June Bug
she/her
twenty-seven
April 21
Mauville City
Bisexual
Delivery-Person
civilian
i used to dream in the dark of palisades park.
TAG WITH @rysa
june sleigh
Fool me Thrice (FW2)
POSTED ON Feb 1, 2024 5:21:50 GMT
Apologies in advance. Pretend it's a chapter in a book or something.
History?
How could she possibly change history?
June blinked once. Twice. From the weird void of a portal into… wherever the hell this was. Some living room, filled to the brim with holiday decorations. Long strands of pine-tree branches stretched over every single stretch of flat surface, intertwined with balls of red and yellow. This included every single doorway, the puke green couch she rested in, and even above a shitty fireplace shoved into the far beige wall. A tall green tree slumped next to it a similar fashion of decoration, except this one had several candy canes hung on branches. Otherwise, there was a small television hung on the wall to her left and a leather brown recliner also on her left.
Soft music cut through the silence. June recognized it almost immediately: that one bitch that sang that one stupid fucking song and played in every single store and shop known to man. The culprit of the music was a radio sat on a glass coffee table in front of her. In her explosive desire to end the misery that was 'All I Want', June pushed herself forward and quickly hit the power button. The quiet crackle of firewood quickly took over and filled the room with pops from behind the glass.
Fire… Arceus, it was really warm in here. Too warm. Her eyes trailed down, to the thick sweater of green and red she wore. That would do it, yea. Very… odd. When the hell did she put this on? She peeked underneath the green wool, only to be met with her pale skin. Damn, couldn’t take it off.
It felt awfully familiar, though. She’d seen this sweater before, but the answer didn’t immediately come. ‘The Holiday Season’ was never a valid reason to wear such an affront to Arceus, no matter how many people claimed otherwise. But here she was, with it on, and it felt natural as hell. Like she’d worn it before. Forced to don the stupid, ugly, brand-new woolen Stantler-themed sweater by…
Dad.
This was a gift from him two years ago, June realized. He’d given to her as a joke, but insisted she wear it for when they celebrated. ‘An early present’ he said with the stupidest smirk on his face. But… that was also the day that… he…
She had buried it in a box in her closet and let it rot afterwords. It had been ruined anyway. As much as it hurt to remember, she’d gotten it covered in blood and dirty black snow and snot. It was in desperate need of a wash, but this one looked as good as new. Brand new.
And what the hell was that stench? The aroma of sickeningly sweet sweets filled every nook and cranny in her mouth. An awfully familiar smell. Even the way she gagged on it felt like déjà vu. She half expected someone to smack her shoulder and tell her that ‘it beat carbon monoxide from an exhaust pipe’. Even worse, it smelled terribly close. Like it was right in front of her face, presented on a silver platter.
It literally was. A plate full of gingerbread cookies, each one in the shape of a cartoon man with his arms and legs splayed out for the world to see, sat on the glass coffee table in front of her. The top one had frosting of various colors plastered across the face of it. Dressed to look like a fairy-tale creature. June reached out and poked one on the edge of the palte. Warm and still soft to the touch. It bent underneath her finger in a classic 'freshly baked cookies' way.
Dad’s favorite.
“Where the fuck am I?”
She looked around the room. All of this was déjà vu. The star atop the tree looked exactly like the one she threw together when she was four. June squinted at it, desperate to prove it wasn’t that one. Yet it had the broken nub of an arm, from when Dad dropped it trying to put it on the tree the same night.
And the radio was covered in black smudges and a bajillion short scratches. Dad used to drag that thing from the shop into the house every year too, because he ‘wanted to get his moneys worth out of the damn thing, and it works just as well as any any other radio’. The one she had in her own room, back at the apartment. Its antenna was bent perpendicular to the main body: from when she wanted to take a seat but didn’t see the tall black stick poking out from the thing.
But the most damning thing of all was a familiar portrait sat on the table. She missed it in the initial disorientation and confusion, but now it caught her attention like a fisherman a Veluza. It was from her graduation from technical school. Her lemon-yellow graduation robes looked immaculate, and her face even more so. A big, bright genuine smile, as she presented the degree to the photographer. A flash of pride and warmth filled inside her heart. This was one of the few photos she still kept on display. It sat on the kitchen table, and she always stared at it the few times she ate at home.
Because Dad stood right next to her, tall and proud and with a long, lanky arm draped over her shoulder. He held an equally large smile, if not bigger. He stood a few feet behind her, because-
‘This is your accomplishment, but I’m your dad. Just means I get to show you off to whoever looks at the picture. Don’t sweat it, just play along–’
“Junebug, don’t get all mopey on me now,” a voice called out from behind her. Recognition flashed in her head, quickly followed by a doubt that shook every cell in her body. Each hair individually stood on edge like a Purugly on the offensive. That voice was one she’d recognize anywhere. In a crowded room, with her head held underneath the oppressive waters, or even if she turned deaf.
It couldn’t be helped; June rotated her entire body with the speed of a Talonflame. There’s no way it could be him. He was… was…
Alive?
Gabriel, Gabe, Sleigh. Presumed dead two years ago, he looked alive and well as he carried his tall can of beer with him over to the couch. He must’ve went and grabbed it from the kitchen, which was behind the couch. Instincts told her that, but the conscious mind remained dazed. If the shoe fit, then that was the size of the foot. If the socket fit the bolt, then that was its relative size. So if this place looked exactly like her old home…
Did that stranger actually do it? Was this what he meant?
While her mind raced with connections, her physical body reacted much simpler. Her gazed locked on to Dad as shimmied between the table and her legs. A dribble of beer hit her leg, followed up with a muttered apology. He plopped himself down right next to her, and cleaned his fingers with his mouth. “Shame I haven’t been able to show it off to anyone. You need to invite someone over when I’m around, Junebug. I don’t bite.”
“... Uh, Junebug? You there?” he snapped his fingers right in her face. The loud pops fell on mostly deaf ears. But the movement inspired something inside her. June rushed forward and grabbed on tight to the flesh, blood, skin and bones that was Dad. From something that shouldn’t– couldn’t be. Yet was here anyway.
Even if she knew how this night ended, she could enjoy it while…
… it was young.
“Woah, okay Junebug, I get it, it’s a nice picture,” Dad gently pat June on the back, his voice filled to the brim with care and confusion. Her brain churned hard, though, as she awkwardly realized both how weird this was, and how changeable this past was. If she’d been sent here to change something, change history, then… Dad could be saved.
“Oh, sorry, just,” June spat out as she slowly let go of her father. “Something something. Make time for those you care about. Don’t worry about it. Read it online somewhere.”
“...Right, yea, sure,” Dad nodded along, then held up an arm in defense, “but it’s n-not that I don’t disagree or nothin’. Just, y’know, out of the blue was all. Didn’t know me getting a drink and your surprise was, well, emotional or nothin'.”
“Surprise?” She asked on instinct. Even if she remembered the answer a moment later, it probably worked out better to feign ignorance. She knew her father would smirk and shrug as he produced an envelope from his back pocket. Its wrinkled, bent shape was promptly offered to her, and she took in in shaky hands.
“This is…”
“Happy holidays June.”
Mauville Apartment Complex. A new home, entirely on her own. A tear sprouted from her eye, and she quickly wiped it away. “But…”
“Come on Junebug, it’s about time you got your own place. Flown out of the nest, so to speak. You and Matchstick would really like some space on your own. That, and Buddy is… well, causing problems with Toxicroak again,” he said. “And I can’t afford to replace all the furniture. Again.”
“But I don’t– wait, replace the furniture?”
“Uh, yea?” He raised an eyebrow, “Don’t you remember, Junebug? Cost me a couple grand.”
“No, that’s not-” June sighed. “No, sorry, forget it.”
So, he hadn’t even been hiding it in the first place. Dad didn’t say it like that before, that he ‘couldn’t afford’ to do it. Even if he hid the truth from her, she had managed to dodge the line that got him to inadvertently out himself as hundreds of thousands in debt. No other reason why he’d use those words. An ember flickered and lit a fire in her chest.
“I just… don’t know what else to say,” June didn’t wipe away the next few salty streaks that snaked down her face. “This is so, what’s the word?”
“Unexpected?” Dad slapped her gently on the shoulder, “I know, I know, not like me. Usually upfront and what not. But… sometimes, the best things in life are a surprise. That and I knew you’d never go along with me to check places out.”
“So you picked the place without me?”
“I picked out two places that you might like, are open, and will be open for the next week. It’s up to you to go on over and sign the rental agreement,” he said. “I can’t do that part.”
“So if I really don’t want to move out–”
“I can’t make you do it, yea,” he took a sip from the frosty can, “but I think you really should. Get a life started without me breathing down your neck. Or you down mine.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” She in-turn gave him a quick glare. June never heard him say that, either. Last time, she’d broken down into tears but ultimately agreed that she’d go down the next day. The owner even had the decency to let her sign super late and without a steady income, due to the unforseen circumstances.
“Well…” Dad tugged at the neck of his own sweater, “I’d like to have the place to myself from time to time. Maybe even… y’know… with someone else.”
Oh. June’s face turned hot red, and she quickly turned away. “That's, well, fine. And stuff. But you could’ve just… said that. Or lead off with it. Arceus.”
“Sorry, but it’s not a topic I can–”
“Yea yea, but you could’ve tried to be subtle about it.”
“Junebug, c’mon.”
“What?”
“You’re denser than an engine block sometimes.”
“Why don’t you– actually, no, fair enough. Ugh,” June slouched back into the couch, entirely wishing she’d said nothing at all. “Can we talk about something else, then? Anything else?”
“Well,” Dad suddenly hopped up from the couch, “We COULD.”
“But?”
Once again, a rhetorical question. June knew exactly where Dad was going. Her heart leapt into the back of her throat.
“What, you got a few screws loose up there all of a sudden? Remember what I said this morning?”
“Oh, right. Fuck, I forgot,” she smacked her forehead in exaggeration. Of course she remembered what the hell he’d said. He had a job that had to get done before tomorrow and he couldn’t push it off any longer. The pay was supposed to be fat as hell, and they’d already celebrated the important part of the holidays a few days ago. She’d nearly forgotten that at this point in time, they’d been hanging out for most of the day anyway. This time, though, they ended much more abruptly.
This was the real deal, then. Not only could she influence the past, she could change it for sure.
But how?
“Well,” June bolted up from the green cushion and planted herself in his way, “what if I help you out? It’ll go faster with the two of us!”
“Not this time, Junebug,” Dad bent down and took a single gingerbread cookie from the plate. Then he backed up and went around the table. “I know you know what you’re doing, but this… a whole 'nother beast. Delicate.”
“I can be delicate, you know.”
“June, honey, you haven’t worked on a car this expensive ever,” he pointed at her casually. “You so much as look at it funny, it gets a scratch and the guy is on our asses. Trust me, this isn’t something you want to do.”
“Well, what if I want practice for the future?”
“Do it the easy way,” he continued walking straight into the kitchen. “First time I did, I fucked the car up so bad my boss made me buy an entirely new one for the guy. Besides, I thought you said you never wanted to work on cars like this anyway.”
“Well. Yea. Okay, fair enough,” She kicked herself in the shin and quickly followed him into the kitchen. It was enough to make her almost regret ever saying that. Almost. Fuck those expensive cars. “Maybe I can just hand you tools, then. Make it go a little faster.”
They entered the plainest kitchen known to man. The only decoration was a simple analog clock, which ticked and toked without a care in the world. A stack of paper sat on the kitchen table, and a few plates sat neglected in the sink. Dad blitzed for the table, where a thick black windbreaker was draped over a chair.
“Or maybe I can just sit there and–”
“Junebug,” as he put on the jacket, he turned to her, “you can just say you’re not sure about living on your own.”
“...Okay, alright, I’m a little nervous.”
“I understand entirely. It’s not something you’ve ever done before,” he finished putting on the jacket and gave her a comforting pat, “but I really want to get this job done before midnight, and I really can't afford to be distracted.”
“But… hey, look, if you really want to talk about it, we can do it when I get home if you’re still up. Go over all the important stuff, look up anything you might need to consider. Whole nine yards.”
June stole a glance at the clock. Seven twenty-eight. Fuck, it was almost… don’t think about it. Just figure something else out. “Fine.”
Dad smiled slightly, “Thanks June. Trust me, I won’t let you figure it out on your own. We can work on it together. Just not this one thing that honestly, isn’t even ‘worth the damn time.’”
June chuckled half-heartedly. Funny word choice yet again. “Yea yea. I get it, already.”
He leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “Alright, gonna squeeze past you. Need to get my shoes.”
She reluctantly stepped out of his way, and he walked straight out of the kitchen door. June glanced behind to make sure he didn’t double back. When she knew the coast was clear, she immediately started to investigate every nook and cranny in the room. Any massive fire hazards, open wires, or even a spider web in the window. Something, anything, that would get him to stay away from that damn garage.
As she rummaged in the drawers, she heard Dad loudly mutter underneath his breath about his shoes. Thank Arceus he never invested in a new pair of boots whenever it mattered. It gave her precious seconds to keep haphazardly check out the drawers for tiny holes or Rattata droppings. Not even a single, microscopic turd for her to shout out for Dad to look into or call someone about for an hour.
Fuck, there wasn’t a single damn thing in this place. June checked the gas line behind the oven for even a wayward scratch or a bite mark, but it looked perfectly fine.
“You having fun in there, Junebug?” His muffled voice called out from the hall. “Or was the food really that bad?”
“Of course not,” she said sarcastically. Of course the food was bad. It was always bad, but in a uniquely bland way that just made it hard to feel enthusiastic about eating. Like eating flavorless slop mixed with a shit ton of salt and never enough garlic. She always called it Pokemon food when it was particularly unappetizing.
“Whatever. Eat your ‘nutritious fruit’ then, and I’ll eat the leftovers later,” he said.
June’s eyes shot towards the fridge. Right, the produce drawer should be filled to the brim with that sort of stuff. An idea began to form in her mind. A silly one, but maybe it’d buy her another minute. She ran over to the fridge, yanked the drawer open, and pulled out the first sphere on top: a juice, ripe, massive grapefruit. It begged to be eaten, and her stomach rumbled.
She kept the saliva in her mouth as she slammed it onto the counter. “Well, I’m not hungry enough for a whole grapefruit. Come grab the other half.”
“I’m not hungry, Junebug. I actually ate what was made for dinner.”
“Come on, don’t be a baby,” She reached over to the knife rack and grabbed the first one. A chef’s knife, razor sharp and polished to a perfect shine. “Besides, you might actually feel healthy for a change.”
“Just put it in a bag and throw it in the fridge,” he said.
“But–”
When she pushed down, the knife slipped on the rind and flew straight down the curve of the grapefruit. June barely reacted fast enough, as the knife kissed her fingertips and dug itself straight into the counter. She took a close look at her skin, but sighed in relief. The blade only grazed her, with only a little thin sliver of skin as collateral. No blood.
But no Dad either.
“Are you dulling my knives, Junebug?”
“No, just trying to cut–”
Oh no. Fuck. Fuck. She looked down at her fingers, and then back to the knife. There was a way to get Dad to not go to the shop. Not very pleasant. Not at all. Just required one little mishap. A slip, and she’d surely secure their future. No way he’d ignore something that bad. Hell, it wouldn’t even be a weird, unexplainable thing. If anything, it was too perfect. But how hard? And just one bit? Or get a more, y’know, ‘deep’ incision? Maybe it was best to go for the palm. More manageable, and people did it in those TV shows all the time. Would Dad call her a cultist? Maybe just the tips would be better. But she did just slam the knife into the counter, and that might make it less sharp. She heard that dull knives are more dangerous than sharp ones, but did that mean it won’t be able to do what she needs? Maybe she needed to grab another one, or try to sharpen this one really fast. Dad made it look easy. And she’d always wanted to try–
“Well, I’m gonna take your silence as admission of guilt. Just don’t do anything stupid.”
Fuck fuck fuck. June quickly put the knife back at the top of the grapefruit. Her other hand placed stupidly underneath its warpath. This wouldn’t hurt that bad, right? How could it? The nerves would be separated. Couldn’t transmit pain if they weren’t attached to the rest of body.
The front door opened. June sucked in deep, braced her core, and shut her eyes really tight. Three–
“I’ll see–”
Two-
“–you later–”
This wouldn’t hurt. It’d be fine.
One.
“–Junebug.”
The knife came down hard. Too hard.
It really really really REALLY fucking hurt.
June let out the loudest, sharpest scream in her entire life. Nerves didn’t need an end point to know that something was wrong. It was white-hot, blinding, excruciating, unbearable, nauseating, awful pain. She couldn’t even comprehend how good of an idea it was to close her eyes as she slowly sunk to the kitchen floor. The urge to grab her fingers–whichever were left– and squeeze tight, just to feel them, was almost impossible to ignore.
But she did. Fear took hold wherever it could and sunk its teeth into her brain. Arceus, how horrid it would be to know just how bad the damage was. Instead, she death-gripped her wrist and planted her forehead onto the cool brass handle. How nice it felt on her skin. A much more pleasant feeling than whatever was going on up above.
One that Dad rushed to investigate, each footstep heavier and closer than the last. “June, are you– oh fuck…”
“D-dad–” June sobbed out. Tears ran down her face like the blood that rushed out of her open wound. Dad moved again, and he hugged her tight.
“Damn it June, I told you to–” he groaned in frustration. June tried to wiggle out of his grip. but he held on tight. “Fuck, fuck. You’re gonna be okay, Junebug. You’re gonna be okay, alright?”
She nodded silently, unable to conjure any more words. He stood up again, and went to the pantry. He pulled something out and went to the fridge. A door opened, and there was the clack of ice cubes. He slammed the freezer door shut, came back, and gently moved her head back. The drawer slid open, and several towels emerged. The drawer slammed shut too, and he set the plastic bag full of ice on the counter. Something was carefully put in it, and the cloth towels were thrown on her hands indiscriminately.
“Come on Junebug, stand up,” She felt him grab underneath her arms and pull. She did so extremely slowly, one foot followed by the other. Both her socks felt wet and sticky, and a wave of awful copper rushed into her mouth as she continued to sob. It got caught in her throat and she coughed weakly into Dad’s jacket.
“That’s it, don’t look,” he pushed her face further into his chest, “just follow my lead. We’re gonna get you to the hospital, and they’re gonna fix you right up. Good as new, okay Junebug?”
His voice cracked while he talked, but she nodded into his chest. Together, they shuffled out of the kitchen, down the hall, and out into the open world.
June soon started to fade out of consciousness, unable to form a coherent thought as she climbed into the seat of a car, which rumbled to life. Shortly after, the slowly pulled away from the building. Away from the house, away from the shop. As Dad kept a hand on her arm, a comfort in the tragedy of this experience, she couldn't keep a smile on her face.
She'd be okay. Dad would be okay. He wouldn't die now. History had changed.
|
|