fashion metal riot (hi_falootin) wrote in runaway_tales,
fashion metal riot
hi_falootin
runaway_tales

serial killer AU for Friday the 13th

Author:: hi_falootin
Story: Dee and Jason AU
Prompt: Tangerine 24. delegating
Topping: Chopped Nuts
Extra: Malt hat prompt: delegating : Jason - You need so much therapy + FRIDAY 13th prompt
Rating: R [WARNINGS: violence, incest, underage, implied rape]
Word count: 1143
Notes: Hey, remember this story? Well, this is a insane serial killer AU which I blame on Sly. Just to refresh: Jake and Melody are Dee and Jason's parents. And Jake is completely crazy in this story. Sort of inspired by the movie Frailty. Jason's POV.

Summary
: All the towns you stop in, no matter how small, how dusty, they appear in the papers. They appear in the papers, because wherever you go––you and your family––you leave dead bodies behind. Jason is very unhappy about all this.


"You call me Melody," she says, tugging your collar straight, buttoning the top button which you hate because the shirt is too small, it's choking you. "You got that?"

"Mom" doesn't work for you? you want to ask, but she's got this look on her face that makes you think you're better off saying nothing. She brushes something off your sleeve, little gesture of maternal affection.

"Now then," she says. "Off you go."

You're going to the library. And you should be grateful to get out of the motel room, really. You hardly ever get to leave, not with what your father's been doing lately, not with all the overnight car rides, new towns, John Smith motel rooms.

But the truth is, you only get to go when they want you out of the house.

She--Melody, you remind yourself--still has it in her to protect you, even if it's from him, even if it's from your father coming home with blood on his hands, blood staining the front of his shirt. She met him at the door, trying to block your view of him with her body, but you still saw. You still saw when she lead him into the bathroom, peeled his shirt off for him. She didn't close the door behind them. You couldn't hear what they were saying, not over sputter and scream of the ancient tap, but you did see when he buried his face into her neck, and then you had to look away.

After that, it didn't take long to piece it together.

* * *

All the towns you stop in, no matter how small, how dusty, they appear in the papers. They appear in the papers, because wherever you go––you and your family––you leave dead bodies behind.

Coincidence, you'd tell yourself, curled up under a gaudy Motel 6 comforter, feeling utterly alone even though they were right there, in the next bed.

But your father's bloody shirt was wadded up, stuffed deep into a dumpster outside a 7-11 in the last town you stopped in, and you knew it was only a matter of time before they found a dead body in that town too.

* * *

Melody is making dinner in the little kitchenette, three blocks of ramen in a rusty pot of boiling water and you are watching your father across the table. He's cleaning his fingernails with his knife, a new knife, and humming a tune you don't recognize.

"Jason," he says, squinting at the tip of the knife. "I'm going to need your help with something."

Your mouth goes dry, but you say, "Oh yeah?" like you think he is going to ask you to take out the trash, to go to the store and buy milk.

"Just a small favor, Sport. You want to help your old man out, right?"

You can feel Melody's eyes on you as you force a smile and say, "Of course, Dad."

* * *

She's tried to protect you, but she can't protect you from this.

"Just act natural, Jason," she tells you, smoothing your hair as you're wedged together in the cab of Dad's truck. The gesture's apologetic. She feels guilty. You're suprised she can feel guilty anymore. "Don't be scared."

"I'm not scared," you say, setting your mouth in a tight line.

"Let's do this, then," she says.

* * *

You look so young in your over-sized sweatshirt with your hair messed up and dirt streaked across your face. You're almost twelve actually, but like this––they told you––you look about eight. And you wish you were taller, less scrawny. You wish you were stronger. You wish you were a lot of things. You wish you weren't doing this.

The woman who stops for you has the hugest blue eyes you've ever seen. She's putting her grocery bags in her blue SUV and she's beautiful, beautiful like you think your mother must have been before this whole awful mess.

She looks at you, and it's almost too easy to turn on the tears.

"Are you okay, honey?" she asks Her hands reach out like she wants to touch you, but something stops her. "What's wrong? Are you lost?"

You wish she was afraid of you, that she didn't want to help.

"It's my m-m-om!" you stutter, wiping your nose on your sleeve. "She's gone! She...she left me in the car and she hasn't come back..."

"It's okay," she soothes, and now she's got her hands on your shoulders. "It's going to be okay. Does she have a phone? Could we call her?"

You open your mouth to say something else, but that's when your father moves in, that's when he grabs her from behind and presses the cloth over her nose and mouth. She's so surprised, she doesn't even struggle, and you just stand there like a dumbass watching this thing like a scene from a terrible movie.

Melody appears next and helps him drag this woman––this woman who is going limp in his arms––into the back of Dad's truck.

"Jason!" she hisses, climbing into the camper shell behind your victim with the pretty blue eyes. "Don't just stand there! Get in the damn car."

You do as you're told.

* * *

Your back is turned and your hands are pressed tightly against your ears, but you can still hear them, you can still hear her sobbing and pleading with him, sobbing and pleading with your father.

Your just want to shut it out.

Melody comes up behind you, pressing her hands over yours.

You want to thank her, and tell her you love her, and tell her she is all you have but those are the things that he tells her, so you don't say a word.

Really, you almost feel worse for her than for the woman your father is slicing open.

* * *

She crawls in bed with you that night, the way she used to when you were younger. She wraps her arms around you, kisses the top of your head, and you close your eyes and try to forget what you saw, try to forget what your father does in every damn town your fucked-up family sets foot in.

And you're almost asleep when the door opens, when you father comes in, back from disposing of the body and says, "Melody," gruffly, just under his breath. At first, you feel her arms tighten around your body, but then he pulls her away and she goes without a fight, always does.

You just lay there, pretending to be asleep, pretending not to hear as they move to the other bed, as the mattress squeaks beneath their bodies.

"Why?" you asked her once, so close to tears, banging your fists against the kitchen table. "Why, Dee?"

"Because I love him," she said. "Because I love you."


Really, you feel the worst about what he does to your sister.









...YES I WENT THERE. I'd love feedback on it if you read it.


Tags: [author] falootin, [challenge] tangerine, [extra] malt, [topping] chopped nuts
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