Title: Break of Day
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: R for intense description of drugs (a drug, Rohypnol), homosexual situations, sexual implications
Status: posted 1 Mar 2002
Archive: The traditional places. If you don't know what the traditional places are, you might want to write and ask. And here's how:
Feedback: Kelandris
Series/Sequels: Sequels "Swallowed".
Disclaimers: To the best of my recollection, this is intended as a work of satire and/or fannish devotion, with no more weight against the Powers that Be than a feather. I make no direct income from these stories and I explicitly reserve all rights to all View Askew characters to Kevin Smith, View Askew Productions, Jason Mewes and Scott Mosier.
Notes: I have no clue. This one walked into my head and threw stuff around in there for a while, and now we have this.
Summary: Jay deals with the aftermath of Bob on drugs.
Warnings: If you've read "Swallowed", some of the same warnings apply. This one's more in the realm of personal attack than sexual weirdness, but still.


"Break of Day"
by Kelandris the Mad


"A week, you said?"

They were watching something on the set; later, Jay couldn't recall even who'd been in...whatever it'd been. All he remembered was watching TV, and hearing Bob's slow, even voice speak four words. Four words that didn't even mean anything at first, hadn't even registered by the time he'd looked over and opened his mouth to say...something; he was never afterwards sure what it would've been.

His mouth stayed open as the words sank in, permeating every layer of his conscious mind, and he gaped at Bob like a stranded trout. Bob simply stared at him, lightly raising one eyebrow.

Finally, Jay managed to shake it off.

"Uh, um, yeah," he said, stumbling over the sound of gears grinding to a halt in his skull. Suddenly the TV was far too loud, and as if Bob had heard the thought, he reached for the remote in Jay's lap, clicking the set off, and Jay now had another thing to process along with everything else.

"Just a week," Bob said softly.

"Just a..." Damn, now that was three things. The sound of gears grinding was getting almost too loud to bear. He was pretty sure at this point if he sniffed, he'd smell the smell of neurons burning, too.

**Wouldn't be the first time, dumbfuck,** his brain thought bitterly at him.

Bob tapped his forehead, snapping Jay out of the fugue state.

"What?" Jay said, shreds of the ghost of an old resentment tinting his voice. "I answered you already."

Bob shook his head.

"One pending."

"One..."

"Week. Was it," he paused patiently, "just one," pausing again to make sure Jay heard him this time, "week?" And Bob was looking at him again. Waiting.

Man, he was getting tired of this shit, already. Like he hadn't heard him the fucking first time. Now the resentment was flaring up nicely, and he wadded it up into a nice spiky ball, preparing to hurl it where it would do the most damage...and then all the air went out of the construct, when he remembered--again--he wasn't the injured party here.

Well, shit.

`Uh, yeah," he stuttered out. "It was--it was just a week. Less'n that, even."

"Just the five days."

Jay swallowed. He knew he was gaping again, and probably gonna get tapped on the head again for it, but fucking *shit*, man...How the fuck you hit someone that hard without even touching them? That was a dark talent, that was, that was fucking *genius*, in its own twisted way. Genius he was wishing now Bob didn't have.

"Uh, yeah," he finally said, miserably. "Just the five days. An' you only got..." At the burning look in Bob's eyes, Jay suddenly wished he hadn't spoken beyond the affirmation, hadn't said anything else, fuck, had suddenly lost all ability to form words at *all*.

"Got what?" Bob asked. Softly. So fuckin' softly. Serial killers should train under this guy, Jay thought bitterly. That tone could wound at twenty paces. He knew. He kept wanting to check for new slices into his skin, even knowing they weren't there, 'cause it felt like he was bleeding from several new wounds.

"Only, uh, got, four days at the full dose," he whispered.

"Mm," Bob whispered back, staring at him. Jay bit his lips nearly through with the effort not to say anything else, and Bob didn't seem to want him to. He just stared at him, and Jay stared back. When Jay was ready to leap off the couch and light himself on fire as a way of apologizing--again--for what had happened, Bob looked away, and Jay sagged into the couch back in abject relief. His bottom lip was bleeding slightly and he sucked at the shallow scrape where his teeth had dug in those last few minutes.

**So let's get the brain in gear and figure this shit out,** he thought, tasting salt and copper and rusty iron against his tongue. **So we had some really hot sex and yeah, I figured out, I dig the Bob. I can deal with that. But there was shit before it the likes of which we ain't never had before, and that was bad and wrong.**

He snuck a look at Bob, who hadn't yet turned the TV back on, but was staring at it anyway, this odd look of concentration on his face. Whatever. He returned to thinking shit out.

**So, yeah, okay, Jay was a bad, bad boy. Like Mr. Innocent over here never knew. But okay. I coulda asked, but I was chickenshit, and Kyle was just too easy to terrorize. And I shoulda thrown the shit away the minute I got outta Kyle's. And I shoulda told ya. Okay. I know all this now. How much shit do I hafta crawl through before you fuckin' forgive me?**

"Forty-seven miles of barbed wire," Bob said softly, and Jay's mouth dropped again. Holy fuckin' shit, he'd been speakin' aloud. How the fuck had that happened? Oh, man, he was sunk, he was fuckin' sunk to his hips in shit, he was never gonna get outta this alive. He was *dead*, is what it was. Dead. Murdered. Stabbed.

By Bob.

Bob looked over, shaking his head.

"No. But you're gonna let me kiss you in public."

"Fuck you, man, I gots a rep to maintain, I don't have time for *your* fag shit to interfere with that--"

Bob stared at him, cocking his head to one side, blinking so slowly Jay actually saw the individual dark curving hairs brush his cheeks, moving together, then rise. Or maybe it was just his sense of time fucking freezing as soon as Bob turned to look at him, and he realized the shit that'd fallen outta his mouth.

"Rohypnol," Bob said softly. "Developed as a short-term treatment for insomnia, and as a sedative hypnotic. Adverse effects associated with use include decreased blood pressure, memory impairment, drowsiness, visual disturbances, dizziness and confusion. Once dependence has developed, withdrawal symptoms include headache, muscle pain, extreme anxiety, tension, restlessness and irritability. Numbness, tingling in the extremities, loss of identity, hallucinations, delirium, convulsions, shock, and cardiovascular collapse also may occur. Withdrawal seizures can occur a week or more after cessation of use."

Halfway through the recitation, Jay started to tremble, and by the time Bob was finished, fucked up as it was, he was crying. He scrubbed at his eyes angrily, hating the betrayal of his emotions, hating the fact that his cool had, for once, totally deserted him, hating the burning feeling in the pit of his stomach, and hating himself, and his ideas, and his stupid insecure need for this stupid fat man he stupidly called his friend--when obviously he couldn't be trusted to *have* friends, 'cause he was such a fucking fuck-up without a future who would drug his friends to have sex with him rather than go find someone, *anyone*, fuckin' two-dollar whore in a back alley, like he useta be--

By the time he'd poured half of this out, Bob had pulled him into his arms, stroking his hair, hushing the torrent of words that flowed from his lips.

"You're an idiot," he said. "You know that."

Jay nodded convulsively, clinging to him. He wailed into Bob's t-shirt, even words gone now. When he'd worn himself out, clinging to Bob, panting, eyes burning as he blinked more tears away, Bob sighed.

"I love you anyway," he said softly, kissing his forehead.

"You do?"

Bob nodded.

"Still?"

He nodded again.

Jay thought for a moment. Huh. This didn't have to be all bad, did it? Had pulled 'em together at last, convinced his bod that he could like guys, hell, that he could even fuckin' love one, and that was all good. And shit, Bob was still cool on the tits and ass thing.

"Right?" he asked, saying the last few words aloud.

Bob nodded for a third time. Jay scrambled up, tearstained and shining, crawling into Bob's lap and laying his arms around the shorter man's shoulders.

"So maybe we should just go to bed, then, huh?" he asked. "Lemme apologize *properly*."

Bob just smiled, brushing a strand of gold hair from his forehead.

"Maybe," he said.

Fucker.


END
*****************
Kelandris the Mad
wound around with razor wire


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