Ficlet: True Believer (Carnivale)
Day 8 of the 13 days of happy things! Today is a little Carnivale snippet. It's a missing scene with Ben and Jonesy, set around 2x11/2x12 in New Canaan. At one point I thought I might write a big old story around this, but mostly I just think it is what it is.
True Believer
Carnivale, PG, 1,419 words
Ben, Jonesy, Libby
Summary: It's easy to walk the road when you can see where it ends.
True Believer
By Destina
Jonesy had an idea that eventually, he was going to remember he was able to bend his knee. Like he had since he'd been crippled, he stood with it stuck out to one side, straight as a board, as if the brace was still wrapped tight around it. He could feel the steel sides digging into his skin, the numbness in his foot by the end of the day. Like ghostly reminders, they stuck around. Like proof.
"Get some water for the tub, will you?" He pressed a kiss to Libby's forehead and brushed the damp yellow curls out of her face. Her eyes shifted to the left, then back to his, and he smiled, because he knew she understood.
"There's a well," she said softly, and her eyes shifted back to Hawkins. "Just in from the road."
"Good luck, for us," Jonesy said. "Go on, now, till I call you."
She nodded, but her gaze still sought out Hawkins. Jonesy knew how she felt. He knew how they all felt.
Hawkins perched at the edge of a box, slumped over and caked with two weeks' worth of trail dirt. Jonesy went to him, on knees that remembered how to bend without agony, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on," he said. "Libby'll set up the bath, and then you get some sleep."
"We need a plan," Ben said. His voice was the music of rusty razors, blood welling up from somewhere down deep within. "We gotta have a plan."
"I know, I know," Jonesy said impatiently. "But you've gotta get some sleep, or you'll be no good to anybody. Least of all goin' against that preacher."
"I got no time," Ben said. He raised his grimy face, and the clear brown of his eyes shone in the middle of the streaked dirt there. "You know it's got to be tonight, or it ain't gonna matter."
"Listen," Jonesy said, and then he dropped down, just squatted down in the dirt like it was a thing any man could do. It struck him, then - any man - and his hand covered his right knee, a reflex of expectation. Self-conscious, he smiled at Ben, who looked down at his knee and then smiled, just a little, in return. "Listen, we'll make a plan. Samson's workin' on it. But you've got to let me do for you, what I can. All right?"
"I ain't used to havin' folks do for me. I can do for myself."
"Well, maybe you can, but that don't mean people have to let you." Jonesy was older and more stubborn by a mile, and if Ben couldn't see it, he was going to get a quick lesson in giving way.
"Why you doin' this?" Ben straightened and pointed at Jonesy's knee. "Is it because of that? You don't owe me nothin'."
"Never thought different," Jonesy said. Ben's face showed plain he was skeptical, but Jonesy shook his head. "It ain't obligation," he said. "Hell, it's...I don't know. It's somethin' I have to do." He thought back to the moment he'd known he had to go with Ben - in the middle of a dark road, with a beautiful wife about to burst into tears, from trauma or anger, who could tell? There hadn't even been a second when he'd thought he should hand Ben the gun and send him on his way.
Ben shrugged. "Suit yourself."
"Usually do," Jonesy said, and reached up to help Ben with his shirt. A tug over too-scrawny shoulders and it was off, and Jonesy frowned at the map of pain on Ben's body. Behind him, he heard Lib with buckets, and soft voices. Ben looked up, startled, and fidgeted with discomfort; he pulled his stained shirt up against his body, hiding the damage.
Jonesy turned his head and saw a short parade of folks with buckets - Libby had a way of getting the hands to do what she needed done, and for once he didn't really care how she'd gone about it. "Don't mind them," Jonesy said, soft. "They don't matter."
It took them two trips to fill the tub up enough to make a bath of sorts, and then Jonesy pulled at Ben's shirt. "Come on," he said, giving it a good yank. Ben eyed the tent flap and his hands closed on the shirt even more tightly. "They won't be back," Jonesy added. Slowly, Ben's grip relaxed and Jonesy tossed the thing aside. It stank, but there wasn't time to get it washed; he'd have to put it back on. Ben stood up and his pants slid down his hips; without his shirt to cover his waist, it was clear how thin he had become. Jonesy turned away while Ben shucked those off, and then he climbed into the small tin tub.
"Got soap," Jonesy said, offering it up in his open palm. He handed it to Ben, who glanced up at him, embarrassed, and dunked the soap in the water.
"Smells girly," he said, and Jonesy snorted.
"Ought to; it's Libby's. She stole it from her ma."
"Weddin' present?" Ben smiled a little.
"Best we're likely to get." Jonesy stripped off his shirt and undershirt, and balled the undershirt up in his fist. Then he knelt by the tub. It was so easy, so effortless, that tears came to his eyes, and he ducked his head down. No need for anyone else to see that. His healed knee rested on the dirt, flat against the hard surface and completely without pain. Better, even, than when he was still pitching - not even any leftover aches from old hurts, before he'd been put out of commission. He dipped the shirt in the water and drew it up Ben's torso.
"Hey," Ben said, squirming.
"Shut up," Jonesy told him, and splashed the shirt in the water. "You look like you've never had a proper bath."
"So what if I ain't?" Ben said, but he stopped sloshing around. He was already shivering; the water was colder than a witch's teat. Jonesy drew the shirt up, followed it with his warm hand, as if he could push warmth into Ben's body through will alone. Goosebumps followed in the wake of his touch, and Ben stilled, not complaining. Jonesy soaped his shoulders, the curve of each arm; he scrubbed off what had to be a month's worth of grime, turning the water black in the process.
Ben hunched down, unaccustomed to being taken notice of, but that was all right. He had Jonesy now.
Libby fetched a clean shirt and pants for Ben, and when he was dressed, he stood there in his bare feet, hair dripping and swaying in little circles like a dust devil. When he looked up, Jonesy could see everything in his eyes, worlds of unwanted knowledge, things Jonesy couldn't even begin to understand.
There had been dead buzzards everywhere around them in the open desert, stiff black things with folded wings. The circle of death around Ben was closing tight, Jonesy could see that, whether of his own making or brought to him, plain as day.
"Only one chance," Ben said, as Jonesy put a hand flat on his chest to keep him from pitching forward. Ben's heart was hammering like it forgot to be tired. "You got no idea what the stakes are."
Jonesy eyed him. "I got some idea."
They made their way to the clean comfortable bed Libby stripped down for Ben, her best comforter overtop it all, and Ben near fell beside it instead of on it, just gave out and dropped like a stone. Jonesy bundled him into it and sat heavy beside him, resisting the urge to curl up on the ground and close his eyes.
Not too many gifts had come to Jonesy in his life. Libby, sure enough, and the carnival, that had been a fateful boon, too. Come along just when he needed it, and seen him through to Ben's side. With all the bitterness lifted, Jonesy could see it now, the path he'd been set on when his knee snapped that day, all the winding curves he'd limped around blind with no inkling of what was to come in the next ten steps.
Ben's chest rose and fell peaceful in the soft heavy heat of the day, but Jonesy couldn't sleep, not while there was a chance he'd be needed. It would be easy to walk the road, now that he could see his purpose and his destination clear.
end
True Believer
Carnivale, PG, 1,419 words
Ben, Jonesy, Libby
Summary: It's easy to walk the road when you can see where it ends.
True Believer
By Destina
Jonesy had an idea that eventually, he was going to remember he was able to bend his knee. Like he had since he'd been crippled, he stood with it stuck out to one side, straight as a board, as if the brace was still wrapped tight around it. He could feel the steel sides digging into his skin, the numbness in his foot by the end of the day. Like ghostly reminders, they stuck around. Like proof.
"Get some water for the tub, will you?" He pressed a kiss to Libby's forehead and brushed the damp yellow curls out of her face. Her eyes shifted to the left, then back to his, and he smiled, because he knew she understood.
"There's a well," she said softly, and her eyes shifted back to Hawkins. "Just in from the road."
"Good luck, for us," Jonesy said. "Go on, now, till I call you."
She nodded, but her gaze still sought out Hawkins. Jonesy knew how she felt. He knew how they all felt.
Hawkins perched at the edge of a box, slumped over and caked with two weeks' worth of trail dirt. Jonesy went to him, on knees that remembered how to bend without agony, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on," he said. "Libby'll set up the bath, and then you get some sleep."
"We need a plan," Ben said. His voice was the music of rusty razors, blood welling up from somewhere down deep within. "We gotta have a plan."
"I know, I know," Jonesy said impatiently. "But you've gotta get some sleep, or you'll be no good to anybody. Least of all goin' against that preacher."
"I got no time," Ben said. He raised his grimy face, and the clear brown of his eyes shone in the middle of the streaked dirt there. "You know it's got to be tonight, or it ain't gonna matter."
"Listen," Jonesy said, and then he dropped down, just squatted down in the dirt like it was a thing any man could do. It struck him, then - any man - and his hand covered his right knee, a reflex of expectation. Self-conscious, he smiled at Ben, who looked down at his knee and then smiled, just a little, in return. "Listen, we'll make a plan. Samson's workin' on it. But you've got to let me do for you, what I can. All right?"
"I ain't used to havin' folks do for me. I can do for myself."
"Well, maybe you can, but that don't mean people have to let you." Jonesy was older and more stubborn by a mile, and if Ben couldn't see it, he was going to get a quick lesson in giving way.
"Why you doin' this?" Ben straightened and pointed at Jonesy's knee. "Is it because of that? You don't owe me nothin'."
"Never thought different," Jonesy said. Ben's face showed plain he was skeptical, but Jonesy shook his head. "It ain't obligation," he said. "Hell, it's...I don't know. It's somethin' I have to do." He thought back to the moment he'd known he had to go with Ben - in the middle of a dark road, with a beautiful wife about to burst into tears, from trauma or anger, who could tell? There hadn't even been a second when he'd thought he should hand Ben the gun and send him on his way.
Ben shrugged. "Suit yourself."
"Usually do," Jonesy said, and reached up to help Ben with his shirt. A tug over too-scrawny shoulders and it was off, and Jonesy frowned at the map of pain on Ben's body. Behind him, he heard Lib with buckets, and soft voices. Ben looked up, startled, and fidgeted with discomfort; he pulled his stained shirt up against his body, hiding the damage.
Jonesy turned his head and saw a short parade of folks with buckets - Libby had a way of getting the hands to do what she needed done, and for once he didn't really care how she'd gone about it. "Don't mind them," Jonesy said, soft. "They don't matter."
It took them two trips to fill the tub up enough to make a bath of sorts, and then Jonesy pulled at Ben's shirt. "Come on," he said, giving it a good yank. Ben eyed the tent flap and his hands closed on the shirt even more tightly. "They won't be back," Jonesy added. Slowly, Ben's grip relaxed and Jonesy tossed the thing aside. It stank, but there wasn't time to get it washed; he'd have to put it back on. Ben stood up and his pants slid down his hips; without his shirt to cover his waist, it was clear how thin he had become. Jonesy turned away while Ben shucked those off, and then he climbed into the small tin tub.
"Got soap," Jonesy said, offering it up in his open palm. He handed it to Ben, who glanced up at him, embarrassed, and dunked the soap in the water.
"Smells girly," he said, and Jonesy snorted.
"Ought to; it's Libby's. She stole it from her ma."
"Weddin' present?" Ben smiled a little.
"Best we're likely to get." Jonesy stripped off his shirt and undershirt, and balled the undershirt up in his fist. Then he knelt by the tub. It was so easy, so effortless, that tears came to his eyes, and he ducked his head down. No need for anyone else to see that. His healed knee rested on the dirt, flat against the hard surface and completely without pain. Better, even, than when he was still pitching - not even any leftover aches from old hurts, before he'd been put out of commission. He dipped the shirt in the water and drew it up Ben's torso.
"Hey," Ben said, squirming.
"Shut up," Jonesy told him, and splashed the shirt in the water. "You look like you've never had a proper bath."
"So what if I ain't?" Ben said, but he stopped sloshing around. He was already shivering; the water was colder than a witch's teat. Jonesy drew the shirt up, followed it with his warm hand, as if he could push warmth into Ben's body through will alone. Goosebumps followed in the wake of his touch, and Ben stilled, not complaining. Jonesy soaped his shoulders, the curve of each arm; he scrubbed off what had to be a month's worth of grime, turning the water black in the process.
Ben hunched down, unaccustomed to being taken notice of, but that was all right. He had Jonesy now.
Libby fetched a clean shirt and pants for Ben, and when he was dressed, he stood there in his bare feet, hair dripping and swaying in little circles like a dust devil. When he looked up, Jonesy could see everything in his eyes, worlds of unwanted knowledge, things Jonesy couldn't even begin to understand.
There had been dead buzzards everywhere around them in the open desert, stiff black things with folded wings. The circle of death around Ben was closing tight, Jonesy could see that, whether of his own making or brought to him, plain as day.
"Only one chance," Ben said, as Jonesy put a hand flat on his chest to keep him from pitching forward. Ben's heart was hammering like it forgot to be tired. "You got no idea what the stakes are."
Jonesy eyed him. "I got some idea."
They made their way to the clean comfortable bed Libby stripped down for Ben, her best comforter overtop it all, and Ben near fell beside it instead of on it, just gave out and dropped like a stone. Jonesy bundled him into it and sat heavy beside him, resisting the urge to curl up on the ground and close his eyes.
Not too many gifts had come to Jonesy in his life. Libby, sure enough, and the carnival, that had been a fateful boon, too. Come along just when he needed it, and seen him through to Ben's side. With all the bitterness lifted, Jonesy could see it now, the path he'd been set on when his knee snapped that day, all the winding curves he'd limped around blind with no inkling of what was to come in the next ten steps.
Ben's chest rose and fell peaceful in the soft heavy heat of the day, but Jonesy couldn't sleep, not while there was a chance he'd be needed. It would be easy to walk the road, now that he could see his purpose and his destination clear.
end