victory_road | So you want to be a Pokemon Master?

[The squeeze is nice, but it's not enough. Josh doesn't move, doesn't let go, isn't even breathing at the moment. He's imagined an encounter like this a few times — what he'd do if one of his friends turned up, how happy he'd be and how quickly heartbreak would follow on that happiness's heels.

But Sam's not dead. This isn't Hell. This isn't Heaven, either. He's not sure where it is, and the weird animals aren't giving him any clues. Right now, though, that doesn't really matter. One thing at a time.

Sam is going to have to pry himself away if he wants this embrace to break anytime soon.]

I missed you.

[The words are muffled against Sam's shoulder, but they're clear as a heavenly bell nonetheless.]

[ Sam gets it. And he sure as hell isn't about to get himself out of it even if the wings out the corner of his eye are large, in charge, and more than a little... Yeah.

Another ache stabs at his chest hearing Josh and he almost catches himself saying he missed him too but— That's not right. It isn't. He swallows hard because he hasn't had to miss Josh because his Josh apparently didn't get the short straw (and when the short straw wasn't a day's worth of surgery and months of recovery what the hell did that say about how the universe works?). ]

...Donna's Canadian.

[ He blurts it out against Josh's neck because. Because— In all the things that Josh has missed out on without being missed — the Congressional censure, Leo's hearings, Ritchie and the election, Toby and the kids, Horton Wilde, and oh, god, Mrs. Landingham — it's too much. There were good days in there, successes, but when Sam looks back at the scorecard right now it's with bleak eyes and the doubt that any of them could've happened without Josh there egging them on and driving them all insane.

Also because all else aside, Sam's brain is weird in the way that Josh's is and as soon as he says it he thinks it was the right thing to say. ]

[That was absolutely the right thing to say. His eyes were just on the verge of burning and he was poised to jump the very thin line between "crying" and "not crying" — he could feel it in his throat, even, that swelling tightness — but when Sam says Donna's Canadian, Josh pulls away with a look of disbelief on his face.

No sadness, no grief, no anger.

Just disbelief.

And then, slowly, his expression cracks into a grin, and sure enough, he starts to laugh. His hands are still on Sam's upper arms and he's still holding him in place like he's afraid that if he lets go Sam might disappear, but now he's laughing.]

What? Canadian? Did she defect?

[ For a split second Sam is sure he's screwed up, that he's taken what is and should stay a serious moment and ruined it and Josh is about to start yelling at him. ...The bad kind of yelling, given how prone to yelling Josh was in general.

But then there's that smile and Sam returns it, with a little more waver than there ought to be but you take what you can get. And when it gets Josh to laugh? That's enough. ]

No, n- For Abbey's birthday the Secret Service found out something about the Wisconsin-Canadian border when and where she was born and— Turned out she was Canadian all along. Unbeknownst.

[ A disbelieving chuckle as he remembers the sudden swell of the orchestra playing O, Canada and the look on the President's face trying to figure out what the hell was going on. But even the memory doesn't undo the grip he's got on Josh's jacket. ]

I mean we fixed it, obviously, we weren't going to send her back to the Great White North but.

[That's actually hilarious.

What's weird, though, is that Josh doesn't know whether to laugh or cry about it. Because yes, it's hilarious, but it also breaks his heart to know that this is one of many, many things he's missed, but at the same time he's thrilled to see Sam and to be able to look into his stupidly, impossibly blue eyes again, and to hang onto him like he has a hundred times before in moments of uncertainty, and —

No, his own eyes are absolutely not watering, you're imagining things. It's allergies. They're in a forest, for crying out loud.

Josh laughs again, the sound a little tight in his throat.]

I mean, if you'd told me one of us was secretly Canadian this whole time, I would'a put my money on her.

I don't know, I think C.J. could make a decent moose.

[ It hurts more than words can say to see the play of emotions across Josh's face because Sam has said it before and it still holds true. Of all the things Josh could've done with his life— and it's a long list —a professional poker hasn't ever been one of them. All Sam can do is pretend not to notice and push on past it until the time when Josh can... Whatever it is he needs to do.

His adam's apple bobs again while he tries to keep the smile up for a couple minutes longer. ]

...I like the wings, you know. [ The admission puts crinkles in the corners of his eyes as he nods over Josh's shoulder. ] They're distinctive.

[Here's the worst part: Josh almost responds with, I'm telling her you said that.

It's reflexive and it makes him flinch. This isn't the first time he's nearly slipped like that, either, and there have been times he's slipped all the way. He calls out to Donna, still, about once every couple weeks. He sees something and he thinks of how he'd like to tell Sam about it. He runs into a problem and immediately wonders how packed Leo's schedule is, and would he have time for just a quick chat.

And it's not like Josh was ever good at hiding his emotions, but he's gotten so much worse at it since dying. Everything hits him a little harder, rubs him a little more raw.

He's working on it.]

They're a real pain in the ass. [Pause.] ...er, back. I can't even fly. They're just...

[Josh drops his hands from Sam's arms, finally, and rolls his shoulders. When his wings unfold, they're big — even the Noctowl watches. (But let's be real, that bird knows his are better. At least his work.)

If anything, Sam's right: They are distinctive. And some of the flecks in them match the color of Josh's hair, which is a bonus.

Mostly, though, he just thinks they're annoying.]

They get in the way.

[ His fingers go to Josh's elbow without thinking about it, offer some kind of grounding against all this and all of what Josh has to be going through— Has been going through, all of which Sam can't begin to start imagining. (A momentary flush of guilt washes up from his gut, wondering if maybe he's just making all this even worse.) Hell, he startles as the wings actually move because they're really real and not just— ]

Oh. Wow.

[ Yeah. ]

Are you going to be able to? I mean, at some point with the. [ And it looks ridiculous but Sam still raises his arms a bit to make a flapping motion with his wrists. ] Would be kind of pointless otherwise. And definitely in the way with any attempt to flop out on a couch.

[ Never mind that he's not a physicist and there are likely several reasons a physicist could trot out about how these wings likely shouldn't work but then again... Josh shouldn't have these wings in the first place. He shouldn't be dead in the first place and the pain runs raw through him again. ]

They do suit you. The colors, I mean. It's nice.

Not unless they get a lot bigger. Physics.

[Seriously, why do birds get to have all the fun? Stupid birds and their stupid hollow bones. Yeah, he's looking at you, little Fletchling who's been playing voyeur on this very personal moment from the start. And you too, Toby.

Not that Josh is looking at Toby.

Josh kind of wants to forget there's a giant owl standing there behind him in the first place for a number of reasons, the foremost of which is, of course, the fact that it's too goddamn big. The second of which is that it makes him think that maybe this is a dream, really, and he can't say he's ready to wake up from it yet if it is. Luckily, talking to Sam, and Sam's hand on his arm, and Sam complimenting him helps him forget that detail. For the moment.]

It's all for show. Heaven likes their pomp.

[Which is his way of casually dropping him being an angel into the conversation.

This is an invitation for ribbing, and he hopes Sam picks up on that.]

Oh.

[ Confusion scrunches his forehead because that just seems wrong but physics has never been Sam's thing and he'll take Josh's word on it as a better expert than himself. Also as the guy with the wings.

But... Yeah. That's some bait that Sam can't go and ignore. ]

So you really got all the way up— There? And there is a There?

[ But he can't make himself make fun of Josh just yet because— Because! This is the big question that mankind's been batting around since the beginning and when the hell else is Sam going to get another opportunity to find out about it? The idea is staggering even if delivered around the awful way he's finding out, the awful way Josh had to find out but that can't stop... It can't. Not that Sam is terribly religious, nothing compared to Toby's quiet faith or the President's obvious and staggeringly solid beliefs, but that doesn't much matter. Clearly not since he can't remember a time Josh hit up a temple that wasn't while visiting his mom.

And so quiet and curious, he asks: ]

What's it like?

[So here's an answer Sam probably wasn't expecting:] It sucks.

[Josh says this as easily and matter-of-factly as he's ever said anything sucks. The hot dogs from the cart right on Pennsylvania Avenue? They suck. The weather in the middle of February? It sucks. Leeches? They suck. Literally.

And Josh feels kind of bad, because he can imagine what Sam must be picturing in his mind, but — ]

It's beautiful, but it's boring. I was bored. I was so bored that I decided to go work in Hell instead. That's where I've been. Hell. Which also sucks, but not as much, in my opinion, as Heaven.

[And then he adds, almost as an afterthought:] And they're both run by corporations, capitalism is still very much a thing, and you would not believe the bureaucratic incompetence. Makes our government look like the world's most well-oiled machine. Sam, it's ridiculous.

[And by that he means literally everything about the afterlife. It's all ridiculous, as far as Josh is concerned, in the truest sense of the word.]

Oh. [ Yeah, definitely not what Sam expects, suddenly and visibly deflated. ] Talk about your curveballs.

[ "Beautiful" is tacked on, a drop-in that barely counts given everything else Josh says and the way he says it. The usual Hallmark-packaged images of fluffy clouds and harps flashes through his mind, the whole eternal peace of it all— And then he shrugs with a rueful smile from knowing Josh way too well. ]

...Though on second thought, maybe not all that surprising.

[ The most miserable he's ever seen Josh is when he feels stuck in the mud with nothing to do, and he always makes everyone around him just as miserable so yeah. Not so much fitting behind pearly gates. ]

You chose to go to Hell? [ Sam allows a moment for that to truly sink in. ] You know about half the population of Capitol Hill would be able to make no less than a few dozen jokes about that little fact, my friend.

Well, so many people have told me to go there in the past that when the opportunity presented itself, I figured I might as well check it out.

[He grins a lopsided grin.]

I hear jokes on a daily basis, anyway — turns out it's pretty surprising when a politician goes to Heaven. [And if pride really were a cardinal sin, and if the system really worked that way, Josh would've been kicked out on the spot.] But Hell's not so bad.

[Pause.

Continued pause.

Slightly reluctant half-shrug.]

I kinda like it.

Yeah, I bet.

[ The jokes make themselves, and easily so given they've been made for years. When tempers were short and everyone was cranky and biting each other's head off, Sam likely made about fourteen himself. Even odds whether it's remembering days like that or seeing Josh smile now that has Sam smiling back. ]

You mean the work there, right? Liking it. And not... Being in Hell? Because I remember the few times you coming out to the West Coast and hearing nothing but moans about the constant heat.

[ And never mind everything else that comes to mind when discussing Satan's backyard. ...Although. ]

A Jewish angel choosing to work in Hell. [ Huh. ] I feel like this warranted a whole new page added under "irony" in Merriam-Webster.

[Josh almost looks guilty for what he's about to say, but that doesn't stop him from saying it anyway:] Little bit of both?

[His voice arcs up at the end, conveying only slight uncertainty. He's not sure if it's his work that makes Hell tolerable, or if Hell is oddly tolerable on its own, even in spite of the heat. Josh feels like admitting this is baring some huge personality flaw, but then again, this is Sam.

Sam, who has a mental catalogue of Josh's personality flaws.]

It's simultaneously both as bad and not as bad as you think. You, uh, get used to the heat pretty quickly.

[ Catalogued and alphabetized and growing by the week, but Sam hardly thinks of them. Know why? 'Cause Josh has the same catalog of Sam's various fuck-ups and shortcomings.

Sam lets the words sink in, brow furrowing as he picks apart the words Josh gives him to find what he really means, what's actually behind it and why Josh looks the way he does when he says them. If he's that concerned, the least Sam can do is take them with the consideration they're due without brushing any of it off. Josh is worth more than that. Slowly, ]

...I'm glad, then. I mean if this is the situation and— [ His eyes flicker over the impressive wingspan before settling back on Josh's face. ] —seems like it is, I'd still want you to be happy so. If you are, that's all I need to know.

[ A pause, and then he sucks in a breath. ]

Sure, I'd like to know more but the basic thing of— You're doing work. And because it's you and I know you, I know it's gotta be good work or you wouldn't bother with it. [ A reassuring smile follows, those blue eyes searching Josh's face to see if the words hit home. ] That's enough.

[The words do more than hit home. The words make his throat go tight and his eyes well up, because for as much as he knows the work he's doing is good, is valuable, is necessary — for all that people have praised him or at least expressed their approval of his efforts, none of it was, none of it is, worth as much as it is coming from Sam's mouth.

He'll find himself gathered into a hug again, Josh pressing his face down and against Sam's shoulder. He mutters, against the fabric:] I keep wishing you were there, you and Donna and CJ and Toby. Leo. The President. But then I remember what that would mean. I'm sorry.

[He doesn't know if the apology is for wishing for their presence in the afterlife, or if he's sorry for dying in the first place, or if he's sorry for hugging Sam like this again, or what.]

[ Whatever Josh thinks he's apologizing for, Sam does his best to head him off at the pass. It's difficult to rub at his back with those flipping wings in the way but Sam isn't above trying once he's got a hold of Josh again. ]

No, no no no, h- [ A deep breath of whatever weird supernatural dry cleaner Heaven or Hell uses for their angel emissaries. ] Hey, no. It's all right. You're allowed to miss us. That's okay.

[ He caught the look on Josh's face before he buried it against his shoulder and his grip becomes tighter, readier to hold Josh up for as long as he needs. As long as he wants it. He can't say he feels the same, not when Josh (his Josh, maybe? or would that make this weirder than it already is, quantum realities aside) is still back at the office, but he can try to put himself in Josh's shoes and...

It's not a happy fit at all. ]

Reverse our positions and I'd be crying for Cathy to show up and give me one more stink-eye.

[ The sort-of brand of humor worked before, so Sam can give it a second shot but with a keener sense of truth. They've all gotten this far together, become this singular unit of force to the point where Sam imagines a future and can't conceive any of them not being there. A pie in the sky dream, to be sure, but he can't help it. They're family. ]

[It's worked before and it works now; Josh laughs, or makes a sound that's similar to a laugh, at least. He knew Sam would get it. It's those little details he misses most: the stink-eyes from the assistants and the way Donna would fuss with his tie whenever it wasn't perfect and the sound of Leo's always-certain voice and CJ's heels and the scent of cigar smoke clinging to Toby despite numerous dry-cleaning efforts and Sam's entire bright-eyed presence. Bits and pieces, tiny things in the grand scheme of it all, but amounting to a very painful, very real sense of homesickness.

He inhales as much of the air-around-Sam as his lungs will allow, then exhales so slowly it's almost like he's counting the duration of it in his head.

Which he is.]

...and now this.

[Whatever the Hell this is. Josh looks up to find the giant owl still watching them.

Watching them, still, even though there's something rustling around in the bushes not five feet away.]

Sam, I think the owl's judging us.

So you want to be a Pokemon Master?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject