Chapter Text
It had been four hours since the shooting, and Donald's head still hadn't calmed down from the pain.
He was in the hospital, constantly going in and out of consciousness. He heard that Joe had called. The warm feeling that spread all over his body at the sound of Joe Biden's name was new and foreign, but not entirely unwelcome. It scared him, filled him with more anxiety than the bullet that hit his ear ever could, but Donald didn't possess enough courage in him to force the feeling down. He could live with it. Deal with it another day.
The doctors informed him that the damage to his ear had been handled with, and he was in a pleasant state. "It could've been worse," each nurse and doctor muttered to him as words of comfort. And while Donald knew they were right, he didn't feel relief. A storm was brewing in the distance, he could tell. This was only the beginning. And he wasn't sure if it were worth it anymore. If it were worth it to hide away his love for-
No. It wasn't love. The word love implied that there was anything ever between them. But there wasn't.
Joe and he had barely spoke, only fought and quarreled. They both wanted the same thing. And, for better or for worse, only one could be the president of the United States of America. Joe Biden and Donald Trump could not coexist. The triumph of one meant the fall of the other, and the attempted shooting of Donald meant an almost-win for Joe. But Joe had still called, and that sent Donald's mind running in circles.
Being shot meant that Donald was given the rest of the day off, being instructed to return to his duties the following day. He was back at his mansion with plenty of time to kill. He decided to spend some of the time on his phone. What did the public think about his attempted assassination? Is there outrage? He needed to know.
As he opened TikTok, Donald was not surprised to find out that he was the trending topic of the day. What he was surprised ti find out though, was the type of things people were saying about him.
Countless tiktoks bragged about how they "wouldn't miss" or how Donald's shooting was orchestrated. Was his pain a joke to them? Did he not matter?
He kept scrolling. He refused to acknowledge the hate he was receiving. Some other tiktoks came across his way and nothing could have prepared Donald for this shock.
"Triden"
Trump x Biden.
Donald gasped in shock as the meaning of this newfound word dawned on him. He looked it up, and a whole new world presented itself in front of his eyes. Videos of his debates with Joe were flooding his search of the word "triden", talking about how Joe's golfing comment was a date in disguise. Theories on how Donald and Joe might be romantically involved seemed to be widespread, and Donald was in disbelief. Wasn't the spark he felt only in his head? Or was it visible to everyone else too?
Donald's phone rang and Joe's name appeared on the screen.
He picked it up with no hesitation.
"Joe-"
"Donald, I'm so happy you're okay."
"..You are?"
"Of course, Donald, I prayed for your safety as soon as I heard the news"
His heart made a jump. He tried to ignore it.
"Thank you, Biden. It means a lot."
"Are you resting?"
"Yes, I'm in my mansion."
"Any company?"
"No," Donald replied, wondering why Joe made that specific question.
"That's a shame."
Should he-
"Do you want to come over?"
There's a moment of silence, and Donald thought he made the wrong choice and everything would fall apart between them but then-
"I would love to," Joe said, voice sweet as ever.
"Great. See you."
" See you"
As soon as he hang up the phone, Donald let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. Those people on the Internet had foolishly been calling them a couple, and Donald had been foolish enough to indulge into that fantasy for the brief minutes their call lasted, and now Joe was coming over. And Donald's heart beat like crazy.
He only hoped that their meeting would not result in any more evil.
And when Joe arrived at his place, he was proven right.
Donald took a couple of breaths before opening the door, slightly hesitant and unsure of his earlier impulsive decision. But when the door finally opened to reveal Joe's concerned face, it all made sense.
They took a couple of seconds to simply stare at each other, Donald being anxious at the rush of different feelings that seemed to wash over Joe's face in less than a minute.
"Who did this to you?" Joe said, breaking the silence.
"I don't- The attacker has been handled with, they said"
"It's one of my supporters, isn't it?"
"Joe, don't-"
"Don't what? Blame myself?"
Donald didn't know what to say. He hadn't thought that Joe was at fault, not even a moment. But it were true that the attacker was probably one of his voters.
"Just, come in, Joe. It's getting chilly outside."
"Okay"
And when Joe came inside and hang his coat on the rack, Donald thought that maybe for this one night they could not be Donald Trump and Joe Biden, but rather, Trump and Joe. Two men with thoughts and feelings and dreams that were not just about America.
They both sat down on the couch, and an awkward silence settled. It was a weird feeling. They both only met at debates, with countless cameras on them, watching their every move. Donald couldn’t shake the feeling that cameras were still there, waiting for them to mess up. He needed to find a way to relax, and a bottle of wine might do the trick.
Two or three glasses of dark red wine later, Donald and Joe were engaging in conversation with one another. Donald's house worker came in at some point, surprised to find the two men speaking to each other in such an environment.
“I’m here as a friend,” Joe explained. That sentence alone sent chills all over Donald’s spine. Friends? They were friends?
And as the hours passed, and it was getting late, Donald came to the conclusion that he wouldn’t mind Joe being his friend. In another universe maybe. Because it was evident in the way both looked at the time and refused to acknowledge out-loud how late it was getting, they both knew that once Joe left Donald’s mansion, they were back to being enemies. That thought stung more than Donald expected it to.
“I’m sorry for bringing this up again, Donald, but-”
“No, it’s okay, Joe, tell me what you want.”
Joe took a deep breath. He fidgeted the empty glass in his hand and move to refill it before asking, “How did it feel, Donald? When they..” he trailed off.
“It hurt, I guess. I don’t remember much, it was very quick.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry, Joe. It's not your fault. You can’t control the actions of your voters.”
Joe locked eyes with him, and tears were forming on his lower eyelid. “I should have done something, prevented this somehow..”
“There’s nothing you could’ve done.”
“But what would happen if they got you, Don? What if they..” he sniffled, “What if they don’t miss the next time?”
“There’s not going to be a next time, Joe, my security is going to be tighter on my next outings.”
“What if it isn’t enough? I'm sorry, Donald, I just can’t imagine seeing you like this again, or worse.”
“Like this?” Donald questioned. The deep worry in Joe’s eyes surprised him. He wanted to move closer, lock him in his embrace and tell him everything was going to be okay. But it was inappropriate for two politics rivals to do so, and he stayed still, slowly hating himself for not making a move to comfort his friend.
“There’s bandages all over your ear, Donald. I can’t-”
Joe looks away and even though Donald can’t see his face, something inside him tells him that he’s crying. Donald has to do something, he has to comfort him and be by his side but-
He doesn’t. His body yearns to be closer to Joe and his heart beats faster at just the sight of the other man, but something is blocking him from moving. What if anyone found out? What would happen if every person on the Internet saw him and Joe? He wasn’t ready to face the repercussions, so he remained motionless as Joe cried.
Then, something caught Donald’s attention. A butterfly, beautiful, dark and eerie, had somehow found its way into his home. Joe emptied out his drink as the flying creature approached him, and Donald silently hoped they would somehow find a way to joke about this butterfly and forget about the pain and the shooting.
The butterfly touched Joe’s glass and disappeared. Donald started blinking rapidly, wondering if everything was just a hallucination.
Joe stayed silent and unmoving for a bit before speaking. “This world isn’t for us, Donald. This election, this country, everything. I can’t bear to lose you. But i will fix everything. I promise you.”
“Joe, what are you talking about?”
Joe turned around, and he no longer looked like himself. His eyes had darkened and a black and deep purple aura had started to surround him, stemming from his glass of wine. It slowly spread all over him, changing his clothes into black, tight clothing, like something that Batman would wear in one of his movies.
“Joe what is happen-”
“I am no longer Joe Biden. I am Killer Joe, and i will make everyone pay. I will protect you, Donnie-bear, and I will get the miraculouses of the people that tried to hurt you!” Joe said, in a deep voice that felt almost unrecognizable.
All the warmth that Donald felt around Joe was disappearing, and was now being replaced by an innate fear, and an instinct that told him to run.
“Joe what are you talking about? You're not a killer!”
“I was not. But your protection is nothing in front of human lives.”
“Joe, no!” he cried out. “This isn’t you!”
“It is, Donnie-bear, but you’re too kind-hearted to see it. Everything will be okay my love,” Killer Joe said, as he stepped closer and cupped Donald’s cheek. Beyond his will, Donald leaned into the touch, questions of how things got to this point clouding his busy mind, but the desire of physical touch from Joe shoved those thoughts away.
“Stay here, my love, and I’ll be back to get you once every threat is eliminated.”
“No. Stay. Stay with me, Joe,” Donald said without thinking.
“Not yet. Only when you’re safe.”
And with that, Joe took a couple steps back, and did an unusual gesture with his hands. A deep purple light came out and engulfed the entire room.
“You won’t be able to leave, Donald, but no one will be able to come in, either. You're safe here. This place is protected. Wait for me, my love.”
Before Donald could make a move to stop him, Joe disappeared, and he was alone once again. He stared at the half-empty bottle on the table and sighed. He had made things worse.
A tear escaped his eyes as he remembered the sight of Joe crying. He had caused this. His carelessness and cowardice had caused this. He shouldn’t have let that- that butterfly get to him. He knew it did something to him. He tried opening the doors to leave the room and what Joe had said was coming to life; he couldn’t leave, and he knew that damned butterfly had done something to mess with him.
The phones in the room didn’t work either, giving him no contact with the outside world. He tried calling for his workers, but they seemed not to listen. It seemed that Joe considered them a threat, too.
His only option was the TV. And what he witnessed once he turned it on, he could ahve never imagined.
Images of collapsed buildings filled his screen, and huge headlines in red letters reading “Killer Joe attacks American citizens after asking them who they want to vote at the elections. Every Trump and Biden supporter gets their throat slit. Police has yet to apprehend the attacker.”
“No, Joe, NO!” Donald screamed, which turned into muffled crying after a couple of seconds. How did his Joe turn into this? He had to save him somehow, had to do something..
He would do anything.
But, locked inside as he was, with no way to communicate, Donald could only pray for a miracle to happen as he cried himself to sleep at the cold, hard floor of his home, thoughts of Joe haunting his dreams.