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You Can't Have A Party Without Fun

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Poison woke up. It was a slow process, opening his eyes and all that junk. Waking up sucks, he thought. He sat up in bed, sweating. Too fucking hot. Fuck the desert. He peered over the edge of his mattress, if you could even call it that, for his pants.

“Ey, Kobra! Did you take my pants again?” He shouted to an apparent no one, because he didn’t get a response. “Jett?”

He mumbled under his breath, and got out of bed and began trekking to the kitchen in his boxers.

He pushed his hair out of his face when he sat down at the poor excuse for a table with an open can of whatever he was eating in front of him. He went to take the first bite, but his hair fell in his face once again.

Well Kobra’s the hair genius here, he thought, trudging to his younger brother’s room. When he got there, he pulled open the first drawer in sight. He sifted through it, looking for a string or something to tie his hair back so he could eat his goddamned breakfast.

All he could find was a stupid notebook. Party Poison was good older brother though. He wanted to make sure that his baby bro was doing okay. No actually- that was bullshit. He just wanted to snoop. He sat down in a chair in the corner of the room and flipped open to the first page.

The first couple of pages were crumpled at the edges, filled with notes or unimportant scribbles. The next few pages were covered in red paint, no, dye, and were stuck together. Poison chuckled at that. He and his brother were so lame it wasn’t even funny.

He turned through the pages filled with dye to a badly drawn picture of Show Pony. Poison laughed out loud, it was so horrendous. He ran his fingers over the pencil indents on the back of the page, mesmerized. He’d kill to be able to draw again. He missed it.

Flipping through the rest of the book Poison mentally declared that it wasn’t important to his life, so he went to put it back where he found it. But of course, being the bumbling asshole he is, tripped on nothing, sprawling onto the floor and flinging the notebook across the room.

He wanted to pick the notebook up. He really did. But when he walked over to to where it fell, a picture caught his eye. How could he have never noticed it before? It was framed and everything. Perfect condition, too! He felt like an asshole for not seeing it, but even more of an asshole when he picked it up.

His breath caught in his throat and he raised a hand to stifle a gasp. It was of the four of them back in the day. The four original Killjoys.

He couldn’t help smiling when he saw the smiles on all of their faces. The picture had to be taken back in the first three months after they ditched Battery City. They were still really happy. Still pretty much alive.

God, their smiles were so fucking huge, it hurt Poison to look at them for too long. He took the picture back into his room, hoping that Kobra wouldn’t miss it too much.

He flopped down, a little too hard, onto his ‘mattress’. He looked at the picture again, and laughed. The sick bastard laughed at the picture. He was making himself sick.

The picture was just the four of them, having an awesome time doing whatever they were doing. Jet Starr, Kobra Kid, Party Poison, and then Fun Ghoul. All in a line.

That’s how it always used to be, he thought, shrugging the thoughts out of his mind.

Jet was laughing at Kobra, engulfing him in his enormous fro, while Kobra was trying to get away from Jet’s hair and poke Poison in his sides. You could tell that Poison was squealing. He’d always been a- vocal man. But in this picture it was, to some degree, kind of cute. What was even cuter was it depicted Poison shoving Kobra back into Jet’s hair.

Poison laughed again, being the douche bag he was, and flipped the picture over. He wasn’t ready to see the last man in the photograph yet. It was still too soon.

Sleep, he thought. I definitely need to sleep again.

Party Poison fell asleep clutching the picture frame tightly to his chest.



The sounds of the gun shot echoed in and out of Party Poison’s ear drums as he saw Fun Ghoul fall. His heart dropped. He stopped breathing and screamed. He turned to face the killer. It was a stupid, fucking drac.

The drac that killed him laughed. The sick fucking bastard laughed. Poison saw red. It could’ve just been his hair, but he didn’t care. He shot the drac. He shot him again. And again, and again. Even after it fell, he just kept shooting until his gun clicked in defeat of ammo loss.

“Poison,” he heard.

He fell to his knees next to his fallen best friend. Ghoul smiled. That dick.

“You just had to get blasted, didn’t ya?” Poison half chuckled, half sobbed.

Ghoul smiled weakly. “Gerard I-“

“I know. Me too Frankie, me too.” Tears escaped his eyes, and Ghoul squeezed his hand that he hadn’t known he was holding. Ghoul closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Poison cut it off midway by pressing his lips to Ghoul’s. He tasted blood, but he felt Ghoul smile, and that’s all that he wanted. He felt Ghoul squeezing his hand again, and then, nothing.

Poison sat back up, eyes widened in surprise. “Ghoul? Ghoul no, you can’t do this to me. Ghoul, c’mon. Frankie get up. Get up man!” He was sobbing hysterically now. “Frankie, Frankie I need you…”

He pounded the ground. He punched it hard with his fists, hit it with his empty gun, anything. He couldn’t breathe, and no matter what he could do would fill his lungs again. He had felt his heart shatter in his chest, stabbing his lungs, constricting them to the point of pain.

“Poison! Poison we got them! We killed them all! Me and Jet! We, we- oh my god. Jeettt…”

Jet ran over in time to catch Poison before he hit the ground.


Party Poison woke up in a sweat for the second time today. This time though, it was a cold sweat. One that made Poison feel disgusting. Too bad he was in the desert. He could use a shower.

He rolled onto something uncomfortable. Shifting positions, he pulled the picture frame out from under him. He wasn’t ready to see the last man, but he needed to look anyway.

It was Fun Ghoul. Smiling and looking like the dork that he was. Poison laughed out loud, disgusted with himself. He had the arm that wasn’t poking Kobra wrapped around Ghoul’s shoulders. Ghoul was hugging him around the middle, on his tippy toes, kissing his cheek. They were both blushing furiously.

Poison didn’t remember that part. He felt sick.

He ran to Jet’s room, cause that’s where the bathroom was, and he puked in the pipes they tried to pass off for a toilet. He thought about their last kiss, how it tasted of blood and salty tears, and he puked again.

When he was done, he wiped his lips and spit to get the taste out of him mouth. He just kinda sat there, on the floor of there bathroom, to sick to get up. He was still holding the picture. Of course he was, it’s not like he’d give it up any time soon.

That’s when he started crying.


“Poison? Poison where are you? We’re back and we have food!” he heard Kobra yell. He heard footsteps but didn’t want to speak. They’d know he was crying. Just because Ghoul was gone doesn’t give him the right to act like a little bitch all the time. When Kobra had to leave the Crash Queens he didn’t whine. He took it like it was and moved on.

“Bathroom,” he called weakly. He heard Jet’s door open and two sets of footsteps.

But Kobra wasn’t in love.

Kobra and Jet dropped to their knees next to Poison. They exchanged awkward glances before they spoke.

“Poison, gimme the picture please.”


“Gee…” His friend trailed off.

He shot daggers at him before handing him the frame. His brother wrapped his arms around him at just the right second, because he collapsed into him; a teary, redheaded mess.

“Yo-you just can’t have a party without fun,” he sobbed.

“He’s always gonna be here and you know it as well as we do.” Jet said, patting his back.

“Mikey, I loved him,” Poison whispered.

“We know.” Kobra said, solemnly, kissing his brother’s temple. “We know.”