Chapter Text
Jail was insufferable at first. The overnight shift from potential Oscar candidate to inmate was something the strung out ex drunk wasn’t ready to handle. A part of Bojack figured he could handle it. He’d survived in the paddock that was his childhood home; he figured there was no jail cell that could be worse than the house he lived in for 17 years.
What Bojack was faced with was the uncomfortable fact that even in that dark period of time that was so detrimental he was using it as an excuse decades later, he was still privileged. Even if cold with the occasional cigarette ashes, Bojack had edible food. Even in the cold atmosphere that lingered around the vacant house, he had a warm place to sleep at night. He might have felt isolated from the world, but he had his own room and privacy.
For the first month of incarceration Bojack walked around delirious from withdrawal and exhaustion. The symptoms were only worsened by the lack of nutrients as a result of him being unable to stomach most of the food served in prison. Despite indulging himself in extravagant purchases, Bojack was never one to pay for a picky taste. He would often binge troughs of cheap fast foods on benders or particularly down days, but the shit served in prison was different. It wasn’t shit in terms of health necessarily, it was just nasty in a way that his egocentric self couldn’t stomach.
He hadn’t been able to sleep either. Bojack had already had trouble sleeping without a nightcap, but his nights in rehab and later Wesleyan had comfortable bedding to make it easier to manage. Fighting insomnia while sleeping on a metal plank with a blanket as thin as a tissue was a sisyphean effort he did not have the patients for.
He spent his first nights staring up at his inmates' bunk hanging over him, fearing it would fall whenever he tossed throughout the night. While he would stare up with distant anxiety he’d often feel the symptoms of withdrawal attack him at random. A cold shiver would regularly bring on a cold sweat that would leave him shaking.
Withdrawal was objectively worse in rehab, but that felt more like suffering in a hospital. Acks and pain would be tended too with understanding and care. In prison, no one gave a shit. On those cold nights where his body begged him for indulges his mind haunted him with images of Sarah Lynn.
Some nights were worse than others. On particularly bad nights the distant scratches and general gradient of grays on the metal bunk above him would spin into the planetarium. The whole scene would play out and after hours of the same 20 minutes happening over and over again his only pause would be getting up to be sick, which often led to a snappy comment from his roommate.
Other nights weren’t as unbearable. Sometimes he would imagine himself talking to Diane, imagining what she would say about his circumstances. Sometimes it was Herb, mental conversations with Princess Carolyn and Todd cropped up once or twice; but his mind found footing in the mental image of Diane like it usually did.
Days started to blend together as small moments between long nights. When left as an empty husk of his old self, the routine of prison was there to catch him. His unconscious mind being able to know what was going to happen at any hour of the day gave him room to break up the fog that was building up in his mind. Day by day meals got easier to swallow and nights didn’t seem so long. After a month of utter agony, he finally found his footing.
Floating over the fog he had lived in for weeks let him finally see all the little mundane hobbies he could busy himself with to forget his circumstances. Sudoku, word puzzles, and card games kept his mind entertained just enough to wave away the usual self pitying thoughts pleading to be fought off with substances.
Eventually Bojack found more than just footing, he found a place within the prison system. Bojack asked a guard on a whim if he could teach and produce a play for the prison inmates. Next thing he knew he was bringing a small community together to enjoy the arts. The whole experience reminded him of his time teaching at the college. It was jarring to think about but most of the inmates in the prison were younger than them, and Bojack felt a similar need to guide them the way he tried with his college students.
It was during this period of time, once his mind was clear enough to do more than conjure poignant hallucinations, Bojack’s thoughts started to take a more solid line of reasoning.
This was good. He was in prison, he was put away where he couldn’t hurt anyone. Finally he was locked away where he belonged. Sarah Lynn would finally get justice. Penny could sleep a little easier at night. Finally he would be worth something by suffering in this prison.
He wasn’t suffering though. What did that mean about him? Would the only form of happiness he would ever find be in a sterile, loveless environment. Is he just too broken to feel it any other way?
Maybe he can do some good inside. He’s helping a few guys get in touch with their more theatrical sides. That has to mean something right? Didn’t Herb say something about it all being worth it because of the charity he did? Was this charity? Could this be the way that he would be happy?
Who cares?! He doesn’t deserve to be happy. After all the shit he pulled. He was supposed to be miserable. This is prison! His prison! This is his punishment! He was denying everyone justice by thinking that he could do something other than suffer. How selfish of him to leave the world waiting in anticipation until he finally gets his comeuppance.
You stupid piece of shit.
You stupid piece of shit.
You Stupid Piece Of Shit.
You Stupid Piece Of Shit!
You Stupid Piece Of Shit!
You Stupid Piece Of Shit!
You Stupid Piece Of Shit!
You Stupid Piece Of Shit!
You Stupid Piece Of Shit!
You Stupid Piece Of Shit!
You Stupid Piece Of Shit!
You Stupid Piece Of Shit!
You Stupid Piece Of Shit!
You Stupid Piece Of Shit!
You Stupid Piece of Shit!
YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT!
YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT!
Bojack subconsciously started comparing the prison to his childhood home. Maybe it was the distant thought going in that his suffering as a child would protect him somehow, or maybe it was the fact he felt vulnerable after finally being punished. Whatever the case, he caught himself likening certain aspects of his current situation to his previous life with his family.
Growing up he felt reliant and small, scared most of the time. The only thing that kept him feeling safe were routines, whether that was school or his family's interpersonal ones. Life became predictable to a level which helped him find enough stability to not be in constant fear.
Around high school he started to grow up and have a little independence in the form of his budding popularity after a drunken stand up routine at some kids house party. It was there where he learned to manipulate the routine in a way that benefited him. If he really traced it all back, it was from there he was able to put together a comedy routine that got into his previous line of work.
Bojack was able to walk out of his childhood house a different man. The little kid who was scared and shy, who would run away and hide in the light of the tv whenever mommy and daddy started fighting, was an adult who could care less. An adult who not only was able to predict expectations, but subvert them in a way that would leave millions of American families charmed every week night.
Maybe when leaving prison he would have grown up a little. He’d walked in scared and confused, but he had found the routine. He then broke that routine for himself and others. Maybe when he walked out he would feel similar. In the same way that Bojack left that crying child in the cedar walls of his family home, he wanted to leave the alcoholic twenty year old jailed in the prison block.
Bojack had this idea that walking out and driving away would be like shedding a part of himself. He wondered if he would miss it. Maybe he would feel the way that Diane did whenever he talked to her last. Different and healthy. A version that had matured after his ‘Horsin’ Around” years. It was almost scary to think that he would be so different, but it was better than imagining he would have to live with himself as he was.
After a while, Bojack was finally released. He had been in the middle of putting on a prisoner's version of The Midnight's Dream with the other inmates. He talked the warden into letting him return and continue the production every other weekend. Whatever Bojack ended up doing, he figured he would have the time for that.
He grabbed his small bag of things, did some quick processing paper, and was escorted outside much quicker than he thought. Feeling out of sorts after the whole process, Bojack pulled out his phone to try and figure out where exactly he was supposed to go. Princess Carolyn was still working for him so he figured that she must have figured something out. Before he could scroll through his contacts to call her he heard a voice that pull him away from his screen.
“Mr. Peanutbutter and Bojack Horseman outside of the same prison? What is this, a cross over episode? One using the same premise that was used previously in a recent episode? Man the writers must be getting lazy.” Mr. Peanutbutter joked.
Bojack immediately felt conflicted about hearing that voice. The voice from the toxically positive pooch that seemed to fall one step ahead of him whenever he tried to walk up the winding ladder of relevance in Hollywoob. At the same time Mr. PeanutButter had been there whenever no one else was, whether he wanted him there or not. Outside of just being physically present, PB had saved him from essentially homelessness and still bought him gifts on top of that. Even if his voice caused previously repressed anger to bubble to the surface, he owed him pleasantries at least.
“Hey Mr. Peanutbutter.” Bojack greeted trying to sound genuine. “Did PC send you here to pick me up?”
“She sure did! Oh I’m so excited buddy, I’ve missed you!” Mr. Peanutbutter proclaimed while roughly wrapping his arm around Bojack’s shoulder.
Despite being extremely uncomfortable by the sudden physical contact, Bojack chuckled and patted PB on the back in an attempt to reciprocate his hug without having to commit to it. After a few seconds too long Mr. Peanutbutter let him go and attempted to take his suitcase from him.
Bojack pulled it away reflexively. “It’s fine.” He replied quickly. PB shrugged and turned around to get into the car.
“So where to from here?” Bojacked asked following behind him.
“My place of course! Unless you need to stop and get something on the way. I’m sure there are a few things you’ve probably missed in civilized society.” Mr. Peanutbutter answered.
“Wait, what?” Bojack asked with genuine concern at the end of his exclamation.
“Yeah I don’t mind. Anything for you buddy.” PB replied happily.
“No I mean, Why would you be taking me to your house?” Bojack asked. He lingered outside his car door waiting for an answer fearing that if he got in before understanding where he was going he would be taken to god knows where. Mr.Peanutbutter stood outside his in response and leaned on the driver side door.
“I think you mean our house! At least until you get enough for a down payment on a new home.” Mr. PeanutButter corrected.
“I won’t be just like, staying at a hotel or something?” Bojacked rebutted. His tone was stuck between genuinely concerned and annoyed.
“With what money? Not to be rude buddy, but last I checked you were broker than poor Zachery’s heart after that popular girl stood him up at prom for the cool jock before realizing that the nerdy girl he was friends with before was really the girl for him.” PB recounted with a nostalgic sigh at the end.
“...What?” Bojack asked, with all the politeness he had originally planned to use in their encounter being nowhere to be found.
“It's a Mr.PeanutButter's house reference, where you will be staying my good friend.” He explained. After saying that, Mr.Peanutbutter opened his car door and got inside his ridiculously expensive car.
“Wait, just, just hold on!” Bojacked yelled while opening the car door and leaning over to talk to PB.
“If I’m broke that also means that I don’t have any freaky robot house rent money either. How long does Princess Carolyn expect me to stay with you without paying?” Bojack questioned.
“Yeahhh, you don’t need to worry about that buddy. I missed having a roommate around. I wanted you to stay with me. It was fun having you around. Not that I missed you. Nooooo, living in that quiet, …desolate, robot house all…alone… WAS Just fine hehe.” Mr. Peanutbutter explained, his tone shifting drastically.
“..Okay well. As long as it’s fine with you.” Bojack reluctantly got into the car. He didn’t have the energy to fight the situation, not yet anyway. He’d revisit the whole ordeal later once he finally got eight hours of sleep.
“Of course it is! Besides, it’s not that I would need the money anyway. Birthday dad is doing great even after ten seasons. I’m rolling in bacon right now!” PB exclaimed with his tongue hanging out happily.
Bojack rolled his eyes at his insensitive, unintentional bragging.
“And to think, after all that Horsin’ Around, the great Bojack Horseman would settle down at Mr. Peanutbutter's house.” Mr. Peanutbutter laughed.
Bojack did laugh a little at that. He didn’t even find the pun funny, but it was ironic. This whole scene was ironic. He figured that maybe it was fitting that the one person that he hadn’t invited to his mental pity party would be the one to pick him up after the fact.
Bojack looked back at the prison and felt….weird. Once the prison was out of sight he turned to look at the stretching road in front of them. Unable to place the source of this unsettling feeling Bojack flicked down the sun visor and slid open the mirror.
He stared back at himself. His worn out face, his graying hair, his distant eyes. It was him. Despite everything, it was still him. Every piece of him was sitting in that car seat staring back at him.
He looked up in the corner to the rearview mirror where he could see both him and Mr.Peanutbutter reflected back in it. Not a damn thing had changed in 34 years.