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Infinity Smashed: How Not To Fuck Up
This story was prompted by katz, and it won the bonus wordcount poll! Happy Kindathon everyone!
How Not to Fuck Up
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Raige and Biff talk about feelings. It goes about as well as you’d expect.
Notes: This story takes place directly after Six Weeks to Recovery, and you really should read that first before taking this on.
Raige is looking around the apartment. Normally, Biff’s hackles would raise—his place is a shithole, but dammit, it’s his shithole—but it’s not like an inspection, it’s like he’s looking for something. Biff jerks his chin at him, but Raige apparently doesn’t get it, so he asks, “What you looking for?”
Even though he keeps his voice down, M.D. stirs and mumbles from her spot on the couch. Biff gestures to the fire escape, and they go outside and shut the window. It’s not much, but at least they can talk without waking her. The faintest hints of pre-dawn gray are starting to show.
“A blanket,” Raige answers.
“Don’t bother. She’ll wake up.”
“Yeah, well, I have to do something,” Raige sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. “My best friend is stitched up and sleeping on your couch and I’m kind of freaked out about that okay?”
Biff just takes a step back. Please let Fagboy not cry.
He starts crying. Fuck.
Biff goes back inside and pretends to look for cigarettes he doesn’t have.
“What’s going on?” M.D. mumbles from the couch.
“Nothing,” Biff tells her. “Shut up and go back to sleep.”
It shouldn’t work, but it does; apparently she’s just too worn out to notice blatant bullshit anymore. She looks small and frail on the saggy couch cushions, all curled up in a ball, her bony arm bandaged to the elbow and hanging down to the floor. Biff watches her for a moment, then sighs. It’s so much easier to deal with problems he can hit. Raige, however, is full of feelings and shit, and he just can’t deal with that right now.
But he can’t stand being inside with the kid either. He goes back outside.
“You done?” He asks Raige.
Raige sniffs. “For the moment. I’d say sorry but I’m not.”
“’Kay,” Biff says.
“You’re kind of a dick.”
Biff shrugs. “’Kay.”
Raige stares at him. “Aren’t you upset? About all this?”
Biff isn’t sure if what he’s feeling qualifies as ‘upset.’ It’s more… hollow, with adrenaline aftershocks making his legs jitter and his hands shake. His head feels empty, and he wants to keep it that way. He shrugs again.
“You look scared.”
Biff snorts derisively.
“I’m scared.”
“She’s fine. She’s always fine.”
“Do you actually believe that?”
That’s exactly the kind of question Biff doesn’t want to think about right now. His fists clench. “She’ll be fine.”
Raige is silent. Now he’s looking scared of Biff. Good.
The anger is warm, comfortable and distracting, but he knows that shouting or beating on Fagboy will wake M.D. up, and then he’d have to start feeling other things again.
So instead, Biff says, “When you going home?”
Raige takes a while to answer the question. “Honestly, at this hour, I might as well just go straight to school at eight. I’d rather not leave her before that.”
Leave her with Biff, he means. “I can take care of her.”
“I never said you couldn’t. Look, I really don’t feel like fighting with you right now. I know that’s what you want, but you’re not going to get it, so please, just… I don’t know, stop.”
That takes Biff aback. “What you mean?”
“No offense, but you’re kind of obvious. You’re upset, you’re afraid, and now you’re looking for someone to punch to make yourself feel better. No thanks. That’s not my thing.”
“Bullshit.”
Raige shrugs. “You asked me how I don’t punch people when I’m mad at them. That’s my secret: I avoid fights by being really, really unsatisfying to punch.”
“The hell you say.”
“Hey, it works on you.”
“It ain’t the same. That ain’t not punching people, that’s not getting punched. It’s different.”
“Not for me.”
“Don’t you ever want to hit somebody?”
“No.”
“What, not ever?”
“Never.”
Biff stares at him some more. Lying. He’s got to be. “Everyone gets mad. Even you, Fagboy.”
“There’s a difference between getting mad and hitting someone. One’s a feeling, the other’s an action.”
“But you mad now.”
Raige pounds his fists against his thighs. “I’m not mad! I’m upset!”
“You both,” Biff says firmly, because he might be shit at a lot of things, but he’s good at anger. “But right now, you mad. At her for lying to you, again, at me ‘cause she went to me and not you, hell, bet you’re mad at yourself for getting mad right now.”
Raige is silent. His lips are pale and he’s stiff as a pole, his fists clenched against his legs.
“See? I’m right. But,” Biff squats down, leans forward, “you hit me, you’ll feel a lot better.”
Raige gives him a weird look. “I really don’t think I will. Thanks for… offering?”
Biff sighs with exasperation. “’M trying to help.”
“Yeah, well, it’s kind of creepy how you define ‘help,’ so no thanks.”
“I’ll give you first hit.”
“You really aren’t getting this, are you?” Raige is starting to get shrill. “I don’t want to fight you. Not now, not with first hit, not ever. I just want M.D to be okay. That’s all I want, okay? That’s it, and I don’t know how to make it happen and—” he closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths, seems to pull himself together, “and yeah. I’m really mad about that.”
Biff is silent for a bit. “Me too and neither do I,” he admits. “And I’m scared.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
They sit and watch the late-night traffic. It’s not the same as with the kid; she watches the cars, while Raige watches the sky. The sky’s getting pearly now, and the early commuters are starting to hit the street.
“All we can do is try, I guess,” Raige says.
“Try not to fuck up.”
“Pretty much.”
The sun is starting to come up. Biff goes in to make pancakes. There are lots of things he fucks up, but his pancakes, at least, always come out right.
How Not to Fuck Up
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Raige and Biff talk about feelings. It goes about as well as you’d expect.
Notes: This story takes place directly after Six Weeks to Recovery, and you really should read that first before taking this on.
Raige is looking around the apartment. Normally, Biff’s hackles would raise—his place is a shithole, but dammit, it’s his shithole—but it’s not like an inspection, it’s like he’s looking for something. Biff jerks his chin at him, but Raige apparently doesn’t get it, so he asks, “What you looking for?”
Even though he keeps his voice down, M.D. stirs and mumbles from her spot on the couch. Biff gestures to the fire escape, and they go outside and shut the window. It’s not much, but at least they can talk without waking her. The faintest hints of pre-dawn gray are starting to show.
“A blanket,” Raige answers.
“Don’t bother. She’ll wake up.”
“Yeah, well, I have to do something,” Raige sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. “My best friend is stitched up and sleeping on your couch and I’m kind of freaked out about that okay?”
Biff just takes a step back. Please let Fagboy not cry.
He starts crying. Fuck.
Biff goes back inside and pretends to look for cigarettes he doesn’t have.
“What’s going on?” M.D. mumbles from the couch.
“Nothing,” Biff tells her. “Shut up and go back to sleep.”
It shouldn’t work, but it does; apparently she’s just too worn out to notice blatant bullshit anymore. She looks small and frail on the saggy couch cushions, all curled up in a ball, her bony arm bandaged to the elbow and hanging down to the floor. Biff watches her for a moment, then sighs. It’s so much easier to deal with problems he can hit. Raige, however, is full of feelings and shit, and he just can’t deal with that right now.
But he can’t stand being inside with the kid either. He goes back outside.
“You done?” He asks Raige.
Raige sniffs. “For the moment. I’d say sorry but I’m not.”
“’Kay,” Biff says.
“You’re kind of a dick.”
Biff shrugs. “’Kay.”
Raige stares at him. “Aren’t you upset? About all this?”
Biff isn’t sure if what he’s feeling qualifies as ‘upset.’ It’s more… hollow, with adrenaline aftershocks making his legs jitter and his hands shake. His head feels empty, and he wants to keep it that way. He shrugs again.
“You look scared.”
Biff snorts derisively.
“I’m scared.”
“She’s fine. She’s always fine.”
“Do you actually believe that?”
That’s exactly the kind of question Biff doesn’t want to think about right now. His fists clench. “She’ll be fine.”
Raige is silent. Now he’s looking scared of Biff. Good.
The anger is warm, comfortable and distracting, but he knows that shouting or beating on Fagboy will wake M.D. up, and then he’d have to start feeling other things again.
So instead, Biff says, “When you going home?”
Raige takes a while to answer the question. “Honestly, at this hour, I might as well just go straight to school at eight. I’d rather not leave her before that.”
Leave her with Biff, he means. “I can take care of her.”
“I never said you couldn’t. Look, I really don’t feel like fighting with you right now. I know that’s what you want, but you’re not going to get it, so please, just… I don’t know, stop.”
That takes Biff aback. “What you mean?”
“No offense, but you’re kind of obvious. You’re upset, you’re afraid, and now you’re looking for someone to punch to make yourself feel better. No thanks. That’s not my thing.”
“Bullshit.”
Raige shrugs. “You asked me how I don’t punch people when I’m mad at them. That’s my secret: I avoid fights by being really, really unsatisfying to punch.”
“The hell you say.”
“Hey, it works on you.”
“It ain’t the same. That ain’t not punching people, that’s not getting punched. It’s different.”
“Not for me.”
“Don’t you ever want to hit somebody?”
“No.”
“What, not ever?”
“Never.”
Biff stares at him some more. Lying. He’s got to be. “Everyone gets mad. Even you, Fagboy.”
“There’s a difference between getting mad and hitting someone. One’s a feeling, the other’s an action.”
“But you mad now.”
Raige pounds his fists against his thighs. “I’m not mad! I’m upset!”
“You both,” Biff says firmly, because he might be shit at a lot of things, but he’s good at anger. “But right now, you mad. At her for lying to you, again, at me ‘cause she went to me and not you, hell, bet you’re mad at yourself for getting mad right now.”
Raige is silent. His lips are pale and he’s stiff as a pole, his fists clenched against his legs.
“See? I’m right. But,” Biff squats down, leans forward, “you hit me, you’ll feel a lot better.”
Raige gives him a weird look. “I really don’t think I will. Thanks for… offering?”
Biff sighs with exasperation. “’M trying to help.”
“Yeah, well, it’s kind of creepy how you define ‘help,’ so no thanks.”
“I’ll give you first hit.”
“You really aren’t getting this, are you?” Raige is starting to get shrill. “I don’t want to fight you. Not now, not with first hit, not ever. I just want M.D to be okay. That’s all I want, okay? That’s it, and I don’t know how to make it happen and—” he closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths, seems to pull himself together, “and yeah. I’m really mad about that.”
Biff is silent for a bit. “Me too and neither do I,” he admits. “And I’m scared.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
They sit and watch the late-night traffic. It’s not the same as with the kid; she watches the cars, while Raige watches the sky. The sky’s getting pearly now, and the early commuters are starting to hit the street.
“All we can do is try, I guess,” Raige says.
“Try not to fuck up.”
“Pretty much.”
The sun is starting to come up. Biff goes in to make pancakes. There are lots of things he fucks up, but his pancakes, at least, always come out right.