rafe cameron [smut collection]

[ x barry ] an eye for an eye

[ not smut, but didn't know where else to post]

With a little chemical help, Barry stays awake for 72 hours after Ward is blown to pieces and Rafe released from jail, before sleeping for the first time. Some of those hours he spends in the mud beneath his trailer in his old army clothes waiting for some overprized gay looking trainers to show up in the grass, out for blood. And they never do.

You stab someone in the back, better make sure they bleed out. And the Cameron doesn't have scratch.

After Barry sleeps again, and wakes up finding himself still alive and well, he decides to get it over with, grant Rafe the revenge he very well deserves, and makes his way behind enemy lines, or the white low walls of Tannyhill, anyways.

"You got some fucking nerve"

Rafe probably already saw him coming over the wall, because he stomps towards Barry through the clean cut grass of his lawn, yelling.

"You're on my property. I can shoot you if I want to", he continues. He looks bad, although the sweaty hair and dark circles under his eyes make him vulnerable in the sweet kind of way, preferable, anyways, to a cold country club grin.

Barry nods, and lazily raises his arms to half lift, mocking his threats. "Yeah, just ion think you want to, bro", he argues. Acts as if Rafe hasn't pulled the trigger before, isn't capable of these things. "Wouldn't be a good look right now"

"Try me", Rafe spits and pushes his jaw forward as he tenses up, fists tightening at his side under Barry's attentive gaze. He acts respectful, and eyes the grass at Rafes feet.

"I heard about your dad"

Rafe feels like flinching when Barry looks up again, looks at him as if he has any right to.

"How you holding up?"

The corner of Rafes mouth twitches into an amused smile that tells more on him than an actual response could've.

It's funny, for Barry to pretend nothing ever happened. Pretend he cares, about any of that, about the sweat in Rafes hair, or the smell of liquor on him, about the tape still down by the dock and the mass of dead fish washing up still, the last of victims Ward C dragged down with him.

"Why are you acting as if we're cool, huh? You sold me out", Rafe spits. Maybe he's harsher than he needs to be, cause no one's asked him that question since, maybe he's softer for it. He's not holding up.

"Give me a chance to explain myself, bro, okay?"

Barry's pleading. Rafe doesn't get it at first, but he is, asking for forgiveness, and Rafes never been on that end of an apology before, feels uncomfortable there, and knows he doesn't belong.

"Explain what? You're not my friend, bro. You're just a dealer. And you did what any normal person would do and turned a murderer in", he counters and shudders at the word.

A murderer. Just any. Not him, though. He shakes his head in an abrupt motion and makes a throw away gesture with his hand, wants to get that word out of the air between them now, but it slips through his loose fingers.

"I didn't expect you to stick with me, alright", he adds instead.

Barry knows damn well he did. Saw it in his eyes when the cops pulled him up from the mud at his cuffed arms, and Barry saw it blue and painful then, staring back at him.

"Yeah right", he mocks. "That why you trusted me with your whole entire escape plan, bro?"

Maybe it's stupid to taunt Rafe on it. Maybe it was stupid, to call the cops.

"Not mine, nah. That was my dads plan, bro", Rafe clarifies.

Rafes plan, had looked much more similar to what Ward had in mind for himself, although less epic, more violent. He planned to go down fighting, die like a man, for not having to live like a man, or go to prison like a man, endure guilt like a man. Take a few more cops with him in the process.

"I knew I wasn't making it outta that swamp", Rafe shrugs. "I mean, I thought we both wouldn't", he chuckles lightly. He'd simply accepted Barry's death in the shoot out as collateral damage.

"And, uhm, my dad. He knew it too", Rafe nods.

It's getting awkward to talk in the middle of his lawn, it's getting painfully familiar to just talk to Barry and Rafe worries if Barry asked again, now, how you holding up, he'd give an actual answer.

"So uhm, anyways, if you're here to apologize, I'm not the guy that deserves one. And I don't need it either", he sums it up and raises his shoulders to drop them again.

If Barry hadn't jumped off the boat, Rafe would've gladly used him a a human shield, and he feels like telling him that, for the off chance it might hurt.

Barry huffs a chuckle. "I know you, Rafey", he offers. "I know how hard you go after those pogues—why again...cause Kie rejected you once?"

Rafe pushes his jaw forward and shakes his head. It's long past that and mean of Barry to bring it up, although there's truth to it. Barry knows him.

"An eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, you love that shit, bro, I know that", Barry goes on to explain. He's seen it bring out the worst and best in Rafe, sweet smiles of joy and sadism. "Makes you all excited and shit"

Not much gets Rafe like it, except drugs and joyriding, maybe, so it's fun to see, if you're standing on the right side of it.

"And I just don't wanna wait til you get back at me, so let's do it now, fight it out, fair and clean"

Barry cracks his knuckles and gets ready to block a swing; he sure won't take the first one. Rafe raises an eyebrow at him, looks tired, under it.

"Not in the mood", he replies shortly.

"Hey, you sick or some'n?", Barry asks with concern that's barely sarcasm, and attempts to feel Rafes forehead for fever, but Rafe slaps his hand and misplaced affection away.

"You know me?", he snaps. "What a bunch of bullshit. You know rich kid me. Cokehead me.
You don't know the cop killer. Neither do I."

Barry looks at him and doesn't see it, not the killer, just the rich kid, tired and broken.

"I have no idea who I am anymore, alright. So don't go telling me how Im supposed to be, okay?That guy's dead, bro", he presses his lips together and nods as if agreeing with himself, then adds: "I killed him"

"Yet you're just a dramatic as you always been, Country Club", Barry mocks and nods toward him. Then he pulls a joint he had tugged behind his ear and Rafe wants to scream at him. We're not cool. We're not.

"The kind of Rafe I knew, bro?", Barry asks, gesturing with the joint. "Always crying. Bout some shit, right? Always, buh-huh, my daddy doesn't love me"

Fishing a lighter out of his pocket while he talks, and he starts mumbling as he puts the joint between his lips to light up. Takes a few drags and nods towards yellow tape over at the ocean.

"Bet you killed that guy, Rafe. Your pops took the fall for you"

"Ya", Rafe agrees shortly.

"Took only three dead bodies for you to realize that man loves you, bro", Barry notices.

He offers the joint ever so casually, and they're not cool, but Rafes not that guy anymore and he takes it.

"How many more it's gone take you for me?"

"What?", Rafe coughs on smoke and Barry slaps his back to help him breathe.