Chapter Text
Jason Dean was used to this, really, but it didn’t mean he hated it any less. Moving was always such a bothersome task for the boy, mostly because of the red tape involved (that being finding a new phycologist and listening to his dad’s rant about friendship and mental health), it’s not like he owned anything important aside from his fake gun and trench coat after all.
Once his (few) belongings were stashed safely inside the moving truck, he moved to his dad’s car, and tried to catch on the sleep he didn’t have the night before, too busy wrestling his own mind trying to get it to just shut up for five minutes… Didn’t work, obviously. Fortunately, the gentle rocking of the car was enough to subdue an already tired brain, and the boy slept the whole way to whatever city was the pick of the month.
He woke up to the voice of his father, talking sternly on the phone, “GOD JACK, I thought you said this would be an easy job! You can’t just pull a natural gas leaking out of your ass and expect me to just be ‘calm for once’! This will cost me time AND money! Fine, Fine, just deal with it.”
“So… Either unpack or deal with dad? Everybody take five, I’ll do neither,” said J.D already googling the closest 7-Eleven.
In no time the convenience store was already within sight, and thank God for that. It was clearly small, deserted and otherwise unimpressive, in other words, perfect. The place screamed of corporate greed and neglect, which Jason didn’t appreciate as much, but home is home. He slowly made his way through the isles, while mentally trying to memorize their pattern of stocking (it was his little game, find the differences between stores - side note, who puts the cookies next to the slushies!? He’ll have to fix this latter). Naturally, the boy fixes himself a slush while observing the people around, or lack of thereof, the only living creatures on that place were him, the cashier and a very, very red and irritated girl who’s whining something about corn nuts and stupid people… ’Oh well, bitches will be bitches,’ he thinks, already knowing there’s a big chance this will be the most bearable interaction he’ll have with dynamite girl.
Once he's paid for his frozen medicine, he takes a seat on the floor outside, not really paying attention to his surrounds as he eagerly gulps down the slush, waiting for his mind to numb with the pain of the freeze. His phycologist says it’s a coping mechanism and that they should work on quitting the habit by overcoming his problems… Dad only cares that he’s off drugs. Speaking of the devil, Jason can only bet how many missed calls he probably has (maybe one, who is he kidding?), but lack of parenthood or not, better get to the house now while the old man is busy screaming on the phone than to be screamed at for not unpacking later - what a bother.
The walk back was uneventful, - which is to be expected in a place like fucking Sherwood - and he used that time to reflect upon the place he was in. The townsfolk clearly made sure to uphold the town’s slogan (‘A place like no other’, how original), seeing as the whole place looked like something designed by someone on LSD; the commercial street he was walking by right now was a perfect ripoff of Hill Valley in 2015 (minus the flying cars and well, time travelers), it was full of colorful shops and big outdoors, the space seemed like a marketing war zone where each business was trying to sound special - which is absolutely unnecessary considering none of them had the same products, but then again, LDS does that to you. The residential parts of the town were, however, remarkably dull in comparison, all the same and side by side, only growing in size as you went from the poorer to the richest neighborhoods, which for JD was a statement, ‘we townsfolk of Sherwood, Ohio like to pretend we are special when in reality all of us are stuck in our own old way,’ he chuckled, clearly dealing with people in this town was a fucking walk in the park - if that park was in Hell.
Finally arriving at his temporary home (another semi-mansion - his dad did love to overcompensate, after all), the boy started to take his few belongings to whichever room was the most distant from the main suite, commonly known as his father’s chambers. He ended up choosing one of the staff’s rooms, since those were smaller and the boy hated open spaces (it’s harder to keep track of every detail around), with a little of effort he managed to drag his bed to the corner of the room, and from there all he needed to do was organize his trench coat collection (the rest would be taken care of by the staff anyway).
With everything organized, J.D decided to walk around the place and see if he could find something interesting to do. This led him to the kitchen, where a small part of the staff was working on cooking dinner, and he watched with dying interest how the workers seemed to move around effortlessly. The chef was clearly in charge of most of the labor, moving quickly from one side of the decently sized kitchen to the other, grabbing ingredients and preparing two sets of food (he can only assume the most simplistic yet larger in size meal is for the staff themselves, while the most sophisticated meal - lasagna, how incredibly dull - was for him and his father).
Lost in thought, Jason barely noticed as the head of staff approached him from behind, speaking to him in a high pitched, sarcastic, voice.
“If you’re so keen on being here, I’m sure I can find you a job to do,” she nodded appreciatively, “indeed, since Jordan left we’ve been missing a gardener. You wouldn’t happen to have the skills, would you?”
Raising an eyebrow, J.D shook his head. “Lady, do I look the type to sit around in the dirt chopping flowers and watering trees?”
“You’d be surprised,” remarked the senior, unimpressed by the boy’s remark. “I’m Maria Flores, and my job is making sure this place doesn’t go up in flames. This means keeping you out of trouble, at least while you’re here.”
“Yeah, good luck with that one. You’ll need it,” said Jason, a slight smirk appearing on his face. “I’ll get out of here before you actually make a gardener out of me.”
With not so much more to say, the boy wandered off back into his room, cursing himself as he realized he forgot to introduce himself to Maria - obviously she knew who he was, but that didn’t make it any less agonizing. He would often forget to greet strangers with his name because, to put it simply, he failed to realize they didn’t know it. His phycologist said it had something to do with the way he interprets social interactions, but to him, it was just another annoying thing he had to deal with.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, J.D took a sharp turn to the left and went into the dining room, taking a seat across the head of the table, where his father would for sure be seated. Once comfortable, the boy closed his eyes and let his imagination take over (creating stories about running away and being finally free - this time he was recruited by a secret organization to be a spy, not so original, he knows).
In reality, his wait only lasted 30 minutes, but he was restless enough that, once his dad finally arrived he couldn't help but grumble, irritated.
“Took you long enough, what was it this time? Trying to blow me off?”
“Jason… You know I don’t appreciate that tone,” said Bud, disapprovingly. “And if you must know, I am still trying to solve this gas leak on my new work site. These things are tricky, you can’t just blow it up without putting other’s in danger, but you can’t just burn it nowadays because of some eco-friendly bullshit. Hey? Jason? Oh who am I kidding, you’re not listening anymore.”
And indeed he wasn’t, the last thing he wants is to listen to his dad’s number one priority, his work. Instead, he opted to play with his food, taking a bite ever so often (not that Jeff’s cooking wasn’t noteworthy, but he just hates eating with his father. It is always more enjoyable when he is alone).
The dinner proceeded much like it always has, with any conversation started being quickly shut down by J.D, who made sure to leave as soon as he was done eating, opting for ‘going to bed earlier’. In all honesty, he knew his dad knew that was just an excuse, considering how much of an insomniac they both knew he was, but there was not much he could do about it, ever since his mom died any form of communication between the two seemed forced to the boy, robotic almost.
Without any other thing to do, however, Jason did lay in bed that night, only he didn’t get much sleep, instead wondering what shit-show was waiting for him at Westerburg High.
**********
September 1st, 1989.
Yeah, screw that. All that matters is that it’s 7 am, his dad is nowhere to be found and therefore he has to walk to a school he’s never been before, just what he needed. Of course he could take the bus, if he knew where it stopped or if his dad remembered to warn both him and the school that apparently he isn’t taking him to it every day, but clearly that is not more important than his fucking morning yoga class - which what the fuck, a shitty miserable little fucking yoga class is what got him to bounce this time, incredible. No really, it’s great! Fantastic! One a kind! Dad of the year! God, he might just kill someone today.
Taking a deep breath and still cursing under it, Jason decides to ditch the start of the school year in order to get a slushy in his safe heaven, seeing as his mood wouldn’t get any better without one.
Arriving at the 7-Eleven, the boy decides to fix the store first, he starts his redecoration by taking the corn nuts and other obviously fan favourites and leaving them near the slushy machine (he was lucky enough that whoever designed this place put the machine across the room, furthest from the entrance - that way the buyer had to cruise the store to get his favorite thing and also be tempted by the power of slushies! And his dad said he didn’t know stuff). He found it funny that the cashier barely made an effort to stop him, most likely if he were to steal right now, the dude wouldn’t even bet an eye.
Taking a look at the store’s watch, J.D realises that the second period already started, so he fixes himself a slushy and leaves the store, drinking it as quickly as he can manage, in other to feel the sharp pain that starts at the center of his skull and ends at the base of his neck. Shaking his head it easy it, he spends the 30 minute walk to school polishing his excuse for his tardiness: Daddy dearest had to stop at his workplace to further resolve his working issues, and it took longer than expected (he knew his dad felt bad enough that, when they called to verify, he’d back him up).
Needless to say, he didn’t pay attention to the classes he did attend, almost thanking God for lunchtime. Entering the cafeteria, he couldn’t help but let out a sigh, no matter the place, it was always the same, clicks and ranks, dicks and bullies and, of course, victims. High School was a hormone induced micro-society filled with stupid teenagers, heartless bitches, and huge dickheads. No one was smart, no one survived unharmed and most importantly, no one was original where it counts, no one ever tried to change things - not that he was an optimist “let’s save the world” hippie, but at least he had the brains to not care about appearances.
Falling in line and grabbing a lunch tray, it doesn’t take long before he hears the sound of one being smacked behind him. Looking back, he sees that the victim of the hour is a girl who’s drowning on a scarf and has a grumpy look on her face, he has to admire her defiance when she mumbles a “huge dick” under her breath (even if she quickly takes it back - can’t win them all).
As the girl’s friend joins her, he can’t help but overhear the conversation, taking care of his posture as to not give his espionage away, he’s a creep, but a discrete one.
“We still on for movie night?” asked the friend, which, how cute, they do that.
The reply came in a happy tone, “Yeah! You’re on Jiffy Pop detail.”
“I rented ‘The Princess Bride’”
“Again? Don’t you have it memorized by now?”
“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a happy ending!”
J.D shook his head, almost sad for the girl, she’d get crushed one day. As if to prove his point, that poor lunch tray got knocked to the ground once again, this time by a different jock - which is pathetic, seriously do they have to be so predictable and ridiculously cliche?
“Hey pick that up! Right now.”
Oh? Well, this is a development. Scarf girl apparently decided to grow a backbone, which obviously won’t end up well for her, but at least she is trying (not to mention this is A-grade entertainment for him).
“I’m sorry, are you actually talking to me?”
Asks the jock, being quickly backed up buy dropout number two.
“My buddy Kurt just asked you a question.”
At this point, there are already a few curious eyes watching the scene, no doubt eager to tell some gossip. JD watches as the girl does a double take at her situation before deciding what to do.
“Yes, I am. I want to know what gives you the right to pick on my friend! You’re a high school has-been waiting to happen, a future gas station attendant.”
Jason has to admit it was a smart reply, unfortunately, a little too smart for the occasion. Maybe if these guys didn’t have half a brain combined, the blow would stick, but as it is, they probably can’t even comprehend the concept of life after high school. They are the ones who are either abusive or suicidal in adulthood thanks to their miserable jock mentality.
“You have a zit right there.”
And of course he's right, dumb and dumber couldn’t possibly come up with something more articulate (not that it mattered, everyone laughed anyway - suck ups, weak links). The joke, however, was short-lived, as the cafeteria doors burst open, and tree color coded stereotypical mean girls walked in (it was not hard to guess, JD had met thousands like them before, he knew how they walked and talked and acted, just from one look), and effectively silenced the whole place.
As they power walk in, the boy notices two things: One, he has seen the red-clad leader before - just yesterday - and two, he is indeed always right, that girl is most definitely not pleasant to be around. Doing what he does best, Jason decided to ignore the Royals and instead get lost in his own mind - at least there he can somewhat control things.
It was impossible, however, to ignore the newly formed musketeer alliance when he saw that scarf girl got turned into a Heather. He didn’t know if he was disappointed or exited, it would depend on how that chick handled the seer toxicity of popularity (he hoped she could hit Westerburg High where it hurt, but even if she had the spirit, the will might be lacking).
He’d wait, maybe all she needed was a little guidance.
**********
All it took was Martha Dunnstock for his entertainment to begin.
It had been three weeks, and J.D was starting to lose hope for scarf girl (Veronica, everyone knew her name now), she was more like a mascot than an actual Heather, why they kept her is seriously a mystery for the boy. All she did all day was keep her mouth shut, stare at their backs and be a guinea pig, Jason was seriously surprised with how quickly the fight was taken out of the girl - tree fucking weeks and she didn’t raise her voice once, truly pitiful (not that he could complain, Veronica’s swan dance was like a shield for every invisible loser, everyone was so curious as to how she pulled that trick off, that he could walk along the corridors of Westerburg High with absolute certainty that most people’s eyes were staring at someone else - at the moment she was being more envied then the Huge Bitch Major herself, an achievement if he’d say so himself).
But as it turns out, Veronica is a very loyal friend, despite being a shitty one (even he knows you don’t leave naive people like Martha alone).
It all started in the cafeteria, where he was casually hanging near the Heathers, hoping they would do something interesting for once, when scarf girl arrived with Green Screen (that is his nickname for Heather Duke, the most unoriginal of the tree), and of course, Chandler was planning something.
“Veronica. I need a forgery in Ram Sweeney’s handwriting,” ordered Heather, “You’ll need something to write on. Heather, bend over.”
If there was anything he respected about dynamite girl, was her ability to keep control. That girl knew how to humiliate and push buttons like the professional bitch she was, never letting anyone forget who was truly in charge. For example, forcing scarf girl to forge a letter that will hurt her former best friend? That was 100% a power move, a statement to Veronica herself, maybe even a test, something to see if she’s ready to be a true Heather (and not their charity project).
What he didn’t expect, however, was for scarf girl to rip that note out of Ram’s hands and actually have the guts of talking back to Heather freaking Chandler, demon queen of Westerburg High. Now things were getting interesting.
“Martha’s had a thing for Ram for like, 12 years now. This could kill her.”
And just when he thought she was about to get decapitated by the look on Chandler’s face, Veronica proffered the 6 words that put him in his current predicament.
“C’mon Heather, you’re bigger than this.”
And as he watched Huge Bitch Major’s face change from annoyance to sadness to pure rage, he understood, finally, the reason why Veronica was recruited. No, it was not for her forgery skills, but because the all mighty mythic bitch had a soft spot for her, cared for her opinion enough to go on a 10 minute rant about why she should stay a Heather, instead of just kicking her to curb for defying her as she’d do with anybody else.
And really, who could blame him then, for deciding they should be a couple.