memelordotherblog · 9 months ago
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Sylvester scheming while taking care of young Mortimer as they try to get back to Mortimer’s home:
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pixie-mage · 6 years ago
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Jameson's Defender
A Jameson Jackson and Shawn Flynn Friendship Oneshot
Jameson was running late. He knew full well that he was, even before he tugged his pocket watch from his vest pocket. Shawn was waiting for him at the theater, and the movie was bound to start in ten minutes. And to top it all off, he’d been in such a rush he hadn’t even thought to grab his umbrella before walking out the door, so he now found himself rushing down the street on foot with rain drizzling down from the sky above, soaking his clothes a little more with each step.
Jameson rounded the next corner and the rain began to fall harder, turning from a light sprinkling to an actual rainfall. Hopefully it wouldn’t start pouring before he reached the theater doors…
He pursed his lips and checked his watch again. Seven minutes. Damn. His eyes were still downcast, locked on his pocket watch, and that’s why he never saw it coming.
It had only been a moment. He’d only looked down for a moment, had taken his eyes off the way ahead for the briefest of pauses, but that’s all it took for him to become distracted. A rough hand gripped his arm and yanked, hard, and he found himself stumbling sideways. He flung out his arms to catch himself and it was with a freezing splash that he landed on his hands and knees in a puddle of water. He raised his head, peering out from beneath the brim of his hat.
An alley. He’d fallen into an alley, just off the sidewalk he had been strolling down. But who…?
Jameson didn’t even have time to wonder before he was being yanked off the ground by both arms, the grip of the hands there tight and painful. He gasped sharply as he was shoved backward against the wall of the alleyway, behind a dumpster, just out of sight of other passersby. Slowly, nervously, he raised his eyes.
Two men stood before him, both taller than him and both with their hoods pulled up, faces cast in shadow.
“Wallet. Now.”
Oh, sweet jumping jehosafats….
Jameson swallowed thickly. He didn’t have a wallet. He didn’t have any money. Not now. Today was supposed to be Shawn’s treat, so he hadn’t bothered. He raised his hands to try and speak, to try and explain himself, praying that one of them understood sign language, but the second man grabbed one of his wrists and twisted his arm, hard. Jameson’s mouth flew open in a silent cry of pain. Dammit....mother of–
“No funny business!” the second guy snarled, shoving forward into Jameson’s face. “He told ya to give us your wallet. Don’t fuckin’ try anything.”
Jameson bit his lip, his eyes watering. His heart was pounding and fear was beginning to course through his veins. He didn’t have anything to give them, anything for them to take...but he couldn’t even explain that. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t sign. Would they even let him try? He raised his other hand again, slowly, shaking, and tried to spell out something. Anything. Would they even understand? Dammit, where was his chalkboard when he needed it?
“The hell is that?” the first guy bit out, sounding annoyed and pissed. “You tryin’ to flip us off or something?” Jameson shook his head rapidly, eyes wide, but the man wasn’t having any of it. His friend took a step back but never let go of Jameson’s wrist. “Guess we’re doin’ this the hard way, huh?”
Jameson’s breath hitched and his eyes widened further, a quiet panic settling in his chest. Oh hellfire–
He saw the fist coming only milliseconds before the blow landed, and the hasty arm he raised to try and block it didn’t do a damned thing. Pain flared up in his jaw and his head snapped to the side, bouncing back against the brick wall and sending his world spinning. Dots danced across his vision and he gasped for breath, his hat toppling off to the damp ground below. It was raining harder now, and he was sure that - even if he could speak, could shout, could cry out for help - nobody would hear the scuffle going on behind some dumpster in a random back alley. The storm was too loud, the streets too busy.
Not for the first time, Jameson found himself wishing desperately that he could speak.
“Not such a wiseass now, huh?” the second man smirked. “C’mon, just give us the dough. You’re dressed all fancy like that. Don’t try an’ tell us you’re broke because that sure as hell ain’t true.”
It wasn’t a lie. Jameson wasn’t a poor man. But today...today he didn’t have a dime in his pockets. Not even a penny. He mouthed silent pleas and shook his head unsteadily, still reeling from the previous impact of his head with the wall. Please. He didn’t have anything…
“Fuckin’ liar,” the first stranger snarled. He gripped Jameson by the front of his shirt and shook him roughly, slammin him back against the wall again. “Th’ hell’s wrong with you anyway? Don’t know how to talk? Idiot…”
“Just knock ‘im out and search his pockets,” the second man muttered. “It’ll be easier.”
No…
Jameson was expecting another punch to come flying his way, so when the guy in front of him drove his knee into Jameson’s gut, he wasn’t ready. He gasped for air and doubled over, falling to his knees, choking on his own breath. He couldn’t get enough air–
“Oi! Fuckin’ wankers! Pick on somebody ye’re own fuckin’ size, aye?”
A thick Irish accent broke through the storm, and Jameson wasn’t sure if he was hearing things or if that was real...because it sounded a hell of a lot like Shawn.
“Stay outta this and you won’t get hurt.”
“Like hell I am!”
No, that was definitely Shawn. Jameson sank back against the rough brick wall behind him, the world still spinning around him. He saw movement, saw a third person stepping into view beyond the legs of his attackers.
“Why the fuck d’you even care? Just back off unless you plan on losin’ your cash too.”
“Nah,” Shawn drawled, pocketing one hand. The other came up to tug at the brim of his hat, a sly grin dancing across his lips. “I’ve got better plans ‘n that, boy-o.”
Jameson wasn’t fully focussed on the moment, but he could tell just by the tone in Shawn’s voice that he was in his element. He might not look it, but the small Irishman was a hell of a fighter. Jameson closed his eyes and rested his head back against the wall, catching his breath for a moment and listening to the rain. He heard rather than saw the scuffle that was happening before him, heard Shawn chuckling now and then between hits. Heard something - or someone - heavy fall still across the alley, and then the sound of running footsteps slapping against the wet pavement. Distant shouts of “FUCKIN’ CRAZY IRISH ASSHOLE!”
Then there was somebody in front of him. He didn’t even have to open his eyes to know that Shawn Flynn was crouched there, leaning forward over him.
“Hey, Jamie-boy,” Shawn spoke up, patting Jameson’s cheek lightly. Jameson opened his eyes slowly, his mustache twitching as a weak smile found its way to his face. He raised his hands - then winced and cradled his left arm close to his chest, grimacing. It hurt...god, it hurt...whatever that jerk had done to him had definitely left a mark.
“Woah, woah...slow down, aye?” Shawn murmured quickly, putting his hands on Jameson’s shoulders. He searched his silent friend’s face with a worried look. “Think you can get up?”
Jameson nodded slowly. Surely he could do that much. Right? He shifted against the wall, accepting Shawn’s help to slowly and carefully get to his feet. He leaned heavily against his friend, still feeling dizzy, and he panted out a few short breaths. God...what a way to ruin the day.
After a few moments, a few precious moments that he took to catch his breath and find his footing, Jameson’s uninjured hand came up to his chest and he signed a single word. A word that only required one hand to say.
‘Sorry.’
“Th’ hell are ye sayin’ sorry for?” Shawn spluttered. “Ye jus’ got fuckin’ slaughtered by a pair o’ shite-arsed bastards, an’ you managed not ta die. So good on ya fer stayin’ tough.”
Jameson let out a breathy chuckle despite himself, ducking his head a little. ‘Tough’ wasn’t the word he’d use, but...well. Sure. He’d let Shawn believe it. The silent young man nodded toward the alley’s entrance and he signed another word. A question.
‘Movie?’
Shawn snorted and rolled his eyes.
“Ye fuckin’ – no! ‘Course not! Not right now anyway. By jaysus – we’re gonna get you home, get ye patched up, an’ after that maybe we can go see a film. But first we’re makin’ sure ye’re not gonna die in th’ middle o’ watchin’ ‘The Great Race’. Professor Fate an’ The Great Leslie can wait until ye’re not walkin’ like you’re drunk off yer arse. Aye?”
Jameson smiled weakly and huffed out a breathy laugh, tossing a lopsided grin toward his friend. Shawn was right. He still planned on spending the day with Shawn like they’d planned...though this certainly hadn’t been what either of them had had in mind.
“C’mon, boy-o, let’s get ye back to your place.”
They started off down the sidewalk, their pace slow and steady. Jameson’s hat hung loosely from Shawn’s fingers and Jameson continued to use him as a crutch for the time being, and the thought that kept lingering in the back of Jameson’s mind...was how grateful he was to have Shawn as a friend.
A/N - Thanks for reading! ^^ I love writing Jamie and Shawn, I really do. If anyone has any Ego one-shots they’d like to see written (characters, situations, etc), send me an ask! I’m always looking for new writing prompts in the JSE universe!
Please don’t repost my writing anywhere. I’d really appreciate it~ Thanks!
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