Title: Deluded
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, post-Dogma, AU (spoilers for the comics and Dogma)
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: PG-13 for language
Status: posted 2 December 2004
Archive: Yes if you let me know
Feedback: Kelandris
Series/Sequels: "Fever" and "Jersey Boy" (which I hope I actually posted, as I now seem to be missing page one of the story!)
Disclaimers: What Kevin Smith and Jason Mewes don't know I'm doing to their alter egos won't hurt them. I make no money on this, all characters belong to Kevin Smith and View Askew.
Notes: As usual, the simple three-shot is mutating in Kel's hands. At this point if Jay don't catch a clue soon, it's gonna be five parts!
Summary: Jay figures out what's wrong with Bob, and gets the totally wrong idea on how to fix it.
Warnings: Heavy on the angst towards the end. Heavy on Clueless Jay all the way through. Boy's as dense as dwarf star matter in this one. Overuse of the word "fuck" and all permutations thereof. (I wasn't channeling Jay, I was railing at my inability to speak, laryngitis having fully set in.)


"Deluded"
by Kelandris the Mad


Typical day, hanging at the mall, duckin' Lafours just out of habit. Today found them again at the pet store, where Jay had fused himself to the window, playing finger games with a gamine beauty on the other side. She had glowing green eyes and calico dots that looked like orange fireworks all over her fur. She was young enough to find her tiny paws nearly as fascinating as Jay's softly tapping fingers.

He turned to Bob, opening his mouth to say something, and motherfucker was staring at him again.

Now Jay was just confused. Ever since he'd gotten that cold or whatever, Bob hadn't spoken to him. Okay, silent fuck never really spoke, let's be perfectly fucking clear here, but he used to say things on occasion. All right, usually the wisdom of the universe flowed through those perfect lips, just cracked his head open and let profound wisdom flow. Which was all kinds of irritating at times, because on several occasions, Jay'd said the exact same thing and no one heard. Bob just said it *better*, that was all.

But yeah, he'd say something, laugh once in a while, roll his eyes, shake his head. *Some* kind of fuckin' reaction.

Now Jay might as well be screaming in vacuum for all the reaction Bob gave him. Tubby bitch was really earning his name. Or maybe he needed a new one--Staring Bob or some shit. 'Cause that was *all* he was fuckin' doing, was staring at Jay. Watching him. Like, nearly every time he'd looked over today, Bob'd been staring at him, like he was some test he hadn't studied for that he had to figure out how to pass.

Nah, he knew Bob's worried look, and this wasn't it. He knew a lot of Bob's looks, and this one was new. Bugged the shit out of him, that Bob wasn't falling into pattern on this one.

Maybe that was the problem, that he knew Bob so well. He'd always known him, seemed like. Six years ago, when he'd really needed a home, Bob had been it. And he hadn't treated him good, he knew that--fuck, at sixteen he'd still been shrouded in barbed wire, it had taken him a good few years to shed all those thorns--but fuck, he was trying to make up for it, wasn't he? He'd been learning to clean house. And he didn't know how many stupid fucking times he'd sat through *Pretty in Pink*, or *Sixteen Candles*, or *Some Kind of Wonderful* for Bob's sake. Jay, now, he was happy if the movie *moved*, man, big cars, big guns, explosions--yeah, Jean-Claude, man, in *Hard Target*, or Swayze in *Roadhouse*, or Banderas in *Desperado*. At the very least if it had tits and blood, it was cool. Simple creature, maybe; he'd never pretended he was the mental genius Bob was. Man could hotwire a toaster and drive it around the block, that was pretty fuckin' amazing. One week they'd seen a film, *Wizard of Speed and Time*, had a suitcase with a stick shift in it. Two weeks later Bob'd built one.

And Jay knew there was at least one remote in the house that could turn on everything, from the lights to the Playstation to the coffee maker to the locks on the door. He was pretty sure Bob kept that one hidden, because he knew how Jay loved hittin' those shiny little buttons.

Hells, he was like that with everything, he thought Bob knew that by now. That's why he was workin' everything he had to get that little calico baby and take her home. He knew that Bob would eventually give in. Hells, that's why they'd gone to Shermer after all.

Well. Not-fucking-Shermer, actually. More like McHenry, Illinois. And then the craziness had really begun--like hanging out with an ape and his short stint as a fluffer hadn't been weird enough. But they'd met Bethany, the great-great- great-to-the-nth-power grand-niece of Jesus Christ, and then of course angels and demons and muses and dead guys on top of it, oh, and how could he have forgotten, nearly attending the end of the fuckin' world. Things had been pretty damned wild for a while.

And no, he hadn't gotten blown in the deal, but he'd gotten kissed by God, and got a chance to put his head on Bethany's shoulder for a while, and you had to admit, both of those chicks were pretty hot, he thought. He turned his back on the little orange puff of fur, leaning against the window.

In the meantime, he had Bob, and all of Bob's big shiny buttons. And one of 'em, he was sure, was gonna be the right one to get him that kitten. It was like opening a safe. You had to listen hard, and watch for the right timing, and have pretty talented fingers. And he was a pretty talented boy in some areas. Anything'd pop open, you worked on it long enough, applied the right amount of pressure.

Just like Bob. Boy'd give him anything, if he asked for it long enough, hard enough. All he had to do was--

Jay blinked, standing up straight.

**Oh,** he thought. **Oh, *shit*.**

Jay stood stock still, looking at Bob, who was now reading a comic book. Aw, naw, he had to be wrong. 'Cause that was fucked, frankly, that was *nobody's* final answer, seriously--no, he thought, shaking his head and scrunching his knit cap tighter down on his blond hair.

He snuck another look at Bob and their eyes met, before Bob quickly dropped back to his comic.

Shit, that tubby bitch hadn't, really, had he? Gone and fuckin' fallen in *love* with him? Fuckin' *A*, man, how many times he had to tell that Jedi motherfucker he was straight, and now this shit happens! It wasn't his fault he was cute, man--he downplayed it as much as he could save for the hair, and fuck if he was going to cut it off, he fuckin' liked it long.

Besides, it wasn't like he was the only cute one here. Bob was fuckin' *hot*, cutest guy he'd ever seen. With that rosebud mouth that looked like it'd be satin-soft to kiss, and that glossy, seal-dark brown hair, and the way he stood, ready for any fuckin' thing in the leather trench that looked like it had been cut perfectly to his form...

Shaking his head to clear it, he walked towards Bob, who'd found a bench to relax on while he was working all this out. He cracked his knuckles, rolled his head side to side, rolled his shoulders. **Be loose, bro, be cool,** he thought. **Break his heart easy. I don't wanna move if I can avoid it. Just tell him it happens all the time, an' maybe give him that DVD player now 'steada at Christmas.**

He plopped down beside Bob on the bench, cocking his head to one side. Was he wrong, or had Big Bob tensed up when he sat down? Shit.

Keep it light, he urged himself, keep it cool.

"Hey," he said softly. "We gotta talk, Lunchbox."

Bob's eyebrows rose, but that was all. He did put the comic down, though. That was a positive sign.

"I know we got a pretty good deal goin' here. We been together a long time, y'know, and sometimes..." He reached for words, hands dangling between his knees.

"Sometimes things get confused," he continued. "It's cool, but then they need--straightening out."

One of Bob's eyebrows remained raised. The other lowered. In this instance that was Bob-code for *Such as?*

Jay shrugged, scratching his head.

"Well, like, I know you're in love with me, and I know I'm hard to resist, dude, but I'm here to tell you I am *straight*, here, and--Bob? *Bob*!"

**He's not breathing. He's not breathing, he's just sittin' there, eyes buggin' out--Shit!**

"Bob!" he said again. "Shit!" He tapped his face lightly, and Silent Bob started, pulling back and inhaling deeply.

"You said--" he started. "How did--you were--"

Then his eyes narrowed to dark slits, and his face flushed slightly red.

"*What* did you say?" he hissed.

Jay opened his eyes wide, leaning a little out of range.

"Lunchbox, it happens *all* the fuckin' time, I get hit on by guys. It's no big deal. I just wanna be your friend."

For a moment, Bob sat there, eyes wide open, emotions Jay couldn't decipher fast enough to read whipping across his face. Then he sneered, standing and leaning close to Jay.

"*I* wasn't the one with my lips wrapped around your--"

And he jackknifed up, clapping a hand over his mouth, clenching his eyes shut.

**What the fuck?? What the hell does--**

"Dude?" he said shakily. "What did you mean when you--I mean, you said you--you meant I--what did you..."

Jay realized he was shaking, and told himself to stop it. His bod wasn't listening. Worse, other parts of his bod were paying closer attention than others, and fuck, now he couldn't stand up, 'cause all Bob would hafta do is look and see that, and he'd think--

**He'd think you were a fag,** said his backbrain, causing his teeth to clench.

**And maybe he'd be right,** that voice said again.

*Fuck*...But he liked the titties, he thought despairingly. He liked the way girls looked in clothes, and he loved the way they looked out of them, and he liked the way they smelled, and the sounds they made...

**And on the other hand, how many nights you sat up late, seeing if Bob's gonna jerk off? How many times you matched him, stroke for stroke? How many nights you beat off thinking about that hair, those lips, that one time you walked in on him walking out of the shower without a towel? Even Rufus brought it up...

**Fuck you,** he thought resentfully. **I ain't gay. I just...

**...love Bob.

**FUCK!**


END
*****************
Kelandris the Mad
rose-colored glass begins to age and crack


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