Fic: Extra-Dimensional Affairs
Title: Extra-Dimensional Affairs
Author: vinvy
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jet-Star/Ray Toro
Word Count: 1542
Warnings: profanity, awkward situations, science fiction
Disclaimer: About as real as a unipegacornisus.
Summary: This'd be a weird relationship to explain to the parents.
A/N: Written for julorean in response to her request.
There’s a blue butterfly in a mason jar on Ray’s desk. There aren’t any holes in the lid because the insect doesn’t need to breathe- it isn’t alive despite how accurately it’s built. It’s name is Absalom. It’s wings glimmer sometimes from the electricity going through the membranous fibers. It flits over to a lilac branch Ray stuck in the jar earlier that week. The lilacs are mostly dead and Jet wants to bring Ray flowers that are made like the butterfly.
Ray pushes a pile of sheet music aside so he can sprawl out on his bed while watching Absalom. The butterfly’s wings open and shut lazily. It’s hard to believe it isn’t real.
He supposes it’s strange that he’s accepting gifts from himself. Having an affair with himself is even stranger. Jet Star isn’t Ray Toro, though. They share the same DNA and a knack for music and they both have a certain fondness for Japanese culture but that’s the end of it.
Jet talks in a lower register and carries a gun. (Once he admitted to killing a man just for the sake of killing him- no personal or moral reason. The man had been buying groceries and Jet had shot him.) Jet’s walk is different- predatory with a hint at the ability to outstrip anyone who tried to chase him. His hair goes lank in the humidity- apparently this version of LA is humid compared to his. In Jet’s world wars are fought over water and freedom, not oil and money. He’s an outlaw straight out of Gerard’s imagination and Ray is bursting to confess that this other version of himself exists.
Ray’s phone vibrates on the desk, startling Absalom into a flurry of movement away from the peace of his branch. Frank is on the other end of the line, looking for someone to puzzle out chord progressions with. Half-way through making the case for the key of A minor instead of C he cuts himself off. The silence and lack of white noise makes Ray wonder if the call got dropped.
“What’s the matter, Frank?”
“This shit feels wrong. Old. Y’know what I mean?”
Ray knows. The whole band knows but Frank is the first to really articulate it. “We’re turning into rickety-boned old men. We’ve got to do something about that.”
“Scrapping this record will be a bitch- it’s so close to perfect.”
That means that Frank’s already been thinking about it. Ray grins. “Not all of it, just the bland parts. Tomorrow we’ll call a band meeting and get out collective shit together. We can do this.”
“Thanks, Ray,” Frank says, sounding relieved.
When he hangs up a minute later and looks around his room he crawls out of his skin. He doesn’t usually miss the metallic smell and buzz of time and space bending but this time he did.
“How goes it?”
Ray will never get used to seeing Jet Star with an eye-patch. At least there won’t be a frantic and bloody trip to the hospital and lies about cosplaying twins this time.
He sits up, stretching to pop his back. “Hey. It’s alright. Album angst but that’s not new. It’s not as bad as the last one, at least.”
“Ridin’ a stagnant brain wave? I hate it when that happens- feels too much like nitros.” Jet sits close beside him, their legs touching. “You and your monsters probably need some new notes. Jenna Vain and the Carotids are good.”
“They don’t exist here.”
Jet makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat (for the umpteenth time Ray wonders if he sounds like that). “Fucking interdimensional travel.”
Ray laughs and rests his head on Jet’s shoulder, swallowing the instinctive discomfort that comes from being too close to the alternate version of himself. He’s getting a lot better at that.
Jet works his arm around Ray’s shoulders and kisses the top of his head. “You smell clean.”
“You smell like dust and dog food.”
“You know you love it.”
He turns his head so Jet will feel Ray’s lips moving against his throat when he speaks. “Yes, I do.” A barely-noticeable shiver. There are benefits to being the same person.
“By far the cleanest thing I’ve smelled since last time I was here,” Jet continues to muse while Ray runs his fingers over the crooked zipper teeth of Jet’s jacket.
“I thought LA was clean in your world?”
“No, it’s sterile. That’s a worse smell than Party, Ghoul and Kobra combined after a dogfight in acid rain.”
Ray surprises himself with a loud laugh- he’s thought something similar about his bandmates too many times. “Do they really look like the rest of the band?”
Jet takes a minute to respond, thinking on the pictures Ray has shown him over the years. “Yes. They’ve got different hair and attitudes- yours are kinder- but they look the same.”
“Will you take me to meet them?”
So far only Jet has been able to go through the wormhole beside Ray’s closet. Ray’s tried and has only ended up walking into the wall and feeling like an idiot. In theory he could get through with Jet, though.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The list could go through all seven sectors, Ray. The guys would shoot you on sight because they’d assume you were a clone. If that didn’t happen right away the radiation could kill you or give you cancer-”
“- or a nasty sunburn-”
“- the toxins and diseases in the air could poison you- I have immunities that you don’t. There could be a raid on your safe house. You might end up shot or worse, taken in for questioning. They’d torture you until they found out where you came from, then they’d kill you. After that they’d work out a way to use this wormhole to colonize your universe. Your family, friends and fans would all either die or become servants to the corporation.”
“You’ve found yourself a regular double shot of sunshine, Ray.”
Gerard is standing in the doorway. Ray pulls away from Jet so fast he bangs his head on the wall. He’s forgotten that Gerard has a key to his apartment.
“You are one hell of a killjoy, dude. Hey, is that thing real? Like, does it make the sounds or is it just resin?” He gestures to the laser gun Jet has pointed at him and keeps walking into the room.
Jet cocks the gun- it hums and gives off steady heat in his gloved hand. “He’s as cocky as Party is, that’s for sure.”
Ray gapes at them both.
“What party? Ray, Frank’s got a new track bug and he says it can’t wait for tomorrow. You aren’t answering your phone, either.”
Jet cautiously lowers the gun, his eye fixed on Gerard. “Party is a person.”
“Oh. Cool name. You two seem close, Ray,” Gerard continues, “so tell me, does this guy ever smile?”
Ray finally finds his vocal cords. “You’re okay with this?”
“Interdimensional travelers that pop up out of wormholes? Fuck yeah- it rocks. Only if he isn’t an alien zombie who’s after your brain- I need that thing. He can probe you all he wants, though. That shit ain’t my business.”
Jet Star laughs at that and Gerard laughs too and it’s like they’re old friends. Ray is having a hard time wrapping his head around it- maybe Mikey can help him sort this out later?
“Okay, Ray: you, my, studio, ASAP as per Frank’s frantic orders. We’ll hit Starbuck’s on the way, yes?”
Ray gives Jet a reluctant glance- the worst part about their weird relationship is the parting. He never knows when Jet will be back. If he’ll be back.
Jet slides off the bed and pulls Ray up with him. “Go make something to save the world- I only had a few minutes anyway. We’re running patrol tonight.” He kisses Ray, a gentle collision of lips and a touch of tongue to leave him blushing. “Next time I’ll bring flowers for Absalom.”
The wall undulates as Jet walks through it and for a second Ray can see what might be a car on the other side. Whatever it is, it’s very colorful.
Gerard’s jaw hangs slack, a lock of his hair stuck to the corner of his mouth. “I thought that was just a role play thing.”
“I have no use for role play- the real thing is so much hotter,” Ray says, leading him out of the apartment by the shoulder of his jacket.
“So he’s, like, your clone?”
“No, he’s me, but he’s not. Alternate universes, Gee.”
“Oh. Damn.”
“Come on- we have an album to destroy.”
Gerard smiles, locking the door, “Yeah, fuck perfection. I want beauty.”
When My Chemical Romance emerges from the studio early the next morning they’re all sore from working muscles they’d neglected. Their ears are ringing. The hiatus is over and they’re shouting and giddy.
Ray stumbles into his apartment humming and feeling high on music. There’s a sprig from a cherry tree in the butterfly jar on Ray’s desk that will never wilt and die. Ray grins when he notices it. He falls into bed and his dreams smell like dust and dog food.
Author: vinvy
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jet-Star/Ray Toro
Word Count: 1542
Warnings: profanity, awkward situations, science fiction
Disclaimer: About as real as a unipegacornisus.
Summary: This'd be a weird relationship to explain to the parents.
A/N: Written for julorean in response to her request.
There’s a blue butterfly in a mason jar on Ray’s desk. There aren’t any holes in the lid because the insect doesn’t need to breathe- it isn’t alive despite how accurately it’s built. It’s name is Absalom. It’s wings glimmer sometimes from the electricity going through the membranous fibers. It flits over to a lilac branch Ray stuck in the jar earlier that week. The lilacs are mostly dead and Jet wants to bring Ray flowers that are made like the butterfly.
Ray pushes a pile of sheet music aside so he can sprawl out on his bed while watching Absalom. The butterfly’s wings open and shut lazily. It’s hard to believe it isn’t real.
He supposes it’s strange that he’s accepting gifts from himself. Having an affair with himself is even stranger. Jet Star isn’t Ray Toro, though. They share the same DNA and a knack for music and they both have a certain fondness for Japanese culture but that’s the end of it.
Jet talks in a lower register and carries a gun. (Once he admitted to killing a man just for the sake of killing him- no personal or moral reason. The man had been buying groceries and Jet had shot him.) Jet’s walk is different- predatory with a hint at the ability to outstrip anyone who tried to chase him. His hair goes lank in the humidity- apparently this version of LA is humid compared to his. In Jet’s world wars are fought over water and freedom, not oil and money. He’s an outlaw straight out of Gerard’s imagination and Ray is bursting to confess that this other version of himself exists.
Ray’s phone vibrates on the desk, startling Absalom into a flurry of movement away from the peace of his branch. Frank is on the other end of the line, looking for someone to puzzle out chord progressions with. Half-way through making the case for the key of A minor instead of C he cuts himself off. The silence and lack of white noise makes Ray wonder if the call got dropped.
“What’s the matter, Frank?”
“This shit feels wrong. Old. Y’know what I mean?”
Ray knows. The whole band knows but Frank is the first to really articulate it. “We’re turning into rickety-boned old men. We’ve got to do something about that.”
“Scrapping this record will be a bitch- it’s so close to perfect.”
That means that Frank’s already been thinking about it. Ray grins. “Not all of it, just the bland parts. Tomorrow we’ll call a band meeting and get out collective shit together. We can do this.”
“Thanks, Ray,” Frank says, sounding relieved.
When he hangs up a minute later and looks around his room he crawls out of his skin. He doesn’t usually miss the metallic smell and buzz of time and space bending but this time he did.
“How goes it?”
Ray will never get used to seeing Jet Star with an eye-patch. At least there won’t be a frantic and bloody trip to the hospital and lies about cosplaying twins this time.
He sits up, stretching to pop his back. “Hey. It’s alright. Album angst but that’s not new. It’s not as bad as the last one, at least.”
“Ridin’ a stagnant brain wave? I hate it when that happens- feels too much like nitros.” Jet sits close beside him, their legs touching. “You and your monsters probably need some new notes. Jenna Vain and the Carotids are good.”
“They don’t exist here.”
Jet makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat (for the umpteenth time Ray wonders if he sounds like that). “Fucking interdimensional travel.”
Ray laughs and rests his head on Jet’s shoulder, swallowing the instinctive discomfort that comes from being too close to the alternate version of himself. He’s getting a lot better at that.
Jet works his arm around Ray’s shoulders and kisses the top of his head. “You smell clean.”
“You smell like dust and dog food.”
“You know you love it.”
He turns his head so Jet will feel Ray’s lips moving against his throat when he speaks. “Yes, I do.” A barely-noticeable shiver. There are benefits to being the same person.
“By far the cleanest thing I’ve smelled since last time I was here,” Jet continues to muse while Ray runs his fingers over the crooked zipper teeth of Jet’s jacket.
“I thought LA was clean in your world?”
“No, it’s sterile. That’s a worse smell than Party, Ghoul and Kobra combined after a dogfight in acid rain.”
Ray surprises himself with a loud laugh- he’s thought something similar about his bandmates too many times. “Do they really look like the rest of the band?”
Jet takes a minute to respond, thinking on the pictures Ray has shown him over the years. “Yes. They’ve got different hair and attitudes- yours are kinder- but they look the same.”
“Will you take me to meet them?”
So far only Jet has been able to go through the wormhole beside Ray’s closet. Ray’s tried and has only ended up walking into the wall and feeling like an idiot. In theory he could get through with Jet, though.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The list could go through all seven sectors, Ray. The guys would shoot you on sight because they’d assume you were a clone. If that didn’t happen right away the radiation could kill you or give you cancer-”
“- or a nasty sunburn-”
“- the toxins and diseases in the air could poison you- I have immunities that you don’t. There could be a raid on your safe house. You might end up shot or worse, taken in for questioning. They’d torture you until they found out where you came from, then they’d kill you. After that they’d work out a way to use this wormhole to colonize your universe. Your family, friends and fans would all either die or become servants to the corporation.”
“You’ve found yourself a regular double shot of sunshine, Ray.”
Gerard is standing in the doorway. Ray pulls away from Jet so fast he bangs his head on the wall. He’s forgotten that Gerard has a key to his apartment.
“You are one hell of a killjoy, dude. Hey, is that thing real? Like, does it make the sounds or is it just resin?” He gestures to the laser gun Jet has pointed at him and keeps walking into the room.
Jet cocks the gun- it hums and gives off steady heat in his gloved hand. “He’s as cocky as Party is, that’s for sure.”
Ray gapes at them both.
“What party? Ray, Frank’s got a new track bug and he says it can’t wait for tomorrow. You aren’t answering your phone, either.”
Jet cautiously lowers the gun, his eye fixed on Gerard. “Party is a person.”
“Oh. Cool name. You two seem close, Ray,” Gerard continues, “so tell me, does this guy ever smile?”
Ray finally finds his vocal cords. “You’re okay with this?”
“Interdimensional travelers that pop up out of wormholes? Fuck yeah- it rocks. Only if he isn’t an alien zombie who’s after your brain- I need that thing. He can probe you all he wants, though. That shit ain’t my business.”
Jet Star laughs at that and Gerard laughs too and it’s like they’re old friends. Ray is having a hard time wrapping his head around it- maybe Mikey can help him sort this out later?
“Okay, Ray: you, my, studio, ASAP as per Frank’s frantic orders. We’ll hit Starbuck’s on the way, yes?”
Ray gives Jet a reluctant glance- the worst part about their weird relationship is the parting. He never knows when Jet will be back. If he’ll be back.
Jet slides off the bed and pulls Ray up with him. “Go make something to save the world- I only had a few minutes anyway. We’re running patrol tonight.” He kisses Ray, a gentle collision of lips and a touch of tongue to leave him blushing. “Next time I’ll bring flowers for Absalom.”
The wall undulates as Jet walks through it and for a second Ray can see what might be a car on the other side. Whatever it is, it’s very colorful.
Gerard’s jaw hangs slack, a lock of his hair stuck to the corner of his mouth. “I thought that was just a role play thing.”
“I have no use for role play- the real thing is so much hotter,” Ray says, leading him out of the apartment by the shoulder of his jacket.
“So he’s, like, your clone?”
“No, he’s me, but he’s not. Alternate universes, Gee.”
“Oh. Damn.”
“Come on- we have an album to destroy.”
Gerard smiles, locking the door, “Yeah, fuck perfection. I want beauty.”
When My Chemical Romance emerges from the studio early the next morning they’re all sore from working muscles they’d neglected. Their ears are ringing. The hiatus is over and they’re shouting and giddy.
Ray stumbles into his apartment humming and feeling high on music. There’s a sprig from a cherry tree in the butterfly jar on Ray’s desk that will never wilt and die. Ray grins when he notices it. He falls into bed and his dreams smell like dust and dog food.