Joe Hardy hates this plan (ihateyourplan) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-09-10 14:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, frank hardy, joe hardy |
Who: The Hardys
What: Aftermath
When: The same day a bomb goes off in their fridge
Where: The Hardys' apartment
Rating/Warnings Lowish - abuse of a broken appliance
Status: Complete!
Joe spent the rest of the morning after the explosion in their fridge explaining what had happened to both the firefighters and emergency responders who had arrived on the scene and the apartment building’s manager. Or, rather, giving a plausible explanation for what had happened. There was no way he could ever spin that a bomb had appeared in their kitchen out of a dream in such a way that didn’t sound like either he was lying or just straight up batshit crazy. The last thing he needed was to gain the reputation of being the Crazy Hardy Brother.
So while the EMT’s examined Frank, Joe started his first round of explaining to the fireman who had followed the call of the fire alarm. At first he thought about blaming the entire ordeal on an attempt to make breakfast gone horribly, horribly wrong. He had the burned pots and pans - remnants of Frank’s past attempts to cook for them - to back up his story, but ultimately decided that his brother had been through quite enough already that morning, he didn’t need his ego injured along with his back and head.
Must have been faulty wiring, he told the firemen. He and his brother had woken up to a strange smell in their kitchen. When they went to investigate, it appeared as though their fridge had caught on fire. He had run out to pull the fire alarm and before he could get back to try and put the fire out boom! It was kind of true, all you had to do was replace “strange smell” with “strange ticking” and “fire” with “bomb” and it was basically the same story.
The firefighters seemed skeptical of Joe’s account. Most of the squad had gone up to the apartment, but one remained behind and kept asking Joe if that was the whole story. He didn’t outright accuse Joe of lying, even his tone wasn’t accusatory. In fact, if Joe didn’t know any better it sounded to him as though this particular firefighter was fishing for something more, as though he expected Joe to have some kind of weird and outlandish explanation. With what Joe had seen recently, he wondered if maybe Orange County’s emergency responders were used to these kinds of calls. He had also gotten the impression from the network that Dream events were to stay Dream events and that outsiders were to be kept in the dark...for reasons.
Joe was just now starting to understand those reasons. Finally, the firefighter relented. He exchanged a glance with the EMTs, who merely shook their heads and shrugged. Joe again wondered how many weird calls a day these guys had to respond to. What else had they seen here?
The building’s manager, however, wasn’t quite as accepting of Joe’s story of an electrical fire. She did accuse Joe of lying. She insisted the brothers must have overloaded the building’s electrical system with all manner of gadgets. Refrigerators just don’t spontaneously combust! Joe stood and feigned sheepishness as the older woman railed at him about plugging in microwaves and electric kettles and toaster ovens and whatever other things into the same outlets. Then she told Joe that he and Frank were responsible now for replacing the refrigerator and that they can expect to not get their security deposit back!
Joe assured her that they would pay for the fridge. He was already mentally going over what was in his savings account. He also assured her that they understood that their security deposit was gone. He promised that they would clean up the mess and he swore up and down that they would be more careful with how many things they plugged into a single outlet.
It took nearly twenty minutes of sheepish apologizing and making promises before the manager was placated and it didn’t seem as though the brothers were going to get tossed out on their butts.
Once he no longer at the manager chewing on his ear, Joe sent a text message to Dean Winchester and Stefan Salvatore to tell them he would not be at the garage that day. At least he could tell them the truth. Then after Frank had gotten the clear, Joe took him out to breakfast because goddamn if he hadn’t earned it!
Most of the rest of the morning Joe attempted to salvage what he could of the food and containers in their kitchen, a lot of which had ended up splattered all over the floor and walls when the fridge door had gotten blown off. Frank had offered to help clean, but Joe needed to do the work. Not because he wanted to, but because he had to do something to focus the anxious energy that still tingled like electricity over his spine and down his arms and legs. He had to do something to keep his mind focused and from wandering back to not only the Dreams, but the fact that he had just come dangerously close to losing his brother while he had been utterly useless to do anything about it.
By the time evening had rolled around, the kitchen was mostly clean and the topic of replacing the fridge had come up. Frank insisted on helping pick one up and Joe gave up insisting that he could do it on his own. At least Frank let him cart the old broken one down to the dumpster.
So, while Frank ordered a new fridge and arranged to rent a truck to pick it up, Joe wrestled and dragged the old destroyed fridge down the hall to the elevator. A couple of their neighbors heard the noise and stuck their heads out of their doors to see. Joe caught a couple of dirty looks and a few unflattering remarks. For his part, Joe kept his focus on the fridge so not to inadvertently take his anger out on his poor neighbors and gain an entirely new reputation for himself.
Finally he got the fridge into the service elevator and downstairs to the dumpster. He shoved it up as close to the dumpster as he could get it and made note to call the waste management company about it in the morning. The fridge, however, was done cooperating with him. It wouldn’t stay upright and kept threatening to topple over and block the dumpster’s access, or backwards and on top of him, swallowing him up in its doorless frame. Finally Joe couldn’t stand it anymore. All that cold rage that had plagued him all day came surging up through his chest and out of his mouth. The next several minutes were lost in a flurry of screaming obscenities to make a sailor blush and attempting to dismantle what was left of the refrigerator with his fists until his knuckles were torn and bloody. Finally, as though fearful of further abuse, the fridge remained leaned against the dumpster, dented, burned and over all looking as though it had gone through an apocalypse.
Joe stood in the parking lot, panting, bathed in sweat and just glared at it for another long moment before turning to go back upstairs. Frank would be wondering where he was by now. He went a single step before a hulking shape occupying one of the parking spots at the back of the building caught his attention. At first Joe could not identify what the hell it was, and was strangely compelled to get a better look.
As he approached it became startlingly and uncomfortably clear what the shape occupying the parking spot was. A car. A car that looked as though it too had gotten blown up. All that was left of it was a shell, blackened and scorched. The hood crumped from the impact of the explosion and all the windows blown out. Joe recognized it and came to a stop to just stare. It was his car. Not the junker he had come out to Orange County with, but the sedan from his Dreams. The one Iola had gone to to get more of those damn flyers just before the bomb strapped to it had gone off killing her instantly.
All the rage and anger was gone replaced by a cold and numb feeling that seemed to radiate from within. Joe stood in the middle of the parking lot just looking at the sedan. His arms at his sides, blood dripping from his fingers.
It had definitely been an eventful morning at the Hardy Boys’ apartment. The EMTs had wanted to take Frank back to the hospital, but he had politely declined. He was going to need to make an appointment with a doctor to set up x-rays for his chest, but that could wait until tomorrow. Or at least until after breakfast. As long as they could stop the bleeding from his temple, he would be sure to get himself checked out later, thanks.
Besides, he felt fine. Well, as fine as he could possibly be after getting slammed into a wall by a refrigerator door. From what the paramedics could tell, he might have a bruised or fractured rib or two. Nothing that a trip to the hospital would actually be able to do much about besides confirming the diagnosis and prescribing painkillers. The corresponding news story would be enough of a doctor’s note for work, so long as he called them soon.
On the bright side, Joe had been too occupied with explaining the disaster to the relevant authorities (the firefighters, their landlord) to overhear either the EMT’s or Frank’s protests. He could still feel the phantom press of fingers against his arm. No, Joe had enough going on right now without having to worry about his older brother needing a trip to the hospital. The EMT gave him a serious lecture about what signs to look out for in the next few hours, but other than that she had no real authority over someone who insisted he was fine.
Breakfast was mercifully uneventful. Frank made a brief protest about Joe doing all the cleaning, but the truth was he was grateful to be sidelined for a bit. His chest was aching and he needed to write up his account of the explosion for work. He went with Joe’s explanation of the event, glad that he had not gone with the whole “my brother’s cooking is dangerous!” line he had been considering.
Breaking a cast iron pan in two had been a one-time thing, no matter what Joe said.
All in all, it felt like a year had passed since that morning. Frank’s account of the event had been written, re-written, edited, and sent to his boss along with a handful of pictures of the scene that he had caught with his phone. The new fridge was ordered and a truck was reserved online for them via a new private rental program that had recently taken L.A. by storm. He had to admit that it was extremely useful to not have to wait for business hours or U-Haul prices in order to use a pickup for an hour. Now all they had to do was go get the damn thing.
Running a hand down his face, Frank glanced up at the clock. Where was Joe, anyway? Even alone, it should not have taken him this long to get the busted fridge down the stairs and to the dumpster. He closed the laptop, considering. Between the bomb and the need to set their apartment upright, the Dream that had caused it all had nearly been forgotten. It came back to him now, though. Specifically, how the Dream had started. Maybe Joe had needed a bit of time alone to process everything.
Hesitating, Frank took one more look at the clock before deciding that even if Joe had needed a moment, it should not have lasted this long. Standing brought about a sharp wince of pain. He was going to be sore as hell tomorrow. If he was going to be of any use to Joe in bringing the new fridge to their place, it was going to have to be now, while his muscles had not yet had time to rest. Which meant it was time to pull Joe back from wherever he had gone and give him a new distraction. Maybe one day they could actually talk about what happened, but that would never happen before Joe was ready and Frank highly doubted today’s bomb incident had helped any.
Heading downstairs, it took him all of two seconds to find Joe. The younger man seemed to be standing in front of an old black sedan, just staring blankly at the car. Frank frowned. What could be so interesting about the car at this time of night? Although, it looked oddly familiar... “Joe?” Frank called, heading toward him. It was not until he was nearly upon Joe that he realized why the sedan had looked so familiar.
A myriad of emotions crossed Frank’s face as he stood beside his brother. Disbelief. Anger. Sadness. Sympathy. Understanding. “It wasn’t your fault, Joe.” Frank said softly.
“Shut up,” Joe answered. His voice was a deep husking wince of a noise when he used it - hoarse from screaming at the fridge and squeezed around the aching lump in his throat. He didn’t want to hear how it wasn’t his fault for sending Iola out to the car on her own. How he couldn’t have possibly have known it had been set to explode the moment she opened the door. The bomb had been meant for him - him and Frank. They were supposed to be the collateral damage, not her. Not Iola. Joe had sent her to her death with a flick of his wrist and a toss of his keys.
Joe stood there next to his brother, fists clenched so tightly at his sides that the muscles in his arms trembled and blood continued to drip from his torn knuckles. He had thought he had gotten through the worst of it, that he had found some sort of peace with Iola’s murder in New York and had gotten past his anger. He realized now that had not been the case. Here he was, once again reliving her death and not being able to a damn thing about it.
He let out a trembling breath. Frank didn’t deserve to have Joe’s anger taken out on him. He’d been through enough today. If it hadn’t been for him, the two of them would have been little pieces of guts and body parts and the upper floor of the apartment building would have had one huge new skylight to deal with. Joe took another deep breath. He forced his hands to unclench and his shoulders back and relaxed and gathered his shit again. “I’m sorry, Frank,” he said. “I’ll deal with this tomorrow.” He turned his back on the husk of the car “We need to get the fridge before the store closes.”
Frank had dragged his brother across the country in order to give them both a fresh start, but every time he turned around there was something dragging them back into the past. Sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally, as in the case of their Dreams. He did not blame himself, exactly. What kind of monster would purposefully put his brother through more pain? Except it was also true that it was his plan that had brought them there and gotten them into this mess.
Out of the corner of his eye, Frank picked up on a small trail of dots that led from Joe toward the dumpster. Following the trail back, he was only slightly surprised to see that the source was a pair of bruised and torn knuckles on his brother.
Taking a deep breath, Frank made a decision. If they were smack dab in the middle of something then it was his job to get them out of it. That was his part of their partnership, after all. He came up with the plan and Joe made sure it worked. They they saved each other, and right now Joe was the one in danger of drowning.
“Forget about the fridge. We can pick it up in the morning.” Frank clapped Joe on the shoulder as they put the wreckage behind them. “How about we get a case of beer and order a pizza? I’m suddenly hungry for some pepperoni.”
Frank always had a way of bringing Joe back. Pizza may have seemed pointless, Joe had no appetite and no desire to eat, but it was the normalcy of it that Joe needed. Just like he needed to feel his brother’s hand on his shoulder, grounding him back, reminding him that the two of them were still here, still alive.
He gave Frank an appreciative look, “Yeah,” he said. “I could go for that, absolutely.”