Mullet-verse: "Damn...we fucked up."
Title: Non-negotiable Limits
Fandom: Justice League
Characters: Junior, Jon, and Danny Carter-Kord
Word Count: 773
Rating: PG-13?
Author's Notes: Inspired by this icon. Also by the fact that I think I've accidentally been leaning toward making Jon an alcoholic. *facepalm* Oh well. You know his family wouldn't put up with that for very long.
Non-negotiable Limits
Mom is not happy.
No, it's worse than that. Mom is disappointed.
Jon winces, and it's only half from the headache he can feel creeping up behind his eyeballs, waiting to pounce, and why doesn't the robo-blood recognize a hangover as something that needs to be healed? Probably Mom had Uncle Max write something into them about that. Jon knows he doesn't need to ever worry about his liver, but the headaches are spectacular.
A groan from the narrow bench draws attention away from Jon and he could hug Danny for that.
"S'it s'poseta be neon?"
Closing his eyes and pressing his forehead to the bars of their cell, Jon suppresses a groan of his own. "Most people pay extra for their drinks to be that color, yes."
"D'n't taste neon."
"I sincerely hope sucking on a neon sign isn't what got you arrested," Mom speaks up frostily.
Danny goes very still. Then he asks in a tiny voice, "Dad?" Then he adds in a hazy mumble, "Wh're m'I?"
"Jail, Daniel," Mom tells him, narrowing his eyes as he glances at Jon. "You were arrested."
Danny thinks that over silently, decides he's far too hungover to deal with the situation just yet, and shifts to curl in on himself on the bench, facing the wall. From the deep, steady rhythm his breathing acquires, he's fallen back to sleep.
"Traitor," Jon grumbles under his breath. Of course Mom hears it, bringing his full attention and wrath down on Jon.
"Jonathan Indivar Carter-Kord," he growls, moving to stand in front of him.
Jon is absurdly glad for the solid metal bars separating them. "Mom--" he starts to protest.
"Arrested, Jonny! You boys have, like, a criminal record now! Fingerprints on file!"
The volume and pitch of his voice is like an icepick to Jon's brain and he closes his eyes, wincing in pain. A quiet whimper escapes him, then he mumbles, "Sorry."
"For what, Jonny?" Mom sighs. "Do you even realize how totally stupid what you did was?"
Jon stares down at his feet, turning to lean his shoulder against the bars and cross his arms over his chest. He mutters something that could be an acknowledgment.
Lips pressed into a thin line, Mom levels another disappointed look at him. It hurts more than the hangover and the yelling combined. "I posted bail," he says quietly. "You owe an apology to the officer you took a swing at and one to your mother for missing."
Jon winces again.
"Next time you and your brother go to a bar, stop before you like, lose motor control." He turns his head to the side, frowning. "You can't aim worth a crap when you're drunk, Jonathan."
Curling one hand around the bars and leaning forward, Junior Carter-Kord reaches through with his other hand to grab Jon's chin. His grip is gentle but firm as he makes Jon look up at him, and his expression is as serious as his son has ever seen.
"I ever hear you're drunk in the suit, I take it away," he says in a steel-laced voice. "The suit, the name, everything."
Jon's eyes widen and he breathes in sharply through his nose. "I--"
"No." Mom lets go of him, and the bars of his jail cell. "Non-negotiable, Jon."
Twisting around to dart a hand through the bars, Jon grabs the man's wrist and finally meets his eyes. Giving the wrist a squeeze, feeling shame twist in his gut as his eyes prickle, Jon wills him to understand. "No...Mom...I wouldn't." Something thick and heavy lodges in his throat and he's reduced to a whisper as he repeats, "I wouldn't."
Mom stares at him, eyes darting over his face, taking mental notes on the level of his sincerity. Jon feels like he's being sized-up the way his mom sizes up the bad guys; it's an uncomfortable feeling and he doesn't like it. Finally, he nods, rotating his wrist in Jon's grip until he can grasp Jon's forearm.
"I hope so, Jonny," he murmurs.
"I wouldn't," Jon whispers again.
Nodding, Mom gives his arm another squeeze before letting go. Turning away, he says, "They'll be in to let you out in a minute. Bug's hovering above the roof, stealth mode. Duck into an alley and we'll give you a ride home."
"Okay."
"And give Danny a hand, would you?"
"Yeah."
"I'll talk to him later."
With that, he exits the room, leaving Jon alone with nothing but his thoughts and his unconscious brother for company.
Leaning his head against the bars, Jon closes his eyes and prays that aspirin will be available soon.
-----
Fandom: Justice League
Characters: Junior, Jon, and Danny Carter-Kord
Word Count: 773
Rating: PG-13?
Author's Notes: Inspired by this icon. Also by the fact that I think I've accidentally been leaning toward making Jon an alcoholic. *facepalm* Oh well. You know his family wouldn't put up with that for very long.
Non-negotiable Limits
Mom is not happy.
No, it's worse than that. Mom is disappointed.
Jon winces, and it's only half from the headache he can feel creeping up behind his eyeballs, waiting to pounce, and why doesn't the robo-blood recognize a hangover as something that needs to be healed? Probably Mom had Uncle Max write something into them about that. Jon knows he doesn't need to ever worry about his liver, but the headaches are spectacular.
A groan from the narrow bench draws attention away from Jon and he could hug Danny for that.
"S'it s'poseta be neon?"
Closing his eyes and pressing his forehead to the bars of their cell, Jon suppresses a groan of his own. "Most people pay extra for their drinks to be that color, yes."
"D'n't taste neon."
"I sincerely hope sucking on a neon sign isn't what got you arrested," Mom speaks up frostily.
Danny goes very still. Then he asks in a tiny voice, "Dad?" Then he adds in a hazy mumble, "Wh're m'I?"
"Jail, Daniel," Mom tells him, narrowing his eyes as he glances at Jon. "You were arrested."
Danny thinks that over silently, decides he's far too hungover to deal with the situation just yet, and shifts to curl in on himself on the bench, facing the wall. From the deep, steady rhythm his breathing acquires, he's fallen back to sleep.
"Traitor," Jon grumbles under his breath. Of course Mom hears it, bringing his full attention and wrath down on Jon.
"Jonathan Indivar Carter-Kord," he growls, moving to stand in front of him.
Jon is absurdly glad for the solid metal bars separating them. "Mom--" he starts to protest.
"Arrested, Jonny! You boys have, like, a criminal record now! Fingerprints on file!"
The volume and pitch of his voice is like an icepick to Jon's brain and he closes his eyes, wincing in pain. A quiet whimper escapes him, then he mumbles, "Sorry."
"For what, Jonny?" Mom sighs. "Do you even realize how totally stupid what you did was?"
Jon stares down at his feet, turning to lean his shoulder against the bars and cross his arms over his chest. He mutters something that could be an acknowledgment.
Lips pressed into a thin line, Mom levels another disappointed look at him. It hurts more than the hangover and the yelling combined. "I posted bail," he says quietly. "You owe an apology to the officer you took a swing at and one to your mother for missing."
Jon winces again.
"Next time you and your brother go to a bar, stop before you like, lose motor control." He turns his head to the side, frowning. "You can't aim worth a crap when you're drunk, Jonathan."
Curling one hand around the bars and leaning forward, Junior Carter-Kord reaches through with his other hand to grab Jon's chin. His grip is gentle but firm as he makes Jon look up at him, and his expression is as serious as his son has ever seen.
"I ever hear you're drunk in the suit, I take it away," he says in a steel-laced voice. "The suit, the name, everything."
Jon's eyes widen and he breathes in sharply through his nose. "I--"
"No." Mom lets go of him, and the bars of his jail cell. "Non-negotiable, Jon."
Twisting around to dart a hand through the bars, Jon grabs the man's wrist and finally meets his eyes. Giving the wrist a squeeze, feeling shame twist in his gut as his eyes prickle, Jon wills him to understand. "No...Mom...I wouldn't." Something thick and heavy lodges in his throat and he's reduced to a whisper as he repeats, "I wouldn't."
Mom stares at him, eyes darting over his face, taking mental notes on the level of his sincerity. Jon feels like he's being sized-up the way his mom sizes up the bad guys; it's an uncomfortable feeling and he doesn't like it. Finally, he nods, rotating his wrist in Jon's grip until he can grasp Jon's forearm.
"I hope so, Jonny," he murmurs.
"I wouldn't," Jon whispers again.
Nodding, Mom gives his arm another squeeze before letting go. Turning away, he says, "They'll be in to let you out in a minute. Bug's hovering above the roof, stealth mode. Duck into an alley and we'll give you a ride home."
"Okay."
"And give Danny a hand, would you?"
"Yeah."
"I'll talk to him later."
With that, he exits the room, leaving Jon alone with nothing but his thoughts and his unconscious brother for company.
Leaning his head against the bars, Jon closes his eyes and prays that aspirin will be available soon.
-----