Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms
But when I awoke, dear, I was mistaken
So I bowed my head and I cried

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you
Please, don't take my sunshine away

I'll always love you and make you happy
If you will only say the same
But if you leave me to love another
You'll regret it all someday

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you
Please, don't take my sunshine away

You told me once, dear, you really loved me
And no one else could come between
But now you've left me to love another
You have shattered all of my dreams

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you
Please, don't take my sunshine away
Please, don't take my sunshine away

'You Are My Sunshine- The Dead South'

------------------------------------

It was the two mugs of Devil Juice on the counter that made Stan pause. For eight years of their marriage together, his wife Denise had never drank coffee. Never. Yet there they were, sitting there. It was enough to set off alarm bells in his mind. 

“Dad, you’ve been staring at those cups foreeeever!”

Stan finally turned away from the mugs to face his son. 

His sweet darling baby boy Roy was eating the pancakes and juice Stan had set out for him at the table, swinging his small legs. His seven year old looked a little different than Stan and his wife, with dark hair to both of their blonde, but he loved him all the same. 

Stan was still a little fuzzy on the details of exactly how Roy was created given that he and Denise had never exactly had the sex, and his wife didn’t exactly like him touching her, but he was sure that it was something to do with their two loving presences being together in the same vicinity, that was it!

“You didn’t put these here, did you, Roy?” Stan asked, his brow furrowed in confusion as he pointed to the mugs. 

“Why would I do that? I don’t even drink that nasty stuff! Blech!” Roy stuck out his tongue. 

Stan laughed, “You’re right, I’m just being silly!”

As the days passed and the mugs of Devil Juice continued to show themselves on the counter, Stan grew more and more concerned. Was Denise drinking it now, or someone else? Was it Stan, had he somehow sleepwalked and gotten it from a cursed coffee shop? Oh God, was he secretly a Devil Juice drinker and he didn’t even know it this entire time!?

Stan was a smart man, he knew a bad sign when he saw it. He knew that things between him and Denise hadn’t been the best lately. Denise hadn’t been feeling well a lot of the time-but during these times, she just locked herself in her room, and wouldn’t let him come inside.

Whatever illness she kept coming down with sounded incredibly painful by the moans, grunts and thudding from the other side of the door. Stan’s heart ached at the thought of his wife being in such agony. He wished that he could help her, to ease her suffering in any way he could, but Denise always said not to disturb her when she was like this. 

Stan didn't question it when it seemed that whenever they ordered a pizza, the pizza delivery man needed to come inside Denise’s bedroom before they ate dinner. He and Roy would just get started on the pizza, Stan would turn on cartoons for Roy and just turned the tv up louder when weird sounds started to come from the room. Denise must not have felt well enough to eat again. 

Stan didn’t question that whenever the shirtless pool boy finished cleaning their pool, the weird sounds would start up again in the backyard. Denise really must not be feeling well again and needed some fresh air. 

Stan didn’t question that Roy’s babysitter was rather strapping and muscular, he did need a male father figure while he was gone, after all! Or that their gardener always worked with his shirt off when in view of his wife, who often lay in a bikini to sun tan on the front lawn-the Indianapolis Summers were hot indeed. 

Stan didn’t question why all of them seemed to have a reason to, at some point or another, enter Denise's bedroom where she was napping, sometimes all of them at the same time. And then the weird sounds would start again, and last throughout the night. 

Denise always seemed to let other men help her and come into her room, but never Stan. He couldn’t help but feel saddened by how little she relied on him. It was like they were drifting apart. 

Denise even made a lot of trips to the insurance place. She was gone sometimes even after Stan got back from his long days of work, and had left Roy with a babysitter. Stan didn't question it because a lot of work went into getting the right insurance after all! He was sure these places were open 24/7 for the customers convenience! Sometimes Stan even thought of having his water business open 24/7, but then he’d never see his family, and that would be terrible! 

It was months later, on their anniversary, that Stan finally decided that enough was enough. He would do something for his wife on this special day of all days. Stan had spent the past couple weeks on this painting of Denise that highlighted her beautiful features. He’d painted sunlight from a window behind her that cast a warm, angelic like glow on her pretty face and long, light blonde hair. Her green eyes shone and sparkled like emeralds, and perfectly matched her fluttery, green flowered dress. 

It was drawn from memory when they had first met in the Indianapolis high school cafeteria, Denise extending a hand toward him after the bullies had gotten to him again. 

Art like this was one of the few things Stan felt like he was actually good at. He just knew that if Denise saw this expression of his feelings, it would mend whatever rift was currently between them! 

The weird moaning and groaning sounds came from behind Denise's door again. Stan hesitated in front of it with the painting clutched to his chest, remembering that she might not want him to be there. But Stan really, really wanted to show her what he had worked so hard on-and it was their anniversary, after all...

He opened the door and walked in. Horror washed over him as he didn't understand at all what he was seeing. So many naked limbs and body parts in so many places on top of his wife’s bed. Stan screamed, covering his face with his hands as he ran from the room. Tears blurred his vision as he sobbed, unable to process what he just saw, but knew it wasn’t good. 

Eventually, the figures of Denise and a red haired man stepped out and approached him in the kitchen. Denise was wearing a dark blue robe, her arms crossed and her lips set in a straight line. 

“W-Who is that!?” Stan sobbed. “Denise, who is that!? What were you doing!?”

Denise sighed. “...It’s more like who I was doing, not what. I suppose it was time you met eventually…this is Fredrique, my lover, and we were having sex.” She stated bluntly. 

“The sex?” Stan gasped. 

“Hello,” Fredrique waved, speaking in a slight accent. He had luscious, wavy red locks and just wore a pair of black jeans, showing a well toned chest and arms. He and his perfect muscles and hair looked like they belonged on the cover of a romance novel-not that Stan knew that because he read those kinds of books in his spare time or anything! 

Fredrique was more handsome and beautiful then Stan could ever be, and the longer he looked at him, the more inferior he felt. There was no doubt this man was his better in every way. 

"Stan…I think it's time we got a divorce." Denise said, rubbing a hand over her eyes.

"...Huh? De-Denise, what do you mean, we love each other! I-um-I-uh…made you this painting! It's-it’s for our anniversary!” His hands were trembling and it felt difficult to take in air. Stan fumbled as he picked the painting off the ground and held it up. He winced as he looked down and noticed it was upside down. He quickly turned it the right way. 

“That’s nice,” Denise said, barely even looking at it, “But that won’t change my answer. I’m in love with Fredrique now.” Denise laid a hand on Fredrique’s large bicep. “I just, I can't keep this up anymore. I thought you were going to notice by now, but even when I was being completely obvious with the cheating thing, you’re just so fucking oblivious to everything! To start with, you never even questioned anything when I started showing with Roy, despite us never having sex!”

"But-But I thought he was made by being in the presence of our love together!"

"No, Stan, no. And this is part of the reason for divorce. Did you even pass high school biology? Fredrique did." 

But it was then Fredrique stepped over to the counter to grab one of the mugs of coffee and take a sip out of it. Stan's eyes widened. It was Fredrique that had been drinking the Devil Juice this whole time!?

Everything clicked into place at that moment. Something in him just broke and snapped. 

“It’s the Devil Juice, that’s what’s making you do all of this!" Stan pointed accusingly at the mugs, "You just need to drink more water, and everything will go back to the way it was!” Stan screamed. 

Stan desperately held out a water bottle to Denise with shaking hands, just like the time they first met. But this time Denise just looked at him with narrowed eyes. 

“You’re not making any sense. Do you even realize how crazy you sound right now!?” Denise yelled.

Denise didn’t take it, and the bottle dropped out of his hand to the ground with a loud thud that echoed in his shattered heart.

Stan turned to glare at Fredrique, a burning rage coursing through him. With a yell, Stan launched himself at him, his fist moving toward his perfect jawline. It was more like an awkward slap than a punch, that seemed to hurt Stan’s hand more than Fredrique's face because he hardly even winced.

Fredrique didn't even hit him back, just looking at Stan with apologetic eyes. Stan took it as an incredible blow to his pride. Fredrique didn't even see Stan as a worthy opponent to fight over Denise! "I'm sorry, Stan. I wish it could have been different between us." How dare he be charming with his stupid accent even at a time like this!

Sobbing, Stan clutched the painting of Denise that he had poured his heart and soul into and brought his Swiss Army Knife out of his pocket. He punched the knife through it, ripping through the layers of paint and canvas over and over and over until it was nothing more than a broken mess. Just like Stan as he laid himself on the ground, sobbing hysterically, clutching what remained of it to his chest. 

The realization set in that Denise had probably never really loved him. This marriage was a sham all along and Fredrique has bested him in every way possible. It was all over. 

Stan wanted to fight tooth and nail for the custody of Roy, but eventually everything went in Denise’s favor. Stan had a high suspicion that she was sleeping with both of their lawyers…and the judge…and possibly every member of the jury.  

Stan took what few possessions he had and moved out of the house. He spent lonely nights in his new apartment, sobbing in heartbreak. 

A few days later, Fredrique invited Denise and Roy to live in his mansion with a lakeside view and a yacht. Stan couldn’t compete with that! 

When he visited Roy, he wouldn’t stop talking about Fredrique and all the toys he had now. It was Fredrique he drew pictures of. Fredrique and his mansion of a house, his yacht, his ice cream machine, his indoor movie theater, his indoor bowling alley he could invite his classmates to. Stan was never even a blip on Roy’s radar anymore. 

Dark thoughts swirled through Stan’s mind as the weeks passed, alone in his apartment. 

He was plagued by nightmares that fixated on this man’s death. That on that horrific day, instead of gutting the painting with the knife, he had stabbed Fredrique with it, instead- his fingers stained with warm, wet blood. Then Stan would take a new canvas and brush and paint a new masterpiece with Fredrique's blood that had spilled onto the ground, as the man lay choking and gasping, forced to admire how good Stan actually was at something in his last moments of life. 

The dreams left him deeply unnerved when he woke up in a cold sweat. Stan didn't want to kill anyone, but a part of him whispered that maybe Fredrique deserved it for what he did. That he should regret it all someday for taking everything he cared about away from him.

If Fredrique wasn’t alive anymore would Denise love him? Would Roy respect him? Would he be able to have his old life back? Maybe it would be for the best if he just…killed him? But no! No, no, no, murder was bad! It was really, really bad! No, Stan, no, don’t do it! 

Stan did his best to cast such thoughts out of his head, but it was easier said than done. 

It was made clear to Stan that he needed to move away from Indianapolis to get a fresh start-away from this cursed place and his cursed ex-wife. And maybe it was even in part because he was afraid of himself and what he might do to the man that stole his life away from him if he stayed any longer.  

Stan felt conflicted-he didn’t want to move away from Roy, but he knew he needed to try to be more successful than Fredrique to win back his son's respect. And maybe after that, if he had more money, he could hire better lawyers that wouldn’t sleep with his ex-wife this time! 

When it was time for Stan to visit Roy at Fredrique’s mansion one last time, he gave a heartfelt goodbye, tears slipping down his face. But Roy was too busy looking at the tablet that Fredrique had bought him to respond back. 

Stan took what little possessions he had left and booked himself on the first flight he saw through tear filled eyes. 

Destination: Los Santos, San Andreas.

-------------------------------

Stan was filled with hope and excitement upon arriving at the bright and sunny city of Los Santos, the streets lined with palm trees. He was so ready to build his successful million dollar water empire!

One of the first things Stan did when he arrived was sample what the Los Santos water had to offer, purchasing a water bottle from a vending machine. This was a pivotal step to see what competition he was up against here. Also, Stan was well aware that due to various things, like the treatment process and the minerals present in the local geology, water could easily taste different from place to place. 

Stan placed the bottle to his lips and took a sip. A harsh metallic taste twisted his face in disgust and he immediately spit it out. 

What horrendous atrocity was this!? Was there not some kind of quality control on the water!? How did the people of Los Santos stand the taste!?

It was as Stan walked around the city that that question was answered for him. They just...didn't drink water. There was a coffee shop set up on every block, vending machines filled with soda everywhere. Some vending machines were devoted just specifically to coffee. Every other person he walked past seemed to hold either a cup of coffee or soda in their hands. Not a single water bottle in sight. Not one.

The cursed Devil Juice, Stan shuddered. The dark liquid made him think of Fredrique as he drank coffee out of a mug on that wretched day that turned his life upside down. 

In the days after Stan arrived in the city, he may or may not have broken into a rage and vandalized a few of the coffee vending machines, punching them to the point that the water of his tears mixed with the blood on the ground from his bleeding knuckles. 

Thinking of the problem of the water helped to steer his brain in the direction away from the searing anger. 

The water of Los Santos was more of a…refined taste than any Stan had ever had, and he supposed he would just have to work with it if he was going to do business here. He narrowed his eyes at the bottle he had bought from the vending machine. The quality was atrocious, and Stan just knew that he could do far better! 

When Stan finally got to doing business with the company that would source and produce his water bottles, he absolutely insisted on the highest quality possible. Triple filtered and with the best of minerals for flavor! Stan was prepared to pay them extra and work at a loss to actually ensure a good product he could stand behind. 

And then, finally, finally, the water was truly ready to be sold. It was greatly improved from that first bottle he had drank when he first made it to the city, just a slight aftertaste of metallic flavor. Only 10% lead instead of 20% or even 30%! 

He was ready to deliver it and work hard to purge this city of the disease called dehydration!

But starting his water business from the ground up in another city was more of a challenge than Stan had ever thought possible. He hadn't considered that he himself would need to acclimate to the water of the city, even filled with the small amounts of lead that his own water was. It left him nauseous and throwing up at inopportune times.  

And for some reason, no one wanted to buy Stan’s water. 

It went unsold in vending machines. There were absolutely no orders for him to deliver it. People either ignored him or threw it back at him when he offered free bottles of it, sometimes landing in the puddles of vomit Stan left behind. 

With every sound of a rejected bottle hitting the ground, Stan was reminded of that horrible thud after he had held the water bottle out to Denise and she just didn’t take it. 

She didn’t want him anymore. Neither did Roy, or anyone else. 

Thud, thud, thud, thud, and thud. 

Stan was all alone here. 

Maybe he really just wasn’t cut out for this city, after all. 

By the end of the day, Stan hadn’t even handed out a single bottle of water. He was at the end of his rope, considering just packing it all in and moving back to Indianapolis with a heavy heart. Roy would probably respect him even less, then. 

Just when Stan was thinking of giving up, he met someone by the name of Jimmy. He was the first person to take a chance on his water when no one else would-the nicest, friendliest person Stan had ever met.

Chapter Text

The paper cup of shit tasting gas station coffee was slightly too hot in Jimmy’s right hand, but it was just the way he liked it so he could focus on the pain of that and not other things. Like thinking too much about why his left cheek still stung in the cool night air. How he was wearing these black high heeled boots that killed his feet after standing on the corner for hours. Or what he would have to do the next time a car approached him again. 

The cup burned his hand and the coffee scalded his tongue as he took a sip and he just focused on that. He thought of the crack stashed under the mattress in his apartment and itched for it, knew it would provide an even better distraction-and just wished the time would pass faster to the one part of the day he actually looked forward to.

The headlights of the cars flashed past as they went by and it was one reason he started wearing sunglasses at night- those fuckers just loved to always keep their brights on and blind anyone that was standing nearby.

Jimmy tried to shift his feet to a position that hurt less, but couldn’t find it. Usually, his pimp Alabaster just arranged to have him meet interested clients in a motel room, but sometimes, on a whim, he wanted to see how much money Jimmy could rake in standing on the corner. This stupid outfit Alabaster made him wear, a revealing mesh shirt, leather pants and uncomfortable high heeled boots, just came with the job. He had thought so many times what would happen if he just walked away-but he never did. 

An ever present fear and anxiety of his pimp loomed inside his chest, stopping any plans of ever running. Alabaster was quick to deal out swift and ‘loving’ justice to his bitches that didn’t do what they were told, and was quick to arrive on the scene with a knife in hand for the Johns that didn’t pay up. Despite this, he always seemed to arrive a bit too late when things went south for Jimmy-it was made clear that if things didn’t involve money, he was on his own. 

Sometimes, Jimmy found himself wishing he had someone to care if he died- someone to talk to, someone to at least call him something other than Velvet Aurora, he-bitch or whore. It was a wish he thought of now as listened to the ambient noise of cars driving by and gazed up at the night sky- it was rare to see all that many stars from the pollution of the city, but there was a sliver of a white moon visible and he focused on that. 

A car pulled up just so that the passenger could throw a drink out the window, hitting the brick wall behind Jimmy just inches to the right of him. It splashed his arm and the plastic cup fell to the ground and rolled at his feet, the rest of its contents spilling out. 

"Hey! What the fuck was that for!?" Jimmy yelled, throwing up the middle finger as they drove off. 

Oh, right. He must have zoned out for long enough to blissfully forget that he was in Los Santos. What a stupid wish, anyway. Jimmy was a lone wolf that could survive well enough on his own-he didn’t need to be thinking weak thoughts like this. 

He clenched the hot cup of coffee in his hand. This shift couldn’t be over soon enough. 

Several minutes later he was brought out of his thoughts by someone walking down the sidewalk. Under the streetlights, he saw that it was a middle aged man with blonde hair, a mustache, a blue polo shirt and a fannypack of all things. At first Jimmy thought he would just walk past, but he stopped in front of him, staring intently at the cup in his hands. There was something a bit off about him, his freckled face drained of color, an unsteadiness on his feet. 

“Um…hello? You need somethin’?” Jimmy asked after a few seconds. His hand rested on the knife hidden in the pocket of his pants, just in case things turned ugly. 

The man was startled and looked up. “Oh, um sorry…hi there! My name’s Stan, Stan the Water Man. I noticed you were frowning down at that cup of coffee in your hands and thought you might be in need of some actual, proper hydration. Here, you can have this bottle, free of charge!”

Stan handed the bottle to Jimmy, who reluctantly took it and read the label. Along with a picture of the man's smiling face holding a thumbs up, there were also words that Jimmy read aloud with increasing incredulity: 

"Stan the Water Man's Delivery Service, only 10% lead compared to 20% for the competition!? Bottled straight from the springs outside of Los Santos!?...And wait, you actually drink this stuff!?” Jimmy exclaimed as Stan put another bottle to his lips and started to drink it. He chugged the whole thing in one go with a speed that was actually impressive.

Stan grimanced before slowly lowering the bottle, putting a hand to his mouth as his face turned even more pale-if that was possible. Jimmy stepped away a bit, seeing where this was going, before Stan fell to his knees and threw up on the sidewalk below him. 

"Gross. You okay there, man? I'm just gonna say it, those springs are unbelievably polluted!" Jimmy exclaimed. 

Stan waved him off with a wince. "No need to worry! I’m just new to this city, I still need time to adjust to the lead content in the water! That pleasant metallic aftertaste!” Stan coughed. “But this would be perfect for someone like you that’s native to this city and already adjusted to it!" 

Jimmy sighed. “Look man, thanks for the water, but I'm already good with this cup here.” He held up the cup of coffee. He was about to hand the bottle back, when he heard a sniffle. 

“Th-that's okay, you don't have to try it. For some reason, nobody else I met in this city wanted to, either. Maybe I'm just really not cut out for this place…” Tears had filled Stan's blue eyes and his lip quivered. He looked so devastated that Jimmy actually found himself feeling bad for the guy, this strange feeling of guilt inside his chest. 

God, Jimmy hated drinking water- that awful metallic taste that was a punch to the mouth every time he drank it. Jimmy, as well as everyone else he’d met in this city, usually only drank water when they absolutely had to to avoid severe dehydration. 

But another look at those defeated tearfilled eyes looking off to the side and Jimmy was actually contemplating drinking the bottle in his hand. 

“Okay, fine! Fine! I’ll drink it, but only like a little bit!” Fuck it. He popped off the cap and took a sip, eyes squeezing shut to brace himself for that awful taste.

But it wasn’t there. Actually, it kind of was, but there was only a hint of that metallic flavor as an aftertaste. He blinked open his eyes in surprise. 

“So, how is it?” Stan asked, wringing his hands together. 

“You know, it’s actually pretty good!” Jimmy said.

“You really think so?” 

“Yeah! You know, I’d probably actually drink way more water if it tasted like this,” Jimmy admitted. And he actually would. 

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” Stan declared. Before Jimmy even knew what was happening, Stan had stepped forward to tightly hug him. Jimmy tensed up and flinched, but Stan didn’t even seem to notice as he stepped back before continuing to talk. “It’s just been one hell of a day! One hell of a day! No one in this entire city wanted to try my water- everyone just either walked away or threw the bottles back at me, sometimes landing in the puddles of vomit! I was just beginning to think that I wouldn’t be able to make it in this city, and with a heavy heart I would have to take this water business back to Indianapolis! But then, but then, you were the first person to actually want to drink my water! I just can’t ever thank you enough!” Stan’s face lit up, smiling from ear to ear like he’d just been given the greatest gift in his entire life. 

“You’re…welcome?” Jimmy wasn’t really sure what to say to this shit. He’d never encountered anyone in this city that wore their emotions on their sleeve like this before. Also, who the fuck just hugged someone they literally just met?

“I just really need to make it in this city so I can impress my sweet Roy the Water Boy- oh that’s my son, by the way- and become better than cursed Fredrique!”

Stan proceeded to go into this tragic, long-winded tale of the divorce of his ex-wife Denice, the cursed Fredrique and all the other men his wife might have been cheating on him with and his kid Roy that he needed to win back. And for some reason, Stan still continued to believe Roy was still his actual son, even after Jimmy questioned the fact that both Stan and his ex-wife both had blonde hair and Roy had dark hair, Stan even admitting to the fact that he’d never actually had sex with his wife before. 

There was a few seconds of awkward silence as Jimmy just left the conversation at that. Who was he to shatter this poor man’s innocent beliefs that made him happy? There were enough bad things happening in this world to do that.  

Jimmy was good at listening to people's problems and pretending to care- he swore that a good portion of his clients didn't even pay him for the sex, they paid him to have someone to complain to about their partner or the shit going on in their life. That was to say, that Jimmy had heard a lot of shit, and wow that story was probably on the top of the list of crazy he’d heard. 

“Oh, I just realized that I never even caught your name!” Stan exclaimed, apparently not even bothered by the silence. 

“Uh, the name’s Jimmy.” Maybe he should have said Velvet Aurora, since that was technically his prostitute alias. He didn’t even know why he gave his actual name. 

His pimp's voice rang through his head. “From now on, your name is Velvet Aurora! No one cares what your name was before, he-bitch!”

“Jimmy, huh? I’m gonna call you Friendly Jimmy, because I’ve never met anyone so nice as you!” 

“Really? First time I’ve been called that before.” 

“Well not only were you the first person to try my water in this city, but you also listened to my story of terrible woes without walking away, most people don’t do that!” Stan said with a grin. 

Jimmy wasn’t going to mention that he literally couldn’t walk away because he still had half an hour left on the corner- although he actually had gotten kind of engaged with the story.

“So uh, you mentioned before how nobody else in this city wanted to try that water- just a hunch-” not just a hunch from how Stan had mentioned puddles of vomit “-but did that throwing up thing happen the other times you tried to hand it out, too?” 

“I mean, almost every single time, yeah! The water really isn’t agreeing with me right now, but I should be right as rain once I get used to it!” Stan paused, but then had a look of revelation. “Ohhh, do you think that's why they didn’t want to try it?“

“Yeah, it’d probably help if they didn’t see the salesman puking their guts out after drinking the very product they’re selling,” Jimmy said dryly. 

“Oh phew, that’s a relief! It was just something like that!”

The possible reason why Stan had hugged him crossed Jimmy’s mind, the only reason he could think of that made sense. “By the way, were you wanting payment for that water? You didn’t want me to suck your dick or something, did you? Maybe it would help you forget about that ex-wife of yours,” Jimmy said, shrugging his shoulders.

Stan froze and blushed, holding his hands up, “Uh, wha, no, that’s definitely not what I wanted! The water was free-why would you-why why would you even think that?!” He said quickly. 

“Oh…sorry, just got a bit confused there. See, I thought the reason you hugged me was because you wanted that kind of thing. That’s generally the reason people approach me. It’s kind of just my line of work, see?” Jimmy gestured to his outfit. “Prostitute.” He didn’t think he’d have to point it out- the revealing mesh shirt, leather pants and high heeled boots made it kind of obvious. 

“Oh, uh-um-uh sorry if there was any confusion, I just hugged you because I was really thankful! But, uh, I thought you might have been dressed a bit differently, though. I realized when I was down there on the ground, but those sure are some cool looking boots you’ve got there!” Stan exclaimed with a smile. 

“Thanks, they hurt like a bitch.” Jimmy winced as he flexed his aching feet. It was an understatement to say these were certainly not the best shoes to stand for hours at a time. He looked down at Stan’s shoes, just realizing he was wearing these horrendous looking sandals. “Yours look…comfortable, at least.” Jimmy said reluctantly, the best thing he could say about them without it being an insult.  

“Thanks! They're boat shoes, designed with comfort in mind! You know, we could trade if you wanted- if your feet hurt, you could try these!”

“Dude, have you ever even worn high heels before?” Jimmy arched a brow. 

“No, but there’s a first time for everything! C’mon, there’s a bench right over there! I can’t let my new friend suffer in pain like this!” Stan pointed to a black bench twenty feet away to the right of them.  

Jimmy's mouth twitched as he imagined this man in cargo shorts trying to keep balance in his high heeled shoes. The thought was funny as hell, and Jimmy was so very, very bored, he actually found himself considering it. 

And that last small rebellious part of his mind supplied that Alabaster would absolutely hate seeing Jimmy wear those ugly shoes. 

“C’mon!” Stan waved him over as he sat down on the bench. 

You know what? Fuck it. Jimmy followed to next to him on the bench, setting down the cup of coffee next to him.  

Stan pulled off his shoes and slid them Jimmy’s way on the ground. A lot more reluctantly, questioning everything he was doing, swapping shoes with some stranger, Jimmy unzipped the black boots and took them off his feet with a wince, setting them on the ground. 

Already, he could feel the burning in the places he had already known the shoes had broken the skin enough to bleed, on his heels and sides of his feet. 

Stan hissed between his teeth beside him at the sight. “You weren’t kidding, Friendly, that really has to hurt! 

“Yeah, I was actually just contemplating just chucking em' in the dumpster, but you know, broken glass on the ground and all that. Man, I hate these fucking things...”

“You know, I think I have some in my fannypack…” Stan started digging through the pack, loudly exclaiming when he must have found what he was looking for. 

“Here, take these!” He held out a box of bandaids with some cartoon character Jimmy didn’t know the name of and a white tube of Neosporin. “You can put these on! Before the divorce, my ex-wife always complained about these shoes she wore that dug into her feet. I never understood why she would make such an uncomfortable choice of footwear rather than good ol’ boat or tennis shoes.”

“What's up with that cartoon character on the box?” Jimmy asked. 

“His name is Bluey! Before they were for Roy, but ever since I moved away, I’ve just been using them for me since I’m kind of clumsy sometimes.” Stan held up his hands, and Jimmy only just noticed the bandaids he had on both palms of his hands and his knees. 

Jimmy gave a short laugh. “You’re clumsy, and yet you wanna wear my high heel shoes?”

“I mean, it’ll be fun to try! And I’ve got five more pairs of these bad boys back at my apartment,” Stan gestured toward the sandals. “I just have to survive until I get there.” 

“Fun. Right. So you’re really just handing these out for free?” Jimmy gestured to the bandaids between them. “I really don’t like owing people favors, it usually doesn’t end well.” Jimmy stated firmly. It was kind of how he ended up wearing these damned shoes in the first place.   

“Oh, and you asked if I had any crack on me. Here’s your sign on bonus.” Alabaster got up, took something out of a drawer. He let several small plastic packets filled with white powder fall to the coffee table in front of the couch. Jimmy eyed them hungrily, really hoping that it wasn’t more baby powder. 

“So, when do I start?” Jimmy asked quickly. 

Over and over again, he found himself wishing he had just kept his goddamn mouth shut.  

Stan placed a hand to his chin as he racked his brain. 

“Um…then…uh….think of them as a thanks for being my first ever customer in Los Santos! It’s this new promotion I’m running, every first bottle of water comes with a free box of bandaids!”

“I mean, the bottle was also free…but, okay then, thanks,” Jimmy said, hesitantly taking the bandaids and Neosporin from Stan, who smiled when he took them.  

Jimmy opened up some bandaids and placed them on his feet, the cuts feeling a little bit better afterwards. Then slid them into the surprisingly comfortable boat shoes. 

Stan tried the high heels on, but they only ended up zipping halfway up his calves. “Agh, it looks like my calves might be a bit too thick for these. But at least they zip up partway!” Stan stood up, stumbled and almost fell, before clutching onto the bench for dear life.

“H-How do I look Fri-Friendly Jimmy?” 

Jimmy stood up off the bench, picking up his cup of coffee again. He looked at boots with Stan’s outfit and then the ugly shoes with his own. 

He really tried not to laugh, he really did, but the black boots clashed way too much with the suburban dad look, combined with Stan looking like he was about to fall over any second. And so did the stupid looking sandals with his own outfit. 

Jimmy couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so hard at something to the point that tears were in his eyes. 

“We look so fucking ridiculous!” He laughed. 

“We do!” Stan laughed along with him. “Whoa!” Stan stumbled, throwing out his arms for balance, knocking against Jimmy’s cup and it fell down to the ground with a splash at their feet. 

“Oh God, I’m really sorry, I just lost my balance!” Stan said as he clutched the bench again.

Jimmy looked at the coffee on the ground with just a bit of regret. “No worries, I might've dropped it, anyway. Lost count of how many times I've dropped something- from the crack cocaine." Jimmy added abruptly, showing his shaky hands. 

“Oh! I see…the drugs I’ve heard so much about…”

“Wanna buy some?” Jimmy asked with a devilish grin. 

"Um! I-I've k-kinda gotta save money for other things, like um-uh...transportation!”

His innocent reaction was too precious. 

“Okay, well here’s my number in case you change your mind.” Jimmy wrote his number down on a crumpled receipt from the gas station, and held it out. 

Stan tentatively took the paper just by the edges, looking multiple times behind him like he was going to start hearing police sirens behind him any moment. He quickly pocketed it.

“And um here’s my business card in case you want more water!” Stan handed Jimmy a blue card that he pocketed as well. “Oh, and I might have a proposition for you, Friendly Jimmy! Since my efforts of selling water today didn’t amount to much because I was still adjusting to the water, I was thinking that maybe I could use some assistance with the water business to promote it and all that!"

"...I guess I'll think about it. No promises, though." Jimmy answered honestly. 

“I'll wait for your answer, then! Anyways, I’ll have to get going soon, Friendly. Thanks for the cool boots!”

"Yeah, sure, oh before you go..." Jimmy gave Stan a quick tutorial on how to walk in high heels, so he wouldn't just fall flat on his face once he let go of something.  

It was while they were walking that Stan stumbled into someone. "Oof! Oh, pardon me, I'm sorry!"

"Watch where you're going, motherfucker!" Jimmy froze as he looked up and saw it was his pimp of all people.

He cursed under his breath. He usually prided himself on keeping careful track of people around him at all times, especially Alabaster, but he'd gotten too distracted. 

Alabaster looked down at their feet. "...Velvet Aurora, am I seeing what I think I'm seeing? What the fuck are those hideous things your're wearing? And did you really just hand those boots off to this random motherfucker!?"

That small spark of rebellion Jimmy had shrivelled and died at the look on his pimp's face. Why, just why did he go along with this stupid idea!? 

Stan apparently thought now was a good time introduce himself. “Oh, I’m not some random mother…fudger, I’m his new friend! Stan, Stan the Water Man, it's a pleasure to meet you! And well, apparently I was doing him a favor- Friendly here was just going to throw them in that dumpster over there if I didn’t take them!”

What the fuck, Stan!? Jimmy cast him a look, but Stan didn't even seem to realize what he'd done. 

“Those boots cost 700$ and you were just going to chuck them in the dumpster like yesterday's trash!?”

“Wait…700$!?” Jimmy choked. "Oh, um, uh, if it makes this any better, like at all, I was only thinking about it because they hurt to stand in, it's not like I was actually going to do it!" Jimmy laughed nervously, "...It's just a small suggestion to maybe, just maybe...be able to wear more comfortable footwear?" His voice lowered and sped up at the last part. 

“What is that I hear, Velvet Aurora? Are you questioning your pimp’s taste in fashion!? Are you bitching about those boots I spent so much fucking time and money lovingly picking out just for you!?”

With Jimmy’s own money that he earned. Because he had to pay for whatever clothes or makeup he had to wear for the job. 

“Of course not, Alabaster, sir, I wasn't bitching!" Goddamnit, if that was actually true, the money was going to be short this month. But it's not like he could just curse his pimp out about it.  

“SHOES! OFF! NOW!” Alabaster pulled out a gun, pointing it back and forth from Stan to Jimmy’s feet and back again.

Stan and Jimmy both jumped and quickly sat on another bench to do so, swapping their shoes again to the ones they were wearing before. 

"I never want to hear another word of complaint about those shoes again, or there'll be motherfucking consequences! Maybe I'll even pop your Water Boy in the head!" Alabaster pressed the gun to Stan's temple, who squeezed his eyes shut. 

Then Alabaster lowered it before walking off, his long coat swaying in the wind.  

Jimmy waited until he was out of sight before letting out a breath he had been holding, collapsing wearily into the bench. 

"Was that a friend of yours? He didn't seem that nice..." Stan frowned. 

"That was my pimp, and yeah, kinda not a nice man." Jimmy looked down to the boots on his feet, a sort of rage bubbling up inside him. "I just didn't realize these WERE ACTUALLY WORTH 700$!!" Jimmy yelled in frustration, throwing his hands up in the air, then clenching them into fists on his knees hard enough that his short nails bit into the palms of his hands. 

"But how could you not have realized it? Aren't those your boots?" Stan asked, furrowing his brow. 

"Whatever stuff I have to wear for the job is mine to pay for, and Alabaster is the one that picks it out and buys it. So if he says these things are worth 700$, then that's just the way it is." Jimmy said bitterly. 

"But that's not fair! Especially if you don't want to wear them anyway!" Stan exclaimed. 

Jimmy gave an unhappy sounding laugh. "Yeah, unfair, that's a word for it. But things like that happen all too often in a city like this, so it's nothing that special. Anyway, looks like I might actually take you up on that offer for that whole water thing, after all. Whatever jobs you got for me, I'll help with."

"Really, you will?" 

"Yeah, I've got to find some more work soon anyway-otherwise the rents gonna be short this month." 

"This'll be so great, I was a bit shorthanded just by myself! Maybe, just maybe, you could promote the water in my place and help with some of the deliveries and then you could have half of the proceeds of whatever it makes! You would definitely know more about how to sell to the people of Los Santos, being one yourself. You could be my man on the inside!” Stan exclaimed excitedly, waving his hands animatedly. 

Jimmy blinked at the sheer amount of enthusiasm. Then the words caught up to him. "Wait, half of the proceeds!? This is your business that you're talking about, right? Wouldn't that be a lot if I would just be working under you as an employee or something?" 

"Um, well, I kind of thought we could be more like partners. And I thought that 50% would be fair since we'd both be doing the work, but maybe that's not enough- would 60% be alright?" 

"60%!? No, no, 50% would be more than enough!" Too much, actually. Alabaster only gave him 20% back of whatever he made... “And about that promotion thing. I mean, I already have a lot of experience in dealing crack, so it can’t be much different. I guess it wouldn’t be that much more effort to promote while I’m selling it. That wouldn’t be a problem, would it?” Jimmy shrugged. 

“And that would be perfectly legal, right?” 

“Selling water, yeah. Selling drugs…eh, not so much.” Jimmy said. 

Stan pulled a conflicted face, his brow furrowing. “...I suppose I was getting nowhere on my own with this before. As much as I would hate to say it, it looks like I might not have much of a choice to break some rules for a while to make it in this city. If you’re agreeable…then…then I accept. Partners,” Stan held out his hand to shake. 

“Alright, then. Partners,” Jimmy said, shaking his hand. It had a firm grip, but it was the sweatiest hand he’d ever felt and their hands slipped a couple times.

Afterwards, Jimmy looked at his phone. "Well, anyway, it looks like I’m officially off of work now. Wanna hit up the Burger Shot or something?” 

“Sure, why not?” Stan agreed. 

Jimmy swapped into some more comfortable shoes from his car, and they drove to the Burger Shot. They ordered some 4 AM burgers, eating while Stan animatedly talked about the finer details of the water business and the things Jimmy might be able to help with. Jimmy had never seen anyone get so excited about water like this. 

At the same time, Jimmy was already thinking of plans of some not so legal activities he could introduce this man to. 

He apparently had a new nickname now that was better than Velvet Aurora, he-bitch, or whore. It was Friendly Jimmy. He kind of liked it. Jimmy wasn’t a friendly guy by any means, but maybe he could be for Stan.

--------------------------------

Months later, the empty plastic water bottle and the box of Bluey bandaids still sat in an otherwise empty drawer next to Jimmy’s bedside. Stan’s face still smiled as he held a thumbs up on the label. Sometimes when the day was terrible beyond belief and Jimmy couldn't call Stan for some reason or another, he would pull it out to hold it to his chest and feel that similar feeling of being warmed by the sun that he usually did when talking to him. 

He’d whisper things to this water bottle Stan that he wouldn’t have the guts to say to the real one. 

“I love you,” Jimmy would say. 

Then bury his face into a pillow and groan at how cringey it sounded.