Chapter Text
Pablo is one of the last to know actually.
He’s basically turned the Airstream into his own workshop these days, splitting his time between Fish ’n Chips and his pet projects. When asked about what he’s been working on so diligently in there, he gets cagey and dances around the topic without actually giving you an answer.
But he’s in there every night, listening to the records Ash still has stashed away inside, working until his eyelids grow heavy and his vision blurs. Then he gets up in the morning, heads to the food stand, only to return to the Airstream at night and continue his work until the wee hours. Sitting on the kitchenette table, now workbench, is a new prosthetic hand for Ash. Still a work in progress, Pablo would say, but he’s already made several improvements upon the one he made while at the Brujo’s.
It’s more…lifelike than the previous. Human looking, even, despite the metal fingers and joints. But they move with a fluidity that is eerily real. Beside his work is a notepad, and Pablo scribbles synthetic skin on to the paper.
It’s a calm summer night in Elk Grove, the heat wave that has pestered most of Michigan finally breaking enough to carry the promise of Fall on the chill breeze that is now blowing through the opened windows of the trailer. You and Ash had returned from the hardware store a few hours ago. Pablo knew that because you had invited him to join the two of you for dinner by throwing the door to the Airstream open and asking if he was hungry.
“No thanks, I actually ate what was left over from the food stand today.” A beat. “What’re you cooking?”
Before you could respond, Ash pokes his head out the side door to the house and yells in your direction, “Pablo, buddy! She’s making tacos! It’s Taco Tuesday!”
With your head in hand, you speak in a low voice, “We had tacos on a Tuesday several weeks ago and I called it Taco Tuesday and now he thinks that any time we have tacos it’s just automatically Taco Tuesday. I do know it’s currently Friday.” Pablo’s look of both confusion and concern fades into a smile as he politely declines and you turn to leave, giving a quick reminder that you will leave the leftovers in the fridge if he gets hungry later.
When he finally looks up from his work hours later, Pablo’s eyes strain to read the red numbers on the alarm clock across the room. The moon has fully risen and the buzz of the street lights is more prominent than anything else. He stretches and stands from his spot at the table, a strained groan in the back of his throat as his joints pop. Breathing out a sigh, Pablo checks his phone. Kelly is still working at the bar, and she’s been keeping Pablo abreast of the local crazies that she routinely encounters. Usually it’s husbands attempting to cheat on their wives, bachelorette parties that come in costume and end up crying in the ladies room, Ash trying to open a tab that he’ll never pay Kelly back for. The usual suspects.
He chuckles as a series of photos are texted to him. Smiling selfies of Kelly behind the bar, her bouncing a drunk with a fresh black eye who didn’t expect her to have such a right hook, and a freshly-poured cocktail with the caption “come out and it’s on the house.”
Pablo ponders it for a moment, thumbs hovering over the keyboard to type a response, when his stomach turns and growls. The promise of leftovers inside distracts Pablo from his phone and as he pockets it, the metal hand on the table points towards the house.
“Yeah, you’re right. A little brain food first,” and he heads out of the Airstream into the house.
He hovers in front of the open fridge, the plate you left him now in his hands as he scans the contents of the fridge for any thing else that piques his fancy. Finally settling on a beer, he shuts the fridge, unwraps the plate and leans against the counter to eat. The beer cracks open with crisp satisfaction and Pablo takes sips between bites.
The house was still largely a work in progress since you all had moved in, but most nights you worked on renovations upstairs. So when Pablo heard a muted hammering overhead he figured you were working on the hallway bathroom upstairs.
With his plate finished, he placed it in the sink and pulled out his phone to text Kelly. As his fingers hovered over the screen while he worded a “cool guy nonchalant” response, Pablo heard a scream, followed by a thud and the sound of a saw roaring to life.
He was halfway up the staircase before he realized it, his trusty kitchen knife pulled from the block along the way. As Pablo slid into the hall, he called out to you and tried to open the door to the bathroom, only to find the knob locked and something barricading the door from the other side. His fist collided against the wooden door and he called out your name again.
“Is everything okay in there? I heard you scream! Let me in and I’ll kill those deadite bastards!”
For five seconds of tense silence, Pablo panicked before he finally heard your voice on the other side of the door.
“It’s ok Pablo! Just got my thumb with the hammer!”
“Do you want me to take a look at it? Those things hurt.”
“No, I’ll be fine, promise!”
“Okay, well, have you seen Ash? I thought I heard his chainsaw up here….”
“No that was me! I was plugging in the table saw and it shocked me so I screamed. Sorry!”
“…After you hit yourself with the hammer?”
Again, several seconds of silence.
“…Yes?”
Pablo narrowed his eyes at the door. “And you’re sure you’re all right?”
The door swung open and Pablo came face to face with Ash, hair unkempt, shirt collar pulled open, and sweat gathered at his brow. Ash huffed quietly as Pablo stared up at him.
“Pablo, buddy, the lady said she’s fine; don’t worry about it!”
“I get that, I just…I hear a scream, I spring into action like a superhero. I heard a scream—“
“Yeah you did,” Ash preened.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Ash,” you finally said from behind his broad frame.
With confusion, Pablo looked from Ash to you standing behind him. You too had a light sheen of sweat all over and your hair was unruly. Uncomfortable under Pablo’s stare, you broke eye contact by turning your head, accidentally showing him a fresh hickey and the crimson shade of embarrassment that was creeping up your neck.
And then it hit him. Like a brick wall.
“Uuhhh. Welp. Okay.” He was babbling at this point. “I am going out to the bar. I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to the bar to see Kelly. At the bar.”
With a knowing grin, Ash spoke as he closed the bathroom door. “Yeah yeah. We won’t wait up. Adios, buddy.”
Pablo figured it was a blessing that he slept in the Airstream most nights.
—
Kelly, later that night as she pours Pablo three shots of tequila: Oh, buddy, why do you think she’s renovating the house? They’ve broken more things while fucking around that house than we have killing deadites!