Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The bartender moves to one side as he watches the door swing open to allow a tall man entry. His jacket gives away that this is the man he must have been waiting for. "Hasn’t fucking stopped since he got here." He points around the corner of the Yellow Jack with his thumb, gesturing into the dining area where customers were meant to play pool or order food. There are not a lot of people here. He explains that most of his customers were driven off by the man’s whining. Others left due to the smell. Never before had they smelled death so strongly on someone living. They were tempted to call the police if not for the worry that this would come back around to the Lost. "Scarin’ all my fucking customers away. I want that bastard gone."

"I’ll get him," Barry assures the bartender.

Some random trucker tune is playing on the jukebox. Their specials of the day are grilled cheese, a soup and sandwich combo, Spanish rice, and roast chicken. None of it can be good if the smell of the bar is anything to go by. Ignoring the stench of rot, there’s still something there. Old paint most likely. There are old alcohol and blood stains on the creaky floor. Barry walks to the small doorway that is connected to the bar area. There’s an old pool table on the left, towards the back of the room. On each side of him, there’s an old, metal table. To his left is an empty one. Leftover plates clutter the top. To his right, a man is sitting against the wall. His tabletop is littered with empty bottles of vodka, absinth, and beer. It is far too much for one person to have in one sitting. This isn’t anyone normal, though. This is a man freshly back from the dead after dying for a second time.

Barry’s breath hitches, frozen in the small bar area in the shitty tavern. The shorter man looks worn down, weary face resting on his arms, surrounded by bottles of alcohol. Even from here, Barry can see how loosely his torn-up pink hoodie hung from him. Not his old pink hoodie. A garish, hot pink hoodie with leopard spots that’s been torn in places. Through those rips, he can see Dundee’s muscles he was so proud of before his demise have diminished while he was dead. His beard looks matted. Greasy hair poked out from a filthy beanie to keep it contained. It must have been found in the trash or stolen, Barry doesn't recognize it. If he didn’t know better, he’d have glanced right over the man without ever noticing him. A homeless man drinking himself under. What must have given him away was the voice. Dundee’s accent is unmistakable. No one in the city can adequately mimic it.

Barry’s heart is pounding against his ribs, staring at the soft rising and falling of the other’s chest. That horrible clash of pink and bright yellow pants with an orange beanie that just screams ‘Dundee’. Tequila sunrise comes to mind. Or maybe it’s sunset. It’s been so fucking long since he’s seen or smelled him. Were this any other place or time he’d rush up to the other man. Throw caution to the wind and pull him closer. Let Dundee occupy his personal space. Just to know that he’s there. After everything, he’s alive again. Returned to him from the land of the dead. Barry swallows a lump in his throat.

He remembers that this man most likely will try to kill him.

In the weeks leading up to his revival, the club had tried to prepare for what might come –bright, burning vengeance from a man that felt betrayed. Perhaps even a war against them not unlike the war he waged in the name of Sam Baas. Shooting them down whenever he saw a glimpse of denim. Betray them as he himself had felt betrayed. When the idea was initially tossed around about him coming back, there was little hope of a happy reunion. Since then that little glimpse of hope had slowly dried up. None of them believed he would come back peacefully anymore. But the chance was there. Their leader had to believe that. If Dundee came back to them, wanting to be with them again, they would accept him with open arms. Barry would make sure of it.

What they received was silence. Nancy assured them his soul no longer resided in the land of the dead. At some point, he had returned to the living. When exactly, she had no way of knowing. She could look for it if there was one. But it seemed to be an exercise in futility. It wouldn’t give them much more information than they already had. Instead, the club decided that they would prepare for Dundee’s special brand of violence. If he didn’t come to them straight away, he must be planning something. Barry had everyone outfitted with AKs. Told them if they found Dundee to hold him there and let the others know. As much as it was to protect the club from what could be a man driven insane from the afterlife, it was also an effort to protect Dundee. Prevent him from making a mistake while he was not thinking clearly. The club would never forgive him if he gunned them down. To save him from himself, these measures had to be taken.

The first day went by quietly. Locals came and went while the BBMC scanned the horizon. On the second day, boosters came wanting to take cars in the area. Each time they were met with a variable army of Bondi Boys. By the third day, the club had become paranoid; jumping at every shadow at the Billabong, watching Seaside out of the corner of their eyes, driving past GG territory just to check on things. Acting like they were at war with their former prime minister without even seeing his face. Barry pulled back on their efforts the moment they nearly shot a man whose only crime was having a beard in Vespucci. Their feelings were spiraling. Their reunion couldn’t happen like this. Dundee would walk into the Billabong and get shot down without a word. He redirects their energy to boosting and car sales. Whatever he could to keep them distracted.

On the fourth day, Barry received a call from a number he didn’t recognize. "Barry Benson," he greets the line. Far more used to answering the phone for unknown numbers than he ever has been. There’s soft music playing in the background. Someone complained about his truck and how it was the only love of his life. American music was strange.

"You one of them Bondi Boys, right?" the stranger asked, his thick southern drawl muddling his words like Collin had decided to try to sound even more Texan. "Saw your name in the Yellow Pages."

Green eyes scanned over the few members within earshot. "I am," he confirms as he casually strolled away from the crowd.

From the other end of the line, he could hear some kind of relief come over the man’s voice. "Then can you fucking come down here and get Dundee?" Barry nearly jumped out of his skin. The club had been preparing, worrying, and missing sleep. How he finds him is a random man on the phone complaining about Dundee causing trouble at a bar. Not letting doubt enter his mind, he tucked himself away in the alley between his house and TJ’s. "He’s not stopped blubbering for two hours. Chased away all my goddamn customers. If he isn’t out of my bar in the next 20 minutes I’m taking him out back my office and having him shot."

A glass bottle shattered on the other end of the line. He pulled the phone away and screamed a few threats of disembowelment and decapitation before getting back onto the call. "Just get down here and get his ass out of my bar! Or my next call is going to be to the Lost." The man hung up immediately. Leaving Barry alone in a quiet alley as the sounds of boisterous laughter echoed behind him.

That call was over an hour ago. Now, Barry takes a few more steps closer to the man he came for. Listening to the soft, incoherent mumbles Dundee whispered to himself. That voice that was once a daily fixture sounds so new now. Barry slowly sits down in the empty chair across from him. To call the thing uncomfortable would be putting it mildly. It’s oddly shaped and hard. He’s shocked that Dundee isn’t currently bitching about it. Maybe he is. It’s difficult to tell what he’s whispering to himself. Barry pushes the bottles to one side as he looks the other in the face. Some alcohol spills as a bottle tips on its side. He sighs. There are a million things he could say. What he wants to hear him say back. Barry wants to touch him, just to see that he’s really alive. This isn’t another of his many dreams that turn into nightmares. "What the hell are you doing, Dee?" is what comes out instead. He leans his heavy head against his open palm.

"Fawk off," Dundee mumbles as he pours his last bottle of vodka into the side of his mouth. Tossing the freshly emptied bottle into the cigarette vending machine. It does very little damage. Cracking the front slightly more than it was already. Barry isn’t sure the bottle even broke. Dundee doesn’t look the prime minister in the face. Bloodshot eyes finding anything else to stare at; the old pool table across from him. The terrible artwork that decorated the walls. Whatever he could find that was not the man sitting across the tiny table.

"Nice to see you too." Barry leans his weight forward. Examining as much of Dundee’s face as he can. He’s so much paler now. There are bags under his eyes making a deep contrast in color. His bloodshot, drug-addled eyes stand out even more. The corners of his mouth are crusty. His beard is caked with God knows what. Food or vomit. He can’t seem to find the words to ask what he wants. Where were you? Why didn’t you come home? What are you doing here of all places? From the looks of it, the former leader doesn’t want to talk. The jukebox changes to a new song. Starting up some sad song about something or other. Not exactly what he wants to hear right now. "Are you okay?" he asks when the silence becomes too much.

Dundee outright snarls. "Do I fucking look okay?" He throws another bottle across the bar. This time the bottle goes careening over the pool table. There’s a deep thud against the wall as it hits and shatters. "What the fuck do you care?" His slurring distorts his voice. Makes his accent much thicker. He sounds more like when they first met all that time ago. When life was easy. When he didn’t have to make these shitty decisions. Innocently. Barry expected much more yelling.

"The club was waiting for you down at the Billabong," he pressed, heedless of Dundee’s bottle-throwing tantrum. The club was waiting for him to charge at them, raving like a madman but they were waiting. He almost name-drops Nancy as the reason they knew to be prepared but he stops himself. If this goes south, he should be the only one it affects. "We missed you," he says instead.

"DON’T YOU FUCKING-" Dundee starts, trying to sit up from his chair. Green overtakes his face and he sits back down almost immediately, waving back and forth as if he were on a ship at sea. He is fucked up. Rage that sprang up in his eyes erupted into a roaring fire that dissipated nearly as soon as it came. Like watching a wildfire spring to life only to be doused by a river. Something all-consuming and overwhelming washing over the flames. Dundee folds his arms, resting his forehead against them. Hiding from the man opposite him. "Don’t fucking pretend like they give a single shit about me."

"Don’t give a shit?" Barry repeats. Leaning forward even more over the table. "Dee, what the hell are you talking about? We-" he swings his hand to the right for emphasis, knocking bottles down to the floor. Barry’s attention snaps to the sound of shattering glass. He cringes at the loud sound. He can already hear that bartender bitching about the damage. Barry settles back down into his uncomfortable chair. "We worked our asses off trying to get that cunt Norman to let you go. Do you know what the club had to do to get you back?"

Under his breath, Dundee grumbles something.

Barry strains to hear just a little bit of it. Something about the sky. Could be he doesn’t know what time of day it even is. Maybe he’s been here the entire time. Too drunk to notice the passage of time. "Just leave me alone," Dundee moans, resting his head against the plastic tabletop.

"Dee," Barry starts, standing up from his seat. His lower back already thanking him for relieving the strain on his tailbone, "I came to take you home." That was always the plan, wasn’t it? Find Dundee, get him to the club and they decide what they’re going to do with him as a group. When he was a far-off threat, that was much easier to say. Now that he’s within arm’s reach, Barry isn't sure. The prime minister looks over the man again. He doesn’t have a penny to his name. Debt doesn’t go away when no one in the government knows you’re dead. No one hires terrorists. Even if they did, they would pay him to his bank account, straight into the bottomless pit that is his debt. There is nothing for him outside the club. Both of them are acutely aware of this. It’s still surreal to see it firsthand. "Come on, you can drink at the house."

More bottles are pushed onto the floor. Gravity does a much better job at breaking them than Dundee did on his own. "I don’t want to see them!" he yelled for the first time.

For a moment, Barry relaxes. This is what he had expected from the start: screaming. What defined Irwin Dundee more than his famous screaming? That infectious insanity that he did so naturally? It’s comfortable to be here, listening to that scream. Even if the drink has turned that yelling into mush. Barry knows how to handle this. He reaches over the table to grab Dundee by his arm only for the man to heavily flinch at the movement. In the same second, there’s a loud click of a firearm being loaded. His eyes follow the sound to find that bartender he so recently spoke with aiming a pistol at Dundee’s head.

The bartender carefully shoves the broken glass out of the way with his boot. "Alright, I’ve had enough of this piece shit on my property." The splitting sound of a safety getting switched off rings in Barry’s ears. Funnily enough, the music seems like it’s stopped as well. The Bartender grabs Dundee by the loose shoulder of his ugly hoodie. Yanking him out of the chair with his free hand in one fluid motion. Dundee barely keeps his legs underneath him. Gun barrel never wavering from its target. This isn’t the first time this bartender has kicked someone out at gunpoint.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Barry demands. Marching up to the armed man and staring him down. Using every inch of height he had over him. The bartender is on the shorter side. Even Dundee would stand head and shoulder over him. "You don’t need the fucking gun, what’s he going do? Puke on you?"

The bartender scoffs. "Please. I know who Dundee is." He shakes the man in his vice grip, wagging him around like a lifeless ragdoll. Every muscle in Barry’s body tenses, watching him whip Dundee around. "Crazy bastard probably has some stupid shit like a grenade."

The Bondi Boy grabs the waist of the drunk man’s hoodie. Ready to steal him away at a moment’s notice should he think that he’s in real danger. "What money do you think he bought grenades with, you dumb cunt? He’s a fucking…" his stern voice trails off into nothing. Once again, he looks over the man he came here to collect. His hoodie hangs loose, even as he’s being tugged around by it. His greasy hair is longer than Barry remembers. There are even tufts of new hair poking out from the sides. Dundee’s pants are tight and look to be stained with bodily fluids. The bartender drags him around without much effort. Forcing him to keep up or fall flat on his face on the sticky floor

Barry remembers all the talks the club had about when Dundee would come back. How he would come guns blazing. Screaming incoherently into the sky as he tried to shoot the people that shot him. Or he would come back scheming. Tricking them with false promises only to fuck them over behind their backs in revenge. Some of them thought he’d run to another gang and start a war. Gulag Gang was the obvious choice but Seaside was not excluded in their assumptions. All manner of grand, horrible returns. Now he’s faced with the one thing he never thought to prepare for. A broken man without a thing to his name. He hasn’t spent one moment of his new life planning revenge.

The bartender is slamming open the first door leading out before Barry comes to his senses and blinks back to reality. He rounds the tiny bar area and pushes the doors open in time to see the man toss Dundee into the dirt. It’s starting to get dark. Sunset wouldn’t be too much longer. "And stay out you bum! I see you again and your head’s getting mounted on the wall!" The man shoves his way past Barry, mumbling something about useless ass Bondi Boys.

Were this any other instance, Barry would take care of that man right then. The Yellow Jack might be due for a firebomb in the future. This is not the moment for his indignation over the bartender’s disrespect of the patch. Instead, he places his attention on the man on the ground, making no effort to push himself up again. Barry stands next to him. Watching for him to try to pick himself up, with the added benefit of keeping him from being unknowingly run over by a car. Dundee’s bright orange beanie sits above his head, having fallen off when he was thrown out of the tavern. It lets him see how much Dundee’s hair has grown. Nearly long enough to tuck behind his ears. Barry kneels next to the man and tries to do just that. It’s soft. Hasn’t had the time to develop into split ends yet. "Dee?" he asks quietly. "Are you going to get up?"

He hiccups, his face perfectly pressed into the loose sand covering the cracking pavement. "Just leave me here to die."

Barry lets out a long, quiet sigh, his hand resting on the small of Dundee’s back. He feels far too cold to be healthy. His spine isn’t easy to feel but it will be if this continues. "Come on, Dee. I’m taking you home." Barry grips the other under his arms and yanks him up from the filthy ground. "And you’re going to be a part of the family again." Barry hefts the bulk of his weight while Dundee tries to regain his footing clumsily. "You’re going to be in my and TJ’s family again." He stands Dundee up, pulling him to his shoulder to let him use Barry as a crutch. "And one day we’ll laugh about all this shit. Remember that time you came back from the dead right around Halloween?" Barry forces a small, awkward laugh.

Dundee’s head lulls against his shoulder. "Stop…" he mumbles into the familiar denim jacket, hiding from the promised future that was being offered to him. In truth, he doesn’t know what the future will hold. Ultimately, it isn’t just his decision. There are more than a few people to consider when all this will be decided. But if he can do anything to help things go well, then Barry will do it. The shorter man tries to say something but quickly bites his lower lip. Holding in whatever sound he thought might come out.

He’s led to the parked Tulip in the farthest spot from the bar. Most of the other spots were taken by bikes or local cars that have all left by now. Dundee’s gait is uneven. It reminds Barry of when they had first met and Dundee walked with a limp. Instead of the front passenger seat, he opens the rear door while juggling a fully grown man in one hand. The back seat will be better, Barry thinks as he delicately maneuvers Dundee into the door. He can lie down across the seat. It should help him since he’s having such issues just standing. Watching the scenery move as they drive from the front seat might be too much for him. But more importantly, it will prevent him from being seen from outside the car. Unless the club is all standing at his front door, he should be able to slip by unnoticed.

Barry settles Dundee into the seat with little struggle as he wonders when this narrative was flipped. This man couldn’t hurt anything except his liver. Does he believe that the club would hurt him like they assumed he would hurt them? Would they hurt him unprovoked? Would he be hurt and finally snap? There aren’t pleasant answers to any of the questions he’s asking himself so he doesn’t try to find them. For now, he’ll play it safe. If he hadn’t met with the club, then he hasn’t been put back into the club yet. He’s still, as far as the BBMC are aware, missing. Dundee curls himself around his stomach, probably feeling the effects of being moved around so much when the world must be spinning. "I’m going to drive us back home and then I’ll let you sleep this off in bed. We don’t have to meet with the club right away."

"I don’t want to meet with the club," Dundee mumbles, pulling himself into a tighter ball on the seat.

Barry shuts the door and climbs into the driver’s seat. Not much the man can do about it now. He’s in no position to do anything at the moment. Barry adjusts his rearview mirror to watch the man in the backseat. It feels strange to have him so close by after all this time. Dundee feels like a dream that will disappear at any moment. Barry will wake up in bed, sweating, wondering why he has a craving for the shitty bar food of the Yellow Jack – a place he doesn’t believe he’s ever eaten at but is sure only serves shitty food.

"You’re just being a pussy," he chastises, a bit more gently than he intended. "We’ll get you cleaned up. We’ll bring you back where you belong," he shifts the car into drive, fishtailing out of the parking lot and slamming on the gas. His Tulip shoots down the road as fast as the old car can. "And then you can start working on reintegrating into the club." Dundee slams to one side of the backseat as the car spins. He can hear him start to speak only to be cut off by the sound of gagging.

Barry glances at the mirror, adjusting it so he can spy on his passenger behind him. His head is obscured by the seat. Without leaving his eyes off the road for too long, Barry glances to see what is happening in the back of the car. He can hear the other man moaning. "Dee?"

"I threw up on the floor."

Benson groans. "Goddammit, Dee!" He runs his hand through his hair. Noting just how much longer it is. How much longer both of their hair is. It’s been a long fucking time. His eyes flick from the road again to check on Dundee in the mirror. He didn’t bother to pick up his ugly beanie. "Now I have to clean you and the car. And the club is going to be-"

Dundee kicks the back of the driver’s seat. "I don’t fucking want to go back there!" he mustered the strength to scream, whipping himself around in the seat and beating the back of his head into the cushion behind him. "Norman fucking-" he audibly gags again. This time snapping his mouth before it could escape, loudly swallowing everything that wanted so badly to come up.

There’s not a lot of traffic on the roads. They’ll be back in the city in just another minute or so. "Dundee, you should know better than anyone not to trust a thing that creepy cunt says." He can only imagine what he’s been telling their former leader. Whatever he thinks would turn the Australian into what he wanted him to be. Perhaps even regain use for the tool that BBMC severed from him.

"He didn’t tell me anything." In the mirror, Dundee is pushing himself up as best he can. He looks into the rearview, knowing that Barry is watching him through it. "Purgatory can connect to the real world if he wants it to. He let me listen to everything those fucks said."

Barry slams on the brakes. Sending Dundee flying into the seats before him. If not for how close the seats were, he’s sure that he’d have fallen into his vomit. "...I’m sorry?"

There are a few seconds of silence. Barry turns around in his seat to check on his passenger. Make sure he wasn’t knocked out when he flew forward. Dundee is wriggling backward into the seat. Away from both the hard seats and the bile soaking into the rug. "Norman let me listen to all the shit the club was saying," Dundee nearly whispers.

Norman had been speaking to him about the club. Telling nothing but the parts Dundee wouldn’t want to hear. Rubber and leather squeak as Barry tightens his grip on the wheel. Fucking Norman. Even after he swore that his old tool was no longer of use he’s still trying to manipulate him. "Fucking hell…" he grumbles under his breath. "Why did you ever have to bring that bastard to our doorstep?"

Dundee spins himself around on the bench seat in the back. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." The driver leans over in his seat. Fully aware he’s holding up traffic and not giving a shit. "Do you think I brought Norman? I met him after you two shot me."

"You met-" Norman claimed the man wouldn’t remember him. And he didn’t. Not from their first meeting. He clearly remembers their second. Dundee remained in Norman’s domain long after the agreement was made. That fucking lying bastard. They should have known better. "He said you wouldn’t remember him!" Barry slams his fists into the steering wheel. "FUCK!" Their agreement was not to only forget the first time they met. It was to forget him entirely. He had volunteered that to them. Now Barry has to find out that he had fucking spun a yarn and they actually fucking believed him.

The prime minister puts the car back in drive and slams the gas. Weaving around the locals that had piled up around him and didn’t know how to find their way around. They continue on the same path they were already on. Someone with enough knowledge of the city as Dundee might be able to name what road they are currently on and where they’re headed.

"...I don’t want to see them…" Dundee moans.

"We’re not going to the club," Barry snaps. He makes a turn too early to get over to Vespucci Beach. Driving along the large houses by Richman and turning into Del Parro. They ride along the beachfront in silence. It’s just starting to get dark. The sun is about to set beyond the horizon. Streetlights are coming on as he drives down the relatively empty road. Barry takes a right just before passing Dean World. Driving the old muscle car through the sand to the salt-encrusted pillars that hold up the pier and all the throngs of people coming for food or fun. Underneath the pier, you can still almost hear the music playing.

It’s here the car finally comes to a stop. He pulled up as far enough to see down the Vespucci Beach to the Lifeguard Tower. Barry turns off the car, leaving the keys in the ignition, and relaxes into his seat, hands running down his face. "Alright," he says behind his fingers. "What did the cunt tell you when he was showing you all that shit?"

Dundee turns around, heavily blinking at the driver. "I’m not going to come around shooting them if that’s what you’re asking." He spins back around to stare into the cushions of the Tulip. "Maybe if this was a month ago I would have."

Barry goes to undo his seatbelt only to realize he never put it on in the first place. He sighs yet again, running his fingers through his hair, messing it up then recombing it into place. "What changed since a month ago?"

"A lot."

He twists around to look into the back. "What’s a lot?"

Minutes tick by as he stares at the back of Dundee’s messy hair. From this angle, he thinks he could pull it up into a ponytail. "A lot, B." There’s a small flutter in Barry’s chest over such a simple letter. It’s a dumb nickname. But it means something that he’s still using it after what’s happened. "...You know what Purgatory is like? It’s cold, Barry. It’s grey and foggy and cold as hell."

He thinks that doesn’t sound very cold, given how hell is usually described but he doesn’t bring that up. Now isn’t the time for being a smart ass. He waits for Dundee to continue for several minutes. Pink light bathes the car as the sun dips below the water line of the ocean. Orange was always his favorite color, but he’s grown to like pink. "And? You gave up attacking the BBMC because it was cold?"

"It’s a cold I can’t describe." His voice cracks as he repeats the word cold. Even just talking about it causes him to shiver. Barry turns the car back on and cranks the heat. "It gets down into your bones. You can burn whatever shit you want but you can’t ever get warm."

"So it was cold," he repeats. He’s never been to purgatory, thankfully. TJ has though. It wasn’t a story he wanted to repeat. Even after a short time there. A few days there made Baas a mean hardass. "I don’t understand how that changes your mind about revenge."

Dundee’s shivering grows worse. He pulls all of his limbs in as tight as he can. "...I was so mad those first few weeks, Barry." A ghost flashes before the driver’s eyes. An angry ghost, covered in blood. Barry hadn’t slept for several nights after seeing it for the first time. Their cold bed wasn’t enough to lull him to sleep. Only days of nonstop work, until he couldn’t go anymore, had done the trick. He can believe what Dundee’s saying. "I liked it. I imagined all the ways I’d hunt the BBMC down. Then I’d shoot you and Collin, burn all the cars. I didn’t care what it cost, I wanted all of you to pay for kicking me out."

Barry almost corrects him. His mouth opens to let the words out but the other continues. Ignorant of the words Barry attempted to speak.

"But I was still stuck there. And it started getting colder. Each day was worse than the last." Dundee sniffs, burying his forehead in the crease of the seat. "I tried to keep being angry. It made me feel warm. But no matter what I did I just kept getting colder." The heat is cranked higher. While the car idles, the heater takes more time to warm up. Dundee visibly rolls up his sleeve and wipes his face. "I-" Barry thinks a shiver interrupts him. "I tried so hard to stay mad. But I couldn’t even do that anymore. I was just alone. And cold. I wanted to go home."

"I’m trying to take you home," Barry interjects, directing all the ac vents to the back. "You keep telling me you don’t want to go back." Another thought he hadn’t allowed himself to think about worms its way into his mind. "Do you not want to come back to the club?"

Dundee shoots up. "Of course I—" he grips his stomach as it flips due to his sudden movement. "Oh god…"

"Are you okay?" Barry opens his door, stepping out onto the sand. The smell of fair food assaults his nose. Fried dough and sugar and chocolate. It reminds him his car is going to smell like vomit. He throws open the back door, shoving Dundee’s feet forward so he has room. "Dee, come on, let me help you."

He reaches in for the man only for him to pull away, pushing the far door open and throwing up on the sand. The moment of heartbreak Barry feels fades as he sees why his touch was avoided. Barry lets himself into the backseat, shutting the door behind him. "Thank you for not doing that in here."

A final spit of bile and he settled back into the seat, closing the door once the smell of his fresh throw-up hits his nose. Dundee moans in pain. "They don’t want me. They fucking hate me."

"Dee, you’re being paranoid. They don’t-"

"Yes, they do!" he screeches, almost like his old self. His eyes are even redder than before. Tears run down his cheeks, drenching his beard. "You didn’t hear them, Barry." Dundee hasn’t stopped shaking. Barry can’t tell if it’s the memory of the cold or trying to not burst into a full cry. "You didn’t see them. I fucking cried when Riley and Malakai left! It killed me to kick out Wolfie! I tried everything I could to get Pez or Cody or whoever the fuck to stop doing shit so he could stay in the club!" His arms fly around frantically. More tears leak from his eyes as he quivers. "They’re glad I died!"

"Dee…"

"NO!" Dundee shuffles himself around so he is sitting on his knees. Snot dripping from his nose he wipes clean with his pink sleeve. "They’re happy I was dead, Barry! I saw them!" He grasps the front of the Bondi Boy jacket, using it as an anchor to pull himself closer to Barry. He buries his dirty face in clean denim. Wet, snotty sobs rattle his entire frame. "I tried everything I could. I tried. I really did." His face is close enough that Barry can smell his breath, cheap brandy, and the faintest hint of petrol. "I wanted them to be happy. But now it feels like the only way I could ever make them happy is to be fucking dead! They hate me, Barry," he ranted. "They don’t want me. I don’t think they ever did."

Barry cradles the back of his head, letting Dundee mold himself around him. "Norman only showed you the worst of what he could find. He’s manipulating you." Just like so many of Dundee’s friends and old acquaintances. X comes to mind first. Benji and Yuno aren’t too far behind. He’s a hard man that sometimes is far too easy to control if you know how. Barry rests his chin on the top of Dundee’s head, pushing him further into his chest. "You know that. They don’t hate you. We worked so hard to bring you back to us. You hurt them, Dee. People say shit like that when they’re mad." Barry catches a glance at the floor covered in vomit; it’s only liquid. Dundee probably hasn’t eaten in days

"They did what they thought you wanted. You don’t know what they did when you weren’t around. They’ve never liked me. They couldn’t even pretend to miss me. Not fucking one of them." Dundee pulls his face away just enough to blow his nose on his sleeve. "They talk to fucking Pez but they can’t even pretend they gave a shit about me."

Barry runs the tips of his fingers up and down the other man’s back. He can hear all their meetings about this moment. How he’ll drain their bank accounts. Come back to try to kill all of them. Their boogie man is clinging to him, afraid his family only wants him dead. "Dee. I know what you were shown was not what the club really thinks. Ok? We do want you. But we want the you that isn’t driven to do stupid shit by Norman. We want the you that thinks about what he’s doing and doesn’t lead the BBMC to ruin or hurt everyone just for the hell of it. That’s what we want. They just…were upset."

He shakes his head. "They fucking hate my guts, Barry."

A small sigh is the only response. He’s not listening to anything. It wouldn’t matter what he said, Dundee wouldn’t believe him. Not right now. He pulls the other tighter to his chest and allows him to rest there. Watching out the front window as the night settles in. There’s a bright moon out, illuminating the surface of the water before them. Small waves on the surface of the ocean crash against the dock. Everything is slow tonight, an oddity for a city like Los Santos. Dundee’s sobs fade over several minutes, Barry patting the back of his long hair until he can feel him start to calm. Dundee pulls away only to clean his face with his sleeve before he gets too much on Barry’s shirt and jacket. At least he seems to not be as drunk as he was. "You feeling better?"

Small sobs still hit Dundee every few seconds but he looks like he’s almost done. Puffy red eyes look up at the man above him. He looks like hell. This is probably one of the few times he could say someone looks like death warmed over and be correct. Barry isn’t sure where to go from here. He knows that the Billabong isn’t safe for him right now. He’ll not be able to take the stress of seeing the boys. As he tries to straighten up Dundee, the man pushes back against him, pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips.

He tastes like vodka and vomit. Barry doesn’t move until Dundee is pulling away. Brown eyes wide with something Barry can’t quite name. "You’re fucked up, Dee. Not right now." He gently pushes him back. Fixing his ugly top and brushing the long hair out of his face. "I’m going to take you back to my apartment. I still have some of your old clothes there. You can get showered up and get something clean to wear." Dundee nods once in affirmation. "Alright. Why don’t you lie down and I’ll let you know when we’re at the apartments."

Without another word, Barry exits the back of the car. Ducking back into the front seat and tries to start it, forgetting the car was already idling. With a flick, he turns off the heat, letting the temperature come back down to something more comfortable. He pulls out from underneath the pier, making sure he drives out toward Del Parro to avoid anyone accidentally seeing him from the Billy. Nothing would be less ideal in his current situation than some of the members of the BBMC feeling like their leader is sneaking around behind their backs.

Their drive is quiet as Dundee, for once in his life, obeyed without question. At least over something outside of their bedroom. It makes this much easier, hiding him if he isn’t sitting up for anyone to see. They’re not far from Alta Street, even with a police chase nearly ramming directly into them as they drove. Barry spares a second to bitch about shitty drivers before he continues.

Alta Street hasn’t been busy lately. Everyone seems to have their own homes or homes with others. There are not many people that choose to wake up at the shitty apartments. If they had kitchens maybe more people would want to sleep there, if only to avoid the outrageous price of food everywhere else. Barry hasn’t cooked in ages, let alone gone grocery shopping. His eyes drift to the rearview mirror. An urge to cook suddenly strikes him. He’ll whip up some salmon tomorrow.

It’s blissfully quiet as he pulls up to the apartments. There is only him and some grinder in a local car pulling into the parking lot. Barry parks up along the sidewalk. They’re more exposed out here, but he’s also closer to the entrance. Less chance that someone will catch a glimpse of Dundee as Barry gets him inside. Even if they do, no one of importance comes here anymore. No gangs are gathering here since the Blocks left and the government declared it a safe zone. Other than the two gang leaders here. Or rather the one gang leader helping the former. Soon to be leader again? He’s not sure where Dundee stands with the club or even if he does at all.

The only thing he’s sure of is that tonight is not the night for such thoughts. He let himself out of the car, making sure he has the keys in hand. Barry circles around to the backseat, opening the door by Dundee’s head. "Hey," he says, pushing his messy brown hair behind his pale ear. It’s softer than he imagined it would be. The man blinks away the first few winks of sleep that had started to overtake him so soon. "Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed."

"M’ up," Dundee swears, pushing himself up from the seat. It’s probably more comfortable than whatever else he’s been sleeping on. Probably the trash or wherever he could find near the Yellow Jack. He’s slow at pushing himself out the door in an undesirable situation. Barry helps him keep his balance once he’s on his feet. Taking most of his weight while Dundee figures out which way is up.

"Come on, we’re almost there. You can get yourself clean and fed." He should have some shit there to eat. Always had protein bars on hand. Picky eater that Dundee is, he won’t enjoy them, but they’ll keep him from passing out.

One or two people are running from the apartments, having just woken up. No one he recognizes. Good. He turns to the parking lot to watch them take out their cars. The grinder car that followed him is sitting there in the parking spot. Lights on, engine running. It seems odd for one of them to sit around for any amount of time. Much less the nearly minute it took Barry to park and remind Dundee how to walk. He squints at the car as it’s running. No kidnappings can take place here anymore. It was strange to not jump out and leave. He continues staring at the car through the windshield, unable to see past the glare the lights made. The lights are suddenly turned off. In the front seat, he can see a pale complexion, jet-black hair, and a denim jacket.

TJ.

Something he needs to deal with as soon as he can. He turns back to Dundee as he starts walking under his own power. "You got it?" he asks, but it’s clear he’s trying to do it on his own. Barry gives him some space to walk. No use trying to hide him, his son has already seen. If anyone had to see, he would be Barry’s first option. The BBMC leader had been debating calling him up after this anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees him pick up his phone. Dread fills his gut that he’s calling the club. He has to have faith he isn’t.

Barry leads Dundee to the elevator and the familiar old number of Barry’s apartment. Before the house, they lived together here. Dundee only slept at his own place when he was coming home early from jail or didn’t have the energy to get clean before getting into bed. Instead, sleeping in his pile of filth. It’s not too far up but it feels like the tower gets taller every day as more people move to the city. By the time the elevator reaches the right floor, Dundee is standing by himself. Throwing up seems like it’s helped him sober up.

Barry leads them to the door and lets them in. Everything was in order and exactly how the man left it the last time he had to come here. Dundee helps himself to the couch while Barry heads to the closet. There’s a hoodie or two in the back alongside some of those old pink pants Dundee used to wear so much. "I want you to get a quick shower first. I won’t be able to wash these clothes for a few days so you should be clean when you get in them." He peeks around the wall into the living room. "Think you can handle that?"

"Sure," Dundee responds. He’s staring at the back of the door as if he expects it to open any second. Which is a bit ridiculous. No one’s ever had a key to the apartment besides Dundee. Which reminds him of something else he needs to find in his tiny closet. Barry pulls out one of the drawers, fishing around all the junk until he finds the spare key.

Everything is placed in a neat pile that he sets on top of his storage box. "I’ll leave this all here. I have the key too. I had an extra made since you lost the original spare." Not that they came here much anyway. They had their home and they both went there. Right now, it’s not nearly safe enough to put him there. Even if no one saw him take Dundee into the house, too many people had keys. Any one of them could come in and find him. Barry looks at the other man who hasn’t taken his eyes off the door. "What are you looking at?"

Slowly, Dundee turns to Barry. "...TJ was out there."

Oh. Both of them glance at the door. Holding their breath as if it would suddenly be kicked down. An army of Bondi Boys would rush in, guns at the ready. Stepping between their leader and the man who held that title before him. Would they just gun him down thinking he’s kidnapped Barry and held him at his own apartment? But, of course, there’s nothing. "He’ll wait to talk to me." Which means he needs to make that a priority. Green eyes snap back to the man on the sofa. It strikes him how wide Dundee’s eyes are. That he’s reaching for the lamp so he can have something to defend himself with. He thinks they’re going to break in at any moment to hurt him. Barry still can’t remember the moment this night went sideways. "There’s no one coming. I promise. Please go get a shower, and I’ll see what I can make you to eat."

He doesn’t think Dundee even realized he had grabbed the lamp until he tried to get up and nearly took it with him. Surprise nearly sent him tumbling to the floor on his face, only catching himself on one knee. He pops up before Barry can ask if needs help. "Just toss the clothes you have on the floor. I’ll throw them out." They have no value. If Dundee needs more clothes he’ll bring more from the house as soon as he could move them without drawing attention to it. The club is used to him forgetting things. He’ll tell them he’s forgotten something and leave to go grab it, nothing out of the ordinary. Dundee regains his footing, tossing all of his clothes into a small pile by the door for Barry to get rid of.

Without even thinking, the prime minister’s full attention is on Dundee. Looking him up and down. He’s definitely leaner than before, though not by as much as he had thought. Still kept his tattoos, which was a small blessing. No new visible scars from his latest demise. His veins seem abnormally close to his skin. Giving his arms and torso patches of a faint blue color. Not unlike a corpse. It sends a shiver through Barry’s body that he can’t keep in. He prays that the other’s skin tone will go back to normal. If only to help Dundee move past his so recent death.

Their eyes meet as he looks up to see his old scar. Silence in the apartment loudly ringing. It’s the first time Barry’s noticed that his phone hasn’t rung all day. The only ones there are the two of them. Dundee’s tongue flicks at his bottom lip before he heads to the shower. Leaving Barry to clear his throat while he looks for something edible in the apartment. He has an old, frost-bitten pizza in a box. It’s heated up while Dundee’s cleaning. Likely rather sloppily. Anything is better than being in piss and vomit-covered pants. Their pizza is done before Dundee comes out of the shower so Barry eats a slice and then leaves the rest.

Dundee only eats two slices of it, complaining he can’t stomach much more than that. The leftovers join the pile of discarded clothing due for disposal. There’s no underwear left over from when they lived here before the house, so Dundee is given one of Barry’s old boxers. They’re looser than the ones either of them wear now. After they’re used, Barry might toss them out too. No reason to keep them besides these very specific circumstances. Once they’re eaten, Barry leads Dundee to the bed. Setting up the blankets and pillows on the side he knows Dundee likes.

Dundee sits in the bed under the wrinkly covers. Barry never did get the fitted sheet for this bed. Of course, the shorter man doesn’t mind, being used to much worse. At least this is an actual bed. Barry sits by his legs. "You’re going to need to talk to the club eventually. But you’re safe here." Neither of them can hurt the other. Not the ideal situation but one that’s almost there.

"They’ll never let me back in the club," Dundee states. Far too sure of that to have not been thinking about it all night. "The only one that wants me is you."

Barry sighs. Letting his hand rest on Dundee’s knee. "Dee. I’m going to talk with them. They’re going to remember that they want you back. We wouldn’t even be here if we didn’t want you back." Ignoring his better judgment, he shifts further up the bed. He presses the tip of his finger into Dundee’s chest. There’s more give than there should be for pure muscle. "You’re going to be better. You’re going to be the leader they knew you could be before."

Dundee watches him poke his left breast, following his tattooed arm up to his chin. "...I don’t know if I can."

"You can." Barry scoots closer, hands on either side of his chin. Forcing him to look him in the eyes. "You’re being a bit of a pussy right now, but you’re one of the hardest cunts in this city. You’re gonna dig into that fucking concrete with a spoon, take a bite, toughen the fuck up, do what you have to do, and you’re going to show all of them why you deserve to help me lead the BBMC."

Brown eyes flick down to the sheet covering his legs. Barry jostles his chin until they meet his green. "Dundee. You’re going to do that. Because that’s who you are. Purgatory can’t change that. Norman sure as hell isn’t going to change that. Alright? So just…fucking do it. Okay?" He waits for another response. Dundee nods once to him. "Good." His hands stay in a few moments longer. Sitting on the top of the bed alongside the other man.

For the second time, Dundee leans forward into Barry’s space. Pressing their lips together for a few seconds. Pulling away only a tiny fraction, breathing in the same air as Barry. "I’m sorry," he says. "I’m sorry. I really am. I never meant to hurt anyone."

Dundee smells like Barry’s soap and two helpings of his conditioner without a hint of the shampoo to match. Dundee never could tell the difference between Barry’s various toiletries, much less know which one he was supposed to use first. The mishmashed scent takes him back to months ago when he didn’t wake up each morning to visit Dundee’s grave.

It’s nearly an hour before Barry finally leaves the apartments. Stepping out into the crisp night air and breathing it in deeply. He’s missed almost the entire day. They were meant to do some light money-making but that will have to wait until tomorrow. "...I’m sorry I took so long."

A short ‘hmph’ sounds from behind him next to the wall of glass doors. "You all forget, I spent a month waiting. I can stand a couple hours here and there." TJ walks up next to him. He’s in his black kuttes with his black undershirt and pants. Barry doesn’t remember him being dressed like that when he was in the car earlier. "I’m not the one with ACDC."

The leader nods with a hum, tucking his hands into his pants pockets. It’s much later than he’s normally up. Degen is likely up and crawling all over the Billy. When he goes home, he’ll need to be careful to avoid any questions they might ask. "You call anyone while I was in there?"

TJ shrugs. There’s no sign of distress in his posture. In fact, he might be more casual than usual. "Collin contacted me. Said he called and texted you and you never picked up."

Barry snatches the phone from his pocket. Two missed calls. One from Collin and one from TJ. There’s a text message as well from Collin. [Pick up your damn phone].

"Told him your phone might be scuffed. Radio’s been acting up all day." TJ points to the local car. "Not a lie by the way. I wasn’t sure if that was what was going on so I thought I’d come find you. Funnily enough, I spotted the Tulip parked under Dean World and Irwin Dundee’s head dangling out the back door.”

Barry pats his son’s arm. "Sometimes I think you’re way too good for any of us."

Foggy breath leaves the patched member’s nose. It’s unseasonably cold. "Why didn’t you call anyone when you found him?"

"I don’t know."

"Why did you hide him?"

"I don’t know."

TJ lights a cigarette next to him. Blowing a puff of smoke into the night. A ping of discomfort shoots down Barry’s spine. "You know that’s not going to be enough. Whatever you’re doing, you’re going to need a reason. A damn good one at that."

"I know," Barry agrees. Cars pass along the street. His beautiful Tulip is waiting along the road for him. The ever-present hum of the AC units fills the air with ambiance. It makes him want to go back inside and hide away in his old home. "No one can vote on what to do with him unless they know where he is, right? Until he’s pled his case."

"I don’t think that’s entirely how that works."

Barry turns his head to the gently glowing ember from his son’s mouth. He’s never felt more like quitting smoking than he did right then. "Until he’s been voted back into the club this is personal. It’s a family matter.”

A ring of smoke comes from TJ’s mouth. He’s gotten good at that. Making shapes in his cigarette smoke. "So I can talk to grandpa about this?"

Barry rubs his eyes, he doesn't want to have to think about the other people in his life he needs to keep safe right now. "I’m tired, TJ." He takes half a step towards the muscle car waiting for him. This day has been far too long for him, and he only has more work ahead of him. There has to be a middle ground for him to find to make everyone happy and safe. Dundee’s and the BBMC’s well-being cannot be mutually exclusive, Barry refuses to believe that. After everything they’ve done, it can’t end on that note; Dundee not being welcomed back into the club after all of his exhaustive efforts to get him back in. That won't happen. For Barry's own sake, it can't. "Can we talk about this in the morning? It’s gotten all fucked."

A soft sigh comes from his son; that’s a promise he’s heard before too many times and not had his conversation. Barry will make sure he doesn't join that list. "Sure, pops. You know I’ve got your back for anything."

"I do," Barry says, taking a few more steps to the car, widening the gap between himself and TJ. "Good night, son."

"Good night, dad."

Barry ducks into his dark blue muscle car, ignoring the smell of alcohol and vomit still lingering. The Tulip pulls out of the Alta Street Apartments onto an empty street and drives into the dark.

Chapter Text

October has been over, and little progress has been made in getting the former prime minister back into the BBMC. Their daily routine is easy, with a hint of unpredictability: Barry wakes up at his home and gets ready for his day. He dresses and gathers his and Dundee’s laundry, leaving it to be cleaned at the same cleaners he uses every week. Depending on the day, he may or may not be called by one of the boys for a pickup or a boost they need help with. Provided neither of those happens, he gets the two of them food for the day, telling the club he’s going to visit the rest while he eats his breakfast. Then, at his old apartment, Barry and Dundee eat together, discussing the ins and outs of the city and the crazy changes that so often come with it. Last week saw them with some leftover beads Stevie had to make bracelets with. There were tons remaining, so they were brought to the apartment as entertainment.

Barry avoids discussing the club’s activities. No one in the club has had a full conversation about what Dundee will be informed of when he returns. The current prime minister has made a point of changing all their ifs to whens concerning Dundee coming back to them. Then his day begins as he leaves Dundee to live as a ghost in their old home.

Today, Barry has some scrambled eggs and toast, something simple that even Dundee will eat. He parks in his old parking spot provided by the apartments and heads up with his plate of food, wrapped tightly in foil to hold in as much heat as possible. Walking in, Barry’s greeted by Dundee on the couch in his underwear, reading twatter on his phone, toes poking out of the holes in his socks. He glances at the opening door, smiling at the sight of both Barry and breakfast, tossing his phone aside, and sitting up on the sofa. Barry is sure Dundee’s been bored; there’s hardly anything to watch on TV, and as fortunate as it is the Blocks aren’t around to snitch about Dundee’s whereabouts, they did liven up the place. He sits on the sofa, handing a wrapped plate of food to Dundee from his pockets. The eggs and toast got a little squished in there, but the pair ate without any care for the bread-to-egg ratio. Whatever gets on their forks ends up in their mouths.

Both of them dine while Barry talks about what has been happening with the PD. He tells Dundee about how his cousin got fired, and they both laugh. “Fuck Croc,” he says between bites of plain egg, some slipping back onto the plate and the floor. “Man, that guy was such an asshole. He wouldn’t leave us the fuck alone.” As he talks, a forkful of lukewarm toast is shoved into his mouth, spilling even more food. It’s bland, there’s not much to lose.

“Hey,” Dundee says through a mouthful of dry toast, “did you make him do crime and shit? Make him get put on bike patrol. He’ll fucking lose his goddamn mind.”

Barry guesses if anyone knows what would make Croc go crazy, it would be Dundee, his eerily similar-sounding cousin. “That was my first idea!” His last bite of food is shoveled into his mouth and the paper plate is discarded. “But we ended up doing something else, which I think was way better.”

Dundee barked a laugh, getting his last bits of food everywhere, something for Barry to clean up later. Or not if he forgets and leaves the junk all over wherever it lands. They won’t use this apartment much in the future, he can’t see much reason to come back to his here after this. He takes Dundee’s plate away, sets it aside, and starts pulling the crumbs out from Dundee’s beard. “Honestly, ya cunt, are you saving this for later?”

“Maybe I am!” Dundee complains, but doesn’t stop him from cleaning out the hair on his face, even leaning in to let Barry get his fingers further in and brush it out. “You don’t have shit to eat here, B. I’ve been living off breakfast and the frost from your stupid fridge.”

A soft yank pulls Dundee closer to Barry’s face. “Then order pizza or some shit. You can get food delivered here.”

“With what credit card? They don’t take cash!”

Shit. A small detail that Barry keeps forgetting time and time again despite how much he thinks about it: Dundee is still in debt. They live in a city that seems to have forgotten how to use paper currency. When he’s back in the club, Barry will need to bring up the issue of his debt again and how they’re going to help him get out of it. If one of their members is miserable, they help them. Even if the BBMC has to drag him kicking and screaming, Dundee will be able to do business with the club. “I’ll remember to bring some more food when I bring breakfast next time.”

The thing is, he doesn’t know how many ‘next times’ there are going to be. Dundee can’t live the rest of his life up here in a 250-square-foot apartment, he’ll die of boredom within the month. Barry isn’t sure if Norman covers deaths like that. It’s been two weeks since Dundee started living in the apartment, and he hasn’t shown any sign of revealing himself to the club. Barry is starting to worry that he’ll never get the balls to do it on his own.

“Oh,” Dundee stands from the couch and rushes over to the computer sitting next to the sofa. He’s typing as fast as he can on the keyboard, which isn’t very quick at all, needing to type with one finger, and looking for each letter as he does so. “I found some shit on the internet since I’ve been sitting up here doing fuck all.” Dundee slides away from the laptop with a flourish as the music starts to play from its speakers. The device is cheap and old, and the sound quality sucks; nevertheless, it is playing a royalty-free waltz.

An open hand is presented to Barry on the couch, calloused and pale as the day he found Dundee at that shitty bar in Sandy Shores – the bar that still needs to be blown up. He looks up at Dundee’s face, confused at what he is being offered or what is being requested of him. Dundee’s hand waves him closer, his brows wiggling suggestively. “What are you doing?” Barry asks, staring at the hand as it starts impatiently flexing in the air before finally taking it. He’s ripped up from the sofa onto his feet, pulled into Dundee’s chest while his hands find odd places for themselves to rest. “What the hell, cunt? What are you-”

Dundee answers, "We're dancing dumbasses," before his question is fully asked, guiding Barry’s hand on the small of his back and maneuvering their other hands into proper position. In the background, the dull music laptop keeps gently droning on. “Can’t live off dance 300 forever, so I went on Youtooz and found some videos on how to dance.”

Barry subtly straightens his spine; he hasn’t danced with a partner like this in years but his body remembers some things; shoulders stiff, control your hips, don’t yank your partner, simple guidelines that even he could remember. “You know you could-” he starts and is quickly cut off as Dundee pulls them closer, chests pressed together, leaving no room between them. Dundee smiles like he’s won something.

“Follow my lead, Benson.” Dundee moves a step back, pulling Barry along with him. It’s a slow dance and he’s going even slower to show him how they’re meant to step. “You remember how to follow, right?”

In time with each step, Barry matches Dundee, gripping onto him like he thinks Dundee will fall away and disappear, swaying just behind his lead. “Not so sure anymore.” He likes how things are now, following was never a strong point of his, but he always seems to make an exception for Dundee. This feels almost normal, being just a half step behind, keeping in pace with him, watching the lights dancing in his brown eyes, and feeling the muscles in his back pull as they shift and turn around the apartment in a tight square.

As they both get more comfortable with their motions, Dundee lays his head against Barry’s shoulder. His bushy beard prickling pale skin, still just as wiry as it was all those months ago. “I think you do it pretty well.”

“Do I?” Barry asks, resting his chin against Dundee’s temple. “Pretty sure I lead better,” he counters, dipping Dundee, smirking at the moment of panic that crosses his face as Barry leans him back. He leaves him there, admiring the hint of pink that spreads out from behind Dundee’s beard, his wide pupils looking up at him, taking away most of the brown of his iris. “I think you’re pretty good under me though.”

As soon as Dundee starts to stammer a reply Barry pulls him back up. The waltz is easy, and he effortlessly takes over, pushing and pulling in beat with the sound that filled the small space, quickening in step with the song. Building to a crescendo, Barry watches each small reaction on his face, Dundee following a half step behind until they’re both in perfect sync. Swing around faster and faster as the tune builds until the violins suddenly fade, the orchestra lets out one last belt and they’re left in silence. Barry’s face is close enough to feel the heat of Dundee’s breath against his skin. They’re both frozen in place, comfortably within each other’s personal space, tangled up in each other tightly enough to blur the lines of where one began and one ended. Dundee swallows thickly.

Barry breaks the quiet. “You can’t keep hiding from the club.”

In a blink, Dundee has withdrawn his arms over his chest, removing himself from any physical contact he had with the Prime Minister. “I’m not hiding from the club. Can’t we just-”

“We’ve been avoiding this for weeks now, Dee.”

“Because they fucking hate me! They won’t-”

“They won’t ever be able to prove you wrong if you’re too much of a pussy to face them.”

“I’m not a fucking pussy!” Dundee snaps, yanking himself from anywhere within Barry’s reach, stomping over to the couch, and throwing himself on it. His arms are tightly over his chest, and he follows suit by laying one leg over the other, avoiding any eye contact he can. “They hate me, B. There’s nothing I can do to fix that shit! What do you want me to do? Grovel so they can reject me?”

Barry pinches the bridge of his nose, a pressure headache is already starting to form behind his eyes. “I want you to fucking try!” He spins in place, looking down at Dundee, pressed into the sofa as far as he can; he looks small. “That’s all I want. What are they supposed to think if you won’t even give them a chance?”

His shoulders raise to his ears as Dundee seems to shrink even further, trying anything he can to escape their current conversation. “They hate me.”

There was a part of Barry that always knew this would be a struggle, especially after that first day. Now his reluctance to have this talk seems to have further reinforced the belief that the BBMC will not accept Dundee. “They will hate you if they find out how much you’re avoiding them!” he tries to reason.

“I’m avoiding them because-” Dundee bites his lip, holding his tongue before he says anything more, his fingernails digging into his arms. “I mean, I’m not avoiding them, but I don’t want to talk to a bunch of dicks that never had the goddamn balls to come to me about what they were mad about. Could have fucking told me before I was shot in the fucking head and had to live in that hell!”

Hands drag down Barry’s face, pulling his eyelids down and letting them snap back. “But here you are, not having the balls to go to them.” While he agrees the club should have aired their grievances before this, he also knows some of the issues they had with him should never have happened in the first place. “Dee, if you don’t want back in the club, just fucking tell me! I don’t want to keep getting yanked around with this promise you’ll do something and then spend the rest of your life in my apartment!”

“Fine!” Dundee screams, sinking back into the cushions as if he could get lost like spare change. “You don’t have to keep me here if you don’t want me.”

Barry scoffs indignantly, stepping to the side and pointing at his front door. “Hey, there’s the door.” Neither of them moves. Dundee tucks his hands under his arms and looks to the floor. They stay there for a few awkwardly silent moments. “That’s what I thought. Now, if you’re done throwing a fit, I can remind you that you’ve been living off one meal a day, haven’t seen the sun in weeks; you’re a prisoner in a cage that isn’t even locked, Dee! You can’t spend the rest of your life up here!”

He waits for a response, even a grunt, something to show that Dundee is actually hearing him, only to be disappointed when there is none. Not even a glance at the man ranting at him. Barry sighs, pulling out his phone as he feels a slight vibration from it trying to get his attention: it’s from Antonio, an urgent text about a B class they seem to think is worthwhile. “Listen, I have to head out. The club just started a boost.” Barry watches again for a reaction, receiving nothing after a few long seconds of staring. “Call me if you need anything. I can swing by Burger Shot and pick you up a Bleeder meal or some shit.”

Dundee grumbles something, pulling his legs up to his chest, cutting himself off from any attempts Barry could make to communicate. This has always been an issue with Dundee, preferring to isolate himself rather than face rejection. Barry takes the hint and lets himself out the door, ensuring it’s securely locked behind him before heading out to his Sabre. It’s only a B boost, not an import car that they’ve been looking for, but it’s a car that looks like it should sell quickly.

The carjacking proceeds fine, there’s not an absurd amount of cops and their car has decent speed, barely anything worth noting. There is a moment when Stevie launches over the side of the freeway, where they think they might need to save her, but it turns out she is fine and can drive back on her own without hassle. Barry and the club meet up in their vehicles as Collin picks up Antonio and Barry compliments them on a job well done. They all beam as they go about their day after deciding there isn’t much to do in the city, just this boost was a miracle to get. Barry heads back to the Billabong, walks into his house, and sits on the edge of his bed, his phone loosely hanging in his hand. It’s still early afternoon, he has the rest of the day to himself if he so chooses. Barry glances at the bright screen; there are no texts recently, it’s only been a short time since he saw most of the club. Soon there’s probably going to be a call to inform him of something that’s happened and they feel he needs to know.

He gets three calls, none of which are very important, just check-ins and questions they want to ask that he doesn’t feel they need to. Barry has dinner and turns to the phone sitting on the seat at the table next to him, silent as the grave. While he wonders if he should just assume that he should bring that burger he offered, a larger part of him is scared to find an empty apartment waiting for him; being left behind once again, this time with no real hope to keep himself going. It would likely be the last time he’d ever see Dundee – at least, as a potential Bondi Boy. After that, he would just be another Riley, Wolfe, or Pez to the club. In Barry’s eyes, he would be the new TJ; the family member outside the club that the BBMC may or may not hate. Would they try to cut off communication with him? Treat him as a skeleton in their closet? If real life were a Disney movie, that would be the moment they would all break out into song about how little they speak of Dundee.

The clock chimes the hour: midnight. Barry double-checks to be sure, wondering where the hell his day went after he got home. Dinner was reheated, and he only had three phone calls, what the hell did he do? It feels like he’s spent the day moping around his phone waiting on a call asking for a late-night meal. There hasn’t been anything though, not one peep. Barry’s afraid of finding an empty apartment in the morning, but now he’s even more afraid of finding the same thing he found yesterday; Dundee sitting around, not making any attempt to reach out to the BBMC. He decides his worries can go fuck themselves and heads to bed, this headache can wait until morning.

Barry doesn’t sleep well for him, waking up once during the night and being unable to go back to sleep for nearly 45 minutes, making him wake up nearly an hour later than usual. He’s already late for his morning delivery. It won’t be the first time, Barry has had issues before where he’s been several hours later because of a boost that he woke up to that called him away. Still, he feels he doesn’t want to be any later than he is, so he grabs a box of shredded wheat biscuits – the closest thing America had to Weet Bix – and a gallon of milk with two bowls and rushes out the door to Alta Street.

In his sprint, he rushes past some of the boys, his car barreling past him while Barry hangs his head out the window. “Get the fuck out of the way!” He thinks they’ll get a good laugh about his attempted vehicular homicide, they always do, and books it down the street. It only takes about 8 minutes to get to the tower, park his car, and head inside with his very late breakfast delivery. In the elevator, he has time to think about what he is going to say delayed him: probably going to go with the old classic, a boost popped up. They both understand club activities come first. Took him a while but he managed to sneak away afterward to get some bowls and spoons and…

He forgot the spoons.

The lift’s door dings open and he walks out stiffly. “Goddammit,” he mumbles, looking down at his pair of mismatched bowls, his box of American cereal and whole milk without a utensil to eat with. His apartment sure as hell doesn’t have any. “Eh, I doubt Dee will mind eating with his hands.” Barry will kindly excuse himself from having a bowl and grab a Heartstopper on his way back to the Billy. That is; if there’s someone in there to even give the food to. His door is in front of him before he can let dread start to sink in. In reality, he doubts there’s much reason to be afraid, Dundee couldn’t go anywhere. At least, not anywhere that they wouldn’t have heard about.

Unless he went to Benji and swore him to secrecy, or called Ash in need and groveled at her feet. Maybe contacted Mickey and requested asylum at the price of a favor. Gulag Gang liked him, he is a close friend of their founder, they would hide him. Flippy seems like an old friend, he could have gone to Hydra. Or called in Hutch and got himself a nice cubby hole down in H&O. Hell, maybe he sought out CG as a whole. If Dundee was desperate, he may have gone to Claire, his ‘mother’ in the PD. “Stop,” Barry demands to himself. He’s letting himself spiral. There’s simply no way of knowing what happened on this side of his door, and he’ll live in fear if he doesn’t enter. With a long breath, he finally goes to open his door, finding it already unlocked. Barry slides in, his prizes in hand and clear to see.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says before he gets a good view of the inside, spinning to shut the door behind him. “Had something with the club, but I’m here now. I brought cerea-” Barry turns to look into his old home; there’s not much that isn’t out of the ordinary for the past few weeks. Dundee is sitting on the couch in one of his older outfits, this time his dirty gray t-shirt and jeans and his cap. What is new is the bags of food surrounding feet, each greasy and closed up except for the one bag opened up that Dundee is currently eating a piece of fried chicken out of. His eyes go wide as soon as he notices Barry standing in the doorway, swallowing the mouth full of chicken he had, proudly showing off his bags.

“BARRY!” Dundee screams out, jumping up from his spot on the sofa, picking a random bag, and rushing over, holding it out in offering. “Did you see the fucking Cluckin’ Bell opened up again!? That shit’s been closed for 5 years!” He shakes the bag, waiting for Barry to take it.

“My hands are full, Dee.”

Dundee grabs the bowls and mostly full milk from his hands with his free one and holds up the bag again. With the items taken, Barry can grab the food, which he does with a very obvious level of uncertainty. As he takes the offered fast food, Dundee takes the box of wheat biscuits, putting the box to the side by an artificial houseplant and taking the milk and bowls to the fridge. Barry opens up the bag, the smell of grease hitting him like a wave. There’s an order of fries and a wrapped-up sandwich on the inside. A quick sniff told him something is off; it isn’t Burger Shot, that much is certain. “Eat what you want, I got plenty! I got two number 9s, a large number 9, a number 6 with extra-”

“Dee,” Barry interrupts, daring to pull a fry from the bag for inspection, turning it around, checking every detail before putting it in his mouth. It’s fine, nothing special. What is unusual about it is that it’s here and he didn’t get it or pay for it. “When did you get this?” Judging by the temperature of the fry, it was very recent. It’s still warm, even if it’s dreadfully soggy.

“I just came back a bit ago. I was going to call you, but I figured if you were this late you were busy with the boys.” He sits back down, picks up his discarded poultry, and starts to eat again. Dundee pats the spot next to him, leaving streaks of grease on the fabric of the sofa.

Barry takes the invitation and sits down stiffly, this feels like it isn’t supposed to be happening, yet here they are; Dundee, with enough food to feed an army that he went out and bought with his own money. “Dee,” he starts as he pulls out his chicken burger, unwrapping it and taking a small bite. It’s greasy and fatty, like chewing slimy rubber. Barry makes a face at the taste as he rewraps it, putting it back into the bag and setting it to the side. “How did you get this delivered? I thought they didn’t take cash.” Where would Dundee even get money to buy it? Barry doesn’t have any money lying around. Did he scam someone outside the apartments?

“I robbed some gas stations,” Dundee explains as if it were normal for him as of the last few months. He stuffs more chicken into his mouth, oil seeping down to his beard, over the beads knotted throughout it. “I was hungry, and I knew you’d be a while, so I had to get it myself.” He takes a french fry, dips it into the oil underneath his lip, and then pops it in his mouth. “I been thinking a lot about what you said last night.”

“Yeah?” Barry leans in, mentally preparing himself for some revelation that has nothing to do with their discussion last night, or the exact wrong conclusion that he’s hoping for. The club has been talking about him more since Barry started talking about Dundee more. Their reactions aren’t ideal, but at least his name is still in their minds.

“Maybe,” he rips off more meat from the chicken, cascading juice down his face. “Maybe I have been hiding from the club. And it fucking sucks.” Dundee picks up the soda next to the laptop and takes a long drink from it, sparing a moment to clean his beard up with one of the many provided napkins. “I sit here thinking the bastards are going to reject me, then sit and mope that I miss the stupid sonsofbitches.”

Barry tries to limit his expectations. This is a good start, but he can’t tell where it’s going. While it would be easy to assume the next words out of Dundee’s mouth are going to be ‘I want to meet with the club’, they could just as easily be ‘I’ve realized I don’t want to ever see them again’. “The stupid bastards miss you too, Dee.”

Dundee makes a face, something about it says he wants to argue but is holding himself back from saying anything – that’s an improvement. He bites his lip, nibbling off some dead skin. “I need to see them. If the bastards don’t want me they can say it to my fucking face. I’m not sparing them by getting rid of myself.” As he speaks, he seems to be gaining more confidence, seemingly inspired by his ability to say them out loud.

It’s not 100% positive, but Barry will gladly take it. “Then that’s what we’ll do.” Disregarding the remaining Cluckin Bell, both piled on the floor and in Dundee’s grasp, he reaches out his hand. He can reheat his lunch later. “Come on. I’ll take you to them.” Dundee seems to withdraw, taking another bite from the chicken leaking down his arms. “We’ll go together.”

For a long couple of seconds, Dundee just looked at Barry, beard glistening with oil and a slight film of sweat. His breathing picks up as the seconds tick by, eyes never coming from the limb hanging in the air. Barry thinks both of them know that what he does here is going to determine how he’s going to be seen by the club. His arm wavers –

And Dundee has the offered hand in a blink, pulling himself from the couch, the food completely forgotten. He swallows, licking his moist lips. “You’ll be with me?”

“Yeah,” Barry answers as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Had he not made that clear before now, that Dundee wouldn’t be alone when he talked to the club? Barry guesses that he didn’t say it explicitly, and Dundee can be thick at times. Damn, maybe he could have avoided so much of this if he had just explained himself more. “I’ll be there. I’ve been laying the groundwork.”

“...okay.” Dundee nods affirmatively, eyes wide, almost lost. He takes a step back, leaving Barry concerned that he was already trying to run away. Dundee points to the bathroom. “I’ll clean up real quick and then maybe we can go. Before I convince myself I never want to see them again.”

That almost causes a chuckle. If he knew Dundee’s thought pattern any better, people might assume Barry could read his mind. He watches him go to the small bathroom, the water turns on just a few seconds later. Barry checks his phone for any messages while waiting for Dundee to finish. He’s out in only a minute, beard wet but clean and his face a bit dry. “Come on, no more waiting. I’ll drive us both to the Billy. I’ll show you to the club, you can stand right next to me, and we’ll decide how to reintegrate you into the BBMC, okay?”

“Yeah,” Dundee nods again. “Even if they don’t want me, they’ll do whatever you want.”

He can’t be sure, but he swears Dundee mumbles something about them always liking Barry more. Now probably isn’t the time to confront that; if he remembers that tomorrow he’ll bring it up. “Come on,” he gestures for the other man to follow him as he leaves through the door, leaving little recourse but for Dundee to come along.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t get dressed up fo-”

“DEE,” Barry jabbed his finger down the empty hallway. “We’re leaving while you’re ready to actually do this. Now get your ass over here before I drag you to the Billabong.” Which the club would probably prefer, of course, but Dundee doesn’t need to be told that. If what he said about Norman was right, he might already assume as such. This will be much better for everyone involved, him walking in of his own accord with Barry in tow. Barry waits a few more seconds until Dundee finally steps out of the apartment, a new determination coloring his face, then shuts and locks the door behind them.

It’s a short elevator ride down to the ground floor. No one comes through this area of the city much anymore, but today is particularly busy. They weave through the small crowd running this way and that as Barry leads them to the Sabre. Were this any other instance, Barry would have taken out the Helion, but he didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself. A blue muscle car doesn’t scream BBMC nearly as loudly as the car with their logo on the top. He’s just reaching for the driver's side door when his phone rings; it’s Collin. “‘Ello?” he greets.

“BARRY!” Collin hollers into the phone. “I just got a call from Chip, we need to meet him up by You Tool. It’s urgent, we have to get there ASAP.”

“The fuck?” Barry questions, the car separating him and Dundee. Barry thinks about what he has to do in this situation. So much for taking Dundee straight to the club while he’s feeling brave. “Is this about his emo shit?”

“You just need to get there, Barry.”

Goddammit. “I’m headed there right now, where are you?”

“I just left the Tuner Shop, I’m going there too. I already called the club.”

“Alright, if you get there first find out what this shit is about.”

“Wait, hang on, it’s about-”

Barry ends the call before Collin says whatever it was he wanted to say. It can’t be too serious, Barry knows where to go and who is asking for him there, that’s the information he needs. Barry is opening the door to the car as he spots Dundee on the other side, his expression sullen. It slows Barry down, if only for a few seconds.

“I guess there’s no room for one more?” Dundee seems to know he’s not going to be included in whatever it is that’s happening. He takes a few steps back from the car, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “I can just head back to the apartment. I’m sure the club will want you afterward.”

It’s true, Barry doesn’t come back after he leaves for the day, and it’s something he’s seeing that may have been harmful. There were days he could have spent more time at his old home. No one would question if he decided to spend a night or two at his old apartment. Did Barry, unintentionally, reinforce the idea that the BBMC was something Dundee wasn’t welcome in? “Fuck,” he mumbles as he rounds the car, fishing in his pockets for cash. “Here,” Barry says as he pulls out a small wad of money, taking Dundee’s hand in his and flipping it over so he can smack the bills into Dundee’s open palm. “Take this, go get gussied up for the club. Get a new outfit, have them fix the beads in your beard, whatever. You’ll want to be dripped out, right? Big return and all.”

Dundee already seems less vibrant, the cautious hope in his eyes gone. “Sure,” he replies, wrapping his hands around the money and putting it into his pocket. “You’ll call when you’re done?”

“As soon as I figure out what the hell is going on, I’ll call you,” Barry promises as he settles into the driver’s seat. They both know the odds are very high that that call will never come. He’ll be occupied until it’s time for bed and then feel too awkward to call so Barry will wait until morning and apologize and mention something came up over breakfast. He backs out, waves goodbye then slams the pedal to the metal, his Sabre shooting out of the parking lot down Alta Street. He spares one glance into his rearview mirror, watching Dundee stand in the middle of the street. He’s blocking other cars from pulling out, all honking at him as he pays them no mind.

The tool store is up along the freeway, but they’ve never been there. It isn’t one of the stores most people shop at. Barry speeds through the city to get there in just a handful of minutes. The cops are all on some chase through the city after a bison. Most likely something SBS that he doesn’t want to be near. He pulls into the parking lot, which is mostly empty save for a small gathering of BBMC cars. Another pulls in behind him as he’s picking an open spot for his Sabre; it’s Aubrey. She says a quick ‘hey’ as the two of them walk around the building to the side where there’s some kind of commotion taking place.

Around the corner is Collin before a small crowd of Antonio, Junior, Buck, Stevie, and TJ all talking to Chip and a second Buck. Barry does a double-take just to be sure he’s seeing correctly.

“Look at him!” Chip screams, rattling the man around under his arm, the man in question seems drunk and dirty, in a short, salmon dress that barely covers his legs. “You can’t tell me that he isn’t the spitting image of Buck! He’s your long-lost brother!”

Collin is harshly rubbing his temples, scrunching up his already deeply wrinkled forehead, strands of hair falling down his face; he looks ragged. “Fuck you, Chip.”

“Oh, come on, gwumpy, look at him!” Chip gestures toward the man stuck in his armpit as he sways, looking close to tossing up whatever it was he had drank to get him in that state. “You can’t tell me he isn’t the spitting image of our little Bucky!”

Buck stomps his foot into the hard, clay dirt. “That ugly sonofabitch doesn’t look anything like me!”

The doppelganger swings at Chip’s crotch with his fist, managing to hit his inner thigh. Barry winces. “I ain’t got a fucking brother, ya dumb prick!” The stranger seems to relax for a moment, shrugging in the tight grasp holding him to Chip. “Not a living one, anyway.”

“I’m not Bucky either!” Buck waves his arms in the air. “See? Gottem both!”

In Barry’s mind, he can hear Dundee screaming at Buck, telling him he can’t say that kind of shit. Antonio turns towards an empty lot and stares at it for a few seconds, looking like he wants to say something. Barry really is surrounded by lunatics.

“CHIP!” Collin screeches. “You said you found fucking Dundee! Not some mountain hillbilly drunk off his ass!” He points around to the group all watching in bewilderment. “I called the entire goddamn club here because I thought it was fucking important!” He turns towards Barry, pointing towards the city. “And where the hell is Edbert? I thought he said he was coming with you!”

Barry shrugs. “I don’t fucking know.”

“It is important!” Chip argues, shaking the man he’s holding hostage. “I thought he looked like Dee at first, but then I looked closer and saw he was Buck’s fucking twin!”

The man being held tries to rip himself away from Chip. Barry doesn’t pay too much attention to it as he’s noticed TJ coming closer to him, subtly motioning for him to come closer. Barry sidesteps over to his son, hands tucked into his pockets. TJ leans in close as soon as his father is near enough. “I thought Dee was hiding at the apartments,” he whispers.

“He is,” Barry replies under his breath. “I just left him there. He wants to meet with the club.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I was shocked too.” Barry spares a glance to the crowd, making sure none of them are watching. “After this, I need to call him. We’re going to set something up. I think they’ll be calmer if he’s standing next to me.”

“You sure about that?”

Before Barry can answer, the man stuck in Chip’s grip screams. “Let me the fuck go before I put fucking fire ants into your piss hole then stomp the little bastards!”

Collin runs his hands down his face.

“Brah, I think you should let the little hillbilly go,” Junior pipes in. “You want him ta come down to your house at night to make friends?”

“I’ll show you fucking making friends!” the man kicks at Chip’s leg, desperately trying to gain freedom. “Do you know who the fuck I am!? I’m one of the main characters you OC self-insert regurgitated shitdicks! Living your pretend little lives because people like me made it profitable!”

“Just,” Collin starts, still rubbing his temples, his face flushed red and sweating. “Just fucking shoot this cunt, someone, please. This is a fucking waste of everyone’s time and my fucking patience.”

“Aw, Collin, don’t be a party pooper!” Chip shakes the man under his arm who finally gets a firm enough footing to rip himself away. His dress hiking up just enough to see the tip of his penis. “AH SEE! He is Buck’s brother! Who else just has a wang hanging out in public?”

“Try it, motherfuckers,” the man challenges, opening his arms and thumping his chest. His neck tattoo proudly requests ‘cut here’. He almost seems familiar in a way. “I got plot armor, bitch. You think they’ll let some tiny cock 16-year-old living in mom’s basement take me out? Fucking try it! I dare ya!”

Collin raises to that challenge, pulling out his pistol and aiming precisely where the drunk man was indicating, pulling the trigger with a small flick of the wrist just to be flashy. His aim looks true, there is barely any distance between the two, no high wind to speak of, and Collin is one of their best shooters.

His shot misses.

Sand scatters from where the shot hits the ground. Collin looks down at his gun that somehow has curved his bullet around the man Chip kidnapped. Without a word, Stevie draws her gun and attempts to do the same, loudly clicking in her hands instead of firing.

“What the hell!? I just got more ammo for this!” She pulls out the magazine and finds it filled.

“Yeah!” the man drunkenly stumbles, hand waving in the air. “Yeah, that’s what I thought! Dumb motherfuckers! You ain’t even worth my goddamn time. I got important, plot-relevant shit to do!” Whoever this is, he’s already walking away, somewhere north. Chip indignantly screams out at the man and tries to give chase, only to fall over his own two feet. No one else even flinches to follow the stranger as he slowly meanders around the building to the front.

“Who the fuck was that guy?” Antonio questions.

“Guys!” Chip wines, “that guy was family! We could have made him a hangaround! Buck and uh,” he snaps his fingers, trying to think of or recall something. “We could have named him Rogers!”

Collin shakes his head, turning around and stomping back to the parking area. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters.

Barry watches him start to leave. If history continues, Collin will find Nancy and hang out with her for the rest of the day instead of the club. Which, normally, wouldn’t be an issue if not for the fact Barry had planned on announcing that he had found Dundee and wanted the entire club there. Now he’ll have to worry that some of them might not show up, because of this false alarm on the same day. He can’t push it off though. If he waits another day, he’s certain that Dundee will pull back. His nerve seemed pretty shot after Barry had to leave to come here. He doesn’t doubt that if he pushes it off more, Dundee will doom spiral.

Just as Collin is about to round the building, a blue car barrels past him, skidding through the dirt, ripping up the grass, and skidding to a halt just to the right of the group of Bondi Boys. Collin doesn’t seem to be in the mood for this, his fists balled up at his sides as he directs his ire toward the car. “WHAT THE HELL?!”

Chip hops up from the ground and rushes to the small group. “Oh shit, second Buck called for backup!”

They watch as Edbert exits the car, fashionably late to the party. “Sorry, I’m late,” he announces to the group, gun in hand. “I know I should have brought coffee at least, but I have a good reason why I’m not on time!”

“Save your breath, Chip called us up here on a wild goose chase,” Collin said, waving off the attempt at either an apology or a joke. Whichever one it was, it didn’t seem like he was interested in hearing it.

“Well, maybe we can still have our goose.” Ed turns back to the car, pointing his gun through the window to the passenger side. Barry cranes his neck to see what he’s pointing at, but he’s too far away. Ed parked his car on the other side of the BBMC. TJ takes a few steps closer, likely for the same reason. “Come out, very slowly, keep your hands where I can see them.”

A soft breeze blows through the out-of-control weeds, providing the only sound. A sense of dread fills the empty pit of Barry’s stomach, settling in with the gross chicken he was given from some restaurant he’s never heard of. When no one comes out, Ed slams the top of the car with the butt of his pistol. “HEY! I said get out here!”

A second man appears from the other side, hair wild and untamed, going down past his shoulders. Barry’s heart stops as the man slowly walks around the front of the car, hands held up as instructed. He’s looking down at the ground, letting his hair fall in front of his face, but the beard stands out despite his efforts, knotted throughout with bright beads. TJ turns to Barry, silent questions dancing on his face.

“Don’t be shy. Show us that pretty face of yours.” Edbert keeps the gun trained on him at all times, aimed squarely at Dundee’s head; as if it doesn’t have enough bullet holes as is.

Dundee lifts his head, daring to move his hand just enough to brush the flowing locks behind his ear, letting them all see more of his features. Barry isn’t close enough to see the details, but he knows them by heart. His crow’s feet have gotten worse, and his eyes are dark, even when Barry came to the apartment late and let him sleep in. There’s a slight clench in Dundee’s jaw that wasn’t there before. For a man dead for months, he looks fantastic. At least, that’s how Barry tries to see it.

“Dee?” someone in the crowd says, either Antonio or Junior.

Dundee clears his throat, stands up as straight as he can, the beads in his beard catching the light like gems. He looks almost regal, a confidence radiating off him that he didn’t have at the apartments. It’s refreshing to see after weeks of him hiding away from the world. More disparagingly, hiding away from the club.

Barry takes a few steps forward before he even realizes, wanting to go over and stand next to him. TJ yanks the back of his shirt, ripping Barry back into the present.

“Let them see him alone,” TJ whispers, letting go of Barry’s shirt, and discreetly tucking his hand under his arm as if nothing happened. “If it gets out of hand, we’ll both go over.”

‘No’ almost spills out of Barry’s mouth, catching on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t want to leave Dundee to the wolves, in a manner of speaking; nor does he want to leave Dundee to say something stupid while he’s not thinking. They should have been in this together. All of his fucking plans, all of that waiting in his apartment, thrown out the window. Barry might as well have dragged Dundee by his toenails to the club day one if this shit was going to happen. He’s tempted to disregard his son’s wishes and walk over to Dundee anyway.

Steadily, the group pulls together, leaving only Barry and TJ by themselves. Edbert keeps his gun on Dundee, long after it’s necessary. Even if Dundee were to start shooting, there would be little he could do with all of them there.

“Boys,” he greets, his normal, rough baritone now gentle and high-pitched. All of the confidence in his stance disappears when he hears his own voice. “Can you please put the gun away? I’m unarmed. I can’t do shit.”

Edbert glares at the man, the barrel remaining pointed at Dundee’s head against the request to lower it. “And why should I listen to you?”

Barry notices the slight curl of Dundee’s fingers, his shoulders raising closer to his neck. “Put the gun away,” he commands automatically as if no time has passed. That he and Dundee are both still in charge, and he expects the club to obey without this kind of lip. Edbert gives him a side-eye, not flinching to move his firearm down. “I said put it away!”

“Barry, we had a meeting about this!” Ed waves his free hand around his head. “I know you forget a lot, but not this kind of stuff.” He only lets his eyes wander from Dundee for a second at a time, always quickly turning his attention back to him. “You know, we find Dundee, make sure he’s not going to try to kill us? He’s a fucking lunatic, remember? Norman makes people worse and he was already hurting us.”

“I’m sure the weapon and insults will really help bring him around,” TJ quips, untucking his hand from beneath his arm to give a thumbs up. “I can feel the club coming back together.”

The gun still hasn’t wavered. Junior motions for it to be put down as well, waiting for TJ to finish before he interjects. “I say we let Dee talk. See what he has to say for himself.” He walks over to Edbert, touching his arm with the rough tips of his fingers. It’s enough to make the weapon go away finally.

That is all Barry wants. Still, he scowls a bit at the reaction, marking this moment in mind that his commands were ignored while Junior’s were not.

Visible tension melts from Dundee’s frame, his tucked-back hair falling into his face again. “Thank you,” he says, scanning through the crowd, taking a half step to the side, putting himself a step closer to the pair of Barry and TJ. “Listen, I just want to say some shit. I know what you’re all thinking; that I’d come back all screaming and losing my fucking mind. That I’d come and try to bomb the Billabong or shoot Barry or something. And the truth is; if this was a few weeks after I died, I might have.”

Dundee scratches the back of his head, deeply scratching one particular spot. A pang of guilt shoots through Barry as he thinks that maybe that’s the spot where Dundee was shot.

“Purgatory showed me a lot while I was there. I was allowed to see all of you and hear what you were saying. What you were doing. But that,” he shakes his head, as though trying to find his train of thought. “It doesn’t matter. What I figured out while I was there is how much I missed everything. I missed my friends.” Dundee looks over to Barry and TJ before looking back to the group. “I missed my family. I missed my life. I wanted things how they were before, before I had literally nothing.”

From what Barry hears about Purgatory, it seems like it’s less than nothing; it’s an absence of something, a place tailor-made to break you. Make victims pliable for the god of death so he may do as he pleases. When did they have to start dealing with gods? Kratos withstanding – Barry is positive he’s just a crazy man, but who can be sure anymore?

So,” Dundee starts, hands splayed out open. “What do you say? We had good times when I was prime minister, right? I always wanted you guys to be happy.” He smiles at them, but it looks fake.

Barry moves closer to Dundee, despite TJ’s earlier protest. If this isn’t ‘things going south’ he isn’t sure what is.

“We can do a club race! Or uh,” he snaps his fingers next to his head. “You guys can show me what’s new in the city. I can meet the hangarounds and shit. It’ll be just like before. No death, no cop war, just all of us robbing banks and driving, chilling like a club. Right?” Dundee nods to them, his smile growing more desperate. It’s too wide, too toothy, he even points to the beads in his beard.

It breaks Barry’s heart to see.

There’s a hush over the BBMC, the crowd looking between each other for what their thoughts are on the current situation. Stevie is the first of them to speak up. “Are those my beads?” she asks, pointing out the beard that was just proudly displayed.

Dundee and Barry both seize up.

“They are!” Edbert confirms, his hand flinching to pull back out his gun, something keeping him from grabbing it again. “I wouldn’t even have recognized him with all that hair if he didn’t have your stuff in his beard.”

“What?” Dundee asks as if he’s utterly oblivious to what she is talking about.

Barry moves between Dundee and the club, followed closely by TJ, confirming his fear that they’re entering a worst-case scenario.

“How the hell did you even get those? I had them in Barry’s house.” Stevie bites her finger, teeth sinking into the thin flesh. They haven’t had rings in a while or he’s sure she’d be twirling it on her hand.

Barry recalls her making jewelry for the club a few weeks back, leaving them with his house should the club need to make one for a sudden spike in luck in hacking cars. They didn’t seem to help so he disregarded them, eventually bringing them to Dundee for his entertainment in place of throwing them out. They look good in his beard, and it made him happy. Barry even weaved one of them in himself one morning before he left for the BBMC. An orange bead that’s still in Dundee’s wiry beard. He probably can’t untangle the damn thing, Barry did not do a good job placing it.

Most of the club is looking at Dundee. Stevie, however, is looking up at Barry, her head tilted to one side. She’s thinking very hard about something, he can tell that even from where he is standing.

“You heard the lady: how the hell did you get those?” Edbert demands, gripping his gun in his back pocket. “What, did you rifle through our trash?”

Dundee turns to Barry, wide, brown eyes scanning his face for something. Barry's own eyes probably match; Stevie knows something is up. He hasn’t prepared a reason why he hid Dundee away from them. Kept him to himself despite all of the orders for the others to bring Dundee in as soon as they found him. “You uhhh…” Dundee starts, “You know how the windows are on that house. You hit the screen a bit, comes right off, windows don’t lock, the whole house is sort of shit.”

An unnerving silence descends again, this time, there is palpable tension in the air. Dundee does as he always does, he giggles awkwardly in an attempt to soothe himself.

Collin rests his hands on his hips, thumbs in the loops of his jeans. This is probably the most southern he’s ever looked. “So let me get this straight: you spied on us, were hiding from us at the apartments, and now you’re telling us that while we were mourning you that you were fucking robbing us?!”

“WHAT?!” Dundee screams back. “No! I was just,” he balks, holding out his open palms. “You know, anyone could have knocked out the window and picked up some beads sitting on a table or some shit and then left them in the city where I found them! Anyone that’s not me, ‘cause I sure as fuck didn’t sneak in to grab beads just to alleviate my boredom at the apartments while I was hiding from you all.”

Collin has to hold his head, mouth flapping as if he’s forgotten how to speak. “Wha-” He pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head incredulously. “My god, Dee. I thought you made lame excuses with the cops but that was a fucking work of art.”

“And you want to be nice to him!” Edbert says to Barry, jabbing his pointer finger at Dundee. “He can’t stop fucking us over. Can’t help himself. Must be fucking hardwired to do it.”

“Wait,” Dundee takes a half step away. “I mean that! I didn’t steal anything from you! I want to be in the club again. I want-”

Junior cuts into the conversation. “You want to not change and us to just accept that. Well, Dee, that’s not good enough anymore. We don’t want excuses. We want more from you.”

“What do you mean I don’t want to change? I just made a speech about-”

Collin cuts him off before he can finish. “You just said you had Norman show you what we were doing and saying then stole shit of Stevie’s from Barry’s house.”

“But I-” Dundee stammers.

Buck loudly scoffs. “Probably couldn’t grab his car out and drive off with it. I bet he wants in to take back everything he thinks is his.”

“I didn’t-”

“I think you’ve said enough,” Junior finishes.

“Can you let him say more than one sentence?” TJ raises his voice above the others, something he never used to do. “I thought we wanted to bring him in so we could hear what he has to say for himself, not what you’re all saying for him.”

Again, the BBMC is silent as Barry finally puts his foot down. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.” In truth, he should have done this a while ago. He should have been prepared for questions, and he shouldn’t have taken those stupid beads. “We need to have a real discussion about what we’re doing with Dundee and everyone sounds like they’re a little pissy right now.” In the back of his mind, he wonders if he would be this defensive of Dundee if he hadn’t been hiding him for weeks. “Let’s all take a few minutes, calm down, we can all meet back at the Billabong. Shouldn’t be having this conversation next to a shitty hardware store.”

“Yeah? And what keeps him from running away like a bitch?” Edbert questions.

Barry glares at him. “We’re all going to chill the fuck out, then we’ll talk about this. I’ll bring Dee with me, so we know he isn’t running away.”

Ed scoffs. “Yeah, the most biased person here is going to watch him. Sounds smart.”

“Biased? I FUCKING SHOT HIM!” Barry screams, catching Dundee flinch out of the corner of his eye. Great. Fucking great. “This is exactly why we all need a few minutes to cool off. We’ll all meet at the Billy. And he’ll be there. I’ll make sure of that personally.”

Collin clears his throat, bringing more attention to himself. “Barry, we have someone whose job it is to deal with issues like this. We should have Stevie watch him.”

Barry clenches his fists. “I am fully capable of watching Dundee. I was his keeper for longer than most of you have been in this club.”

“I think I should,” Stevie says. “I want to have a long talk with him while we’re setting up this meeting.” She casts a harsh look toward Dundee.

He looks away as soon as her gaze meets his.

“I will take him,” Barry pushes, holding an arm out in front of him. “I’m the one that knows how to speak Dundee. He’ll come with me. End of discussion.”

“Wow, Barry,” Edbert chastises, sarcastically clapping. “You made a woman the Chaplin now you think you can do her job better than her? Very progressive. Hey, maybe you and Dundee can get canceled together.”

That word makes Barry and Collin cringe. A shake of anger racks Barry’s frame, this has all spiraled into chaos. Then again, would be the BBMC if it didn’t? He should never have let Dundee hide so long, nor should he have left him alone after he ran off for this stupid meeting that Chip felt was so important. Under his breath, he grumbles. “Fucking… FINE. But if Stevie’s not in, I’m taking him. Fuck you.” He turns, stalking off toward his car. “Everyone come down to the Billabong when you’re not being assholes.”

TJ moves out of his way, pushed into Dundee’s bubble. Both of them watch him go. TJ seems concerned for him while Dundee looks lost. Fuck. Barry can hear someone mention a hobo pissing on Collin’s car, probably the same one from before. Collin runs past Barry screaming about it. Barry climbs into his Sabre while Collin gets into a shouting match with Not Buck, sitting on the car’s piss-soaked front seat, as he’s trying to hotwire the mustang. He can’t deal with this right now. After all the time he spent, dreading this day, it seems he was right to be fearful. Maybe he should have just let Dundee live his life in the apartment. This feels almost like he’s abandoning Dundee, but he can’t watch Stevie take off with him in tow. Not after everything he’s already put in. Barry rips his door open and slams it shut, picking a direction and driving in it, not daring to look back as the You Tool fades into the distance.