Work Text:
All your life you’ve felt strangely off. Maybe it was your wariness of large black dogs, maybe it was your strange fondness for snarky broads or your attraction to men with messy hair and buck teeth.
Maybe it was the fact that in Texas, there was barely ever any wind ever.
Or maybe, it was the cast of people who lived in your head. A bunch of kids, just running around, killing things and being dorks and apparently playing some kind of video game (you don’t know what they’re playing but you kind of wish you did, it looks awesome), and just enjoying being together.
That’s what you fall asleep to. When you’re asleep, you join those kids. You have passive aggressive wars with a therapist, you rap to an adventurer, you swap shitty drawings with and piss off a group of grey skinned aliens, and you have a best friend.
His name is John.
He has messy black hair and buckteeth and he loves to play pranks on people and watch shitty movies about the end of the world and he’s allergic to peanuts and sometimes he’s an asshole and you love him.
Of course, in real life, none of these people exist. But somehow, no matter how hard you convince yourself that they’re not real, they’re not real, they’re not real
You just can’t help your throat closing up when you pass someone with a purple head band on or a ghost buster top or laptop earmuffs (although the last one is a pretty rare occurrence).
But, after a while, after years of dreams, you began to see them less. They were pushed aside, prioritised, made less important, by default, than the coming juggalo war.
It started the day Jay and Dope were elected to be double- presidents. You knew right then that this was going too far.
Which is why, today, you’re doing this.
You’re making it happen.
~
You raise your sword and look at the presidents. They look at you, with their faces covered in shitty white paint, and you raise your sword.
You are a little surprised that these douchebags are actually arrogant enough to fight you, but you pass it off. Juggalos will be juggalos.
It’s over in less than five minutes.
One clean sweep, and you cut through the body of one president, and decapitate the other. You follow the path of the head with your eye, and freeze.
A boy is standing there, watching the head too. He’s wearing a hoodie, and blue pyjamas. He rolls his eyes as the head passes him, and something in his expression seems amused, like this was to be expected and nothing less. Because he knew you.
And you knew him.
And then he was gone.