Archive of Our Own

The Pro-Mink sign needs repainting, a foolish endeavour as no one beside Pro-Mink staff usually sees the sign. It’s not exactly like they have investors coming over, despite what both the leaders of the business say.

Both because they STILL have not settled the whole issue of ‘who’s leadership is it anyway.’

It’s not only foolish but ridiculously dangerous without properly hiring someone, the Pro-Mink sign that needs painting being on top of the warehouse.

Still, someone’s got to do it and the lord only knows they don’t have the money to be overcharged and hire someone outside the company so it has to be someone from Pro-Mink. Most of the staff don’t care enough about the presentation of their poor little sign to risk their lives for such vanity.

And for once Mikael has failed to convince his bumbling idiot to do it. -Sorry Tommy.

So that just leaves someone who is vain and only a tiny bit of an idiot: Enter scene: Jona.

Of course he does not think he’s an idiot, bravely climbing up in the early hours of the weekend with paint cans and brushes ready and feeling good until he reaches the top and looks down.

It’s then when he realises he might not have thought this through.

It’s dangerously high and uneven up here, the early morning breeze threatening to tip him as Jona’s heart rockets up, his brain barely processing how far he could fall, just knowing he can’t fall.

Taking a steadying breath, he gets to work despite this though, focusing on the sign and hoping that, in some way, will prevent him from falling.

It makes sense, he reasons as he leans forward while sat on the roof, careful and cautious, that if Tommy could do this so can he. He is- no offense Tommy- a wiser and smarter man than Tommy.

Though less of a risk if Tommy were to fall. He has very little brains to splatter.

Jona laughs at the thought as he paints in the white, hoping to turn the colour from a cream to a respectable pure white. Their visuals are everything, despite what Mikael says.

He’s not wearing his usual clothes, aware that they will likely get covered in paint. -Both black and white as he has both paint colours up here with him, only making his attention even more divided.
His assumption is proved right when he finds, five minutes into the job already he has white paint on his arm and chest, the wind not being kind and his lack of practice doing this being even unkinder.

He reaches for the black can now, fingers brushing it but not latching on as he is too far away, having moved somehow closer to the sign than he originally planned to.

Sighing, he leans back to grab the can, a second is all it takes to have him put too much weight on one side and the stomach-dropping feeling of falling- Slipping to one side on a tilted roof.

His arms immediately go to grab anything, fingers brushing against tiling but finding no purchase as he picks up speed.

It’s as he slips, not quite off the roof yet but certainly going to be in a matter of seconds, that he realises how stupid he has been.

Not only is he here alone and with no safety being put in place in case the worst- which is currently happening- happens but he is here alone and on the weekend so the second he hits the ground. -Possibly to fatal affect or at the very least painful affect- he will not be found or helped for days.

Darn labour laws saying working on the weekend impossible!

What do they say, he wonders. ‘It is not the fall that kills you but the sudden stop’?
Well he is not going to die, that much he is sure about. -As sure as any person is about their own death.
But the sudden stop as he hits the ground does worry him, every second counting as he has wasted so much already.

“Hhuh-”

He does not cry out, stifling himself in fear or embarrassment, the moment passing as he realises how pitiful that is. No time to shout or say anything now as he’s past the point of slipping and is now falling, arms reaching out to where he was and rapidly losing that too.

It’s in a fleeting second as fear fills him that he realises he should have said more- done more- the rush of emotion focusing his mind exceptionally. He hopes the world is more than physical, that way his silent plea of what he values most will be weighed.

In free-fall the distance seems longer and shorter than it should, Jona once again cursing his poor-planning. There’s nothing he can do to stop this and..it terrifies him.

He thinks quickly as the concrete approaches rapidly, Jona needing to do so much and yet being unable to as he falls, only air to push against as he knows he must not hit the ground with his head first. It’s simple self-preservation, doing quick calculations on which part of his body he can reasonably sacrifice to ensure survival.

His shoulder hits the ground with a moment-freezing burst of pain, Jona screaming out as the rest of him is slowed by the cold and unforgiving ground of concrete.

He doesn’t know what he has done, excruciating pain he has to close his eyes against throbbing in his side as he breathes through it, simply lying on the ground now. He knows it must not be good, something in him telling him he’s broken a lot of things in that side and then thanking him for not breaking any other part of himself.

Worst still is his breathing hurts now, possibly taking the force in his chest was not a good idea.

Still, with a broken arm, as he suspects he has, he wonders how the hell he is going to call anybody for help. (He has a lot more than a broken arm but he’s never been good at identifying specific pain, it all feeling like pain to him.)

Like he previously realised, no one will be coming in for at least two days and moving in his state would cause him unimaginable pain.

Jona swallows as he feels hopelessness rise in him. He has managed to avoid dying, as fatalistic as that thought is, but now he has no clue what he should do.

Staying like that for a while, time passing even as he battles down his emotions, the shock of the moment dragging up his fear, his sadness and his anger, Jona focuses on breathing. His body wants to cry, skin prickling like it’s a foreign feeling as he battles to focus.

The idea that he could use shock to survive shuffling around to grab his phone draws him on, Jona attempting just that as he hisses and tenses against the pain, feeling his bones and knowing that’s not what he’s meant to be feeling. (Okay, definitely snapped or broken. Good to have confirmation. -He thinks with a level of cheer he is not sure is an accurate reflection of his actual feelings.)

Digging his phone out of his pocket, not caring how damaged it is when it turns on, he can always buy a new one after this once he makes it out, he calls.

“Hey, I need an ambulance. I fell and can’t really move. Yes…Okay…Do you know where Pro-Mink is?”

Maybe he should- He…The paint needs to be taken down from the roof, right? Maybe- He should- He should rest, right?
He hears sirens in the distance as he focuses on staying awake, body suddenly heavy and mind thinking sleep the perfect place to escape it’s pain.

Huh, Jona finds it funny, nothing matters now but staying awake. This is very good to focus one’s mind. Perhaps he should jump off building’s more.
Emilia, Tommy, Gun and Mikael.- None of them matter. Not a single failing of theirs matters in Jona’s mind. It’s refreshing, freeing, he supposes. Though he does not think it should be like this. Especially as a woman with carefully tied-up blond hair is shouting at him with a worried expression.
He didn’t hit his head did he?