đź đ±đąđŁđđ« đź đđ©đłđđ±đŹđŻđą (wouldberipper) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-09-11 12:44:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, joe hardy, stefan salvatore |
Who: Joe Hardy and Stefan Salvatore
When: The day after a bomb blows up the Hardysâ fridge
Where: Casa de Anna, Stefan and Lexi
What: Joe needs to blow off some steam
Rating/Warnings: Low/Mentions of a girlfriendâs death (both in game and in dreams), some swearing
Status: Complete
Joe really appreciated the fact that Dean Winchester had given him yesterday off. He was able to use that time to keep an eye on his brother in the event that his injuries did actually require a trip to the emergency room. He used the time to placate his landlord and convince her not to evict the Hardys right then and there, clean up the kitchen (with Frank insisting that he help), look for a replacement refrigerator and cart the old blown-up fridge down to the dumpster. It was there that all the pent up anxiety and rage Joe had been trying to focus and bury finally had bubbled up and over flowed. Joe had punched and kicked what remained of the fridge until it relented and stayed where he had placed it. The backs of his fingers and knuckles had been reduced to a bloody mess, but that was soon forgotten about when he made the discovery of his first Dream gift left in the parking lot for him: the burned out shell of the sedan that had been bombed in his Dreams, taking Iolaâs life.
Joe hadnât slept that night. He refused to. He paced the apartment, looking again and again for any explosives or traps that might appear out of the Dreams. He was vigilant. He put an ear to his brotherâs door every now and then and listened just to be sure Frank was still in there. It was foolish and Joe felt foolish for doing it. He hadnât checked on his brother like that since theyâd been little kids and the Boogeyman and the Thing Under the Bed were real tangible things to a young overactive imagination. He never thought as an adult that those things that had terrified him as a child would come back.
Joe left for work early the following morning before Frank had the chance to say anything about the previous dayâs events. He didnât want to talk about it. He was used to being able to fight his problems, tackle them head on. How do you fight a Dream?
As heâd promised Dean, Joe put in a double shift at the garage and again put in for whatever overtime Dean wanted to give him. Anything to keep him busy, anything he could use to focus that anxious energy that demanded he fight something.
By the time the garage closed for the evening, Joe was exhausted, but he had no desire to go home. He knew eventually he and Frank would have to talk about this, about what was happening to them. He would have to whether he was ready for it or not, but not tonight.
Joe drove aimlessly for an hour or so. He stopped and got dinner, although he had nothing of an appetite. At some point he found himself in front of Stefanâs house. It was another minute before he went up the front walk and rang the bell.
Bombs were showing up out of the Dreams now? Fucking bombs? Stefan didn't have much faith for Orange County now. After vampires and werewolves and aliens and blood rain, he shouldn't have been surprised. Anything was possible. But somehow this felt personal. He felt like this was an attack on them personally, and he wasn't sure how to handle that. Joe was a good guy. Anna seemed very fond of Frank, too. They didn't deserve this.
Stefan had been thinking about it off and on since he finished work earlier that day. He'd come home, done some chores, and settled with a book in the living room. Irritatingly peppy pop music with high-pitched male vocals was coming through Anna's doorway, indicating the redhead was hiding in there doing whatever it was she was doing. Wash couldn't be in there with her, though. He wouldn't put up with that shitty music.
Stefan heard the bell. He'd heard the car and the footsteps before, but wanted to finish his paragraph. He stood and wandered to the door slowly, pretending to be human. When he pulled it open, his brow furrowed. "Joe? You okay?"
Joe didnât think he was doing okay, and he doubted that he looked okay. He was still dressed in his mechanics overalls. Still had oil stains on his sleeves, his pantlegs, under his fingernails. He had the presence of mind to at least wash hs scraped knuckles and rebandage them before leaving the garage earlier.
He sighed, âno, Stefan, I donât think I am. Can I come in? Have a drink? Talk about something, anything for a few hours?â
âOf course, man.â Stefan stepped aside and held the door open so his friend could come into the house. Concern crinkled his forehead as he watched Joe come on in, then Stefan closed the door behind him. Joe had never looked like this. Stefan knew that this area was hard on people. He hated that part of Orange County.
âYou want a beer?â There were some of those in the fridge, though Lexi seemed to prefer wine and Stefan drank harder liquors. Anna seemed to like wine coolers. They kept the place stocked.
Joe entered the house. The entry hall brought back memories of the Memorial Day cook-out and happier times. He heard the concern in Stefanâs voice and saw it on the other manâs face when he looked over his shoulder. Joe sighed and ran a hand through blond hair, âIâd like a beer, Stefan, thanks.â
He wandered into Stefanâs kitchen, but didnât seem to quite know what to do with himself from there. Finally after a moment he turned back towards his friend. âHow do you do this?â
âHow do I do what?â Stefan asked, standing up straight with the beers from the fridge, then closed the door. Sometimes Stefan had to remind himself to move slowly--he didnât want to freak out Joe by moving too quickly. The poor guy was already so traumatized. He slowly pulled a bottle opener out of the drawer, and opened both bottles before holding one out to Joe.
âThis,â Joe made a vague sweeping gesture, âliving here. Dealing with the Dreams. Iâm a fighter, Stefan. I can handle problems if I know how to tackle them, physically or otherwise, but I canât do anything about these Dreams. Itâs like...itâs like fighting a shadow. There isnât anything physically there to get my hands around. They get into my head, make me think things I donât want to think about. I canât ignore them, I canât fight them. What the fuck am I supposed to do?â
Stefan gave a deep sigh. How did he do it? What on Earth could he say to his friend who was struggling so much with something that was so absolutely horrible? âI donât⊠I donât think thereâs anything we can do, Joe.â He said, then leaned back against the counter and gulped from his beer bottle. It was really a ruse so he could try and gather his thoughts.
âI would never have been able to get through all this if it wasnât for my friends. Thatâs the only advice I can give, I think. Surround yourself with people who understand what youâre going through, because theyâre going through it, too.â Without Caroline, Lexi, and Damon to have his back, Stefan would be completely lost with this Dream bullshit.
That seemed easier said than done. Joe had yet to meet someone who dreamed anything similar to what he dreamed. Stefan dreamed of being a vampire. Dean was a supernatural hunter who had trapped Satan in his trunk. Frank was there, Dreaming along with him, but he was fascinated by what was going on. Even with their fridge blowing up, even coming within seconds of dyingâŠ
Joe shuddered. That was the difference between him and Frank. Joe had always admired Frankâs curious nature and his desire to figure shit out, no matter what it was. Joe wished he could take the same kind of stance about their predicament, but he couldnât. He wanted to fight it, beat it back and overcome it.
He took the beer Stefan gave him, but he didnât drink it. Alcohol really wasnât what he wanted. âI was afraid youâd say that,â he said with a sigh. He looked up at Stefan. âHas anyone...died...because of the Dreams?â
âWell, if you think about it,â Stefan said with a shrug, âIâve died because of the Dreams.â He lifted his bottle again. That probably wasnât what Joe was asking about, but it was what Stefan first thought of when it came to death and dying.
He set the bottle back down on the counter, then folded his arms across his chest. âI know a lot of people have talked about dying in the Dreams--dying for good--and not dying in this world. My roommate and best friend, Lexi, is dead in our Dreams. My brother killed her. But sheâs alive and well in this world.â
It was something of a relief to hear that even though people may have Dreamed of dying, they hadnât actually died in the Real World. Joeâs shoulders visibly relaxed and he let out a long breath. âGood,â he said. Then quickly added, âI mean, not that your brother killed your friend, but that sheâs alive,â Real smooth, Hardy. Another sigh. âI lost someone important to me not long agoâŠâ he licked dry lips, âtwice now if you could these fucking shittyass Dreams. My fiance was murdered late last year. And she was murdered again in the Dreams. I donât think I can go through losing anyone else, in reality or in the Dreams. Frank especiallyâŠâ
He paused before bringing the bottle up to his lips, âhow likely is it to die because of a Dream âgiftâ?â He asked.
Stefan nodded. He understood what Joe meant. It was good that Lexi was alive here. Sometimes Stefan didnât know what heâd do without her. But the rest was news to him--that Joe had lost someone important. Stefanâs brow furrowed and he looked with concern over at his friend. âIâm sorry, Joe.â He knew how hard it was to lose someone, and would never wish that on his worst enemy.
He took a moment to pause, too. âI think about it this way,â here was a tidbit of wisdom from the younger Salvatore brother, âif the Dreams wanted us killed, they could do it. If we die because of something from the Dreams, whatever force is causing us to Dream wonât have us as play things anymore. So they--it, whatever--doesnât want us to die.â
âIs that what we are?â Joe asked. âPlaythings? Doesnât that piss you off? These are our lives, Stefan! We are real people, not just some fodder for someoneâs or somethingâs shitty fanfiction! Iâm not a detective anymore. That was the decision I made. Itâs bad enough I got Frank trying to convince me that itâs my âtrueâ calling, but the fucking multiverse needs to fucking meddle in my life too?!
âAnd why us?!â Joe went on, getting more and more heated as he spoke. He gestured wildly with the forgotten beer bottle in hand. âWhy out of the millions of fucking people in this goddamn county, why are we the ones they choose to fuck with? Why does it have to be you, or me, or our families or friends? What makes us so goddamn special?! Weâre not! Iâm not! Are we being punished?â Joe stopped for a breath and a moment of clarity hit him. The whole reason why Iola was given back to him, just to be violently taken away again, why the car she had died in had appeared in the parking lot. âThatâs what it is, isnât it?â He murmured more to himself than to Stefan. âI let Iolaâs killer get away and Iâm being punished.â
âI donât know.â Stefan frowned, watching Joe get more and more agitated, talk more and more about his situation. It sounded awful. Of course, Stefan had all sorts of horrible things happen to him in his Dreams, but it didnât reflect Real Life in that way. Lexi was still alive, for starters. Stefan hadnât killed anyone in this world, even though his body count was incredibly high in his Dreams. Higher than he cared to think about.
âI donât know about that, either.â Stefan said, his brow furrowed as he watched Joe. âMaybe this is some kind of punishment for our previous deeds.â But Stefan didnât have that many mistakes or regrets from his Real Life past, but in his Dreams? âI donât think so, though. Thereâs too much goodness here. Too many happy things for it to be simply punishment for the red in our ledgers.â He was thinking about Lexi. Anna. Caroline. Bubbles.
âWhat about the reverse?â Joe asked earnestly. âI fucked up, Stefan. In this life Iola was my fiance. She was stabbed during a mugging last December. He took her cash and her engagement ring. I went after him. I was a detective. It was my job, but I wanted to see this guy burn for what heâd done. I tracked him down by the engagement ring. Heâd pawned it. Fucking idiot. I could have killed him in his shitty little apartment. I should have. But I believed in the system. I gave the evidence to the police and they arrested him. He should have gone to prison, Stefan. But he didnât. Because I was Iolaâs fiance, the entire chain of evidence - everything I gave the police was ruled as inadmissible. The guy fucking walked. Iolaâs killer walked away scot free because of me.â
Joe was becoming agitated again, pacing in the kitchen restlessly. âAnd now, here, the Dreams...she was there. She was in them and I loved her there every bit as much as I loved her here. And some fucking nutbag terrorist blew her up because she was with me. The car she was in? Itâs in the parking lot of my apartment building! So you have to tell me, Stefan. Is the reverse true? Are the Dreams...whatever controls them...are they punishing me for what happened to Iola? For letting the man who killed her walk away?â
Stefan had heard bits and pieces of the story before, but this was the first time itâd all come together. He knew that Joe had lost someone important, and he knew how the other man felt about certain things⊠but this was the first time heâd heard that it was a fiance, and that she had been killed. He exhaled deeply--the story sounded like something out of his Dreams, not something out of real life.
âFrom what I understand⊠and, granted, I donât understand much⊠Nothing that youâve done in this life--nothing that you havenât done in this life either--affects what you Dream about. There are good people in this county who have horrible Dreams. Iâm sure the opposite is true, too.â Stefan hadnât done anything in his life that would deserve what he had to go through in his Dreams. Nothing was worth being locked in that safe and drowning over and over again for months on end. Nothing.
It would have been easier if Stefan had told Joe that yes, he was being punished. Joe could have accepted that. There was a part of him - much larger than he really wanted to admit - that had hoped that would be the case. But it wasnât and that meant that there was no rhyme or reason to any of this. Joe had grown up knowing - believing that things happened for a reason, that he could always figure something out. No matter what, he could tackle a problem head on and take care of it one way or another. That there was no reason, that the Dreams just happened, was a hard pill to swallow.
Joe felt as though all the wind had gone out of him. He looked a little deflated when he finally took a seat to drink his beer. The cold glass of the bottle felt good against his raw knuckles through the bandages. He could take a little solace in that at least. Stefan was trying to make him feel better, and Joe appreciated that. Heâd turned out to be a really good friend in all of this.
âIâm sorry,â Joe said with another sigh. âI shouldnât have dumped all that on you, like this. Thank you for listening.â
âDonât be ridiculous,â Stefan moved to sit down, too. He gave Joe some distance, but was close enough to be a comfort. Hopefully, anyway. âThatâs what Iâm here for. Weâve got to stick together in all this insanity. What kind of a friend would I be if I wasnât here to listen?â He lifted his beer to take a sip, but changed his mind half-way up and lowered it again. âI just hope that I helped. You donât deserve what youâre going through, Joe. Not at all.â
There was a pause. âYou still know where the guy is?â
Maybe he did and maybe he didnât, Joe wasnât sure of anything anymore. He did appreciate having Stefan around, though. He wasnât sure if anyone back home, his old friends, his family, would even believe him if he tried telling them about what was going on. If he himself wasnât living through it, he knew he wouldnât have in a million years. So having Stefan seated at the table with him, listening to him lament his woes was like having a lifeline while drowning in a dark bleak sea of confusion and anger.
Joe sighed and looked at the bottle in his hands. âAfter the trial I punched the guy in the face in front of the courthouse.â Not Joeâs finest moment and the icing on a cake of already mounting failures. He took a drink of his beer before continuing. âIf Frank and my father and a couple of my friends hadnât been there, I donât know what I would have done. I could have put the guy in the hospital.â He could have killed the guy. He had been lucky he hadnât been arrested and brought up on assault charges that day. âA restraining order was taken out against me telling me not to come within so many yards of the shithead.â Another pull from the bottle. âMy professional reputation was ruined and I couldnât catch any more cases. No one, not even my contacts on the force, wanted to touch me. So, I gave up P.I. work and moved back home and in with my parents for a few months.â
None of that really answered Stefanâs question though. Joe lifted his eyes from the bottle to where the other man was sitting. âI...sort of...kept tabs on the guy. For a little while.â
Stefan nodded. He lifted his bottle to gulp from it, taking his time in thought. He had to log all those things away. Maybe that was something they could take care of later, maybe that was something they could handle eventually. For the moment, though, it was more important to take care of Joe. Eventually, he turned his eyes back over to his friend. âIâm really sorry for everything youâve been through. You want a distraction? More drinks?â
Joe nodded. A distraction was exactly what he needed. âYeah,â he said. âI could really use one.â he looked at the bottle in his hands. It was mostly empty at this point. âAnd probably another one of these.â
âCâmon. Iâve got an idea for a drinking game.â Stefan pulled himself up from his seat and grabbed a bottle of scotch from the cupboard. âThe couch pulls out to a sofa. You can crash here tonight, if you want.â
A drinking game was just what Joe needed, a place to crash was also very much appreciated. Joe smiled at Stefan thankfully. âThanks, man. That sounds great.â