BMC & DEH One-shots

I Care - Be More Chill [Jake]

A/N: some angsty Jake... let's give the boyo some love... oh and underline are flashbacks and underlined italics are letters.

Fucking Rich. Fucking SQUIP bullshit. Fucking feelings.

Life's shit. There's no doubt about that. If you think otherwise have your best friend burn down your house, your parents launder money and leave you when you were too young to remember, and burn all your possessions but a small box.

A small box, that's all I have left. No house, no family, no true friends. Just a stupid box full of smoke-scented letters from my parents. And I don't plan to get rid of it anytime soon.

June 1st 2003

Our dearest Jake,
You're father and I hope this letter finds you in great health. We just arrived in Moscow-

"Where's M...mm-oss-"The now 3 year old Jake piped up.

"Moscow dear?"

"Yeah that one!"

His Uncle Joel — or so he preferred to be called — wheeled up to the great map hung upon little Jake's bedroom wall.

Red dotted stickers scattered across different places. From Canada to Greenland to Australia, each place marked where his parents had traveled committing felonies.... not that Jake knew of course — his poor aunt and uncle didn't have the heart to tell the boy.

Jake rushed out of his bed to stick a sticker in the spot his uncle pointed. That made... 1... 2... 12 stickers on the map.

"Keep reading Aunty Lily!"

We just arrived in Moscow! It's been such a long time since we last saw our little guy. But we write to you not to reminisce but to let you know how much we think of you and hope you grow up strong without us. Our brave, handsome Jake!
As for life on the road, little has changed with us. But an exhilarating and adventurous life is what we wish for! I wonder if when we get back we would recognise you after such along time, though I think you'd recognise us — your father an I that is. It would mean a lot to me if you sent us a photo! I've taken one for you myself.
We miss you so much!
Love,
Mom and Dad.

As promised, Jake's parents had included a photo of themselves in the middle of a street in the rain. They were exactly the same as he remembered. His mother's hair never longer than just above her shoulders. His father's hair slicked back. Not a single imperfection. And there would be none in Jake. For he was a Dillinger, and Dillinger's were always perfect.

It was that night that Jake dreamed of seeing his parents the next day.

I smiled slightly, reading the letter. That same summer Uncle Joel passed away at the age of 47. He'd lived a great life at least. Served his country till his legs fell off... well blew off.

It was a 'freak accident' — they'd said —in the military base in Pakistan. A missile aimed for the centre of camp. It managed to go through three shipping containers without exploding, that is until it hit a fellow soldier square in the chest a few feet away from Uncle Joel. It wrecked his legs completely — had them both amputated within the week. But that had never stopped him from being the best Uncle I could ever wish for. And I wish he was still here. But you can't expect luck to last forever.

I continued to read the letters, each one getting less frequent and smaller. The photos stopped coming 4 years ago, and the last letter came 2 months after my birthday last year.