| Chasing ghosts and choices |
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Pairing: David Barrón x Enedina Arellano Félix x Claudio Vásquez
For @narcosfandomdiscord NarcOctober Fanworks collection - Day 13
Prompt: Day of Life - create a fanwork in which a character avoids their canonical death.
Word count: ≈ 1.7K
TWs: Canon-consistent violence, angst in only the way my boi does I mean just look at that face in the first gif, he’s so not a happy camperksjeb
They’d known each other too long, loved each other too much, and hurt each other too intimately and too many times to pretend they were better than exactly who they were.
Okay on my life, I did not mean to do the same exact setup as @drabbles-mc fic for today. I just like am super back in my Barrón feels in a BIG fuckin way rn thanks to Bobby Soto ruining my life in A Million Miles Away skdjflsk but like weirdly and accidentally, this could be kind of a sequel to Adamant skjsldkj imsorryforeverything anyway enjoy Barrón lowkey kicking himself for saving Claudio and also being like, "aight, fine. It was the right call" bc he would never do his lady love so dirty as to purposely let her new husband die SKSKS
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At the sliding glass doors of the Arellanos’ place, Barrón stood, watching the predawn fog diffuse over houses on the streets below, making itself at home in the cracks of alleyways, like the city of Tijuana was an abandoned crypt, the casitas, its tombstones, and struggled to remember the last time he’d saved someone.
Being a sicario, he didn’t have much occasion to save people. Or at least, not without tipping the scales in death’s favor in the process. And yet, reminded in a flash of memory—some fake cop’s hat flying in the air when one of his bullets sinks in the guy’s forehead and drops him almost comically like his body’d turned to lead—in this case, he’d delivered plenty to death’s door. He was nothing if not a professional, right.
Maybe it was who he’d saved that made this feel more significant than past jobs. Less delivering to death’s door, more delivering life, delivering a future with one she loved, back to her. That felt as big. Bigger even. Particularly when it ensured his own future would be the same as it ever was. Chasing ghosts and loving in silence. Playing not the fool, but a tool. A weapon. Incredibly useful if only for a precious few tasks. And in the end, who could really blame them when he was so good at it? That’s right. Nothing if not a professional.
With any luck that’d be his ticket out though, what with Mín going off the grid until things cooled down and the family figured out the next moves to make. Hopefully, he’d have a new post to look forward to, a change of scenery. If not the places then the people. Or some of them.
Because no doubt there’d be some kind of political fallout, Claudio being a district attorney and all. He was affable enough to massage it over with the public but his own family was another matter. They were probably furious, already skeptical about the match from the get. So, the Arellanos would have to measure their response carefully. And that’s just what it would have to be: a response, not a retaliation. The inconvenience of legitimacy now rearing its ugly head with such urgency, Barrón didn’t even have the fight left in him to manage a glib, ya te lo dije.
He wondered idly if maybe that was part of Chapo’s plan or just an unhappy accident, forcing the Arellanos in the public eye at such a precarious time. Not yet legitimate enough to be installed in the untouchable chilango upper class where they could retaliate with impunity, but still beholden to the higher standards of a “real” business in the eyes of the people.
As of now, it all seemed like just the most fucked game of Cat’s Cradle. Too much for a pocho from Logan Heights to untangle. It wasn’t even that strategy wasn’t his strong suit, it was more political machinations like these never much held his interest. Maybe the attempt on Claudio’s life would be enough to draw Dina back in. Give her back what she gave up. That was how Barrón had known it was real with them to begin with. She stepped back. No longer lived and breathed for the thrill of realizing the potential of the family business like she’d envisioned. Envisioned since she was a kid, a fact she’d revealed in one of their little warehouse chats when he first got there. Years ago. Back when they were– ah, fuck it. He’d chase that ghost later.
The funny thing was she did that all giving up and stepping back in a bid to keep things separate, shield Claudio from the less savory aspects of things. A bullet to the shoulder is about as good as that plan went.
Maybe this would be Dina’s time. The prospect filled him with pride. Hope. It’d be a thrill to see if it didn’t hurt so bad. And truthfully, given the choice, Barrón would rather fight back boredom-induced sleep, watching little Ruthie play with Lincoln logs in a safe house somewhere, than sit around here watching the future that he’d sacrificed his own for blossom before his very eyes. He did what he did but he didn’t have to like it.
He fished for a porro he’d rolled earlier from his pocket and removed the few stray, leafy bits of weed that had escaped out one end, before popping it between his lips and lighting up. He usually didn’t smoke in the house but considering he still hadn’t changed his shirt stained with Claudio’s blood, setting into the fibers more and more with each passing second, courtesy of a bullet that sailed clean through the guy’s shoulder, he figured he’d earned a pass from his employers. That wasn’t even the best excuse he had. Just the simplest one. What a weird fucking night.
And fuck, he was tired. The noise of the drawers of the credenza opening and closing behind him wasn’t enough to make him turn around. Shit, he might stand here forever. Five hundred years from now, they’d find him, all petrified wood, in this exact spot still staring out the window. Exhausted. Since before he could remember, exhausted.
Her voice broke the reverie and he tried not to resent it too much. He failed.
“David.”
Ugh, they’d talked about this. No first name. He hated it when she called him by his first name. Too close. A flash of red out of the corner of his eye took full shape as Dina joined him at the window, in her red silk robe, arms crossed, hair wild and free like she was the first woman.
A few tendrils of smoke curled out of Barrón’s nostrils and glided down his chin, moving lazy and listless as he felt. The question hung in his throat, thick with smoke, “How is he.”
Dina dropped her shoulders like she’d been holding her breath. “The doctor says he might lose function in his thumb and forefinger on that side, but otherwise,” she exhaled deeply, clenching her jaw to fight back tears of relief, “it looks like Claudio is going to be fine.”
“Heh,” Barrón nodded, half coughing, half chuckling, “I meant Pancho. But uh, no that’s good.” It was sincere and the most he could manage. Frankly, he was impressed he managed that much.
Head dipping forward, her shoulders shaking gently, she laughed self-consciously down at the floor. “Mi brujo, tu compa, sí se pondrá bien. Ese gatito tiene un chinga más de nueve vidas. No te preocupes.”
At that, he smirked and nodded with more heart this time.
They didn’t say anything else to each other for a while. Just stood there watching the purples of the sky brighten, the marine layer fog cooked orange by the rising sun. Down to a sliver of his joint, Barrón sighed, wishing he’d rolled another one, and cracked the sliding door to flick the butt outside. He closed it and stepped back inside to reassume his place as petrified wood but before he got both his hands in his pockets, Dina caught his wrist and slid her hand down into his. It was so stealthy and quick, Houdini’d be proud. He couldn’t place his finger on why, but it filled him with relief that she hadn’t looked at him. Merely held his hand firmly and continued staring out the window, one arm still held tightly across her chest. Yeah, that was easier.
“David. No sé como agradecerte, pero lo que has hecho por Claudio, la familia,” her voice dropped low as if she knew it should be left unsaid, “por mi,” all the while squeezing his hand. “Nunca lo olvidaré.”
He ran his thumb along her palm to let her know he was there, then hummed softly, “Pues, qué otra opción tenía?”
Echoes of the panic he’d felt when he rounded the corner, seeing Claudio crouched in a shower of broken glass, bullet exploding through his shoulder, blood dark red on his crisp blue shirt, hit Barrón like a grenade. What could’ve happened. What almost happened. If he’d gotten there just a second or two later … they both knew.
A dark and inconvenient truth of operating in a world as wild, wild west as theirs made it impossible not to consider. His job, his very nature, made it impossible to ignore: just exactly how easy it would’ve been for him to drag his feet a bit, move just a little slower, lag behind ever so slightly. That one bullet to the shoulder, turns into two in the chest, then three, then four– until. And how easy it would’ve been to play it off like a whoops, unfortunate happenstance, he’d done his best, just couldn’t make it in time, a tragedy.
The fucked thing too was ... for a fraction of a second?
He had thought about it.
He was pretty sure she knew that too or at least considered the possibility. They’d known each other too long, loved each other too much, and hurt each other too intimately and too many times to pretend they were better than exactly who they were. But that’s not how things went. Not the choice he made.
Instead, Barrón whipped around that corner, hammering Chapo and Arturo’s position so relentlessly, the gun felt almost an extension of his own arm – bullet hoses, right – while Claudio was slumped under the bar, clutching his shoulder. Instead, when their path was clear, Barrón yanked Claudio up to his feet by his good arm and offered a shoulder for him to clumsily toss the bad one over. Instead, Claudio bled all over his shirt, as he dragged them both up the steps, down the hallway, into the back kitchen where the Arellanos were waiting, and shot out the windows so they could all make their escape. Instead, he dragged Claudio, once again, to the getaway car and sat him next to his poor Panchito. Best to keep the mess in one place. No use getting blood all over the seats of two different cars.
Some would call it a choice. Then again, with her the foremost thought on his mind, the instant that first bullet ejected from the barrel of his gun into the face of a phony cop, did he really have one to begin with?
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taglist: @narcosfandomdiscord @narcolini @ashlingnarcos @drabbles-mc
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Tradition vs Modernity vs Comradery
+ context & lore:
In the first drawing, Fernando is wearing a capote de paseo, which is what bullfighters wear before the match begins, as seen below:
In the second, Seb is shouting the very familiar "Olé" which is shouted by the crowd to praise the matador. He's a little brat, so of course he's yelling it for himself, but he did get many 💐
The third(which was a random sketch I had that I didn't think I'd finish tonight, so ignore if its messy) has very important context to me. Before going to the final act and killing the bull, matadors dedicate their montera(hat)(and symbolically: their kill) to a a specific person in the audience(or just the public as a whole.) Seb and Fernando are finally in the same color! Seb is bowing!!! And Fernando is honoring Seb!!!! Also ignore that I drew Seb's post-retirement hair. Though, maybe this drawing is supposed to represent Fernando making a dedication to his now-gone rival 😔(Seb: stop telling people im dead!)
Now, some more lore :D
So I talked about this in my last matador post but I'll expand more. I think it's very funny to characterize Fernando in this au as this fun-hating traditionalist. Because you have to understand; he's only this way when it comes to Seb. Because you absolutely KNOW he was doing silly, unserious shit back when he was younger. But absolutely god forbid Seb do anything silly.
It's very ironic because there literally is a part in the third act of a bull fight where it's basically encouraged to be a bit silly. This is a tad morbid, but basically right before they deliver the killing blow, some show their mastery over the bull by doing some superfluous action(ex. kissing the bull, kneeling in front of the bull.) There's some guy who literally would lean on the bull and mime taking a call. But anyways, Seb would def do this. I've not been able to draw it exactly how I want, but he would bend down and do his little bull horn symbol and mime charging at the bull. (Fernando, trying to make up reasons to hate Seb: oh my god, look at this blatant disrespect, look how he is disrespecting the bull, I cannot believe how rude this boy is!)
Also there's something to be said about how the matador shows mastery over the bull by kissing it or bowing to it...and Seb is technically the bull in this au and Fernando is the matador. There's just this unfortunate level of weird power inbalance that still lingers even though their rivalry is over and can't be affected anymore. There was no succinct answer about who truly was better because Seb was forced out of it. So there's always gonna be this level of "is he just pitying me? Is he just mocking me? Is he just patronizing me?" on Seb's part whenever Fernando praises him or makes dedications to him. And Fernando's always going to be haunted by the fact that there's no answer to who is truly better because he'll never know if Seb had reached his full potential or not. Anyways, they also have nasty sex while wearing their costumes and do weird bull/matador roleplay :)
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hm ok so for a while i was thinking that Wally, for the most part, only perceives reality as "Home", the neighborhood. that's his entire world, it's all he knows
but then i slapped myself and went wait. the Live Interview. Wally has been outside of Home, and has interacted with humans (presuming that the interview did actually happen, of course). and through Wally's interactions - or rather, attempt at interactions with Us, the QA, and the WHRP, it can be strongly assumed that he knows that there's an Elsewhere. there are places outside of Home. maybe he doesn't quite understand that there's another reality of sorts, but there's no way he's unaware that there's more than just the neighborhood out there
(and then of course there's the fact that Clown has said that humans are deeply involved (not a direct quote, im paraphrasing) in Welcome Home. maybe Wally interacted with them / regularly interacted with them. there could have been an adjustment period after he gained consciousness where humans helped him learn how to walk/talk/fine motor skills - this could be why he has such a seemingly inherent / desperate trust in Us & the WHRP & the QA... humans made him and cared for him. it's possible he could view them as a sort of higher power to trust & have faith in
& maybe he's been off-set or could go off-set. i mean, the houses' rooms were all different sets - the buildings themselves were empty husks, right? who's to say Wally wouldn't physically walk to the individual set pieces whenever he went over to someone's house (but then that leads me into speculation on how the puppets' consciousness works and how multiple copies of them could co-exist and wondering which is the - im getting off track. but there's all of that and then the two part "you're okay!" art pieces of Wally & Eddie, which are technically canon - dont quote me on that - and that's Another ramble/theory post i could go on about & have strong feelings on. Anyway!)
"but wait," i hear someone protest, "what about Barnaby? he was in the Live Interview too"
but was he? was he really? was that Barnaby, or was that a person in a suit playing the character Barnaby B. Beagle? i mean, if it was Barnaby, there had to be some memory fuckery going on that prevented him from either fully comprehending/realizing the situation, or just made him forget as soon as it was over.
and actually wait, Wally has to be aware of the reality discrepancy. because it was certainly him in the Interview as himself. He had to have understood on some level that either that wasn't really Barnaby, or that Barnaby wouldn't remember the interview.
(there's a connection in my head between all of this & how he would view an apple pie. "it isn't the same anymore. something's different". but i can't pin it down for the life of me.)
and with the Talking Telephone calls, Wally explicitly tells Us that he's not going to tell anyone who was behind the calls. i remember listening to the "original" prank call audio tests, which while were very similar to the canon in-website ones, have a few changes. one of which was Wally - in the tests - saying that the others weren't ready to meet Us yet. now in canon that tidbit has been swapped out for "You have to go too. You have work to do" but i think it's still implied through Wally's purposeful withholding-of-information that he doesn't think the others are ready to know. or he straight up doesn't want them to know
i mean, one little theory i previously had is that Wally wants them all to catch on to the nature of their reality and situation, but he doesn't want to - or Can't - tell them outright. they have to figure it out. and that can't was either something keeping him quiet, or because if they learned too soon / inorganically, their little puppet heads would pop into confetti like Red Guy's in dhmis 4
However my views have Changed and i'm pretty sure Wally is purposefully not telling anyone to maintain the illusion that everything is fine and can continue on as it always has. maybe it comes from a place of protectiveness, of love? whatever the motive i think he wants them all to keep being unaware and dare i say, Complacent while he "fixes" their situation.
which is delusional, but we all know Wally is digging his metaphorical claws into a desperate bid to keep everything the same / return it to its original state, leaving bloody scratches in something already rotted. or something like that!
all this to say i think it's interesting how it seems that he's the only one aware of humans / an outside/other world, yet he's so determined to stay in his lane. he wants connection & communication yet he doesn't want to leave or change. he wants help in keeping things the same (some could say in keeping Our reality & his separated) but in the process he's dooming everyone/everything and tearing down those walls himself
(Wally: i'm going to stay where i am, and you're gonna stay where you are, and we're gonna help each other keep me and my friends where we're meant to be. anyway i wonder what this sledgehammer does)
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Okay smartass how would you fix Bingqiu if you had your way?
If you actually want to know you could do to be less of a rude little shit about it, anon, but all right.
This is not about 'fixing' anything. Bingqiu is a wildly popular ship and a lot of people enjoy the exact kind of delusional insanity these two have about each other and that's honestly great. Love it for them. Not my cup of tea though.
I think the easiest and fastest way to make them sort their shit out and maybe put them in a position where I might actually be interested in what's going on with them is to take the protagonist halo away. Maybe the System short circuits, maybe it just gets automatically turned off after the extras, don't know don't care.
A lot of Shen Qingqiu's self delusions are fueled by his unshakeable belief that Luo Binghe, being The Protagonist, is Perfectly Fine the way he is. Binghe is the Protagonist, so when there are no character development or obligatory angst events going on he is happy and healthy and a slightly charred good boy and Shen Qingqiu is The Happy Wife who dotes on his hubby and Everything Is Right In The World. Endless honeymoon with their responsibilities only coming to bother them every once in a while. And it makes it way too easy for Binghe to cover up that he's still hurt, still unstable and still insecure by what went down because Shen Qingqiu is willing to take him at face value when he presents his insecurities as just being shameless neediness for his husband. Of course he happily indulges Binghe! But that isn't really helping with the core of the problem now, does it?
Like, Binghe takes steps towards ensuring Shen Qingqiu's mental wellbeing even at the cost of his own as soon as Maigu Ridge is over when he takes him back to the sect. Shen Qingqiu tries too, in his own way (the entire segment in the tombs is all about him putting himself in very real danger for Binghe's sake) but at the same time, this is a guy who completely missed the writing on the wall that Bingge was deeply unhappy in PIDW. As long as he can hold onto his internal picture that The Protagonist Suffered A Lot But He Is Fine Now I don't think he can really offer the right kind of emotional support for Binghe to actually heal from what happened to him and move on to a healthier frame of mind.
If you take the protagonist halo away, then first of all Binghe can, you know, suck a little. Or a lot, actually. The world not making excuses for him and him being a little defanged would be good for him. He gets really nothing he actually wants from being the protagonist - Shen Qingqiu will love him anyway. Mobei-jun will still stick around to back him up and help him out, because he's still Shang Qinghua's favorite fictional son and Qinghua is happy to see Binghe happy, just, you know, somewhere way over there where he can't get jealous tsundere over Cucumber bro and maybe murder him about it. Sha Hualing is still going to be his buddy because he's her best source of human trivia and the writing inspiration for her girlfriend. Not having to be demon emperor and getting more time to spend with his husband would be a relief.
But he would have to be more aware of other people because he's not above them anymore. Maybe even forced to make a few new friends to get by. And his mask will fail and Shen Qingqiu will have to see him for what he is: just Luo Binghe, still hurt and still confused half demon, who loves him very much, but can't make sense of him and is afraid that he will be left behind or pushed away without explanation again and that's kinda Shen Qingqiu's own damn fault.
And Shen Qingqiu can't hold onto his delusions about The Protagonist. He can't willfully ignore that things are not fine with Binghe because he's not the Protagonist anymore and the world only allows that special privilege for the Protagonist. Binghe is just a guy now and he has so many heart demons he needs help with. His trauma from the abyss or Xin Mo can't be brushed off with 'oh that's just part of his blackening he's fine now' anymore. And it might need a little bit of adjusting to internalize that these problems have always been here just below the surface, but Shen Qingqiu genuinely loves Binghe and would want to help him become happier and more stable in any way he can.
Binghe becoming part of the world in a way that's one person among many - building a support network! maybe befriending new demons or actually getting to know and making up with the QJ disciples or finding common ground with LQG and becoming sparring buddies - rather than a protagonist in a sea of NPCs is a lot more interesting to me than whatever he has going on at the end of canon. And Shen Qingqiu can be there with him on that journey, because he already started unlearning the sense of unreality the System conditioned into him, but he still has a long way to go.
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