded, breakables wrapped up and carefully stowed away.
Batteries, flashlights.
Blankets, portable radio.
Simple, unrefrigerated food and containers of fresh water.
First aid kit.
All stored neatly in a box near them.
A bucket in the bathroom for possible toiletry needs should their plumbing be cut off.
There wasn't much to do after everything was set and gathered but for them to sit and wait for the storm.
So Bette took down a book from the shelf and began to read aloud.
Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson.
Sweet, gentle Bette really seemed to really relish the adventurous tale.
She often even deepened her lilting, Southern voice into a guttural, piratey timbre for added effect.
"Ah," said Silver, "it were fortunate for me that I had Hawkins here. You would have let Old John be cut to bits, and never given it a thought, Doctor."
"Not a thought," replied Dr. Livesey cheerily.
While Jimmy their darling lay on his back, head on a pillow, staring up at the darkened ceiling.
The talk was old and sometimes difficult to follow but he enjoyed the telling nevertheless.
And found himself intrigued.
Man, that girl sure knows how to tell a story.
Well, at least I don't have a peg leg.
I wonder if the bird ever dumps on Silver's shoulder.
He dozed here and there into piratey dreamscapes, only to be awoken by wind knocking refuse into the side of the house.
And Bette read on.
In the end, the damn hurricane wimped right out and turned into a tropical storm.
With nothing more than some heavy downpours and lightening and moderately strong winds to show for itself.
Didn't even lose power for more than a couple of minutes.
Which was just fine, all things considered.
The next morning when the sun came out, they went to survey the damage.
Some of the shingles had blown off the roof.
Branches lay scattered about. Refuse here and there.
So all in all, not too much for their sparse yard.
They chatted together as they worked and within the half-hour, the yard was clean.
And then they saw neighbors over in the next yard, struggling with a heavy branch.
And went to help.
Just as one yard would be cleared, they would see other neighbors with damaged property.
And they would go to offer their assistance.
Some people nervously shooed them away.
Most did not.
And of the ones who did accept their help, there was some sidelong staring.
At the twin heads.
And the full set of hooks.
But it passed.
Whether out of acceptance or exhaustive work effects, they did not know.
And didn't really matter.
Jimmy was in the middle of lugging a small tree off a busted dog house when he looked around.
And saw no trace of Bette and Dot.
Fear skittered up his spine like a creepy crawly creature and suddenly he knew somebody had grabbed them.
And were doing horrible things to them.
He would never be able to save them.
He would fail them.
Just like all his other friends.
But then, just as he was on the verge of a panic attack, he caught a glimpse.
His Bette and Dot.
With a plate of fourthed sandwiches and lemonade on a tray.
He sagged in relief, willing his heart to stop pounding so loudly in his ears.
And gazed fondly at them.
They were smiling and handing out sandwiches, pouring cups of lemonade to grateful workers.
They worked their way up and down the street, gathering people as they went.
More hands, lighter work.
That's what Ma had always said.
And she was right.
And by early evening, the block was clean.
A balding man whose name Jimmy couldn't remember walked up and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Whew, I'm exhausted. You know what we need now? Grillin'."
Jimmy stared at him, astounded at the formerly reserved man.
Who had apparently forgotten that Jimmy had no hands and lived 'in sin' with a two headed woman.
"Yeah?" Jimmy managed.
The man wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow and squinted up at the clear blue sky.
"Yeah, whaddaya say? Have your ladies bring more of that lemonade? I'll have mine make some sweets for dessert."
Jimmy gave him a tentative smile.
"I'll ask them."
The man nodded, whipping out a pack of smokes and lighting one with the ease of years of practice.
"Alright, I'll head out to the store for some dogs and such and you spread the word with everybody."
Jimmy concurred in bewilderment and the man clapped him on the shoulder once more before starting away.
Then he paused, looking back.
"Oh, and . . . Jimmy, is it?"
The man winked.
"Thanks."
It was a big gathering, nearly half the neighborhood.
Lots of talk, lots of laughter, lots of good scrounged-up-from-the-kitchen food.
The stars and moon were bright overhead, the clouds waved away by the gentle breezes that had cooled them all day.
Occasionally somebody offered Jimmy an ice-cold beer.
Which he'd casually shrug away.
Somebody brought a guitar and Jimmy nearly asked if he could try playing it with his teeth.
But he didn't.
The evening festivities were a surprise to him because most people seemed to gradually forget the oddities of the people they were talking to and just talk to them.
It seemed like a dream.
He really hoped it wasn't.
When they finally rolled in late that night, exhausted and full of grilled goodness and sugary desserts, and newfound friends, Jimmy went into his room.
Turned on the bedside lamp.
Opened the top dresser drawer.
Used his right hook to detach his left from its sore stump and lay it carefully inside the open drawer on a towel set there just for that purpose.
And his teeth to detach his right and join it with its mate.
Instead of immediately snatching up his wooden lobster claw hands from their resting place atop the dresser and attaching them, he stopped.
Sat down on the edge of his bed.
And looked at his stumps, lost in thought.
His hands, his real hands, were gone.
Forever.
How could I have been so stupid?
It was something that haunted him even now, the gullibility usually only shown by rubes.
And he, Jimmy had fallen face first right into it.
Out of confusion and desperation.
He raised his head and looked around at the room.
By all appearances, it wasn't much different from the solitary room he'd almost given up in when they had first arrived here from Jupiter.
It was small and square and sparse.
Off white walls, nothing on them.
A window above his double bed, green privacy curtains filtering light through.
The walnut dresser was worn and nicked in places.
The closet didn't hold that many clothes.
He'd never needed that many to begin with.
If he closed the hall door, he would be alone.
And sometimes that was okay.
Because when he opened it, they were there.
Dot and Bette.
With their ready smiles and caring natures and lovely dark eyes.
So he was only alone when he truly wished to be.
This time last year, the gears and traps of their Jupiter catastrophe has just started rolling.
He could have never predicted the horrors and insanities that would follow.
And never could have imagined surviving them.
But he, they, had.
And now outside, out there in the world, just today, some of those people had stopped looking at them like unnatural freaks.
They had worked together, side by side.
To restore order to nature's chaos.
They'd been welcomed.
Like people.
Jimmy smiled.
Rose from his reverie.
Put on his wooden hands.
And opened the door.
I wonder if I missed Jack Benny.
Did I getcha with the first part? I hope so because that was soooooo much fun to write!
And due to this title, I will be singing 'Winds of Change' by the Scorpions in my head all day long now. 'S okay. Been hearing 'Moves Like Jagger' for the past four. Ha.
And I don't really know if the acceptance they experienced here was realistic or not (hence Jimmy thinking he's in a dream). But I really want it to be for them, you know?
Thanks to brigid1318, Dinah Ray & her happy day (ha made that rhyme), haily94, Jurana Keri (kudos for thinking of Bette in all this), Mlppace, and the Cry-Wank Kid for taking the time to speak up.
Thanks also to r4ulsonfeels for adding your support to this story as well.