Mullet-verse fic: Dangers of Dihydrogen Monoxide, chapter 4
Title: Dangers of Dihydrogen Monoxide
Fandom: Justice League
Characters: Junior, Goldie, Booster/Beetle (mention), Pulsar (mention), Max, Bug
Word Count: 2878
Rating: PG-13?
Author's Notes: Since the Boostle content in this will be minimal, I've decided to post it here in my own journal. New updates are linked to on boostle in the notes for stories that are actually Boostlecentric enough to be posted there.
To my delighted surprise, I found that the song "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley fits this story (the whole thing, not just this chapter) so well it's almost uncanny. And because I like to share, here's a link to the lyrics, and the MP3. (Beware of pop-ups, they're abundant.) I highly recommend it, and would even if it didn't fit the story. ^_^
(LJ-cut quote is from David Rosenhan's On Being Sane in Insane Places.)
CHAPTERS: { Prologue }{ Chapter One }{ Chapter Two }{ Chapter Three }{ Chapter Four }{ Chapter Five }{ Chapter Six }{ Chapter Seven }{ Epilogue }
<-{ previous story: Legacies and Traditions } { next story: Little Boy Blue }->
Beta by alba_aulbath.
~4th Chapter
Batman once kept files on all the Leaguers. Ways to take them down. In case they were mind-controlled, in case they went crazy, just in case.
It's one of the few things he actually likes about Batman.
With that much power, it's only common sense. He thinks of it in terms of carrying an extra epipen for a friend with severe allergies. ...While walking through a field of bee-infested flowers in full bloom.
It's not a betrayal, it's a favor. A kindness.
He knows these people, he likes these people, and he knows how they would feel if their powers were used to harm innocents.
As long as he is able, he will never allow that to happen.
So he makes plans.
The flaw with Batman's plans is that he kept files. And as with all his files, they were detailed, comprehensive, and could be read by anyone. He relied on encryption to hide the information.
Junior doesn't encrypt his files. They're right on his computer, the one without 'net access, unconnected to any outside influence but gotten to easily enough if you can get past the password protection.
Any hacker worth their handle can get past the password. That's not the hard part.
The hard part is the files themselves. The files are minimal, and comprehensive to only one person. They are written in an illogical hodge-podge of English, Esperanto, Yiddish, "l33t," and a smattering of high school Spanish.
Anyone who could manage to understand them would be disappointed to find not plans but memory cues. In-jokes and obscure references. To an outside observer, they are gibberish.
What, for instance, does the folder marked "FIDO" mean? The file inside it named "daisy"?
To Junior, they are complex plans thought out to the minutest details, with room for improvisation depending on circumstance.
Sometimes he jokes that they'll all be sorry they didn't take him more seriously when he takes them down and declares himself King of the Watchtower. He laughs, they laugh with him.
They don't realize he could really do it.
---------------
The facts were stacking up to point to something definitely being wrong with a capital "ruh" with her partner, best friend, and pal-a-roonie extraordinaire. And Goldie intended to find out what.
Despite his suspicions that the target of the trace would be less than inclined to entertain visitors, Max had the coordinates to her quickly. Max enjoyed tweaking the occasional authority figure's nose as much as Goldie and Junior did. His warning was more for show than any real desire to withhold the information.
In minutes, Goldie was aboard Bug, speeding toward a remote plateau in Arizona.
When she didn't see any buildings as she got closer, she frowned in suspicion. "Max, I thought you said he was here," she said over the comm.
"He is."
"It's the middle of nowhere," Goldie protested, peering out the windshield. "There's no way there are any addresses out here."
"...You wanted an address?"
Goldie sat back, staring forward blankly as that sank in. When it did, she covered her visor with one hand and grimaced. "I'm heading for his exact location, aren't I?"
"You asked for a trace on him, not his home," Max replied irritably.
"I just assumed," Goldie said, tone implying that it should have been obvious.
"Look at it this way: no door to slam in your face."
"Are you trying to reassure me?" Goldie asked.
"Is it working?"
"Mmh, no not really," Goldie said musingly.
"Best laid plans," Max dismissed. "You're on your own from here. Try not to think about me too much, I'm not involved."
Goldie smirked. "Chicken."
"I prefer to think of it as strategic retreat."
"You would." A thought suddenly struck her and she sat up, eyebrows furrowing. "Hey, how did you get his exact location?"
"OMAX out."
"Max?" Goldie tapped her comm. "Max? Rat bastard." Crossing her arms over her chest, she scowled at the controls.
Bug slowed to a stop and hovered in place. On the communication panel, the small viewscreen fizzed on, showing the image of Bug's human persona. "The...plateau. Up ahead."
"Thanks Bug," Goldie sighed, standing and heading for the exit hatch. When it refused to open, she frowned in confusion and glanced back at the communication panel. "Hey, what gives?"
"The walls have...ears."
It took Goldie a second to figure out what the AI meant, then she groaned and smacked her forehead. "I'm sorry I called Max a rat bastard," she muttered sullenly.
Bug chuckled and the hatch unlocked with a click. "Good...luck."
Muttering under her breath, Goldie jumped out the hatch and flew toward the plateau.
In the middle of the plateau, a dark-haired man with darkly tanned and weather-beaten skin sat cross-legged. As she landed lightly a few feet in front of him, Goldie smirked a little and said, "I thought all the aliens were supposed to be in Nevada."
The man's eyes slid open and he frowned at her. "I heard it was Metropolis," he replied evenly. "Why are you here?"
Goldie stared down at her feet, fidgeting for a second, then said, "I need a favor, J'onn."
J'onn J'onzz, in human guise, slowly rose to his feet. "I've already told you I have no interest in mentoring."
"And I respect that decision," Goldie said, nodding. "Though any time you change your mind, I'm sure the Teen Titans would be eager to benefit from your wisdom and experience."
J'onn's expression didn't change. "You're not here to make that pitch to me again." It wasn't a question.
Goldie sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "No, no I'm not. It's...it's Blue. I think something's wro--No, I know something's wrong with him. I just don't know what." Pushing her visor up, she met his eyes with an earnest expression. "I need your help.
J'onn was a sucker for bright green eyes, and Goldie had put on her brightest, greenest contacts.
"What, exactly, is wrong?" J'onn asked reluctantly.
"I...he punched Pulsar."
J'onn raised an eyebrow. "He hasn't traded blows with a teammate before?"
"Well sure, but that's not the kind of blows they usually trade."
Grimacing, J'onn put a hand to his forehead. "I see," he muttered. "You are, as always, all class, Gold Star."
Goldie shrugged, then waved a hand dismissively. "Something happened to him," she insisted. "He's...he's so quiet. And...stuff." She slumped and brought one hand to her face. It was all so clear in her mind, but it was all getting mixed-up on the way to her mouth.
J'onn crossed his arms over his chest and raised a speculative eyebrow.
"Look, just...look in my head!" She jabbed a finger at her temple. "You know me, J'onn. I know Blue. I live with him, I work with him, I play with him. I can tell you what position he's sleeping in by the sound of his snoring. I know him. And I know when something's wrong with him." She put a hand over her heart and stared at the man beseechingly. "Something's wrong with him."
There was silence for a minute, before J'onn slowly let out a deep breath and gave a short nod. "Very well, I'll help you." He tilted his head to the side and smirked at her. "You're getting very good. Booster must be proud."
Goldie grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, well...I've been taking this class...." She shrugged.
Shaking his head, J'onn smiled wryly and finally melted back to his more familiar green form. "What do you want me to do?"
"Want? I want you to check his brainpan for a psychic lobotomy!" Goldie threw her arms up in frustration. "Brainwashing. Anything. Something's not right with him, and if it keeps up..." Goldie closed her eyes and sighed, unhappy even thinking of the possibility. "If it keeps up, he could become a danger to himself and others."
J'onn's gaze on her was steady for a long moment before he nodded solemnly. "It would appear I have no choice."
Goldie smiled sadly. "No, not really."
---------------
"Don't you trust me?"
"I'll trust you until you lie to me, Max--"
--they're on the roof staring up at the night sky, making a game of recognizing constellations through the clouds and light pollution and trappings of civilization. Sometimes they make up their own. So far they've got Barbie, the Flying Pig, Hemp, and Squidward, though Max insists that last one is just an odd assortment of planes and satellites that have actually lined up to form a shape. Junior insists it still counts, and should count for more, actually, because it won't exist for long.
Max shoves his shoulder and calls him a dork. Junior laughs.
They talk. They're teenagers, so it is at once immaturely shallow and immeasurably deep. It's late, and it's dark, so it's all good.
Junior looks at Max's outline illuminated by the blue glow of--the glow of Chicago at night. Tells him that they feel more like cousins than uncle and nephew, at least how he thinks being cousins feels. But Junior also kind of thinks of him as a brother.
Max picks at a tiny chunk of loose roof, an odd expression on his face, before quietly saying that it's probably best if Junior never calls him "brother." Ever.
He hadn't thought of that. Junior just nods and looks out at the city. His city. Their city.
In his mind he makes promises he intends to keep, as long as he's able--
--Max is...Max is...brown hair, brown eyes, trustworthy smile, firm handshake. Max is....
Max is a businessman. There are rumors he's the illegitimate son of Maxwell Lord IV, who unexpectedly disappeared years ago. The rumors persist because they look similar and have the same ruthless cunning and drive.
That they're both named "Maxwell" doesn't hurt, either.
Max just smiles and laughs when anyone asks, then gets down to business.
Often he travels with his assistant, Ronnie. Ronnie is very short and her skin and hair are almost exactly the same blondish color. She has brown eyes that she hides behind glasses with thick rectangle frames. Most of the time, she wears suits of the same blondish color as her hair and skin. She is sarcastic, efficient, and has mastered the art of making fun of someone while sucking up to them.
Anyone who spends five minutes with her might get the paranoid suspicion that she is secretly laughing at them behind their back, but have no tangible evidence.
Max and Ronnie are almost certainly sleeping together. Or so the rumors say. The odd endearments Ronnie calls Max by certainly suggest as much. Though it could be an aspect of her odd sense of humor.
Alone, they're good. As a team, they're unstoppable.
That's what Max is--
--outside the apartment door, coming home from school. "C'mon in," Junior says, fishing the key out of his pocket.
Max shakes his head, holding up a hand. "I can't, I've got...Mom's expecting me."
Giving him a funny look, Junior raises an eyebrow. "So, like, call her," he suggests. "I'm sure she'll understand."
Max just shakes his head, backing away. "I can't," he repeats.
Junior grabs his wrist, stopping him before he can go far, and frowns suspiciously at him. "She's not expecting you, is she?"
"...Yeah, she is," Max sighs, hanging his head. "But she'd be okay if I was late. I just...." Biting his lip, Max lifts his head to look him in the eye. "I can't."
"Max--"
"No!" Max yanks his arm away and runs a hand through his hair. "I-I can't stand the way he looks at me."
"Max, Dad doesn't mean--"
"He hates me!" Max snaps at him, eyes narrowed. "And it's pretty damn obvious."
Junior reaches out to touch his shoulder. "He just--"
"And...I don't think I really blame him," Max continues, voice dropping to a whisper, expression turning bleak. "I saw the footage."
No....
He knows what footage Max is talking about, and his stomach drops, but he has to ask anyway. "What...what footage?"
No, don't--
Max wraps his arms around himself and bows his head. "I saw what-what happened. Why he--" He looks up suddenly, eyes wide with horror. "It was awful. He just--And then there was--He was so c-cold--God, there was s-so much blood." Covering his mouth with one hand, Max turns away.
"Max, I--" Junior starts, wanting to offer comfort but unsure how. "It wasn't you."
No, not this!
"I don't want to be that!" Max gasps, grabbing Junior's shoulders with both hands. "I don't want to ever become that-that...that! He's not me! He was never me. I'll never be him. You-you can't let me!"
Not this, not this, nonono--
"I won't," Junior tells him, and Max stares at him with a kind of desperate hope.
"You'll stop me," Max whispers. It's half a question and half a plea. "You won't let me become...that thing."
No!
Junior smiles sincerely and lays his hands on Max's shoulders. "I promise."
As long as he is able, he will never allow that to happen. He'll find a way to stop Max if there's ever a need--
NO! Nothingnothingnothing--Daaaaisy, Dai-sy, give me your ANswer do...I'm half craz--ha, cra--eh heh, cra-zy, o-ver the love of youuu...
"What's that you're humming?"
Junior looked up in surprise and stared at the worried smile of Maxwell Smith. "...'Daisy'," he murmured. "And the all-seeing eye closes."
"What?"
"Hi, Max."
"Hey, I--"
"HALT!" Junior shouted suddenly, shooting out one arm, fingers splayed and pointed at Max. Giving him a narrow-eyed look, he said in a quieter voice, "To talk to me, you must answer these questions three."
Max sighed and shrugged, spreading his arms. "Okay, I'll play your little game. Ask away."
"Question one: What...is my name?"
"You're kidding, right?" Max asked in disbelief.
Junior said nothing, just stared up at him blankly from his seat on his cot.
Rolling his eyes, Max said, "Fine. Your name is Junior. Now can I--"
"Question two!" Junior said loudly, giving him a reproving look before it was replaced once more with an expectant expression. "What...is my name?"
Max stared at him. "I already--" Shaking his head, Max gestured vaguely. "Fine. But this is doing nothing to convince me of your sanity. Uh...your name is Michael Carter-Kord. Michael Theodore Carter-Kord."
Lacing his fingers together and forming a joined fist, Junior rested his chin on them and looked at the opposite wall for a moment. Max shifted restlessly, waiting. Finally, Junior looked up at him again and dropped his hands to hang between his knees. "Question three," he said softly. "What is my name?"
Tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling, Max blew out a frustrated breath. He ran a hand over his face as he tilted his head back down. "Blue?" he tried.
Elbows on his knees, Junior hunched over and buried his face in his hands. He started humming again and Max took a step closer, reaching out to him in concern. "What's wro--"
Abruptly lifting his head before Max could touch him, Junior smiled brilliantly up at him. "You lose. Thanks for playing. Better luck next time."
Giving him a bewildered look, Max asked, "What are you--"
Junior narrowed his eyes. "Go away, Tinman," he snapped. "I'm busy. Calculating the meaning of life, and you don't factor."
"I--"
"Drai mir nit kain kop!" Junior snarled, pointing at him.
Stepping back, Max raised his hands in front of himself in a conciliatory gesture. "Hey, calm down," he murmured. "Just tell me what's wrong. Okay?"
Junior stared at him for a moment, then ducked his head and groaned. "Everything," he said mournfully. "Everything's wrong, but it's cracks in the surface. Have to crack up to see it. Like ice on a lake miles deep. Get under the ice and you'll freeze blue and dead but at least it's real." Wrapping his arms around his waist, he curled in on himself and whimpered softly.
Max slowly stepped closer and tentatively reached out to touch his shoulder. Ducking away from his hand, Junior darted away, muttering distractedly as he trailed one hand over the wall and tugged his ear with the other. "Ticktock, return to Oz. The doctor said she was wrong but she wasn't it was real. It was heartbreaking. Washed-out reality, grey and dull, poking and prodding, how do you feel? Does it hurt? Do you remember? Tell me about! Take your meds. Choose your poison, needle or pill. I like Oz better."
Max opened his mouth to speak but Junior inhaled sharply and suddenly looked up, staring at him with dazed recognition. "Tick tock, Tinman, follow the yellow brick road--" The dazed expression abruptly twisted with rage as he screamed, "Get outta here! GO! Wind you up and let you go, you'll jitter in circles till you fall off the table--Get out! GET OUT!!"
When Max reluctantly left, Junior slid down a padded white wall to curl up in a padded white corner of his padded white room. Staring at the floor with a furrow of concentration on his forehead, he mumbled to himself about the properties of poppies.
He didn't bother paying attention when his eyes started leaking.
-----
Translation: "Drai mir nit kain kop!" is a Yiddish saying meaning "Don't bother me!" The literal translation, however, is "Don't twist my head!"
XD I never claimed to be mature.
EDIT: Sonuvacrap, it's IV, not III. Where the hell did I read that, anyway? >_< Gah.
[ETA of chapter the fifth: ...two weeks, give or take. Goin' outta town. :D]
Mullet-verse handbook/guide. (AKA "Are you as lost as I am?")
Fandom: Justice League
Characters: Junior, Goldie, Booster/Beetle (mention), Pulsar (mention), Max, Bug
Word Count: 2878
Rating: PG-13?
Author's Notes: Since the Boostle content in this will be minimal, I've decided to post it here in my own journal. New updates are linked to on boostle in the notes for stories that are actually Boostlecentric enough to be posted there.
To my delighted surprise, I found that the song "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley fits this story (the whole thing, not just this chapter) so well it's almost uncanny. And because I like to share, here's a link to the lyrics, and the MP3. (Beware of pop-ups, they're abundant.) I highly recommend it, and would even if it didn't fit the story. ^_^
(LJ-cut quote is from David Rosenhan's On Being Sane in Insane Places.)
CHAPTERS: { Prologue }{ Chapter One }{ Chapter Two }{ Chapter Three }{ Chapter Four }{ Chapter Five }{ Chapter Six }{ Chapter Seven }{ Epilogue }
<-{ previous story: Legacies and Traditions } { next story: Little Boy Blue }->
Beta by alba_aulbath.
~4th Chapter
Batman once kept files on all the Leaguers. Ways to take them down. In case they were mind-controlled, in case they went crazy, just in case.
It's one of the few things he actually likes about Batman.
With that much power, it's only common sense. He thinks of it in terms of carrying an extra epipen for a friend with severe allergies. ...While walking through a field of bee-infested flowers in full bloom.
It's not a betrayal, it's a favor. A kindness.
He knows these people, he likes these people, and he knows how they would feel if their powers were used to harm innocents.
As long as he is able, he will never allow that to happen.
So he makes plans.
The flaw with Batman's plans is that he kept files. And as with all his files, they were detailed, comprehensive, and could be read by anyone. He relied on encryption to hide the information.
Junior doesn't encrypt his files. They're right on his computer, the one without 'net access, unconnected to any outside influence but gotten to easily enough if you can get past the password protection.
Any hacker worth their handle can get past the password. That's not the hard part.
The hard part is the files themselves. The files are minimal, and comprehensive to only one person. They are written in an illogical hodge-podge of English, Esperanto, Yiddish, "l33t," and a smattering of high school Spanish.
Anyone who could manage to understand them would be disappointed to find not plans but memory cues. In-jokes and obscure references. To an outside observer, they are gibberish.
What, for instance, does the folder marked "FIDO" mean? The file inside it named "daisy"?
To Junior, they are complex plans thought out to the minutest details, with room for improvisation depending on circumstance.
Sometimes he jokes that they'll all be sorry they didn't take him more seriously when he takes them down and declares himself King of the Watchtower. He laughs, they laugh with him.
They don't realize he could really do it.
---------------
The facts were stacking up to point to something definitely being wrong with a capital "ruh" with her partner, best friend, and pal-a-roonie extraordinaire. And Goldie intended to find out what.
Despite his suspicions that the target of the trace would be less than inclined to entertain visitors, Max had the coordinates to her quickly. Max enjoyed tweaking the occasional authority figure's nose as much as Goldie and Junior did. His warning was more for show than any real desire to withhold the information.
In minutes, Goldie was aboard Bug, speeding toward a remote plateau in Arizona.
When she didn't see any buildings as she got closer, she frowned in suspicion. "Max, I thought you said he was here," she said over the comm.
"He is."
"It's the middle of nowhere," Goldie protested, peering out the windshield. "There's no way there are any addresses out here."
"...You wanted an address?"
Goldie sat back, staring forward blankly as that sank in. When it did, she covered her visor with one hand and grimaced. "I'm heading for his exact location, aren't I?"
"You asked for a trace on him, not his home," Max replied irritably.
"I just assumed," Goldie said, tone implying that it should have been obvious.
"Look at it this way: no door to slam in your face."
"Are you trying to reassure me?" Goldie asked.
"Is it working?"
"Mmh, no not really," Goldie said musingly.
"Best laid plans," Max dismissed. "You're on your own from here. Try not to think about me too much, I'm not involved."
Goldie smirked. "Chicken."
"I prefer to think of it as strategic retreat."
"You would." A thought suddenly struck her and she sat up, eyebrows furrowing. "Hey, how did you get his exact location?"
"OMAX out."
"Max?" Goldie tapped her comm. "Max? Rat bastard." Crossing her arms over her chest, she scowled at the controls.
Bug slowed to a stop and hovered in place. On the communication panel, the small viewscreen fizzed on, showing the image of Bug's human persona. "The...plateau. Up ahead."
"Thanks Bug," Goldie sighed, standing and heading for the exit hatch. When it refused to open, she frowned in confusion and glanced back at the communication panel. "Hey, what gives?"
"The walls have...ears."
It took Goldie a second to figure out what the AI meant, then she groaned and smacked her forehead. "I'm sorry I called Max a rat bastard," she muttered sullenly.
Bug chuckled and the hatch unlocked with a click. "Good...luck."
Muttering under her breath, Goldie jumped out the hatch and flew toward the plateau.
In the middle of the plateau, a dark-haired man with darkly tanned and weather-beaten skin sat cross-legged. As she landed lightly a few feet in front of him, Goldie smirked a little and said, "I thought all the aliens were supposed to be in Nevada."
The man's eyes slid open and he frowned at her. "I heard it was Metropolis," he replied evenly. "Why are you here?"
Goldie stared down at her feet, fidgeting for a second, then said, "I need a favor, J'onn."
J'onn J'onzz, in human guise, slowly rose to his feet. "I've already told you I have no interest in mentoring."
"And I respect that decision," Goldie said, nodding. "Though any time you change your mind, I'm sure the Teen Titans would be eager to benefit from your wisdom and experience."
J'onn's expression didn't change. "You're not here to make that pitch to me again." It wasn't a question.
Goldie sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "No, no I'm not. It's...it's Blue. I think something's wro--No, I know something's wrong with him. I just don't know what." Pushing her visor up, she met his eyes with an earnest expression. "I need your help.
J'onn was a sucker for bright green eyes, and Goldie had put on her brightest, greenest contacts.
"What, exactly, is wrong?" J'onn asked reluctantly.
"I...he punched Pulsar."
J'onn raised an eyebrow. "He hasn't traded blows with a teammate before?"
"Well sure, but that's not the kind of blows they usually trade."
Grimacing, J'onn put a hand to his forehead. "I see," he muttered. "You are, as always, all class, Gold Star."
Goldie shrugged, then waved a hand dismissively. "Something happened to him," she insisted. "He's...he's so quiet. And...stuff." She slumped and brought one hand to her face. It was all so clear in her mind, but it was all getting mixed-up on the way to her mouth.
J'onn crossed his arms over his chest and raised a speculative eyebrow.
"Look, just...look in my head!" She jabbed a finger at her temple. "You know me, J'onn. I know Blue. I live with him, I work with him, I play with him. I can tell you what position he's sleeping in by the sound of his snoring. I know him. And I know when something's wrong with him." She put a hand over her heart and stared at the man beseechingly. "Something's wrong with him."
There was silence for a minute, before J'onn slowly let out a deep breath and gave a short nod. "Very well, I'll help you." He tilted his head to the side and smirked at her. "You're getting very good. Booster must be proud."
Goldie grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, well...I've been taking this class...." She shrugged.
Shaking his head, J'onn smiled wryly and finally melted back to his more familiar green form. "What do you want me to do?"
"Want? I want you to check his brainpan for a psychic lobotomy!" Goldie threw her arms up in frustration. "Brainwashing. Anything. Something's not right with him, and if it keeps up..." Goldie closed her eyes and sighed, unhappy even thinking of the possibility. "If it keeps up, he could become a danger to himself and others."
J'onn's gaze on her was steady for a long moment before he nodded solemnly. "It would appear I have no choice."
Goldie smiled sadly. "No, not really."
---------------
"Don't you trust me?"
"I'll trust you until you lie to me, Max--"
--they're on the roof staring up at the night sky, making a game of recognizing constellations through the clouds and light pollution and trappings of civilization. Sometimes they make up their own. So far they've got Barbie, the Flying Pig, Hemp, and Squidward, though Max insists that last one is just an odd assortment of planes and satellites that have actually lined up to form a shape. Junior insists it still counts, and should count for more, actually, because it won't exist for long.
Max shoves his shoulder and calls him a dork. Junior laughs.
They talk. They're teenagers, so it is at once immaturely shallow and immeasurably deep. It's late, and it's dark, so it's all good.
Junior looks at Max's outline illuminated by the blue glow of--the glow of Chicago at night. Tells him that they feel more like cousins than uncle and nephew, at least how he thinks being cousins feels. But Junior also kind of thinks of him as a brother.
Max picks at a tiny chunk of loose roof, an odd expression on his face, before quietly saying that it's probably best if Junior never calls him "brother." Ever.
He hadn't thought of that. Junior just nods and looks out at the city. His city. Their city.
In his mind he makes promises he intends to keep, as long as he's able--
--Max is...Max is...brown hair, brown eyes, trustworthy smile, firm handshake. Max is....
Max is a businessman. There are rumors he's the illegitimate son of Maxwell Lord IV, who unexpectedly disappeared years ago. The rumors persist because they look similar and have the same ruthless cunning and drive.
That they're both named "Maxwell" doesn't hurt, either.
Max just smiles and laughs when anyone asks, then gets down to business.
Often he travels with his assistant, Ronnie. Ronnie is very short and her skin and hair are almost exactly the same blondish color. She has brown eyes that she hides behind glasses with thick rectangle frames. Most of the time, she wears suits of the same blondish color as her hair and skin. She is sarcastic, efficient, and has mastered the art of making fun of someone while sucking up to them.
Anyone who spends five minutes with her might get the paranoid suspicion that she is secretly laughing at them behind their back, but have no tangible evidence.
Max and Ronnie are almost certainly sleeping together. Or so the rumors say. The odd endearments Ronnie calls Max by certainly suggest as much. Though it could be an aspect of her odd sense of humor.
Alone, they're good. As a team, they're unstoppable.
That's what Max is--
--outside the apartment door, coming home from school. "C'mon in," Junior says, fishing the key out of his pocket.
Max shakes his head, holding up a hand. "I can't, I've got...Mom's expecting me."
Giving him a funny look, Junior raises an eyebrow. "So, like, call her," he suggests. "I'm sure she'll understand."
Max just shakes his head, backing away. "I can't," he repeats.
Junior grabs his wrist, stopping him before he can go far, and frowns suspiciously at him. "She's not expecting you, is she?"
"...Yeah, she is," Max sighs, hanging his head. "But she'd be okay if I was late. I just...." Biting his lip, Max lifts his head to look him in the eye. "I can't."
"Max--"
"No!" Max yanks his arm away and runs a hand through his hair. "I-I can't stand the way he looks at me."
"Max, Dad doesn't mean--"
"He hates me!" Max snaps at him, eyes narrowed. "And it's pretty damn obvious."
Junior reaches out to touch his shoulder. "He just--"
"And...I don't think I really blame him," Max continues, voice dropping to a whisper, expression turning bleak. "I saw the footage."
No....
He knows what footage Max is talking about, and his stomach drops, but he has to ask anyway. "What...what footage?"
No, don't--
Max wraps his arms around himself and bows his head. "I saw what-what happened. Why he--" He looks up suddenly, eyes wide with horror. "It was awful. He just--And then there was--He was so c-cold--God, there was s-so much blood." Covering his mouth with one hand, Max turns away.
"Max, I--" Junior starts, wanting to offer comfort but unsure how. "It wasn't you."
No, not this!
"I don't want to be that!" Max gasps, grabbing Junior's shoulders with both hands. "I don't want to ever become that-that...that! He's not me! He was never me. I'll never be him. You-you can't let me!"
Not this, not this, nonono--
"I won't," Junior tells him, and Max stares at him with a kind of desperate hope.
"You'll stop me," Max whispers. It's half a question and half a plea. "You won't let me become...that thing."
No!
Junior smiles sincerely and lays his hands on Max's shoulders. "I promise."
As long as he is able, he will never allow that to happen. He'll find a way to stop Max if there's ever a need--
NO! Nothingnothingnothing--Daaaaisy, Dai-sy, give me your ANswer do...I'm half craz--ha, cra--eh heh, cra-zy, o-ver the love of youuu...
"What's that you're humming?"
Junior looked up in surprise and stared at the worried smile of Maxwell Smith. "...'Daisy'," he murmured. "And the all-seeing eye closes."
"What?"
"Hi, Max."
"Hey, I--"
"HALT!" Junior shouted suddenly, shooting out one arm, fingers splayed and pointed at Max. Giving him a narrow-eyed look, he said in a quieter voice, "To talk to me, you must answer these questions three."
Max sighed and shrugged, spreading his arms. "Okay, I'll play your little game. Ask away."
"Question one: What...is my name?"
"You're kidding, right?" Max asked in disbelief.
Junior said nothing, just stared up at him blankly from his seat on his cot.
Rolling his eyes, Max said, "Fine. Your name is Junior. Now can I--"
"Question two!" Junior said loudly, giving him a reproving look before it was replaced once more with an expectant expression. "What...is my name?"
Max stared at him. "I already--" Shaking his head, Max gestured vaguely. "Fine. But this is doing nothing to convince me of your sanity. Uh...your name is Michael Carter-Kord. Michael Theodore Carter-Kord."
Lacing his fingers together and forming a joined fist, Junior rested his chin on them and looked at the opposite wall for a moment. Max shifted restlessly, waiting. Finally, Junior looked up at him again and dropped his hands to hang between his knees. "Question three," he said softly. "What is my name?"
Tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling, Max blew out a frustrated breath. He ran a hand over his face as he tilted his head back down. "Blue?" he tried.
Elbows on his knees, Junior hunched over and buried his face in his hands. He started humming again and Max took a step closer, reaching out to him in concern. "What's wro--"
Abruptly lifting his head before Max could touch him, Junior smiled brilliantly up at him. "You lose. Thanks for playing. Better luck next time."
Giving him a bewildered look, Max asked, "What are you--"
Junior narrowed his eyes. "Go away, Tinman," he snapped. "I'm busy. Calculating the meaning of life, and you don't factor."
"I--"
"Drai mir nit kain kop!" Junior snarled, pointing at him.
Stepping back, Max raised his hands in front of himself in a conciliatory gesture. "Hey, calm down," he murmured. "Just tell me what's wrong. Okay?"
Junior stared at him for a moment, then ducked his head and groaned. "Everything," he said mournfully. "Everything's wrong, but it's cracks in the surface. Have to crack up to see it. Like ice on a lake miles deep. Get under the ice and you'll freeze blue and dead but at least it's real." Wrapping his arms around his waist, he curled in on himself and whimpered softly.
Max slowly stepped closer and tentatively reached out to touch his shoulder. Ducking away from his hand, Junior darted away, muttering distractedly as he trailed one hand over the wall and tugged his ear with the other. "Ticktock, return to Oz. The doctor said she was wrong but she wasn't it was real. It was heartbreaking. Washed-out reality, grey and dull, poking and prodding, how do you feel? Does it hurt? Do you remember? Tell me about! Take your meds. Choose your poison, needle or pill. I like Oz better."
Max opened his mouth to speak but Junior inhaled sharply and suddenly looked up, staring at him with dazed recognition. "Tick tock, Tinman, follow the yellow brick road--" The dazed expression abruptly twisted with rage as he screamed, "Get outta here! GO! Wind you up and let you go, you'll jitter in circles till you fall off the table--Get out! GET OUT!!"
When Max reluctantly left, Junior slid down a padded white wall to curl up in a padded white corner of his padded white room. Staring at the floor with a furrow of concentration on his forehead, he mumbled to himself about the properties of poppies.
He didn't bother paying attention when his eyes started leaking.
-----
Translation: "Drai mir nit kain kop!" is a Yiddish saying meaning "Don't bother me!" The literal translation, however, is "Don't twist my head!"
XD I never claimed to be mature.
EDIT: Sonuvacrap, it's IV, not III. Where the hell did I read that, anyway? >_< Gah.
[ETA of chapter the fifth: ...two weeks, give or take. Goin' outta town. :D]
Mullet-verse handbook/guide. (AKA "Are you as lost as I am?")