[Fic] Andrew/Jesse -- Meet Jesse Eisenberg
Title: Meet Jesse Eisenberg [Ao3]
Series: The Social Network RPF/Meet Joe Black fusion
Pairing/Characters: Andrew Garfield/Jesse Eisenberg
Rating: PG-13
Total length: 1135 words
Warnings: Jesse as Death, crack, I don't even know anymore
Summary: "This isn't the set of Meet Joe Black, Jesse, so just stop it."
Author's Note: Yeah, not sure where this one came from either.
"This isn't the set of Meet Joe Black, Jesse, so just stop it."
There's an irrational giggle building in the back of his throat, even though there's something inside of him, something beneath his ribs that aches, because Meet Jesse Eisenburg doesn't have quite the same ring to it, though the sentiment is the same.
He can feel Andrew's heart from where he's standing, too fast, too scared-can hear the blood singing in his veins. From where he's standing, Andrew's fear is a tangible thing and he wants nothing more than to make it go away. "No," he admits, "it's not."
And then, he's glancing up at Andrew through his lashes, watching the way Andrew's eyes widen, how he licks his lips, nervous and maybe a little bit scared and he doesn't want to say it but he has to, so he holds himself still and whispers, "in Meet Joe Black, Death came for the father-"
-Andrew chokes a little bit, a stifled almost sob in the back of his throat and fuck-
"-not the person he loved."
.
Stop and restructure. Stories should never begin at the end.
.
Jesse likes cats. He likes them quite a lot in fact, bringing in kittens through his high school years and finally registering as a foster parent when he has enough money to branch out on his own. As it turns out, Death likes cats too, though that isn't very surprising considering they're all but the same person.
What's more surprising is how the cats actually like him back. Considering the whole Death thing.
Maybe it has something to do with the nine lives bit.
He- they like the cats because the cats accept them the way that dogs and hamsters and snakes and birds and people do not. Cats get that he's not there for them, and that even if he was, it's inevitable. Maybe he's giving cats a bit too much credit, but he likes to pretend that there's something in the world that understands him, just a bit.
.
He was born like any other kid. He has a mother (who smiles too much and works as a clown and loves him unconditionally) and a father (who maybe works too much, but loves them just the same) and two sisters (who like to pretend that they don't like him, but who are they fooling, anyway.)
He came into the world the way that infants have a tendency to do, wailing and covered in blood and afterbirth.
He went to school and did his homework and maybe he didn't try too hard to make many friends, but lots of kids are a bit reclusive. It wasn't a Death thing.
It comes about naturally, for the most part. There's no burst of light and suddenly, Jesse Eisenburg walks into the world, fully formed and ready to take some souls.
There are movies about Death. Books. Games. Television shows.
He doesn't like them. They make him seem too superfluous.
Also, half of them have a tendency to give him reapers, which to his knowledge, has never really been a thing.
It's always been him. Just him. Sometimes he's just Death-and he certainly doesn't have a scythe or a black cloak or look like a skeleton, not when he's like that-though when he was eight, he'd considered it the height of entertainment to dress in them for Halloween.
Most of the time he takes human form, he thinks. When he's young, things are a bit hazy. It takes him four years for him to realize that things dropping dead around him isn't normal, and another two and a half before he starts remembering that he hasn't always been Jesse. Another year before he starts to relearn control, recognizing the signs of those close to him and remembering that he doesn't always have to touch them.
Jesse himself can't be all over the world at once. He can't be physically present for every single death, every nanosecond-he just can't. His very human brain doesn't even have the capacity to comprehend such a fact. So Death isn't always with hi-like little parts of himself are off doing his job at all times.
Jesse Eisenburg has never truly been whole-all of himself in one place at one point in time. He just hasn't. He's used to it. Death is used to this.
.
The acting thing is mostly an accident. He wasn't lying when he said that when playing a role, he felt more comfortable. It was true, because his whole life is that. A role that he's meant to be playing, a life that he keeps going so that people don't notice that sometimes, when people catch his eyes on the subway, they drop dead. (Though it doesn't usually go like that, of course. He does know how to be subtle.)
.
And then he meets Andrew. Gorgeous, brilliant, wonderful Andrew that makes him think of Joan of Arc and King Arthur and all that's good in the world-all those heroes that are seeded into the fabric of time itself. Andrew, who has a time limit.
.
See, everyone has a clock. Everyone-it's just that Andrew's is significantly shorter than most.
.
"In the movie-" Andrew has to stop, clear his throat. His eyes are dark, wet. He shudders. "In the movie, doesn't Death want to take her with him?"
It hurts. More than anything else-more than taking his first cat when he was nine- more than taking his best friend when he was twelve. Jesse breathes in, lets himself go silent and still, stroking a thumb along the curve of Andrew's cheek. He breathes out and it comes out wet, ragged. "More than anything, I want you to live."
.
"So now what?"
"Everyone dies, Andrew."
Everyone dies.
He goes easily.
Three days later, Jesse Eisenburg disappears.
There are rumors, of course. Speculation of suicide pacts-of too much grief. Of a love story behind closed doors and the one left behind.
Jesse doesn't care.
Being mortal hurts.
.
He doesn't know what day it is. What year-what month-what lifetime. What he does know, is that for once, he's there for a birth.
The woman, the mother-she wasn't due for twins. The ultrasound had always shown just one child, a healthy baby boy. They'd had a name picked out.
What she ends up with are twin boys-fraternal, one with his father's dark eyes, dark hair, and dimples that crinkle the corner of his smile-the other with a head of messy dark curls and blue eyes that seem too old for the world.
Jesse is no longer Jesse, and Andrew is no longer Andrew-lost in the pages of the world's history.
But who's to say that they can't have a happy ending, anyway?