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hausofmamadas · 1 year ago

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| Chasing ghosts and choices |

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Pairing: David Barrón x Enedina Arellano Félix x Claudio Vásquez

For @narcosfandomdiscord NarcOctober Fanworks collection - Day 13

Prompt: Day of Life - create a fanwork in which a character avoids their canonical death.

Word count: ≈ 1.7K

TWs: Canon-consistent violence, angst in only the way my boi does I mean just look at that face in the first gif, he’s so not a happy camperksjeb

They’d known each other too long, loved each other too much, and hurt each other too intimately and too many times to pretend they were better than exactly who they were. Okay on my life, I did not mean to do the same exact setup as @drabbles-mc fic for today. I just like am super back in my Barrón feels in a BIG fuckin way rn thanks to Bobby Soto ruining my life in A Million Miles Away skdjflsk but like weirdly and accidentally, this could be kind of a sequel to Adamant skjsldkj imsorryforeverything anyway enjoy Barrón lowkey kicking himself for saving Claudio and also being like, "aight, fine. It was the right call" bc he would never do his lady love so dirty as to purposely let her new husband die SKSKS

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At the sliding glass doors of the Arellanos’ place, Barrón stood, watching the predawn fog diffuse over houses on the streets below, making itself at home in the cracks of alleyways, like the city of Tijuana was an abandoned crypt, the casitas, its tombstones, and struggled to remember the last time he’d saved someone.

Being a sicario, he didn’t have much occasion to save people. Or at least, not without tipping the scales in death’s favor in the process. And yet, reminded in a flash of memory—some fake cop’s hat flying in the air when one of his bullets sinks in the guy’s forehead and drops him almost comically like his body’d turned to lead—in this case, he’d delivered plenty to death’s door. He was nothing if not a professional, right.

Maybe it was who he’d saved that made this feel more significant than past jobs. Less delivering to death’s door, more delivering life, delivering a future with one she loved, back to her. That felt as big. Bigger even. Particularly when it ensured his own future would be the same as it ever was. Chasing ghosts and loving in silence. Playing not the fool, but a tool. A weapon. Incredibly useful if only for a precious few tasks. And in the end, who could really blame them when he was so good at it? That’s right. Nothing if not a professional.

With any luck that’d be his ticket out though, what with Mín going off the grid until things cooled down and the family figured out the next moves to make. Hopefully, he’d have a new post to look forward to, a change of scenery. If not the places then the people. Or some of them.

Because no doubt there’d be some kind of political fallout, Claudio being a district attorney and all. He was affable enough to massage it over with the public but his own family was another matter. They were probably furious, already skeptical about the match from the get. So, the Arellanos would have to measure their response carefully. And that’s just what it would have to be: a response, not a retaliation. The inconvenience of legitimacy now rearing its ugly head with such urgency, Barrón didn’t even have the fight left in him to manage a glib, ya te lo dije.

He wondered idly if maybe that was part of Chapo’s plan or just an unhappy accident, forcing the Arellanos in the public eye at such a precarious time. Not yet legitimate enough to be installed in the untouchable chilango upper class where they could retaliate with impunity, but still beholden to the higher standards of a “real” business in the eyes of the people.

As of now, it all seemed like just the most fucked game of Cat’s Cradle. Too much for a pocho from Logan Heights to untangle. It wasn’t even that strategy wasn’t his strong suit, it was more political machinations like these never much held his interest. Maybe the attempt on Claudio’s life would be enough to draw Dina back in. Give her back what she gave up. That was how Barrón had known it was real with them to begin with. She stepped back. No longer lived and breathed for the thrill of realizing the potential of the family business like she’d envisioned. Envisioned since she was a kid, a fact she’d revealed in one of their little warehouse chats when he first got there. Years ago. Back when they were– ah, fuck it. He’d chase that ghost later.

The funny thing was she did that all giving up and stepping back in a bid to keep things separate, shield Claudio from the less savory aspects of things. A bullet to the shoulder is about as good as that plan went.

Maybe this would be Dina’s time. The prospect filled him with pride. Hope. It’d be a thrill to see if it didn’t hurt so bad. And truthfully, given the choice, Barrón would rather fight back boredom-induced sleep, watching little Ruthie play with Lincoln logs in a safe house somewhere, than sit around here watching the future that he’d sacrificed his own for blossom before his very eyes. He did what he did but he didn’t have to like it.

He fished for a porro he’d rolled earlier from his pocket and removed the few stray, leafy bits of weed that had escaped out one end, before popping it between his lips and lighting up. He usually didn’t smoke in the house but considering he still hadn’t changed his shirt stained with Claudio’s blood, setting into the fibers more and more with each passing second, courtesy of a bullet that sailed clean through the guy’s shoulder, he figured he’d earned a pass from his employers. That wasn’t even the best excuse he had. Just the simplest one. What a weird fucking night.

And fuck, he was tired. The noise of the drawers of the credenza opening and closing behind him wasn’t enough to make him turn around. Shit, he might stand here forever. Five hundred years from now, they’d find him, all petrified wood, in this exact spot still staring out the window. Exhausted. Since before he could remember, exhausted.

Her voice broke the reverie and he tried not to resent it too much. He failed.

“David.”

Ugh, they’d talked about this. No first name. He hated it when she called him by his first name. Too close. A flash of red out of the corner of his eye took full shape as Dina joined him at the window, in her red silk robe, arms crossed, hair wild and free like she was the first woman.

A few tendrils of smoke curled out of Barrón’s nostrils and glided down his chin, moving lazy and listless as he felt. The question hung in his throat, thick with smoke, “How is he.”

Dina dropped her shoulders like she’d been holding her breath. “The doctor says he might lose function in his thumb and forefinger on that side, but otherwise,” she exhaled deeply, clenching her jaw to fight back tears of relief, “it looks like Claudio is going to be fine.”

“Heh,” Barrón nodded, half coughing, half chuckling, “I meant Pancho. But uh, no that’s good.” It was sincere and the most he could manage. Frankly, he was impressed he managed that much.

Head dipping forward, her shoulders shaking gently, she laughed self-consciously down at the floor. “Mi brujo, tu compa, sí se pondrá bien. Ese gatito tiene un chinga más de nueve vidas. No te preocupes.”

At that, he smirked and nodded with more heart this time.

They didn’t say anything else to each other for a while. Just stood there watching the purples of the sky brighten, the marine layer fog cooked orange by the rising sun. Down to a sliver of his joint, Barrón sighed, wishing he’d rolled another one, and cracked the sliding door to flick the butt outside. He closed it and stepped back inside to reassume his place as petrified wood but before he got both his hands in his pockets, Dina caught his wrist and slid her hand down into his. It was so stealthy and quick, Houdini’d be proud. He couldn’t place his finger on why, but it filled him with relief that she hadn’t looked at him. Merely held his hand firmly and continued staring out the window, one arm still held tightly across her chest. Yeah, that was easier.

“David. No sé como agradecerte, pero lo que has hecho por Claudio, la familia,” her voice dropped low as if she knew it should be left unsaid, “por mi,” all the while squeezing his hand. “Nunca lo olvidaré.”

He ran his thumb along her palm to let her know he was there, then hummed softly, “Pues, qué otra opción tenía?”

Echoes of the panic he’d felt when he rounded the corner, seeing Claudio crouched in a shower of broken glass, bullet exploding through his shoulder, blood dark red on his crisp blue shirt, hit Barrón like a grenade. What could’ve happened. What almost happened. If he’d gotten there just a second or two later … they both knew.

A dark and inconvenient truth of operating in a world as wild, wild west as theirs made it impossible not to consider. His job, his very nature, made it impossible to ignore: just exactly how easy it would’ve been for him to drag his feet a bit, move just a little slower, lag behind ever so slightly. That one bullet to the shoulder, turns into two in the chest, then three, then four– until. And how easy it would’ve been to play it off like a whoops, unfortunate happenstance, he’d done his best, just couldn’t make it in time, a tragedy.

The fucked thing too was ... for a fraction of a second?

He had thought about it.

He was pretty sure she knew that too or at least considered the possibility. They’d known each other too long, loved each other too much, and hurt each other too intimately and too many times to pretend they were better than exactly who they were. But that’s not how things went. Not the choice he made.

Instead, Barrón whipped around that corner, hammering Chapo and Arturo’s position so relentlessly, the gun felt almost an extension of his own arm – bullet hoses, right – while Claudio was slumped under the bar, clutching his shoulder. Instead, when their path was clear, Barrón yanked Claudio up to his feet by his good arm and offered a shoulder for him to clumsily toss the bad one over. Instead, Claudio bled all over his shirt, as he dragged them both up the steps, down the hallway, into the back kitchen where the Arellanos were waiting, and shot out the windows so they could all make their escape. Instead, he dragged Claudio, once again, to the getaway car and sat him next to his poor Panchito. Best to keep the mess in one place. No use getting blood all over the seats of two different cars.

Some would call it a choice. Then again, with her the foremost thought on his mind, the instant that first bullet ejected from the barrel of his gun into the face of a phony cop, did he really have one to begin with?

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taglist: @narcosfandomdiscord @narcolini @ashlingnarcos @drabbles-mc

#david barron x enedina arellano felix x claudio vasquez #dinarron #narcoctober #day of life #day 13 #95 percent of the time it took to put this together was the gifs ksksks #bc I thought I had made them already #and I had but with my old tumblr handle #also the quality was like .... like it looked like it had been filmed with a potato #bc I had not perfected the process yet sksks so I had to make new ones #but didn't realize that until I finished writing at like 1:00 am #i'm just really bad at this #and i'm sorry for everything #i should really be banned from participating in monthlong challenges tbh

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