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When I first received my JuC swap assignment I sort of freaked a little. Not because of the request, but the recipient. Because ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
llamabitchyo is an active and very helpful part of my beta filter, and I knew she'd expect me to share fic. Because that's what I do on my beta filter. I throw out ideas and random words and drafts. Honestly, my beta readers are all stars.
So, I knew I'd have to throw her off the scent somehow. I did so by dreaming up the most insane story. In it, there's a horrendous bus crash, Chris ties a tourniquet to stop Justin bleeding out, but in doing so stops blood flow and Justin loses an arm, and also an eye. Though that one's not Chris' fault.
The reason the bus crashed? Justin found out that JC was cheating with Britney, and she was pregnant. So they were rowing, Justin threw a shoe and crash! Overcome, JC goes to try and get help, but it's a dark stormy night and he's lost, presumed dead. All that's found of him is his flip flops at the side of the road.
Justin starts to heal, but, plunged into depression he holes up in his room and begins to hear JC talking to him. JC who is dead remember. Meanwhile, Justin vows to bring up dead JC's baby. Of course, Justin has to adapt to being one-armed and one-eyed. Which leads to scenes where he looks at his sneakers and knows he can't tie the laces. Or tries to play basketball and fails.
Did I mention Lance is evil in this? And that he may get redeemed by ghostly JC love?
Honestly, it's utter crack, and I have so many details, especially because I spent a lot of time emailing and commenting withnopseud. This story may be finished next year for the take back the badfic challenge, until then, I thought I'd share the words I wrote and shared to mislead Inky. I'll be posting the real story in a moment. But until then, have some crack.
In which there is a lot of blood, and over 1000 words. Which meant I could have used this as my real swap entry. Inky, you had a lucky escape ;)
JC tries to open his eyes but they remain glued shut. Heart racing he reaches up, and pain explodes in his shoulders, his chest, his belly. He whimpers and tries to remember how to breathe, wanting the agony to stop. Wanting his mom.
"JC, thank god."
Chris sounds frantic, and that's enough to slice through JC's mounting panic. He tries to open his eyes again, and this time he can feel his eyelashes peel gummily from his skin. Vision blurred, he looks along the length of the bus and realises it's lying on its side. The kitchen cabinets are above his head and the contents of the shelves are piled on the floor -- and there's the blood. It's everywhere and JC feels light-headed as he sees the splatters that are smeared over the windows that are now the floor.
"JC, snap the fuck out of it."
JC tries to focus. He pushes himself up onto his knees and concentrates on the sound of Chris' voice, the way it's changed now, pitched low, pleading. JC grabs onto that and slowly begins to crawl forward. Each movement hurts, knife blades thrusting into his skin. He's leaving bloody hand-prints with each painfully slow inch forward until eventually he can see all of Chris; and that he's sitting next to Justin, his hands clamped around Justin's upper arm which is a mess of ruined flesh and skin.
Blood still seeps from between Chris' fingers and the ground beneath them is slick and dark.
"I need something to make a tourniquet with." Chris sounds calm, but it's the calm they've all perfected. The one where in reality everything is going to hell. That frightens JC more than anything and he's shaking as Chris looks at him and says, "JC, now!"
"Sorry. Sorry. Okay."
It's chaos in this area of the bus. Couch cushions are in messy piles and there's glass everywhere. It glints in the early evening light and JC can feel it crunch under his knees as he moves toward one of Justin's bandannas. It's tangled in the jagged wreck of the table, but he pulls until it's free. Clamping the material between his teeth, JC goes back to Justin and Chris, and when he takes the bandanna out of his mouth and sees the bloody mark against the pale blue material, JC can't help vomiting. Gagging as he throws up a combination of blood and soda and bile.
"Gross."
Justin's voice is barely there and when he talks bubbles of blood pool at the corners of his mouth. He's deathly pale, his pupils blown and
JC would do anything to turn back time, or to switch places, anything but have Chris look at him and say, "You'll have to do it. Tie it. Tight."
Swaying, JC tries to wrap the bandanna around Justin's arm, but his hands are shaking and he can't seem to tie a knot. The material slides and unravels and all JC can see is Justin's face. How he's biting at his lower lip to stifle his cries when JC bumps his arm.
Eventually, when JC wants to claw out his own heart for being so useless, Chris says, sharply. "I'll do it." Before JC can protest, Chris loosens his grip on Justin's arm. Immediately blood spurts and JC feels hot warmth against his face. He brings his hands to his cheek, rests his fingertips against his slick cheeks as Chris pulls the bandanna tight.
Justin screams, and his teeth are red with blood.
Then he stops screaming, becomes quiet, says nothing, does nothing, and Chris is leaning over him, yelling. "Don't you fucking dare, Justin! Wake the fuck up, now!"
Justin doesn't, and JC's frozen. Watches as tears slide down Chris' face as he tilts back Justin's head and breathes into his mouth. Once. Twice. Three times. Pulls back and moves to Justin's chest, pushing down, always talking. "Come on, it's been years since I learned this stuff. Don't you dare die on me. Who would charm the teenies then. Wake the fuck up, Justin." He looks over his shoulder at JC, pleads, "Help me."
But it's too late. JC knows it's too late. Unminding of the pain, he scrambles to his feet. "Sorry. Sorry. I love you." He stumbles for the door and crawls outside, never looking back as he begins to run.
It's been days since Justin's stepped outside of his room. The fact is, it's easier to stay hidden away, the curtains closed and mirrors smashed and covered with old shirts. If he does that he doesn't have to see how his mom hides her tears, or the way Chris looks at him, his smile brittle and guilt apparent with every dropped look or hesitant touch.
Justin hates how people look at him now. How all they see are his scars, the empty space of his arm, the shocking hollow of his eye socket and Justin hates being pitied. He wants to yell and shout and scream, but they're already watching him too closely. Counting his pills and listening at bathroom doors. Which is ridiculous, because what do they expect Justin to do? Slice at his wrist with his razor held in his teeth.
That doesn't work. Justin's tried.
So he hides in his room. Let's the batteries of his phone die, turns off the tv, lies in bed and closes his eye. That way he can pretend he's still whole. Justin knows it's not true. He lies still and feels the ache in his stump, the twinge of cut bone and nerves, puckered skin hidden under soft cotton as he moves phantom fingers, links his missing hand with JC's.
Because JC's always there. He waits until Justin's alone and creeps from the bathroom. Settles on the bed that doesn't move at all. Breathes softly against Justin's mouth. Whispered apologies and reassurances that Justin's still beautiful, that JC loves him. That they'll be a family soon. Justin and JC and their baby.
Words that make Justin smile.
"Justin."
Justin jumps and JC slips away when the door crashes open. Heart thundering Justin pushes himself up and watches when Lance walks into the room and pulls open the curtains, letting sunlight flood through the windows. Justin squints his eye and leans against the headboard of his bed as Lance moves close.
"You've moped long enough, this is your intervention." Lance leans in and grabs Justin's remaining hand, pulling him to his feet. "You've always said you could beat me playing basketball with one hand tied behind your back. Now it's your chance to prove it."
Nausea sours Justin's stomach and he feels chilled as Lance pulls him toward the open door. "It's too soon, I'll play another day."
"You'll play now," Lance says, and loosens his grip so he can drape his arm over Justin's shoulders. "You're Justin Timberlake, you can do anything."
llamabitchyo is an active and very helpful part of my beta filter, and I knew she'd expect me to share fic. Because that's what I do on my beta filter. I throw out ideas and random words and drafts. Honestly, my beta readers are all stars. So, I knew I'd have to throw her off the scent somehow. I did so by dreaming up the most insane story. In it, there's a horrendous bus crash, Chris ties a tourniquet to stop Justin bleeding out, but in doing so stops blood flow and Justin loses an arm, and also an eye. Though that one's not Chris' fault.
The reason the bus crashed? Justin found out that JC was cheating with Britney, and she was pregnant. So they were rowing, Justin threw a shoe and crash! Overcome, JC goes to try and get help, but it's a dark stormy night and he's lost, presumed dead. All that's found of him is his flip flops at the side of the road.
Justin starts to heal, but, plunged into depression he holes up in his room and begins to hear JC talking to him. JC who is dead remember. Meanwhile, Justin vows to bring up dead JC's baby. Of course, Justin has to adapt to being one-armed and one-eyed. Which leads to scenes where he looks at his sneakers and knows he can't tie the laces. Or tries to play basketball and fails.
Did I mention Lance is evil in this? And that he may get redeemed by ghostly JC love?
Honestly, it's utter crack, and I have so many details, especially because I spent a lot of time emailing and commenting with
nopseud. This story may be finished next year for the take back the badfic challenge, until then, I thought I'd share the words I wrote and shared to mislead Inky. I'll be posting the real story in a moment. But until then, have some crack.In which there is a lot of blood, and over 1000 words. Which meant I could have used this as my real swap entry. Inky, you had a lucky escape ;)
JC tries to open his eyes but they remain glued shut. Heart racing he reaches up, and pain explodes in his shoulders, his chest, his belly. He whimpers and tries to remember how to breathe, wanting the agony to stop. Wanting his mom.
"JC, thank god."
Chris sounds frantic, and that's enough to slice through JC's mounting panic. He tries to open his eyes again, and this time he can feel his eyelashes peel gummily from his skin. Vision blurred, he looks along the length of the bus and realises it's lying on its side. The kitchen cabinets are above his head and the contents of the shelves are piled on the floor -- and there's the blood. It's everywhere and JC feels light-headed as he sees the splatters that are smeared over the windows that are now the floor.
"JC, snap the fuck out of it."
JC tries to focus. He pushes himself up onto his knees and concentrates on the sound of Chris' voice, the way it's changed now, pitched low, pleading. JC grabs onto that and slowly begins to crawl forward. Each movement hurts, knife blades thrusting into his skin. He's leaving bloody hand-prints with each painfully slow inch forward until eventually he can see all of Chris; and that he's sitting next to Justin, his hands clamped around Justin's upper arm which is a mess of ruined flesh and skin.
Blood still seeps from between Chris' fingers and the ground beneath them is slick and dark.
"I need something to make a tourniquet with." Chris sounds calm, but it's the calm they've all perfected. The one where in reality everything is going to hell. That frightens JC more than anything and he's shaking as Chris looks at him and says, "JC, now!"
"Sorry. Sorry. Okay."
It's chaos in this area of the bus. Couch cushions are in messy piles and there's glass everywhere. It glints in the early evening light and JC can feel it crunch under his knees as he moves toward one of Justin's bandannas. It's tangled in the jagged wreck of the table, but he pulls until it's free. Clamping the material between his teeth, JC goes back to Justin and Chris, and when he takes the bandanna out of his mouth and sees the bloody mark against the pale blue material, JC can't help vomiting. Gagging as he throws up a combination of blood and soda and bile.
"Gross."
Justin's voice is barely there and when he talks bubbles of blood pool at the corners of his mouth. He's deathly pale, his pupils blown and
JC would do anything to turn back time, or to switch places, anything but have Chris look at him and say, "You'll have to do it. Tie it. Tight."
Swaying, JC tries to wrap the bandanna around Justin's arm, but his hands are shaking and he can't seem to tie a knot. The material slides and unravels and all JC can see is Justin's face. How he's biting at his lower lip to stifle his cries when JC bumps his arm.
Eventually, when JC wants to claw out his own heart for being so useless, Chris says, sharply. "I'll do it." Before JC can protest, Chris loosens his grip on Justin's arm. Immediately blood spurts and JC feels hot warmth against his face. He brings his hands to his cheek, rests his fingertips against his slick cheeks as Chris pulls the bandanna tight.
Justin screams, and his teeth are red with blood.
Then he stops screaming, becomes quiet, says nothing, does nothing, and Chris is leaning over him, yelling. "Don't you fucking dare, Justin! Wake the fuck up, now!"
Justin doesn't, and JC's frozen. Watches as tears slide down Chris' face as he tilts back Justin's head and breathes into his mouth. Once. Twice. Three times. Pulls back and moves to Justin's chest, pushing down, always talking. "Come on, it's been years since I learned this stuff. Don't you dare die on me. Who would charm the teenies then. Wake the fuck up, Justin." He looks over his shoulder at JC, pleads, "Help me."
But it's too late. JC knows it's too late. Unminding of the pain, he scrambles to his feet. "Sorry. Sorry. I love you." He stumbles for the door and crawls outside, never looking back as he begins to run.
It's been days since Justin's stepped outside of his room. The fact is, it's easier to stay hidden away, the curtains closed and mirrors smashed and covered with old shirts. If he does that he doesn't have to see how his mom hides her tears, or the way Chris looks at him, his smile brittle and guilt apparent with every dropped look or hesitant touch.
Justin hates how people look at him now. How all they see are his scars, the empty space of his arm, the shocking hollow of his eye socket and Justin hates being pitied. He wants to yell and shout and scream, but they're already watching him too closely. Counting his pills and listening at bathroom doors. Which is ridiculous, because what do they expect Justin to do? Slice at his wrist with his razor held in his teeth.
That doesn't work. Justin's tried.
So he hides in his room. Let's the batteries of his phone die, turns off the tv, lies in bed and closes his eye. That way he can pretend he's still whole. Justin knows it's not true. He lies still and feels the ache in his stump, the twinge of cut bone and nerves, puckered skin hidden under soft cotton as he moves phantom fingers, links his missing hand with JC's.
Because JC's always there. He waits until Justin's alone and creeps from the bathroom. Settles on the bed that doesn't move at all. Breathes softly against Justin's mouth. Whispered apologies and reassurances that Justin's still beautiful, that JC loves him. That they'll be a family soon. Justin and JC and their baby.
Words that make Justin smile.
"Justin."
Justin jumps and JC slips away when the door crashes open. Heart thundering Justin pushes himself up and watches when Lance walks into the room and pulls open the curtains, letting sunlight flood through the windows. Justin squints his eye and leans against the headboard of his bed as Lance moves close.
"You've moped long enough, this is your intervention." Lance leans in and grabs Justin's remaining hand, pulling him to his feet. "You've always said you could beat me playing basketball with one hand tied behind your back. Now it's your chance to prove it."
Nausea sours Justin's stomach and he feels chilled as Lance pulls him toward the open door. "It's too soon, I'll play another day."
"You'll play now," Lance says, and loosens his grip so he can drape his arm over Justin's shoulders. "You're Justin Timberlake, you can do anything."