There Are Bro Words To Say

The last thing Crash wanted to do was let the Anglo Luchador down with the belts on the line. He knew it was gonna be a dog fight but he didn't know how big the other dog’s bites really were. So, now with another reminder occupying the left side of his face of exactly what kind of fuckbuckets he's dealing with, Jason Jackson scrolls his phone with a customary plate of perfectly cooked doggies next to him. He looks up for a few seconds into the corner of the room, where VP is crouching and facing the wall, as the Northern Light chews the inside of his cheek.

“You hungry, Purps?”

Her head whips backwards at the sudden burst of noise. Her head jerks around jarringly, never even looking at Crash. His eyes monitor her position because, as he has found out, anything can trigger her after everything she's been through at Winter’s Port.

Poor fuckin' thing…

He pulls off a no-look-grab off the plate of hotdogs, turning most of his attention back to his phone. What could be so important that the Hot Dog Hero doesn't even look at his hotdogs or takes his eyes off a potential threat in the same room?

That fuckin’ deadly slash fine ass Timelord, bro.

“I suppose I owe this… chick?... a proper thank you, for sendin’ me into the crosshairs of the Neck Collector at Culture Shock, right?”

This time VP jumps up, spins 180 degrees, and now faces Crash in a crouch, hugging her knees, but locking in on him from the corner. Hearing her landing, Crash’s eyes go wide as his heart rate increases.

That can’t be good, bro.

The two just stare at each other in silence. Her eyes are saying something, maybe even yelling it, but he can't quite figure out what. Whatever it is, it's not empathetic or understanding.

She's probably tellin’ me that it's time to quit wearin’ the kid gloves with these assholes and start collectin’ documented souls and necks and all that heavy shit, bro. Especially now that I have my two dudes backin’ me up…

The time is now.

“It's not that plain and simple, Purps…”

Crash's focus shatters. His thoughts go towards Max. The Red Army. Everything that happens when he takes the fight to the monsters and, in turn, unleashes their even nastier sides. Dawkins. Ivan. Glue and their newfound belts. The Whoresmen. His eyes go back to his mute muse.

Anna goddamn Daniels

“Every time I get to this point, when it's time to get after it… I get everyone around me hurt. I can't do that to you. Not again “

VP does a combat roll towards Jackson, snatching a pen out of nowhere, and springs up in an instant. She presses the tip against his throat. The close encounter becomes even more real as he tries to swallow his most recent bite of hotdog. He prepares for a slow, painful death while peering deep into her emerald green, sunken eyes. His lack of defiance enrages her to the point she whips the pen across the room just before gripping him by the shoulder and gives him a slap that echoes off the walls

Hey now. Better stop flirtin’ with me, girl!

She presses him in the chest, rocking him backwards but not enough to warrant a reaction. She pushes him five more times, pounding her fist into his chest at points, each with more and more…

Is that emotion, bro? Hmm…

The final push is the big one. It's fueled by understandable rage and hate and fear and every fuckin’ feeling under the sun that she felt in Winter’s Port. The shit she can't shake. Crash finally tries to disarm her by grabbing her wrists. The surprise is in how easily she gives up and falls into his arms before she lets out a guttural scream into his chest.

Fuck dude.

He knows what she's saying without saying anything at all. He knows what needs to happen. The pair of war-torn companions sit in the raw emotional cloud that clouds the room for a long ten minutes, feeling her lips quivering against his chest, as he simply holds her with the only intention of letting her know one thing.

“I'll keep you safe.”

Or I'll fuckin’ die tryin’.

Violent Purple eventually lifts her head. Crash sees the tears, running like water off a roof in the middle of a downpour, and tries to wipe them away. That's a huge mistake because she instinctively parties his away before shoving the crown of her head into his face right where the 2 iron landed.

“Fuuuuuuck me!”

She goes into shock, not knowing what she was doing, before grabbing his face and trying to undo the knee jerk face smashing. He writes in pain, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. VP retreats back into the corner with a snarl and punches herself in the head.

“Stop, Purps. It's…”

I should… know better, bro? Whatever, dude.

“It's fine. Just still sore from Miss Timelord teein’ me for a 2 iron in that Jolf threesome a few weeks ago.”

Just tryin’ to heal up before I get a chance to send that subpar dog mom to a doomed timeline.

He stands, holding his face, and looks down at her with a grin.

“I'm gonna go get those frozen hotdogs to put on this. But… you're right.”

Her head jerks up. The snarl goes away, the tears slow down enough for her to stop internally raging for a split second, and see the glint in the Hot Dog Hero’s not swollen eye. He pauses for dramatic effect.

“I hear you…”

Crash removes a bandana from his pocket so she can wipe her tears.

“Loud and clear, queen."