Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Grif is fifteen when Donut enters his life.

He has no idea where the kid comes from. One Saturday three weeks into his sophomore year, Sarge goes into town for his weekly grocery run and when he comes home, there's a kid with him, only about a year younger than Grif and looking beaten down. He is introduced as Franklin Donut and that is it. There is no explanation, nothing to indicate where he came from or why he is there.

Sarge shows him to their guest room- it's beside Grif's, on the other side of a shared bathroom- and by his manner, it's pretty clear that he's going to be a long-term addition to their household.

Donut doesn't talk much at dinner that night. He seems jumpy and tense, and the way his hands clench around his fork, it's clear he's nervous about being there. He opens up a little bit to Kai, though, and reveals that he has a small understanding of Spanish that only succeeds in leaving Lopez rolling his eyes.

That night, once everyone else has fallen asleep, Grif slips through the shared bathroom and taps on the door to Donut's room. He hears a muffled 'come in' and pushes the door open.

Donut is sat at the head of his new bed, knees hugged to his chest as he stares blankly at the red comforter that decorates their guest room. He glances up at Grif when he enters, and Grif realizes he's been crying. At the intrusion, though, he scrubs his tears away and gives Grif a smile.

“Hi,” he says, falsely cheerful. “What's up?”

“Uh...” Grif feels completely out of his element here. He hadn't expected the kid to be crying. “Sorry. Just wanted to say good night.”

“Oh. Good night.” He gives Grif that falsely cheery smile again, and Grif flees to the safety of his own room. He's a coward, sure, but there's no way he's getting into a conversation about feelings.

*

“So Sarge just.. turned up with him? Just like that?”

“Out of nowhere.”

He's out at the fence with Simmons, where they usually spend their lazy afternoons, head pillowed in Simmons' lap while the other plays with his hair. A few months ago they stole one of Sarge's whiskeys from his cabinet and spent the evening drinking it, and Grif had kissed Simmons and then thrown up. Since then absolutely nothing about their relationship has changed, except that he can hold Simmons' hand and kiss him whenever he wants to now.

It's pretty awesome, really.

He stretches out lazily, and grins up at Simmons. “Wanna come over and watch a movie tonight?”

“You know my parents don't like having me out late on a school night.”

“Then come over early enough that we can be done in time for you to make curfew.”

“Fine.” He pushes Grif's hair out of his eyes and leans down to kiss him. Grif grins into the kiss; it's been three months, and he still hasn't gotten used to being able to do that. He doesn't think he ever will. “But we're not watching another Zombie Cats movie.”

“But Zombie Cats from Mars is a great movie! You just can't appreciate good art.”

“One of us can't appreciate good art, anyway.”

*

Sarge makes Grif leave his door open when Simmons is in his room, so Donut is able to spot them easily when he comes down the hall. Grif is lounging in his armchair- an ugly, battered orange armchair that he picked up cheap from Goodwill over the summer- with a boy curled on his lap. They're watching a movie on Grif's laptop, and he can see from where he's standing that they're holding hands, that Grif has his other hand up the boy's shirt. He stares, until Grif spots him.

“Hey, Donut!” He beckons him in, and gestures at the boy in his lap. “This is Simmons. He lives at that massive farm next door. Simmons, Donut.”

“Hi Donut.” Simmons pulls his hand from Grif's and holds it out to shake. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks. Um. I have to- I have to go.” He turns and flees to his own room. He passes Sarge in the hall and waits expectantly for any fallout about Grif and Simmons' behavior, but all he hears is Sarge barking about how could Simmons have such terrible taste, honestly?

Donut sits down on the end of his bed, twisting his hands in his lap, and realizes that.. no one cares. Grif has a boyfriend, and he and said boyfriend are able to be together as boyfriends, where anyone can see them, and no one cares.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Oh.”

*

It's three days later when Donut starts attending Blood Gulch High. Grif walks him to the office and then leaves him with an order not to act like they know each other until Grif has seen how everyone is reacting to him. Then he wanders off to homeroom and Donut is left alone to get his schedule from the secretary, who gives him a sympathetic smile and points him in the right direction to homeroom.

Five minutes later, the bell has just rung and Donut is in the middle of the hallway, squinting down at his schedule and trying to figure out where his classroom is.

“Hey.”

He turns at the greeting, and finds himself face to face with the prettiest boy he's ever seen. He's small, with untidy blond hair and grey-blue eyes and an array of freckles spread across his face. There's a bandaid across one jaw and a half-healed scrape down the other cheek, and when he moves Donut can see an earring- no, two earrings in his lobe. He can feel his cheeks heating up, and wills his blush away. The boy is wearing a hall-monitor sash, which means he's exactly the person Donut needs to talk to.

“Hi.” Donut fumbles for his schedule, and holds it up, waving it a little. “I'm new here, and I can't find my homeroom.”

The boy takes his schedule and looks at it, then points down the hall to the correct room. “Right down there, take a right, and it's the third door on the right. Room 2o4. If you need help finding any of your other classrooms, I or any of the other hall monitors will be happy to help.”

He seems so professional, but it's clearly because he's trying so hard to be, and Donut blushes again, because it's kind of cute. He stammers out a thanks and hurries off to find the classroom, and only when he's inside does he manage to stop blushing and presents his note to his teacher.

*

Homeroom seating is done alphabetically, so some seats are shifted and Donut finds himself at a table with an impossibly tall boy named Caboose, a girl with violently green eyes named Church, and a boy with glasses and rows and rows of tidy braids named DuFresne.

They're nice. They're friendly, and welcoming. Well, the boys are. The girl, Carolina, just gives him a grin like a shark before going back to her book. Caboose calls Donut Crumbcake; DuFresne tells him that his name isn't Doc. Donut smiles and listens and absolutely doesn't notice how pretty their eyes are or how full Caboose's lips are or the cute way DuFresne's nose wrinkles when he's thinking.

*

Tucker is poking irritably at the cafeteria-grade mashed potatoes on his tray. Church tries to grab one of his carrots; he smacks his hand away and mumbles something about stabbing him with his fork.

“I think Cappy's boyfriend is trying to kill me,” Tucker says, after a moment.

Usually Tucker brings his lunch to school, because Cappy wants him to eat healthy and is an awesome cook, but today he'd been in a hurry and let his boyfriend pack it instead. He'd managed to pack an entire lunch of things Tucker is allergic to, and the boy had been forced to buy his lunch.

“Don't be such a baby,” Church says, grabbing again at Tucker's carrots. He succeeds this time, and gets a fork in his side for his efforts. “Ow! I'm pretty sure he's not actually trying to kill you. It was an accident. You're the one with too many allergies.”

“I've only got a couple allergies, and Cappy tries not to keep stuff I'm allergic to in the house. What are the odds my entire lunch is made of stuff that'd kill me?”

“Tucker, you're allergic to peanuts and citrus fruits. He packed you a pb&j and an orange. That's not exactly going to get him listed as a master assassin, you know. It's just being lazy and uncreative.”

“Well what about last week, when he knocked me into the pool?”

“You can swim.”

“Yeah, but I could have hit my head. And the week before that, when he almost ran me over? I'm just saying, it's a bit too often to be a coincidence. You think I should tell Cappy? I mean, Reggie makes him happy, but I don't think he'd be too happy about me dying. I wouldn't be happy about me dying.”

“Oh my god, Tucker, you are not going to die.”

“Just don't bother coming to my funeral, bitch.”

“Is Tucker going to die?” The voice is far too happy, and they both shoot glares at the tall freshman taking a seat beside Church. Caboose isn't exactly either of their friends, but he'd decided on the first day of school that he was Church's best friend and they hadn't been able to shake him.

They ignore him and go back to bickering; they're still at it when Grif and Simmons arrive and take the seats across from them. Suddenly Caboose stands and starts waving frantically at someone on the other end of the cafeteria.

“Look! It is my new friend Crumbcake! Over here, Crumbcake!”

“Look, Caboose, just because we let you sit with us, doesn't mean you can go inviting just any-”

It's too late, though. His friend has already spotted him and is making his way over to join them. Grif groans; 'Crumbcake' is actually Donut. He sighs when Donut sits down.

“All right. You can stop pretending you don't know me,” he says, like he's bestowing some great gift. Donut's face splits into a huge grin which makes him momentarily reconsider, but Donut just takes the seat across from Caboose.

“I've just come from gym!” he says excitedly. He grabs a carrot stick and slathers it in ranch dip; he sucks the dip off the end without actually eating the carrot, before rattling on. “We played with balls, and coach says I'm a natural at tossing! He wants me to try out for track-and-field, because if I'm as good with a pole as I am with a ball, then I should be able to beat off the other guys trying out no problemo!”

Silence falls at their table. Grif is pretty sure the entire cafeteria has just fallen silent, except it hasn't, it just feels like it ought to have. He shares a glance with Simmons, and they both look at Tucker. So does Church. Only Caboose seems to have not caught the slew of double entendres in Donut's excited babble, is still watching him intently to see what else happened.

Tucker looks like he's in physical pain. He looks like a hobo who's just been brought into the palace of a king and given a feast, a man dying in the desert who's just found himself in the middle of a downpour. The double entendres hang like fruit from an overladen tree and he has only to reach up and pick the ripest one and the only thing left is the decision.

He's really happy, okay?

“Oh my god,” he whispers reverently, finally. “I think I love you.”

*

Donut settles. Things fall back into their regular monotony at home, even with their newest addition. Kai demands that Donut treats her like a little sister because if one big brother is so great, two must be twice as good. Grif follows up by ordering Donut not to get any ideas about thinking of him as a brother because they're not, okay, just because Sarge has a habit of bringing home strays doesn't make us related. Lopez adds something deeply sarcastic and completely unintelligible.

They adjust.

*

Donut makes friends easily. Even Church likes him, even though Church doesn't like anybody.

Grif doesn't tell anyone else about the nights he hears Donut crying on the other side of their shared bathroom, and doesn't point out the way his ever-present smile doesn't always meet his eyes.

*

Grif passes his driving test with flying colors right after he turns sixteen. He celebrates by 'borrowing' Sarge's jeep (and Simmons) and driving up to Valhalla, the nearest town to Blood Gulch.

It's not like Valhalla is really that big a deal. It's not much different than Blood Gulch, really, except that there's a waterfall that teenagers like to park near and make out. It's just the freedom of it, the fact that they are on the verge of adulthood and have the ability to make this decision.

They stop for lunch at a diner not unlike the one in Blood Gulch, and when they join the line the woman in front of them turns to glance at them and then her face lights up in a slightly manic smile.

“Hello!” she says, entirely too cheerful. “You must be Sarge's boy!”

Grif stares. “Um. Do I know you?”

“Oh, silly me! I should have introduced myself. I'm Dr. Grey! You're Grif, right? Sarge talks about you. I'd know you anywhere.”

Grif frowns, because there's a lot about this that doesn't make sense. “How do you know I'm Grif? I could be anyone.”

“Oh, that's easy!” Dr. Grey smiles, and starts ticking things off on her hands. “A chubby Hawaiian teenager, kind of on the short side. Almost always accompanied by a tall freckly ginger.” She nods toward Simmons. “Wears very loud colors and sweats a lot in warm weather. Plus, you have Sarge's eyes and cheekbones and chin and ears. Oh, and, I've seen pictures!”

This last part is accompanied by a widening of the already unnerving grin, and Simmons would have been happy to drag Grif out of the diner for that alone, but Grif seems to have frozen in place. Simmons tugs on his shirt, but he doesn't notice. Doesn't move. Just stares, until Dr. Grey seems to finally realize that her cheer is not shared between herself and the two boys she's speaking to.

“Is everything okay?”

“Say that again,” Grif says quietly. “The part about me having Sarge's eyes and... whatever. Say it again, and tell me what the hell you mean.”

“Oh!” She tilts her head. “They're very nice eyes to have inherited. Do you not like them?”

“I liked them just fine till you compared them to Sarge. They're not his- I haven't inherited anything from him.”

“I'm sorry, I don't understand. Isn't he your father?”

“No.” The noise Grif makes doesn't even sound human; it sounds desperate. Simmons tightens his hand on Grif's shoulder. “No, he's not. His name's on the paperwork but he- he's not- he just adopted me, okay? That's it.”

Her face falls a little. “I'm sorry. I must have misunderstood...”

“Hell yeah, you did! So just- look, who even are you? How do you know Sarge?”

“I'm Dr. Grey!” That cheerful grin is back, but it falters again. “Hasn't he- mentioned me?”

*

When Grif pulls the stolen jeep into its regular spot a little too quickly, and the brakes squeal and the tires protest and the gravel drive skitters with the force, Sarge hurries outside, ready to yell at Grif for stealing the jeep and driving off to who-knows-where without so much as a by-your-leave. Oh, sure, he'd expected it, and in all honesty he's not that mad because what else do you do when you get your license than steal the family vehicle and drive off to lord-knows-where just for the thrill of it? But the downside of that is the consequences and judging by that entrance, those consequences will have to include paying the damages to the tires that Lopez will be bitching about when he sees them.

When he pushes open the door and gets a look at the raw fury on Grif's face, though, he hesitates. It occurs to him that he's never actually seen Grif angry before (bitter, yes, annoyed, yes, cross, yes, but never, never angry; angry is too much effort for a lazy boy like Grif).

Grif slams the jeep like it's personally offended him and by now Lopez is peering irritably out of his work shed, but Grif doesn't seem to care. He's striding angrily toward Sarge, Simmons following slowly behind him, and Simmons looks uncomfortable, like he really doesn't want to be here except he is because Grif needs him to be here.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Grif demands, once he reaches the back steps. Simmons is hanging back, Grif is glaring up at him, and he can hear Donut and Kai in the background, attracted by Grif's shout. He furrows his brow.

“Tell you what?” He nearly adds a 'numbnuts' at the end, and it hangs unsaid and implied in the air, but for once he can see that this would be a bad idea.

“Why didn't you tell me you're my father?”

Oh.

Shit.

*

Lopez takes Kai and Donut away. They get ice cream, he thinks, or at least he thinks he heard something about ice cream. It doesn't matter, really. This is just the sort of conversation that needs to happen between just the two of them.

Simmons holds Grif's hand while they wait for Kai and Donut to change, and as they're pulling out of the driveway he gives him a long, sound kiss before pulling away. “I'm going home,” he says quietly. He glances at Sarge, and drops another kiss to the top of Grif's head. “Call me when... call me later. Tell me how it goes.” He pulls away to leave, and Grif clings to his hand until it's out of reach, then moves over to sit on the steps. Sarge hesitates, then moves over to sit next to him.

For a long time, it's quiet. How do you even begin a conversation like this?

“I was stationed in Hawaii for awhile,” he says finally. “About six months. That's when I met- met your mother.”

Grif makes a noncommittal grunt of acknowledgment. Sarge presses on.

“It wasn't much more than a fling,” he says. “Probably not what you want to hear, but. Well. That's how it goes sometimes. We went out a bit, spent a few weeks just enjoying each other. Fell apart pretty quickly. Just wasn't meant to be, I guess.”

Grif makes another noise. There's no real meaning behind it. “Did you even know about me?” he asks, finally. Sarge nods, uncomfortable.

“She told me. Turned up about maybe a month after we'd parted ways, told me she was pregnant. I told her I was being reassigned soon. We argued. I didn't see her again after that.” Grif is still silent, and Sarge chances a look at him. He's staring at his hands, clenching and unclenching them over his knees. Sarge sighs. “Look, I know I could have... I should have done more. Done better. But I didn't. She gave me an easy way out and I took it. Regretted it for a long time.”

He clenches and unclenches his own fists. How had Grif never realized before? He might take after his mom in looks (mostly) but he takes after Sarge in how he moves, in his manner and how he holds himself. Watching him sometimes is like looking back across the years and seeing his young self, and honestly it scares him sometimes. His only consolation is that Grif is too lazy to get into some of the stuff he got into at that age.

“I used to send money,” he goes on. “As regularly as I could. She sent me pictures, sometimes. When I found out about Kai, I sent more money. Didn't seem right to leave her without any support at all, and kids are expensive. Then one day I got my check back in the mail, return to sender. Went digging around to find out where she'd went and I found her obituary instead. Found out you two'd been put into foster care. So I did the only thing that seemed right. I called up your social worker and told her who I was. Made the arrangements. Sorted things out here. Then I grabbed the first flight to Hawaii and went to get you. Figured... maybe I was twelve years too late, but at least I could start doing right by you.”

He wishes Grif would say something. He isn't sure how much more of this silence he can take.

“I'm going to bed,” is what Grif eventually says. He stands and heads inside, leaving Sarge sitting on the porch, staring out at the yard in silence.

*

He's still sitting there twenty minutes later when Simmons turns up. Simmons passes him without a word and Sarge is reassured to know that at least Grif has someone.

*

He's still sitting there half an hour after that when Lopez and Donut and Kai return from getting ice cream. They don't say anything either, though Donut shuffles awkwardly for a moment while Lopez and Kai pass by. And he grips Sarge's shoulder reassuringly when he comes up the steps.

*

He's still sitting there an hour after that when he gets a text from Emily.

Emily: Met one of your boys today, Sarge!
Emily: He seemed nice.

He starts laughing, then. Laughs until it hurts.

He doesn't even know what's funny. He just can't stop laughing.

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Tucker is the only one of their friends not surprised by the revelation of Grif's relationship to Sarge. While Church reacts with his usual level disdain and who the fuck cares, and Caboose chatters something about peas that no doubt makes sense to him but to no one else, Tucker quirks an eyebrow and yeah, of course, wait, you mean you didn't know? Grif just glares at him, because people knowing shit about him that he doesn't know isn't cool.

He hasn't spoken to Sarge since he went to bed that night, or even stayed in the same room as him. Sarge is acting like nothing has changed, and Grif isn't sure how he feels about that. On the one hand, at least things aren't awkward. On the other hand... things should be awkward.

He supposes that it's because for Sarge, not much has changed- he already knew, it's not like he had a huge fucking bombshell dropped on him.

*

They take to hanging out at Church's more after that. Grif wants to spend as little time around Sarge as possible, and since Simmons isn't out to his dad they aren't able to have any blatant displays of affection around his place. (Grif has yet to work out how Simmons isn't out to his dad, because the whole fucking town knows and while their friends might have enough tact not to bring it up when they're around him, it seems to Grif that someone would have mentioned it at some point.) He doesn't want to see Cappy either, since the fucker probably- no, Grif did the math, most definitely certainly- knew, and didn't say anything. (Tucker doesn't like hanging around at his place either, anymore, since Reggie is always over and he's still convinced the guy is trying to kill him.) So that's Tucker's place out.

Caboose has sisters. His house is unanimously off-limits.

Church's dad hates that they're always over. They get the feeling Church enjoys this.

*

They aren't sure, later, how the fight starts. They're at Church's place, watching a movie or playing video games or something- they're not sure about that later, either- and Church makes a crack about “Grif's daddy issues”. It's the sort of dumb stuff they say to each other all the time, the stupid insults and sarcastic jokes about how inferior they all are, but it makes Grif bristle in an uncomfortable way.

“You're one to talk about daddy issues,” he says, more venom in his words than any of them are used to. “Mister I-invite-my-friends-over-just-cause-it-annoys-my-dad.”

Church scoffs, because he doesn't realize he's touched a nerve, or maybe because he just doesn't care. “Please. At least I don't spend all my time bitching because oh no my dad actually wants me around woe is me.”

“What?!” Grif doesn't remember standing up, but he must have at some point because he's on his feet, glaring at Church. “If Sarge wanted me around, he wouldn't have spent the first three months I was here threatening to send me back to Hawaii. You don't have any kind of idea of the shit I have to put up with, so don't go throwing around phrases like 'daddy issues'. You're so broody and shit and you act like you've got it so terrible. You live in a fucking mansion, dude.”

“Yeah, you know why?” Church is on his feet now, too, arms folded, glaring down at him. Grif tilts his head up defiantly, and wonders how long Church has been taller than him. “Wanna know why I live in a fucking mansion? Because one day my mom decided she was tired of having me around and dumped me here. To live with the dad I had only ever met twice before, who didn't give a shit about having a son and only agreed to keep me because his hands were tied. You have any idea what that's like?”

“Oh I can't possibly imagine,” Grif spits back. “Maybe it's like being dragged out to a shitty farm in Iowa by a man who only took you in out of obligation to your dead mother and reminds you every day of how worthless you are. Maybe it's like hearing 'dirtbag' and 'numbnuts' thrown at you instead of your fucking name or wondering when he's gonna follow through on those threats to send you back. Maybe it's wondering if it wouldn't be so bad to be sent back because a shitty foster home in Hawaii would be better than this shithole.” He hears the tiny, hurt noise Simmons makes, but ignores it. His hand runs irritably through his shaggy hair. He's angry, but he's less angry than tired. He's been angry for days, he just wants to rest. “If I have daddy issues it's because I've put up with hell for three years and now I've found out that I've been lied to by the one putting me through that hell.” Church makes a noise like he's going to protest again, but Grif's had enough. He spins on his heel and heads to the door. “Simmons, Donut, come on. We're leaving.”

“Wait, you can't just- I mean, just because you're leaving...”

“Fine! Then walk for all I care!” There's a snarl in his voice when he rounds on Simmons, half-standing in protest. He takes a second to get his breathing back under control. “Fine. If you're riding with me, then we're leaving. If not... it's whatever. I don't give a fuck.”

*

The ride home is tense, unbearably quiet. Simmons hunches in on himself at the far end of the passenger's seat, hands wringing anxiously in his lap. In the back, Donut pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up until it hangs over his face and lays down, one knee drawn up to his chest as best he can. If Grif were paying more attention, he'd notice how close the other boy is to tears, but it's enough to keep his attention on driving as it is. Besides, he can't deal with any more emotions right now.

*

He drops Simmons off first, and when they get home, Dr. Grey is there, sat on the back steps eating a popsicle with Sarge. They're laughing about something but when Grif pulls up they stop, and exchange a look that doesn't bode well for the rest of Grif's evening, and stand to meet the two boys coming up the walk.

“Hello, Grif!” Dr. Grey says, beaming at them. “And that means this young man must be Donut!”

“Er, yes ma'am.” Donut takes her offered hand, bewildered. “And who are you?”

“Dr. Emily Grey, at your service~” she chirps. Sarge touches her elbow, and she half turns to smile up at him too.

“See, she's uh...” Sarge actually looks embarrassed, which has got to be a first. “Well, we've been seeing each other, for a few months now. 'Bout six months now,” he adds, muttered. “Just.. thought it was about time you boys met her.

It's too much. It's just too fucking much.

It's not that Grif has any objection to Sarge dating- he doesn't. It's just that on top of everything else- on top of the lies, and fighting with Church, and the tension he's managed to create with Simmons in the process.. and now this, and it's just too much. Grif is exhausted beyond belief. He gives Dr. Grey a brief nod and then heads up to the house.

“Congratulations. I'm going to bed.”

*

He wakes up the next morning to his usual wake-up text from Simmons. He squints at his phone, expecting something like wake up, fatass or stop being so lazy and get up already. Instead it just says six o'clock, time to get up. He can practically hear the terseness in every letter, which means that things with Simmons are still tense. He groans and rolls over. He's seriously considering going back to sleep and just begging off school today.

“Wake up, sleepy-head!”

Grif grunts as a heavy figure lands on him, and he finds Donut sprawled over him. He aims a kick through the covers, and misses. Donut rolls aside and sits up, grinning down at him in that unnervingly wide smile that Grif has learned to recognize as not-genuine-at-all. He smacks the other boy with a pillow. “Go away. I'm not going to school today.”

“Awww, but today is taco day in the cafeteria! You love tacos!” Donut paws at Grif's covers, trying to pull them away, but Grif just holds onto them more tightly. Finally, Donut slumps in defeat. “Besides, if you don't go to school, how will I get there? And Simmons? You're our ride.”

“Get Lopez to do it.” He rolls over and pulls the covers over his head. “Tell them I'm too sick.”

“Awww...” He can hear Donut pouting beside him, but only a moment later they hear Sarge coming down the hall. He knocks on Grif's door, then pushes it open.

“Rise and shine, dirtbag.” (Grif hears Donut make a small noise over him, but doesn't bother interpreting it.) “Time to get up!”

“He says he's sick, Sarge,” Donut puts in helpfully. Grif groans and tries to burrow even deeper into his covers.

“Playing hooky, huh? Think I don't know the tricks? Only been a teacher for ten years, after all..”

Grif makes a keening noise and gives up his wriggling. He hears Sarge move and waits for his covers to be yanked away, but all that happens is a cool hand presses to his forehead. It's weirdly soothing and he leans into it instinctively before shifting enough to look up at Sarge. Sarge is frowning down at him, but it's not his usual disappointed, disapproving scowl- just a thoughtful frown. He makes a noise in the back of his throat and pulls his hand away.

“Does feel a bit warm, actually.” He backs away and waves his hand absently. “All right, come on, Donut. Leave the invalid alone.”

He's gone before either can reply. Donut turns back to Grif, and now his hand is on Grif's forehead, brushing his hair back from his face gently. His touch is weirdly reassuring and Grif doesn't bother trying not to lean into it.

“I hope you feel better soon,” he says, and leaves as well.

*

Grif wakes around noon to a soft knocking on his bedroom door. He grunts something that could generously be interpreted as an invitation and a moment later hears the door open and Dr. Grey is at his side, smiling down at him. He grumbles something and pulls his covers over his head. She's the last person he wants to talk to right now, except maybe Sarge.

“Sarge told me you were sick,” she says, and why does that make her sound so happy? “He asked me to stop by and check on you.”

He grumbles, but pulls his covers down enough to face her, the only concession he'll make to her presence. She laughs softly and rests her hand against his forehead (this time he absolutely doesn't lean into the touch), against each cheek. She coaxes him into sitting up so she can listen to his breathing, listens to his heart, checks his temperature, and finally lets him lie back down. She sits at the edge of his bed and crosses her legs at the ankles and leans back and just looks at him, and it's so unnerving.

“I get the feeling you're not happy with me dating Sarge,” she says, eventually. Grif shrugs.

“It's not that.” He makes a vague motion with his hand. “He can do what he wants, I don't care. I just... you know, he didn't have to lie about it. He could have told us. Did he tell you about the other night? About how he didn't tell me when he brought Kai and me here that he's my dad? Kinda makes me wonder what else he lied to us about.”

“Oh, I'm sure there's plenty he hasn't told you.” Grif snorts, and pulls his covers back over his head. Dr. Grey tugs them back down. “He thinks the world of you, you know. He told me.”

“Yeah well...” He drags the blankets back up, rolls over and buries his head under the pillow. “He's never told me.”

*

Simmons drops by to check on him after school. He sits at the end of Grif's bed for a long time, staring at the floor while Grif watches him.

“Do you really want to go back to Hawaii?” he asks.

Grif sighs and sits up, scoots over until he's sat behind Simmons. He wraps his arms around the other's waist and leans his head against his back, breathing in deeply. “Yes,” he says quietly. “And one day I will.” Simmons stiffens under him, and Grif shifts enough to press a kiss between his shoulder blades. “And I'm taking you with me when I do.”

“Oh.”

He falls silent, but Grif laughs and raises up enough to kiss the back of his neck. “You're the only thing in this shitty town worth sticking around for. Did you really think I would just leave you behind? Please. Thought you knew me better than that.”

“Thought I did too, but..” He runs his hand through his hair- his curls are growing out, and Grif knows he'll cut them down again soon and feels a pang of regret over that. He loves Simmons' curls. “You've never yelled at me before. I thought.. you know.”

“I'm sorry.” He leans his head against Simmons' back again and sighs deeply, wearily. “Shouldn't have done that.”

Simmons makes a small noise and twines his hands with Grif's. They sit there like that for a long time; Grif just wishes he'd never have to move again.

*

Dr. Grey comes over for dinner a few nights later. Sheila and Donut cook, while Grif and Simmons hang out at the counter, Grif pestering them about tasting everything and Simmons rolling his eyes and trying to get his homework done (Grif calls him a nerd and then draws on him with a sharpie when he gets bored). Kai tries to help, but only manages to get flour everywhere (none of the recipes even call for flour), and at some point Lopez wanders in looks at everyone, says something deeply sarcastic in Spanish that makes Sheila say “Lopez!” in that stern mother voice of hers.

By the time Dr. Grey arrives for dinner, Grif and Simmons are a mess of sharpie doodles, Kai is draped over a grumpy-looking Lopez, and everything is covered in flour. Dr. Grey giggles softly.

“Well now~” she chirps. “I can see you're all a colorful bunch! I'm looking forward to getting to know you all properly.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

The tension between Church and Grif settles down into a simmering undercurrent that runs beneath all of their interactions. Though the rest of the group is still amicable enough towards one another, the lines have been clearly drawn, and show when they're all together. They've gone back to referring to themselves as the Reds and Blues, something that Donut doesn't have the context for but has been told goes back to middle school. (Donut, due to his association with Grif, gets lumped in with the Reds, even though he's not one of the 'original' Reds. The same is with Caboose and the Blues, due to his unwavering loyalty to Church. It's confusing.)

When Grif and Church aren't there, there's no real divide. Donut and Tucker still joke around, and have started plotting a spy story together (Tucker wants to involve aliens; Donut is insistent that the protagonist marries a princess. It's gonna be great). Donut and Caboose still have long involved conversations about what everyone else insists is nonsense but that makes a perfect kind of sense if you can follow the train of thought from the beginning and then take the time to think about it later.

When Grif and Church aren't there, things are easy. They're nice. When they are there, things get tense again.

*

He takes to hanging around with Doc and Carolina and their friends more. Not only is there less tension, he also feels like less of a tag-along. While he likes his friends, he's never been able to shake the feeling that he's only there as an extension of Grif.

There's another benefit, too- Doc and Carolina's friend Wash, adorably professional hall monitor and still the prettiest boy Donut has ever seen.

*

The treehouse that straddles Doc and Wash's yard was built when they were about seven or eight, so it really isn't big enough for five teenagers, especially when one of those teenagers is Carolina's friend Maine, who is about eight feet tall. For that matter, Donut is pretty tall too, which he hadn't realized till now. Their legs are all tangled together even with their backs pressed against the walls; Donut is having a hard time concentrating on not noticing that Wash's calf is flush against his own. He's learned not to notice things like that, but Wash isn't making it easy for him.

“I can't believe this thing has always been this small,” Carolina says, shifting her legs so that Doc's heels aren't digging into her thighs. “I remember once all three of us were able to camp out up here and there was plenty of room.”

“And yet I still woke up with Doc on top of me,” Wash says, scowling.

“I can't help it. I'm a tactile sleeper!”

“You were inside my sleeping bag!”

Doc pouts and twiddles his fingers while Carolina and Maine laugh. (Donut doesn't laugh; he's trying too hard not to imagine being inside Wash's sleeping bag because, yeah, that isn't going to do anyone any favors.)

“I can think of a few people who wouldn't mind sharing a sleeping bag with you, Wash,” Carolina teases. A blush spreads across Donut's face (had she noticed?) but no one is paying him any attention; Wash responds to her teasing by batting his hand at her childishly. “That guy from your summer camp? Remember telling us about him? I think he would love to share a sleeping bag with you.”

Wash scowls. “Can we not talk about that? I would honestly be happy to go my whole life without ever thinking of him again.”

Maine snorts. “Creepy,” he agrees. At Donut's confused look, he makes a motion with his hand. “Wash had a stalker at camp.” (“Oh, are we speaking in complete sentences today?” from Carolina.)

Wash's scowl deepens. “He was not a stalker. He just had this weird obsessive crush on me... and spent all his time with me, and wouldn't stop asking prying questions about me.”

“That's a stalker, Wash,” Doc says. Wash just lets his head thunk back against the wall.

“Either way, it as annoying. I could live without people having crushes on me. It's unsettling.”

Donut makes a soft sound that earns him a curious look from Maine; the other boy shifts enough to kick Wash's foot off of his knee, earning him a squawk of protest. Wash's voice cracks midsquawk, prompting laughter from the others. Donut catches Maine's eye, and Maine gives him a small, reassuring smile.

Oh.

*

It's not that Donut ever expected to act on his crush. Wash has already made it clear that he doesn't like guys, and Donut isn't sure he wants to be out anyway. He knows Grif is, and no one seems to have an issue with it, but that's Grif. Donut gets the feeling that Grif gets away with things that other people wouldn't be able to.

He asked Grif, once, if anyone gave him a hard time about his relationship with Simmons. Grif had just shrugged and said “Sometimes. Doesn't really matter. Simmons likes me, and his opinion is more important. Hard to care about someone else when I get to kiss Simmons any time I want.”

“But doesn't it bother you?”

“Nah.” Grif had just shrugged. “You just gotta own it, dude.”

In Donut's experience, such advice is best not followed. He'd only sighed and said, “Okay,” before shifting the topic to something else.

*

In late October the Drama department announces tryouts for their next production, a performance of A Midsummer's Night's Dream, and Donut decides to try out. He's surprised, when he gets to the auditions, to find Maine there as well; Maine rarely even talks in complete sentences, so he can't exactly picture him on stage belting out monologues.

“Set design,” he says, when he sees Donut's confused look. They walk into the theatre together and take seats near the middle to wait. “I like Shakespeare.”

*

A week later, the cast list goes up and Donut is pleased to see he'll be playing Puck. A massive hand appears and gives his shoulder a squeeze, and he turns to see Maine grinning at him.

“I see you got to be part of the set crew,” he says cheerily. “We're going to be working together.”

Maine nods, then taps the list again, drawing his attention to one of the names. Wash is apparently a member of the sound crew. Donut blushes. “You know about my crush on him, don't you?”

He snorts. “Obvious.”

“Does he know?”

Another snort. “Oblivious.”

“You're not going to tell him, are you?”

“Naaah.”

“Oh. Well. Thanks.”

Maine just laughs, and ruffles his hair playfully before heading off to his next class.

*

Blood Gulch Haunted Caverns is a popular attraction in Blood Gulch every Halloween. The caves beneath the southern end of the town aren't particularly interesting or useful, apart from being the occasional hang-out for the local teens, but there are enough ghost stories attached to them from all the years the town has existed that every year hauntings are set up during October. Originally it started as one haunted tour of the caverns, but other attractions joined them; now there are four hauntings and a hay ride to choose from.

The field around the caverns is full of people waiting around between hauntings, or waiting in line, or just hanging out. The tv in the scare-free zone tent is playing a cartoon movie of some kind, and off in the distance they can hear the technopop that makes the sound track for one of the hauntings.

They've just come out of the second haunting, and they're currently a mixture of laughter and shaking. Only Maine and Carolina are unfazed; on the flip-side, Grif has Simmons' hand in a vice-grip and his face buried in Simmons' sleeve. He's been like that since the bat room, and Simmons is trying to calm him down before he loses all feeling in his hand.

“Maybe we should do something a little less intense before we go on,” Wash says. He pries Doc's hand off his arm and nods toward a large trailer in the distance. “A nice relaxing hay ride, maybe?”

Grif peers at him from Simmons' sleeve. “There aren't any bats there, right?”

“No. Just a hay ride. It's spooky because the field is dark and there are lanterns, but it's not scary.”

*

The trailer for the hay ride is sturdy, but no effort has been put into decoration. It's just a high trailer piled with hay bales; the only concession to the event is a somewhat spooky scarecrow shoved down into a corner. They take seats in a cluster along opposite walls of the trailer, with Grif practically in Simmons' lap, still clinging to his hand, though he's at least loosened his grip and now seems to be milking this benefit of his fear more than anything else.

Donut takes a seat beside Maine, who gives him a raised eyebrow look tinged with amusement.

“What?” Donut says. “If we do have any monsters turn up, I want to be sitting beside the guy who knows how to throw a punch.”

Maine snorts. “Don't punch haunts. Paying to get scared.”

“No no no, I mean real monsters. This would be the perfect set up to a horror movie scenario! A monster attacks and you don't realize it, because you were expecting haunts! So when the madman with the chainsaw pops out and starts cutting off heads, I'm going to be sitting next to the guy who can throw a punch.”

“I like that your scenario implies that one of us is getting their head cut off by a madman with a chainsaw,” Wash says. He leans back against Carolina's knees and stretches his legs out across the floor. “Who's the first victim?”

“Doc,” Maine grunts, earning an indignant huff from Doc. He sits on Maine's other side. “Stealing Donut's strategy?”

“Yes. It's a good one.”

Maine snorts, and pushes Doc over to Wash and Carolina. “Find another bodyguard.”

Their conversation is interrupted by a lurch as the ride begins. Donut leans back in the hay. His gaze is drawn by the scarecrow in the corner, and he sits studying it for a few minutes. It seems a bit out of place, to be honest- just shoved down into the hay, a pair of half-hearted legs draped over the bale. It wobbles with each lurch of the tractor pulling them, but there's something... unnatural about the way it moves. He frowns, and then jumps when Maine nudges him.

“Costume or prop?” Maine asks, pointing over at the scarecrow, drawing all of their attention.

“I'm not sure..” They all stare at it for awhile, but it remains stubbornly inanimate. Suddenly Grif and Simmons stand and move over to the other side of Maine and Donut.

“It could be a prop, or it could be a guy in a costume,” Simmons says. “Either way, I'm not sitting closest to it. Someone else can be the first victim, if it is a haunt.”

“Doc,” Maine says again, earning a whimper from the boy in question (and a laugh from Wash).

Donut shifts awkwardly, having realized that he's now closest to the mysterious scarecrow. He doesn't move, though. Thanks to Grif and Simmons, there's no room. He presses closer to Maine's side, which has Maine laughing.

The ride trundles along through the field, and slowly they all lose interest in the scarecrow, which has yet to give any signs of life. Donut keeps sneaking glances at it, but he's slowly finding other things to occupy his mind, like just how close he's sitting to Maine, or how nice this is, sitting in a pile of hay and staring up at a sky filled with stars. The only source of light is the lanterns at the corners of the trailer, and the distant glow of the tractor's headlights.

All of a sudden, the lanterns flicker out, and they're left for a few seconds in almost complete darkness. The lights are back on before they even have a chance to adjust their vision, accompanied by a call of 'sorry, my bad!' from the tractor's driver. They ignore this, though, because the scarecrow has moved and is now stalking slowly through the trailer, looming over them on its way to the back. There's a shriek, followed by 'Get off of me, you fatass! You're crushing my spleen!' The lanterns flicker again, and now the scarecrow is looming all-too-close over Grif and Simmons; Grif has all but crawled into Simmons' lap and is clinging to him in terror.

The scarecrow stays like that for a moment longer, before spinning to loom over Carolina, who is laughing hardest. She bites down on her laugh and leans back slightly, but the grin is still there.

“At least you don't have a chainsaw,” she says. “That one is Doc, if you're wondering.” She points beside her; Doc whimpers.

“Please don't eat me.”

After a moment of enjoying Doc's fear, the scarecrow turns to loom over Donut instead. He squeaks and clings to Maine's side instinctively, and is startled when one big arm wraps reassuringly around his shoulders. When he finally peeps out from Maine's shirt the scarecrow is looming over Wash (who looks like he's trying to stare it down in return, but Donut can see his fists shaking at his side). Donut doesn't move, though; he's starting to see Grif's point of view in this whole 'clinging for protection' thing.

By the time the ride pulls to a halt at the other end of the field, the scarecrow has loomed over all of them in turn except Maine. Grif has still proved to be the most entertaining; his face is buried in Simmons' chest and they can hear his muffled babbling while Simmons rubs circles on his back.

They all stagger off the ride, and the scarecrow puts a hand on Wash's shoulder.

“I'm telling everyone at school how you nearly pissed yourself,” it says, and Wash makes his first actual frightened sound of the evening. The scarecrow just laughs; it's a character break, but they're the only ones around anyway.

“You know what, South? You can go suck a dick. Asshole.”

“I'm just doing my job, dickstain. Got a problem with it? Stay off the ride. Now go. Shoo. We gotta get this hay-train back to the station for the next set of unsuspecting victims.”

She shoos them off the ride and the tractor and trailer lurch off to the starting point, leaving them to walk back to the main area. Grif has calmed down a lot since South broke character, but he's still shaking. Simmons loops an arm around him. “I'm gonna take Grif back to the jeep,” he says. “See if I can get him to calm down.”

They head off in the direction of the parking lot, leaving Wash, Maine, Donut, Doc, and Carolina to head back without them. Donut realizes that Maine's arm is still around him; when he hangs back, expecting Maine to keep up with the others, he doesn't, and the pair fall behind the other three. Donut glances up at him, baffled.

"Still scared?"

Donut considers this for a moment, then loops his arm around Maine's waist and leans closer to him. “Terrified.”

*

Maine comes to the house a few days later. The only ones outside when he pulls up are Sarge and Dr. Grey; Dr. Grey is sat on the porch reading and watching Sarge chop wood for his grill (and there's literally no need for him to have his shirt off while he does, but Emily certainly isn't going to complain).

“Donut here?” he asks, when Sarge stops and leans on his ax.

“He's in his room. Go on in.”

Maine grunts his thanks and heads inside, while Sarge hoists his ax and gets back to chopping wood. The sch-thwunk follows him up the stairs, to Donut's room. The door is open and he can see the other boy sprawled on his bed watching a movie. He taps on the jamb and Donut looks up, startled to find him there. His face splits into a pretty big grin, though.

“Oh heeeeey! I was just watching Son of the Vampire Mummy Werewolf. Want to watch it with me?”

Maine considers this a moment, then grins and nods.

*

About halfway through the movie, somewhere between the Big Reveal about the son's identity as half-Vampire/Mummy/Werewolf and his first flight under the full moon, Donut is startled by a massive hand shyly covering his. He looks up to find Maine eying him cautiously. He smiles and shifts so that their fingers and curled together.

He turns back to the movie, a blush crawling up his face.

*

Long after the movie has gone off, Donut walks Maine out to his car, hands still held between them.

“So... does this mean we're a thing now?”

Maine glances from their still-joined hands to Donut's face. He shrugs. “If you want.”

“I'd like that.” He swings their hands, grinning, but his grin falters and he pulls away. “But, um. Maybe we don't.. tell anyone? If that's okay?”

Something unreadable flashes across Maine's face, but he nods anyway. “Up to you.”

“Thanks.” They reach Maine's car, and Donut drops his hand. A blush is spreading across his face. “You know.. if you wanted to kiss me good night before you go... that'd be okay.. I'd like that...”

Maine laughs, and gives him a chaste kiss before ducking into his car. Donut isn't sure, because it's dark, but he thinks Maine might also be blushing.

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Rehearsals for the play become more fun now that Donut is dating Maine (well, now that Donut and Maine are boyfriends- they have yet to go on an actual date). For one thing, it gives them plenty of time to spend together; for another, more fun reason, Maine doesn't mind giving Donut a ride home after rehearsals, and there are quite a few detours along back roads that they take just to draw out their alone time. Maine holds Donut's hand between them while he drives; Donut teases him about ten-and-two but makes no effort to pull his hand away.

It's a lot better than how things were with his first boyfriend and more than once he finds himself wondering if things really are better here in Blood Gulch.

The ease of his relationship with Maine makes it easier to deal with the rest of his friends. Grif and Church are still not speaking, and it's reached the point that Donut and Tucker are having as little to do with them as possible. Only Simmons and Caboose remain loyal; the day either of them have had enough will be the breaking point, Tucker says. It has to happen sooner or later.

*

The trouble with keeping their relationship secret is that Donut would really like to hold Maine's hand in the hallways at school, would love to be able to go on dates with him and let everyone know that Maine is his boyfriend. He's glad Maine is understanding, at least; he'd expected him to be a bit more insistent but when Donut had stumbled over a brief explanation he'd ruffled his hair and said, “Okay,” softly.

But Donut would still like to be able to kiss him in public.

*

Early in November, the wrestling team holds tryouts. Maine and Wash sign up; Donut goes with them to tryouts to cheer them on.

He's only up in the bleachers for a few minutes before a girl with purple highlights in her hair flops down beside him. He vaguely recognizes her as one of Wash's hall monitor friends, though she looks more like she stole a hall monitor vest in order to get out of class without consequence. Either way, she grins when he greets her politely.

“Hey, I know you, you were that guy clinging to Maine at the hay ride.”

Oh right, he'd forgotten that. He blushes furiously. “I get scared very easily,” he says, but she waves that away as though it is of no consequence.

“Nah, it's flattering. That was my first year as a haunt. You did me a favor.”

“Oh, you were the scarecrow! South, right?”

She grins and winks at him, giving him a playful salute. “That's me. South Dakota, twin sister of North Dakota. Our parents had a shit sense of humor.”

“Well, my name is Donut, so I can't really talk.”

She laughs at that. “You're right, you win. At least South sounds cool. Anyway. What are you doing here? Trying out?”

He shakes his head. “I've got enough on my plate right now. I'm here to cheer on Maine and Wash.”

“Yeah? Well, Wash could probably use all the cheering he can get. Oh, speaking of!” She gestures out at the mats, where Wash is up. She cups her hands around her mouth. “Hey Wash! Don't choke out there, okay? I know that's a challenge for you but just try!”

He doesn't even turn around to flip her off. She grins. “No really though! If you lose it means you're pathetic and lame, so try not to! And just so you know, the goal is to pin your opponent, not the other way around!”

This time he does turn around to flip her off. She laughs and blows him a kiss.

*

South stays and talks to him throughout tryouts, which has Wash grumpy when he and Maine join them in the bleachers after their own turns are up. They fall into an argument that seems to be continued from a past conversation; Maine uses their distraction to give Donut's hand a squeeze between them before turning back to watch the girl's team tryouts. South hurries off to join the line; once she's gone, Wash flops backwards with a groan.

“Why does she hate me?”

Maine just snorts.

*

Before they know what's happening Thanksgiving is around the corner. Sarge is getting into the spirit of things; he loves Thanksgiving, but mostly because he loves any excuse to fire up his smoker. He buys the biggest turkey Donut has ever seen, then points out that between Dr. Grey and Sheila joining them, Donut living with them now, and Grif, a big turkey is necessary. Donut is surprised that Simmons won't be joining them; Simmons just mumbles something about his dad preferring to spend Thanksgiving with family and changes the subject immediately. Donut is startled- he'd almost forgotten that Simmons doesn't actually live with them too.

When he passes Grif's room on the way to bed that night, he sees Simmons sprawled across Grif's bed in his pajamas and is suddenly realizes that Simmons has slept over the past three nights.

He wonders if Sarge has noticed.

*

Sheila and Donut end up cooking most of Thanksgiving dinner. They both love to cook, and it frees up Sarge to handle the smoker. He's been up since the crack of dawn to get the turkey in on time and every time Donut checks outside he's singing cheerily to himself while he works.

Grif just laughs when Donut points this out. “Sarge loves Thanksgiving,” he says. “Or any excuse to smoke something, really.”

He's in a good mood today, largely because of the promise of large amounts of food and the chance for a long, uninterrupted nap after lunch. It's a nice change from how grumpy he's been lately.

*

Dr. Grey arrives late in the morning. She plays card games at the kitchen table with Kai and Lopez while Donut and Sheila cook and Grif tries to steal bits of food that's being pulled from the ovens and stove. Sarge comes in more now that his girlfriend is there, and the kitchen becomes awash with warmth and happy conversation and even Lopez is being less sarcastic than usual (probably because the addition of Sheila and Dr. Grey means that there are people around who can understand him for once).

It's so nice that it gives Donut a sense of foreboding. Something bad is going to happen soon. He can feel it in his toes.

*

o/o

*

Grif will never admit it, but this fight with Church is draining him more than he's letting on. It's exhausting to be angry at someone all the time. He doesn't know how Church does it, he really doesn't. Somehow the other boy manages to be angry and everyone and everything all the time. Grif can't understand how he isn't always tired.

The upside of this is that things smooth out a little at home between him and Sarge. True, he's still annoyed at the man, but he doesn't have the energy to be angry at both Church and Sarge, and Sarge is more exhausting.

The downside is that Tucker and Caboose aren't having much to do with him anymore, either. This hits him harder than he expected- he always assumed that as long as he had Simmons, the rest of his friends he could take or leave. But he finds himself missing them pretty frequently and regrets that things between him and Church have led to this.

Even Donut isn't seeing much of him outside of home, though Grif has some sneaking suspicions that this is less about Grif and Church's fight and more about how he and Maine dating now.

At least he has Simmons. And if Simmons objects to him being more clingy lately, he doesn't say anything about it.

*

Anyway, Simmons has his own issues going on right now. Things have been getting worse between him and his dad, and Grif can say a lot of things about Sarge but at least he doesn't put too much pressure on Grif to be something he's not. And if Grif wants to join any extracurriculars he knows Sarge will let him- no matter how nerdy they are.

And when he and Simmons got together, it never even occurred to him that Sarge might not approve. He never had the thought that Sarge shouldn't find out.

*

“Look on the bright side,” Grif says between soft kisses. “If your parents don't know about us, they have no reason to ban all our sleepovers.”

Simmons laughs. Here in Grif's room, it's easy to pretend things are normal. “I'm surprised they haven't said anything about me staying over here all the time anyway.” He closes his eyes and hums pleasantly. Grif is playing with his hair; he's been meaning to get it cut for weeks but he loves how it feels when Grif plays with it. “I wish I could just stay over here all the time. You think Sarge would be my dad instead, if I asked?”

Grif snorts. “Why not? He's already got a house full of strays as it is. What's one more?”

He was just kidding when he said it, but now he sighs and leans his head on Grif's shoulder sadly. Grif shifts so that he can rub circles on his back instead.

“Hey, come on. Don't let it get you down. It's only three more years, right? Then we can graduate and get out of this shitstain of a town. I'll take you to Hawaii, we'll just spend all of our time on the beach not doing anything.”

Simmons laughs. “What about college?”

“There are colleges in Hawaii. Good ones. You can go to one of those. It'll work out, you'll see.”

Simmons laughs again, then sighs and settles against Grif's shoulder contentedly. “You really mean it about taking me to Hawaii with you, don't you?”

“Course I do. You're my best friend. Hawaii is my home. Why wouldn't I mean it?”

“Just sounds like a pipe dream, that's all.”

“Sometimes pipe dreams come true.”

“We'll cross our fingers for this one, then.” He yawns and curls into Grif's shoulder. “I'd like to see Hawaii.”

*

Simmons wants to be a Mathlete. It's been his dream for ages, since even before Grif met him. But his dad doesn't approve; he doesn't think being a mathlete is manly enough, and would prefer for his son to be doing something sporty. He wants him to try out for wrestling, which has Grif in stitches the first time he hears it because there's no way Simmons could make it on the wrestling team.

“Would there even be anyone else in your weight class? Is there a weight class for skinny nerds?”

“I'm not that skinny.” Simmons lifts his shirt (“Sexy,” Grif says, still laughing) to look. True, he's not exactly fit, but he's always made sure to get enough exercise and so there is a touch of muscle there. It's just not enough that he can do anything with it (except, as Grif says, look sexy. He suspects Grif is biased).

*

Two days before the Mathlete tryouts, Simmons stops in the middle of a conversation and marches up to the sign-up sheet to sign his name with a determined flourish. Grif stands back, watching him expectantly, and raises an eyebrow at him. Simmons folds his arms and glares defiance at Grif. Grif just laughs.

“God you are such a nerd.”

“Maybe,” Simmons says. “But I'm a nerd who's going to join the club I want to for once. I'm seventeen!” he says, voice pitching slightly higher than usual. “I should be able to decide what interests to pursue!”

He stares Grif down for several minutes, daring him to argue, while the corners of Grif's mouth twitch in an effort not to grin. He finally turns and heads off to his next class; Grif hurries off after him, complaining about having to move so fast and can't you take pity on my short legs?

*

Simmons makes the team. Barely.

It's the test anxiety- Grif knows Simmons is the smartest kid in their school (okay, so he's a bit biased). But put him in a test situation and he chokes. Grif is surprised he was able to do well enough at the tryouts to get in at all. Still, he makes it. That's something. And more importantly, he didn't go to the wrestling tryouts that were scheduled at the same time, which his dad wanted him to go to.

Simmons sleeps over with Grif that night, not willing to go home and tell his dad what he did. He goes home the next night, though.

He and Grif get on Skype that night, after everyone else has gone to bed. Simmons looks miserable; he doesn't talk about it and steers the subject away every time it comes up, but Grif can guess pretty easily that his dad didn't take the news very well.

*

“He wants me to drop the club,” Simmons says, on their way to school the next day. “He's going to call Coach DuFresne and see about getting me a make-up tryout scheduled.” He scowls. “He's got a lot of pull with the sports department, he'll probably manage.”

“So choke,” Grif says, shrugging. “If you don't make the team there's nothing he can say about it. Coach won't put you on it unless you're actually good enough and if he makes a stink he'll tell your dad how much you suck. Easy as.”

Simmons snorts. “Yeah, my dad'll give up that easily. He's not you, you know. He doesn't just shrug and decide to fuck it. He actually holds onto stuff.”

“I hold onto stuff.”

“I mean stuff besides Oreos,” Simmons says irritably. Grif reaches across the car to wrap his hand around Simmons' in his lap.

“I hold onto you,” he says. He gives Simmons' hand a squeeze and goes back to driving. “Talk to Doc,” he suggests. “Get him to talk to Coach for you. Coach is pretty chill, he'll listen.”

*

Coach pulls him aside in gym later. It seems his dad already called, and Coach wants to know what Simmons has to say about the situation. Simmons takes a deep breath.

“I don't want to be on the wrestling team,” he says. “Or any other sports team. I want to be a Mathlete. It's my dad who wants me to be sportier.”

“That's what I thought,” Coach says. He leads Simmons over to sit on the bleachers with him. “You never seem particularly sporty in gym, even if you do actually put in more effort than the other nerds.” Simmons cringes; he hates being called a nerd by sporty people. Even if he knows Coach doesn't mean it in any derogatory way, it still stings. (Hell, he calls Doc a nerd all the time and no one would suggest he thinks less of him for it.) “Listen, son, I can tell Rich not to waste his time trying to get you onto the wrestling team but you'll have to talk to him yourself if you really want to get anywhere with him. Otherwise he'll just start again with the next sport and you're actually fast enough to run track.”

“Can't you talk to him?”

“I could, but I doubt he'll listen. Try putting your foot down.”

Simmons sighs. “I don't see that working but.. thanks, Coach.”

*

Simmons turns up at Grif's late that night, looking gloomy and miserable. Sarge lets him in without a word and says nothing when he doesn't go home for three days.

*

With Thanksgiving coming up, Simmons gets more and more miserable. Grif does his best to cheer him up, but Simmons is always miserable at Thanksgiving, and this year is probably not going to be any better. His parents are big on the family thing, and between his parents, his grandparents, and his aunts, uncles, and cousins, his house will be not only full and far too loud, but he'll probably be dragged into at least four conversations about whether he has a girlfriend yet or not.

“I wish I could just hang out over here for Thanksgiving,” he says, curling his fingers with Grif's. They're loafing on the porch swing, putting off the moment when Simmons will have to go home and help get his house ready for their guests. “I already feel more at home here anyway. And your family is way more comfortable than mine.”

“That's because none of us gives a fuck,” Grif says, shrugging. “We're not a family, we're a bunch of strays who just happen to live together.”

“Better than a bunch of people who insist that you have to act and do and be a certain way because you happen to share DNA.”

“Nah, that's just cause your dad's a dick.”

“There's no denying that.” Simmons sighs, and stands up, reluctantly pulling his hand from Grif's. “I should head home. I'll see you Friday, I guess.

*

Grif has mixed feelings on Thanksgiving, because much as he would love to have Simmons there, he actually does love Thanksgiving in its own right- not just because of the food, even though that's his excuse, but because its actually kinda cool being able to hang out with his family all day. (Not that he'll ever tell anyone that he thinks of them like that, of course. He has to keep some of his dignity.)

He collapses onto his bed that night and immediately pulls up Skype. He feels kinda bad for leaving Simmons hanging so long but someone'd had the bright idea of playing monopoly and that had been entertaining. (Everyone else had been eliminated until it was just Kai vs Dr. Grey. Dr. Grey was putting every point of her 2oo something IQ to work on strategy but Kai kept her on the run the entire time. Turns out Kai can be brutal when it comes to monopoly.)

Simmons looks more miserable than he's ever looked since Grif has known him, when he finally does answer his Skype. Grif's stomach plummets at the sight.

“How'd everything go with the family?”

“Could have gone better.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

There's a pause. Simmons sets his head down on the his desk with a groan.

“My parents found out about us,” he finally says.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Simmons keeps him up late that night, talking in circles about how they're going to handle his dad discovering them. It's nearly three in the morning when he finally starts dozing off and Grif persuades him to get some sleep, but for once Grif is having trouble getting to sleep himself.

He's in a pretty sour mood over breakfast the next morning when they're interrupted by a pounding on the front door. Sarge doesn't even look up from his paper to call out that it's open, but he does look up when Simmons and his dad come into the kitchen.

“Morning, Rich! What can I do for you?”

Mr. Simmons huffs. “Good morning, Red. Do you know that your boy has been corrupting my son?”

“Probably,” Sarge agrees cheerily. “Want some pancakes? What about you, Simmons?”

Simmons takes the opportunity to move away from his father's side; Grif gets up and hurries over to help him fix a plate. Rich just scowls.

“I am not here for pancakes. Do you know what Dick said to his grandmother yesterday? In front of our entire family?”

Sarge just sighs, and sets his paper down. “All right, Rich, I'll humor you. What happened?”

Rich's scowl deepens, annoyed at how Sarge is clearly not taking the problem seriously. “He said that he had no intention of getting a girlfriend now or ever, because he-” He makes a disgusted noise. “Because he's dating your boy, and has been for several months now.”

He gives Sarge a triumphant look, but Sarge just scoffs. “Oh, is that all. Thought it was going to be something serious.”

“You don't think this is serious?”

“Nah. They seem pretty happy, not really gonna interfere as long as that's the case.”

“Hap-” He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Red, I know you're biased after what happened with Butch, but you can't pretend it's natural.”

Now it's Sarge's turn to scowl. “What happened with Butch is no concern of yours, and has no place in this conversation. And you're right, I can't pretend! Don't have to. Come on, Rich. They're happy. They're good for each other. Just let it go. Have some pancakes. You haven't tried pancakes until you've tried them the way Lopez makes them.”

“Si me preguntan a él hacer panqueques voy a escupir en ellos. Sólo para que quede claro. Él no es un hombre muy agradable.”

“I am not here for pancakes! And I am not going to just sit by and let this happen! You might be okay raising your son to be queer, but I've raised Dick better than that. I was hoping you'd be on my side in this issue, but since you're not, fine. We'll be going now. I hope you enjoyed seeing Dick this morning, Grif, because it's for the last time. Come on, Dick.”

He turns to leave, but Grif has a tight grip on Simmons' hand now, and it only takes Rich a moment to realize his son isn't with him. He turns back around and shoots a glare at their joined hands. “Dick, I said come on. We're leaving.”

“I don't...” Simmons stares at the ground, at his feet, and tightens his hand in Grif's. “I don't want to go.”

“I didn't ask you what you wanted.”

“I know.” Simmons' brow furrows, and he risks a glimpse up. “You never ask. You always just tell me what you want and- and you never care what I might want instead.”

“That's because I'm your father, and I know what's best for you.”

“No you don't.” He does look up now, glaring through the angry red splotches on his face. “You only think you do. But what's best for me is Grif, so- so- I'll be staying here, and, and, and I'll be joining the Mathletes and, and you won't stop me!”

The slap comes as a shock, but even more shocking is that before the sound even dies down Sarge has Rich slammed against the wall with his arm twisted behind him. There's a snarl in his voice and a cold fury in his eyes that they've never seen before.

“Get out of my house, Rich. Go home. Cool down, and think long and hard about what you just did. Your son will be staying here for the moment. Now get.”

He lets go slowly, and pushes Rich toward the back door. Rich goes without a fight; he seems to be in shock. Once he's gone, Simmons collapses into the nearest chair with a strange noise. Grif kneels beside him and strokes his hand, murmuring reassurances while he calms down.

*

Simmons' mom appears just before lunch, while Grif is peeling eggs and Donut is pulling the remains of yesterday's turkey apart to be made into turkey salad. Simmons is hunched over sleeping on the kitchen table, but he looks up at the knocking at the back door and jumps to his feet when his mom comes in, carrying an overnight bag in one hand. (Behind him, unnoticed, Donut fumbles and sends the bowl of turkey skidding off the counter.)

Grif is at Simmons' side before his mom is, but she only sets the bag on the table and hugs him.

“Rich told me what happened,” she says. “Are you okay?”

He just shrugs. “I mean, I guess?” His gaze flickers to the overnight bag. Her hugs tightens.

“I'm dealing with Rich right now. I think until I can sort him out it'd be best if you stayed here a few days.” She gives him a small smile. “Shouldn't be too difficult. You stay here so much as it is.”

“That's because we don't treat him like shit,” Grif says irritably.

She glares at him. “Don't you get salty with me, young man. Who do you think has been running interference for you two all this time?”

Before Grif can truly process this, Sarge comes in. His gaze flickers from Donut, currently cleaning up the spilled turkey with shaking hands, to the overnight bag on the table and finally to Mrs. Simmons, still hugging her son.

“Esme.” He raises an eyebrow at her. “Have I missed something?”

“I'm trying to sort things out with Rich.” She stands. “I was hoping it'd be all right if Dick stayed over here for a few days in the meantime.”

He shrugs. “Why not? Never really goes home anymore as it is.”

She looks like she intends to make a retort, but falters and instead gives Simmons and Grif an amused look.

“We were already discussing that, in fact. Times certainly have changed; I wouldn't have been allowed to have sleepovers with my boyfriend at their age.”

“Given what a sack of dirt your boyfriend at that age turned out to be, that's probably for the best.”

She smiles properly this time. “He wasn't so bad. You just have a protecting people complex.”

“You didn't share a locker room with him. Simmons can stay here as long as he likes. He's always welcome here, he knows that.”

“Thank you.” She hugs Simmons again, and moves to leave. “I'm glad you're around to look after my boy, Red.”

*

Simmons is still staying with them when school picks back up Monday. Grif doesn't go far from his side in that time, but by the time they head back to school they're both in need of a bit of space. First period history is a relief, and when Grif comes in and spots an empty seat beside Church, he takes a deep breath and slides into it. Church looks startled and takes his ear buds out to give Grif an incredulous look.

“So um. I guess I was kind of a jerk,” Grif says.

“Yeah you were,” Church replies, but his face falls and he looks away with an awkward half-shrug. “I guess I wasn't any better.”

They fall into silence, and before they can break that silence their teacher calls the class to order. Grif settles back in his seat for his first period nap, and feels a lot more relaxed than he has in months.

*

History is one of Grif's least favorite subjects. He's not a fan of most subjects (except Physics, which is a lot more fun than he lets on, especially with Sarge's explosion heavy teaching methods) but History is its own special kind of worst.

“Just before break we were discussing the expansion of America and the discovery of the Hawaiian islands-” she begins, and Grif's hand is in the air before she gets any farther. He's had all break to brood over this and he might have pushed it aside in favor of helping Simmons but he hasn't forgotten.

“When you say discovery, you mean on behalf of the western world, right? Because of course the Hawaiians had already discovered the Hawaiian islands aaaaages before white people turned up.”

“Well, yes, but the native population doesn't really co-”

She breaks up, as if remembering who she's talking to, and for a moment they're silent as he stares passively up at her, daring her to finish her sentence. She clears her throat with a delicate cough.

“That is to say, yes, of course. The point when the western world discovered the Hawaiian islands.”

*

Church gives him a bewildered look on their way to their next class.

“What was that all about? You don't usually care about that kind of thing.”

“Just because I don't say anything doesn't mean I don't care.” Grif makes a disgruntled noise. “But mostly I just wanted to see how deep she could dig herself before she realized she was telling a native kid that his entire culture didn't count.”

*

It's a relief to be on speaking terms with Church again, not just for them but for their friends as well. At lunch everyone seems much more relaxed, and Grif feels like a bit of a heel for dragging things along as long as he did.

“So Skydive is courting Dad again and we got sent an advance copy of the new Call of Modern Warcraft over Thanksgiving,” Church says hesitantly. “You guys feel like trying out the multiplayer with me this evening?”

Caboose has been playing with Tucker's hand this whole time (why Tucker has allowed this when he's still eating is anyone's guess) but now Tucker pulls his hand away to cross his arms and huff. “I can't. Reggie's got a thing going on and I'm stuck babysitting his dumb kid. I hate babysitting. And Gary's the worst. I've never known a nine year old who tells such terrible jokes.”

Church makes a small laugh. “His jokes aren't that bad. They're actually kind of funny.”

“You're only saying that cause he laughs at your terrible jokes.”

“Kid's got a good sense of humor. Anyway, just bring him along, he can play a few rounds with us, it'll be fine.”

“Wow. You're either in a really good mood, or your dad has done something to really piss you off.”

“What can I say? I had a good Thanksgiving. I got to hang out with my grandparents and Dad didn't talk to us for a week. What about you, Grif? You gonna come play a few rounds?”

It's clearly a peace offering, and Grif takes it as such. “Sure. I've gotta run a couple errands for Sarge, but I'll come around when I get done.”

Church isn't really the sort to smile, but his ever-present scowl softens. Grif feels like taking a picture. It'll be ages before Church is in this good a mood again.

*

Simmons goes home over the weekend. He's been talking to his dad, and they've agreed to work on fixing their relationship. Grif is against the idea, but Simmons insists.

“And if he doesn't behave himself?” Grif asks, while Simmons double checks everything is in his overnight bag. “What then?”

“I don't know. I'll figure that out when we get there. But if I don't at least try I'll spend the rest of my life wondering if we could have managed. I love my dad, Grif. I know you think I should hate him but I can't. He's my dad. When I was a little kid he was my hero. No matter how awful he gets, he's still my dad. I have to try.”

He sets his bag aside and climbs onto the bed, stretching out between Grif's legs and pillowing arms and head on Grif's soft belly. He makes a sleepy content noise when Grif automatically brings a hand up to play with his curls.

“Besides,” he says. “You can't pretend you're not glad to have me out of your room.”

“Maybe a little.” He lets his eyes drift shut as he dozes off. It's warm and sunny in his room and Simmons is a comfortable weight on top of him. Simmons naps are always his favorites.

*

With finals coming up, the school is a flurry of anxiety as everyone tries to cram in that last little bit of studying. Grif knows he should probably study at least a little, but he can't bring himself to care enough. He takes out a copy of his last math test to look over, though, just to say he did. Beside him, Church eyes the missed problems and makes a scoffing noise.

“You always manage to get exactly enough right to pass,” he says. “Amazing how that works.”

“What can I say?” Grif says with a shrug. “I'm just good enough.”

“Yeah right.” Church taps one of the problems with his pen, a trick problem that everyone else in the class got wrong. “So when are you going to let the rest of the world in on how smart you actually are?”

“Nah, that's way too much work, dude.” He tucks the test back into his bag. “You dig the best ditches they just give you a bigger shovel. I prefer a small shovel and lowered expectations.”

“Grif, you are the only person I know who does extra work just to seem dumb so you don't have to do extra work.”

“You're one to talk. Isn't your IQ off the charts? And yet here you are, not living up to your potential, either.”

“There's a difference between not living up to your potential and going out of your way to make it seem like you haven't got any. What about your future? You can't be planning to just work on the farm with Sarge for the rest of your life.”

“Nah, I've got it all planned. Me and Simmons are gonna move to Hawaii and I'll work whatever I can get to put him through college. Then I'll be a stay-at-home house-husband and look after the kids while he gets rich revolutionizing the world of computer programming.”

Church stares. Grif raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Does Simmons know about these plans of yours?”

“Well... we've talked about going to Hawaii. I haven't really mentioned the house-husband thing. You think I should?”

“Grif... you're sixteen.”

“So?”

“So... don't you think it's a bit early to have things planned out that far in advance? I mean, there's no guarantee you and Simmons will still be together by the time you graduate, let alone by the time he finishes college. I'm not saying you'll definitely end it, I'm just saying... don't just assume you won't. I'm just saying... take it a lot slower, okay?”

Grif frowns, then shrugs. “Meh. It's not set in stone.”

Church sighs in relief. “Good.” He leans back and stretches his legs out in front of him. “Sounds like a pretty good future, though.”

“No reason I can't dream.” He mirrors Church's position and closes his eyes. “And if I'm going to dream, I might as well dream big. Hey, wake me up when it's time for the bell, okay?”

*

The end of the semester also means it's time for the drama department to open their play. Donut is giddy to the point of feeling sick all day leading up to the performance; Maine comes by and steals him away for a few hours to calm him down. They drive down to the river and sit watching the water for awhile, Maine's big arms wrapped around Donut's waist to keep him warm. Donut leans into his embrace with a content sigh, and by the time they have to head back so Donut can get ready, he's calmed down considerably. His stomach is still a mess of butterflies but at least he has a handle on it.

*

When he heads into the boys' changing room to touch up before opening, he sees a bunch of flowers sitting on his table. He picks it up and looks, but there's no card or name anywhere. He sticks his head out the door and waves to their stage manager, just passing by at the time.

“Hey Jones, do you know where these flowers came from?”

He looks, and shakes her head. “No idea. Don't sniff them, they might be from someone trying to sabotage you. Do you have any allergies? Also it's Jones.”

“Uh, no? Also, they're fake.”

“They could have been perfumed.”

“I think they're probably just from some admirer or something. Um. I'll let you get back to work, I know you're busy.”

Back in the changing room, he asks around, but none of the other boys know either. He frowns. He knows they're not from Maine, because Maine doesn't like artificial flowers (Donut doesn't mind them; he has pollen allergies). But he can't think of anyone else who might have sent him flowers.

*

The show goes well. There are some speedbumps, which is only to be expected from a high school production, but when the final curtain goes down the applause from the audience is genuine and enthusiastic. Donut goes out with the rest of the cast to take their bows; he feels a bit like he's floating and his heart is racing from the adrenaline. He looks out over the crowd, looking for his friends and suddenly his heart plummets when he sees his ex in the audience, looking right at him.

Oh.

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Jimmy is waiting for Donut backstage when he comes out. He grins, which makes Donut's stomach curl uneasily because Jimmy's grin usually means bad news for everyone else. Donut forces his face into a neutral smile.

“Hey there, Franky,” Jimmy says. “Did you get my flowers?”

“Those were from you?”

“Yeah. I thought they might be a nice good luck before you went on stage. Franky, where have you been? You just disappeared on us. How did things go with your parents? I tried to call you and they said if I called again they would get the cops on me. And then you just vanished. Everyone's saying your parents murdered you and chopped you up into little pieces and buried you in the back yard.”

“What?!” Donut's stomach twists itself into further knots, but Jimmy just smiles again.

“Okay, I might have started that rumour myself. Serves them right for threatening to call the cops on me.” He throws an arm around Donut's shoulders and steers him off toward the door. “Anyway, I had almost given you up as a lost cause when Flynt said he saw you hanging around with some guys from Blood Gulch. So I acted on a hunch and sure enough, here you are. Found out you were starring in this play opening tonight and drove down to see you. So what are you doing here, Franky?”

They've made it to the parking lot. Donut pushes out from under Jimmy's arm and takes a step back, putting some space between them.

“My parents threw me out, Jimmy. After you outed us to everyone they told me I could just find somewhere else to live. So I did.”

“Don't pin this one me,” Jimmy says. He scowls. “If you were so ashamed of us-”

“I wasn't ashamed! I just wasn't ready to be out! You know how my parents are. And you know how Valhalla is. Anyway, I came to Blood Gulch and met Sarge and he took me in. So. So this is where I've been. Now you know. And now you can go away. And stop telling people my parents killed me.”

“Oh, come on, Franky.” He tries to put his arm around Donut again, but Donut just pushes away. Jimmy lets his arms fall to his side; he looks hurt. “I miss us, Franky,” he says. “I missed you. You didn't even say goodbye.”

“Well... I'm saying it now. Good bye.”

He takes a few steps back, and looks around. He can see Doc and Wash ambling into the parking lot (from here, it looks like Doc is scolding Wash about something), and hurries off to join them.

“There you are, Donut,” Doc says. “Maine was looking for you. Who's that guy?”

“Just- someone I know from my old school,” he says, as flippantly as he can manage. “He just... wanted to say hello. Where did you say Maine was?”

“He's helping take the stage down. Is that guy bothering you? Didn't look like saying hello to me.”

“Really, it's fine.” Donut gives them a quick wave and hurries off toward the door, while Wash and Doc carry on into the parking lot (it only occurs to Donut much, much later to remember that neither of them actually has a car).

*

Donut finds Maine coming out of the back room and is startled when Maine pulls him into a deep, almost possessive kiss. His knees go all wobbly from the kiss and he whimpers a little when Maine breaks away. Maine chuffs at him.

“That guy?”

“Just my ex,” Donut says, still feeling a little wobbly. “He wanted to talk to me. Were you jealous? You shouldn't be. I don't like him anymore.”

Maine chuffs again, then smiles and gives Donut a softer kiss. “Not jealous.”

“Good.” He loops his arms around Maine's neck. “Because you're a much better boyfriend than he ever was.”

He steals another kiss, and pulls reluctantly away. As much as he would like to just sit here kissing Maine for ages, Maine has work to do, and any moment now someone else might come along and see them. He sighs.

“I should go find Sarge and the others, it's probably nearly time to head home.”

“Kay.” Maine kisses him one last time, and walks him to the front auditorium.

*

He finds Sarge chatting with Cappy and a small, nervous looking man he's never met. Sarge grins when he sees him coming.

“There you are, Donut! Come here, want you to meet someone. This is General Doyle, used to serve with him back in the war. Donnie, this is Donut, one of my boys. He was the one playing Puck up there on stage.”

“Ah, yes! A masterful performance, young man. I've always been a great fan of Puck, and you've done him a great deal of justice.”

The praise is unexpected, and Donut is still beaming over it a few minutes later when Kai appears out of nowhere and pounces him. He hoists her up onto his back happily. “You were awesome , Donut! Who's the old guy?”

Sarge clears his throat. “...and this is Kai, my little girl. This is General Doyle. He and I used to serve together.”

“Ah, yes. You know, my dear, I have heard a great deal about you. Colonel Sarge speaks very highly of your sculpting abilities.”

“I just like playing with clay. Are you really a soldier like my dad? You don't look like a soldier. You look like a secretary.”

“And what does a soldier look like?” He looks amused; Cappy is hiding a smile behind his hand.

“Like Sarge. Or like Cappy.”

“Ah, well.” He glances at Sarge. “I admit they do seem prime specimens for the ideal soldier, don't they? What would you suggest? Should I shave my mustache off?”

“No. It's a good mustache. I don't think there's any saving you. You'll just have to live with your shortcomings.”

General Doyle looks startled.

“Um, Kai, why don't we see if we can find Grif and Simmons now? It was nice meeting you, sir!”

Donut hurries away, while Sarge and Cappy laugh. Knowing Grif and Simmons, Donut assumes they're in a dark corner somewhere making out, but they actually find them near the front door with Church and Carolina. After a few comments about Donut not sucking on stage (high praise), they mention an after party being held at the Dakota's.

“It's really just an excuse to party,” Church says. “Neither of the Dakota's was even in the play. Actually, it's probably South attempting to get Wash over to her house so maybe they'll finally get their shit together and stop drowning the rest of us in their unresolved sexual tension.”

“Wash and South? But I thought-” Donut frowns, and thinks back to Wash and Doc heading off into a dark parking lot together when neither of them has a car or even a driver's license. He shakes his head. “Don't they hate each other?”

“Those two? Nah, they're just pining. They've always been like that.”

“If you say so.” Donut shakes his head again. “One of us should take Kai back to Sarge and tell him where we're going.”

“I'll do it.” Grif plucks Kai from Donut's back and throws her over his shoulder like a sack of feed, which makes her giggle, and heads off into the auditorium with her. Donut rolls his shoulders to loosen them- in truth, Kai is getting a bit too big to be carried around like that.

“He and Cappy probably want to spend some time catching up with General Doyle anyway,” Donut says idly.

Carolina scowls. “Ugh, he's in town? Thanks for the warning. I think I'll be sleeping over with South tonight. Tell Dad it was impromptu and completely spontaneous when he asks.”

“Do you not like General Doyle?”

Both siblings roll their eyes in unison at the question.

“He's such a pain,” Carolina says. “Every time he comes to town he has to go on and on about how much like my mother I am and how proud she would be of me. I get it. Shut up.”

“He doesn't like me,” Church adds. “Because Dad cheated on her mom with mine and he seems to take that personally. Dude, I wasn't even born yet. Don't take that shit out on me.”

“How do you think he's going to take Aiden?”

“I think that's a train wreck that will make this visit worth it. Sure you don't want to come home and witness it?”

“I'll get the highlights from you later. I still don't think it's worth it.”

Grif returns then, annoyed by the look of it. “Right, we're heading out. Anyone riding with me, into the jeep.”

They head off to the parking lot. Church sighs, long and loud. “I cannot wait until February. I'm tired of having to rely on Grif or Tucker whenever we go anywhere. Speaking of Tucker-”

“He'll meet us later, he said he and Caboose have to do a thing first.”

“What thing?”

“He didn't say, just said they had a thing. So what kind of car is your dad buying you once you get your license?”

“What makes you think he's buying me a car?”

They all stare at him. He sighs. “Yeah, all right. I'm getting a scorpion.”

“A scorpion? Those things are awful.”

“Yeah, but they're as close as you can get to having a tank shaped like a car and Dad says for a sixteen year old boy, that's the most important part. Plus, Dad did some dev work for the company that designed them, so he can get a good deal on a cheap one.”

Grif scoffs. “Man, what's the point of being a spoiled rich kid if you're not getting anything good out of it?”

“You're telling me. I wanted a Mongoose.”

*

The party is already going strong by the time they arrive. Grif drags Simmons off in search of snacks and a quiet corner to make out in, while Carolina heads off to find South and tell her she'll be staying over after the party (“I thought you two didn't like each other,” Church had said, when she mentioned it again. Carolina had waved that away as unimportant. “Girls stick together,” she'd said. “Petty rivalries can't be allowed to get in the way of a sister in need. Also, she owes me a favor.”), leaving Donut and Church alone near the door. Church's scowl deepens.

“I just remembered why I never go to parties. I'm gonna go stand awkwardly next to the punch bowl and hope someone spikes it. York can usually be trusted with that sort of thing.” He heads off to do just that, leaving Donut to scan to room in search of Maine. He can't see him, and since Maine tends to stand out in crowds he takes that to mean he hasn't arrived yet. He heads off to the back yard instead; when Maine turns up (which he probably will, since he's friends with South) he can come find him.

*

“I don't understand why you drag me to parties if all we're going to do is stuff your face and then stand in a corner and make out. We can do both of those just as easily at your house and it's a lot less loud there.”

Grif ignores him in favor of seeing how many lady's fingers he can fit into his hand, but once he's established the number as twelve he grabs a glass of punch (which sadly hasn't been spiked yet; Grif hasn't seen York around at all) and heads off to find somewhere quiet to consume his loot. Simmons follows him; Grif doesn't have to look to know he's there and once he's stopped he holds out the cookies on offer.

“Three reasons. One, I like a change of scenery. We spend way too much time at my house and variety is nice. Two, the Dakotas always have the best snacks at their parties and South doesn't bitch at me if I wanna stuff my pockets full before we leave.”

“Which is weird, because she bitches at everyone else about everything else.”

“Nah, South is great. You just have to know how to talk to her.”

“Which I don't.”

“You don't know how to talk to any girl, though. Doesn't count.”

“What's the third reason?”

“Hmm? Oh. I guess cause there's music and we can dance?”

“We can do that at your house, too.”

“If we do it there it's cheesy. Here it's just something we do.”

“There is one benefit to being at your house, though.” Simmons presses against Grif and trails his hand suggestively down Grif's front. “If we're making out and we want to take it farther, we don't have to worry about the house full of party guests.”

Grif freezes, and catches Simmons' hand. “Are you- saying what I think you're saying?”

“Um. I think so. I mean.” He ducks his head in embarrassment. “I've been thinking about it. A lot. A lot. And. I want to try. Just to. Try. Um.”

Even in the dim light Grif can see how red he's gone. He pulls Simmons closer and kisses him. “I'll try anything you want to. But we don't have to go home. We can take the jeep and find somewhere private.”

“What about Donut and Church?”

“Donut can get a ride home with Maine and Church lives just around the corner, he can walk if Tucker doesn't turn up. He'll probably be glad of an excuse not to go home and have to deal with Doyle anyway.”

He already has his phone in hand, shooting off a text to both of them about finding another ride. He hardly waits for a confirmation to come through before he's grabbed Simmons' hand and pulled him toward the door.

*

Maine turns up a few minutes after Donut gets Grif's text. Donut pulls him into the den so they can talk without shouting.

The room is already occupied when they go in. Doc and Wash break apart like they've been electrocuted when the door opens, putting a few feet of space between them like their friends can't see how Wash's hair is mussed or that Doc's shirt has been half-untucked from jeans. Donut coughs delicately.

“So. I guess this is a thing.”

Wash scowls. “Right. And you two are in here because...?”

“I needed to ask Maine something and it was too loud.”

“Right. So we're still pretending you aren't a thing but we're expected to just admit it about us?”

“When we walk in on you with your tongues down each other's throat? Denying it is kind of callous.”

“I still don't know what the big deal is,” Doc says. “But Wash wants to keep it quiet and as his boyfriend, it's my duty to respect that.”

“Wash thinks people still think he's straight,” Maine says.

Wash sighs. “You only ever break out the full sentences to mock me. It's not like either of you have any room to talk, you know. I mean, we don't say anything but we still know.”

“Oh.” Donut can feel his stomach twisting into knots again. “Y-you do?”

Doc exchanges a look with Maine, and shakes his head. “Wash is only exaggerating. We know because you're our friends and we know you both so well. But to the average onlooker you're just good friends.” He takes Donut's hand and pats it reassuringly. “Whatever reason you have to keep it quiet is yours, and as your friends it's our job to respect that. Right, Wash?”

He gives Wash a pointed look. Wash sighs. “Right.”

“Who else knows?”

“Most of our friends.” Wash ticks it off on his fingers thoughtfully. “Carolina, of course. Grif. Church. Probably Simmons and Tucker. Probably not Caboose. Um. Maybe South? But that's it.”

“Oh. That's not so bad.” He tries to relax, to force the knots to untie themselves. All of the people Wash mentioned are his friends, people who care about him and that he can trust. Probably. He hopes. Wash frowns.

“Hey, are you okay? It's not a big deal, you know. I just don't want to deal with all the people saying 'I told you so' when I finally do come out, not yet anyway. No one is going to think less of you.”

“Easy for you to say,” he mumbles, and Doc is petting his hand again. He realizes he's shaking. “They used to say that about the people in Valhalla, too, but they weren't too accepting when I came out there. And Blood Gulch is practically identical to Valhalla. I don't want to go through all that again.”

“You won't have to,” Doc reassures him. “If you do decide to come out and people do give you a hard time, we'll be here to tell them they're not being fair and to stop.”

Maine snorts, but doesn't say anything. His hand is rubbing reassuring circles on Donut's back while they talk. Donut leans into the touch, grateful for their support.

*

Simmons leans back in his seat, breathing still a little ragged. He feels... weird. Sort of off-center and disoriented. There's a thin sheen of sweat coating him and his shirt is sticking to his back despite the cold. Outside the jeep, he's pretty sure the world is spinning.

Grif seems much more relaxed than Simmons feels; he snuggles into Simmons' side with a content noise and doesn't seem all that bothered by the way their skin lights on fire where they touch (maybe that's just Simmons' skin) or the fact that the stars are falling out of the sky (he looks closer; they're not falling at all).

“Well, that was. Something.”

He feels weird and off and a little bit gross. He's pretty sure that last one is because of the sticky coating of come drying on his belly, though. He pokes Grif in the side.

“Is there any hand sanitizer in the jeep?”

“No, but there's a pack of babywipes in the glove box.” He leans up over the seats to fish them out, then settles beside Simmons again. At least he leaves some space between them this time, though it's not much. He finally notices how off Simmons seems. “You okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?”

“No. I'm fine.” He takes one of the wipes and begins cleaning himself up. He feels a little better once he's clean and his clothes are back in place; still weird but at least not gross. Grif puts a hand on his shoulder; his skin is on fire again.

“Are you sure you're okay? Hey, come on. Talk to me. What's wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.” He twitches his shoulder away from Grif's hand, and sighs. He can't lie to Grif. “I feel weird.”

“Is it the sex? Because if you didn't enjoy it, that's okay. Not everyone does.”

“It's not that. I did enjoy it- I enjoyed it a lot. But- now I feel.. weird. I don't know how to explain it. Can we just sit quietly for a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

He settles back into his seat, and Simmons is grateful for the few inches he puts between them. It's not that he doesn't like touching Grif, because he does, especially since Grif figured out that he gets touched a lot more when he showers regularly. And it's not that he didn't enjoy the sex, because that was nice. He'd always assumed having someone else to jerk him off would be good, but he'd never realized how enjoyable it'd also be to jerk someone else off at the same time.

No, it's not that. Whatever it is, he knows it isn't that.

But slowly the world stops spinning and the stars stop falling and he feels less like he's on fire. He shifts over so he's leaning on Grif, who puts an arm around his shoulder without a word.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Why are there baby wipes in the jeep?”

“There's not always somewhere handy to wash your hands.” Grif shrugs. “Besides, this is the family car and Sarge sometimes uses it for his dates with Emily.”

Simmons wrinkles his nose at the thought. “Gross.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Maine takes Donut home not long after their encounter with Wash and Doc, so they miss what happens later at the party: according to Tucker, who relays it to Donut on Skype later, South went looking for Wash and then came out of the den looking upset. She'd stood fuming in the hallway for a few minutes before spotting Church. Then she made a beeline toward him, shoved him against the wall, and kissed him hard enough to bruise.

Tucker also informs him that there was a guy at the party looking for him.

“He said he was a friend of yours from your old school. Jimmy Murphy? He asked for your number but I didn't give it to him. He was being kinda creepy, to be honest.”

“Oh, no.” Donut flops back and rubs irritably at his eyes. “Darnit, Jimmy.”

“Not actually a friend, then?”

“It's... complicated.” He considers how much he should tell him, and remembers what Wash said about their friends all knowing anyway. He takes a deep breath and decides to just do it. “He's my ex.”

“Does he know that?”

“I thought he did.”

“Well if he asks about you again I'll tell him to fuck off, and I'll tell the others to do the same.”

“Thanks, Tucker. So... Church and South, huh?”

“Yeah, and I can honestly say I don't think anyone saw it coming. Don't know if they're actually a thing now, though. Could have just been at the party. But man. I thought for sure she and Wash were gonna get together!”

“She just has bad timing. Wash and Doc have only been together a few weeks, from what I understand.”

“It's probably for the best. South and Wash would just end in tears.”

“I think they'd be okay. South isn't as bad as everyone makes out.”

“Tell that to Wash. Doesn't really matter, though. Hey, wanna come over tonight and see if we can knock out another chapter?”

“I can't.” Donut flops back onto his bed with a sigh. “Dr. Grey is going upstate today to pick up her cousin from school and we're having a big family dinner tonight so we can get to know him.”

“Ooh, that's rough. Family dinners are never awesome. Or maybe that's just cause for me family dinners always mean having to listen to Gary's dumb knock-knock jokes.”

“Well I like them well enough. And I'm excited to meet Dr. Grey's cousin. She's told us a little bit about him, and he sounds interesting.”

“Everything sounds interesting when Dr. Grey talks about it. It's the excited way she starts foaming at the mouth.”

Donut giggles, and then falls silent with a sigh. Tucker taps on his mic, a gesture they and their friends have taken on as a way of conveying a reassuring pat. Donut smiles. Tucker hasn't said anything about him having dated a guy in the past. He isn't sure what he was so worried about, now.

“Hey Donut?”

“Yeah?”

“If I told you I had a crush on one of my best friends, would you swear to keep it to yourself? And not laugh? Or act like I'm some kind of awful person?”

Donut laughs. “Tucker, I just came out to you as gay five minutes ago and you never said a word against me. The least I can do is return the favor over anything you want to talk about.”

“But I already figured you were gay. Or at least bi. Maybe pan. Likes boys, anyway. You do remember that my legal guardian is gay, right? Why would I have any kind of problem with it?”

“It's just... really hard to come out, sometimes. Who is it you have a crush on? I swear I won't tell.”

“Well, um. It'sCaboose,” he says quickly, and Donut can hear him flopping back onto his bed with a groan. Donut, meanwhile, sits up to stare at his computer screen, wondering if he heard correctly. After a few minutes, he can hear a slight creaking as Tucker sits back up. “It's Caboose,” he says again, quietly. “And I have no idea what I'm supposed to do about it.”

“Do you want to do anything about it? Crushes do pass, you know.”

“Yeah, I know, but I just. He holds my hand every time we go anywhere and he gets so excited by stuff and when we went shopping over Thansgiving and everyone kept calling him my boyfriend I realized that the reason it bothered me wasn't that they were saying it, but because it wasn't true, and that maybe I'd be okay if it was true, and I just- you know.”

He trails off, and Donut can hear the insecurity in his voice. He taps his own mic, earning a small laugh from Tucker.

“You probably think I'm being kinda pathetic, don't you?”

“Of course not. I think it's sweet. You two would be good together.”

“You think?”

“Well don't forget, Caboose is one of my best friends, too. I can tell these things, you know.”

“Yeah. I know. You're so good at telling that you thought your best friends, two in a same-sex relationship of their own, one who has two dads, and one being raised by a gay man, would take issue with you being gay. Yeah dude, you're super in tune with us.”

“My parents kicked me out when they found out I was gay.”

There's a long silence, punctuated by creaking as Donut shifts uncomfortably. It occurs to him that none of his friends has ever asked him why he was homeless when Sarge found him- he wonders if any of them guessed.

“Oh,” is all that Tucker says eventually, a quiet breath. Donut shifts again, hugs his knees to his chest.

“It's not easy, no matter how much you tell yourself that your family and friends won't mind.”

“I'm sorry.”

“But I still think you and Caboose would be cute together.”

“You think I should ask him out?”

“Yes.”

They fall silent again, and Donut can hear Tucker shifting awkwardly.

“Your parents suck, dude.”

“I know. But they're not my family anymore, and I should trust my new family to be better.”

“Still.”

It's reassuring. Donut smiles.

They're interrupted then by Grif poking his head into Donut's room from their shared bathroom. “Hey Donut, grab your coat. I've got to go pick up Lopez from work and you're getting a driving lesson. Hey Tucker.”

“Hey Grif. So you and Simmons finally bumped uglies last night?”

“How could you possibly know that? I haven't told anyone and I know Simmons didn't.”

“Dude, think about who you're talking to. I always know. Was it any good?”

“Well I thought so. Not sure about Simmons so... don't say anything to him about it.”

“Whatever, dude. See you later, Donut. Try not to crash, you guys don't need another totaled car to deal with.”

“It's not totaled,” Donut protests. “The front end is just a bit... crumpled.”

“Yeah, tell that to Lopez.”

*

Donut has had very little practice driving. He's driven Sarge's tractor in the fields, and Grif and Sarge have both taken him up and down their dirt road a few times in the jeep, but driving on actual roads, with actual traffic around, is still pretty new territory for him. It doesn't help that Grif clearly doesn't trust him behind the wheel (in fairness to Grif, Donut did run Lopez's truck into a ditch last week), or that he keeps remembering being a kid and having his dad plonk him in the driver's seat of their old beat up Ford and take him driving in the field behind their farm.

Fortunately, the auto repair where Lopez works isn't too far from the house, and the traffic for most of that way isn't too heavy. They make it there without incident- unless you count several cyclists passing them because Donut can't bring himself to drive very fast yet- and head inside to wait for Lopez to get off in the relative warmth of the office.

Connie is on reception today, and when they come in she waves cheerily at them before sticking her head into the garage. “Hey López ! Sus hermanos están aquí!”

“No son mis hermanos ! Deje de llamarlos eso!” Lopez appears in the doorway, looking cross. “Déjame terminar este coche y voy a estar listo!”

“Lo que digas.” She waves him back into the garage and shrugs at the boys. “He'll be a few minutes. Oh, hang on.” She pokes her head back through the door. “¿Los ha hablado de que el bebé todavía? No quiero derramar accidentalmente los frijoles.”

“¡No! Manten tu boca cerrada!”

“Lo tengo!”

She comes back to sit down and grins at them. “So how have you two been? I saw your play last night, Donut. You were fantastic. You've got a real future in theatre, if you decide to go with it.”

They fall to chatting, or Grif and Connie do. Donut sits in a thoughtful silence, lips pursed, and after a short conversation they're joined by a blonde girl, maybe a few years older than them at best. There's grease and oil smudged on her face and arms, and Connie tosses her a rag when she comes in.

“Have you guys met Tex yet? She just moved here a few weeks ago. Tex, this is Grif and Donut, they're with Lopez.”

Tex tosses the rag back and pulls out a chair. She spins it around and straddles it, resting her arms over the back to study them openly. There's a certain easy-going air about her, but at the same time they get the feeling that she's a tightly wound spring that could unwind at any moment and take down everything with it. Grif has the oddest urge to cross his legs around her.

“Nice to meet you, Tex” Donut says cheerily. “Where are you from?”

“Nevada.”

The deadpan tone she delivers it in leaves Grif wondering if she's serious or not, but Donut takes her at her word and grins. “I've never been to Nevada! Is it nice there?”

She looks surprised, then shrugs. “It's okay. Kinda warm.” She studies them for a few moments. “All right, Lopez has talked about both of you, so let's see. You're the fat lazy one who's smarter than he lets on, and you're the sweet doofy one who doesn't realize that ninety percent of what he says is a double entendre.” She glances at Connie. “Have I got it?”

“What's a double entendre? Is that anything like a menage a trois?”

“...right,” Connie says, barely suppressing her laughter. “Though you can usually identify Grif because he's almost always joined at the hip with a freckly red-head in glasses. Where's Simmons?”

Grif scowls. “He's doing a thing with family.”

“And now you're pouting because you have to spend a few hours apart,” Tex says. “You know I always thought Lopez was exaggerating you guys but you sound pretty spot on.”

“Lopez talks about us?”

“All the time. Usually complaining. He sounds pretty fond of you.”

Grif snorts. “Please. Lopez only puts up with us because he has to. “

“Suit yourself.” Tex rests her chin in one palm. “It's no skin off my back. Hey, do you guys know anything actually fun to do in this backwater hell?”

“We have a movie theatre. The farmer's market is actually kinda fun if you don't mind getting up before dawn. There's dances from time to time. And if you have skates there's the lake, that's pretty cool.” Grif shrugs. “Other than that, not really. We mostly just hang out at each other's houses and play video games all day.”

Tex just scowls at that. “I can't believe my parents moved me to this godawful place. Do you at least have races?”

“They have them in Valhalla,” Donut pipes in. “I used to go to them all time with- with my ex. It's about a forty-five minute drive but worth it when you get there.”

“Great! Now to find a driver and a car that I don't mind getting destroyed. Know anyone?”

“Grif can drive.”

“Donut!”

“Grif is a great driver.”

Grif makes a disgruntled noise, but doesn't get to respond before Lopez comes out. He gestures for them to come on, and Tex grabs Grif's hand and scribbles a phone number on it. “Here. I'm going to look into getting a car, if you're not a pansy and you're actually as good as your buddy here says, give me a call and we'll talk.”

She gives him a grin like a shark and saunters back into the garage, leaving Grif to hurry after Lopez and Donut with a wave to Connie, who goes back to working with an amused look on her face.

*

“So tell me about these races, Donut,” Grif says, once they're in the jeep. “Any money in them?”

“There's an entry fee for each race, and the winner gets a cut of the pool. And there's bets too, of course. If you're good and if you're smart, you can make some pretty hefty money.” Jimmy had made a lot of money on the races- sometimes it had seemed he couldn't lose. Donut hugs himself and pushes the memory away. “You should definitely consider it. You're good- you could win, I know it.”

Grif glances down at the number on his hand. He's definitely considering it. He wants to buy his own car, and he wants to start putting up money for him and Simmons to live off of after graduation. He figures if he starts saving now, they'll have plenty of padding while they're trying to get onto their feet- especially if he can make the kind of money Donut is talking about.

He shifts his hand on the wheel, trying to be careful that it doesn't sweat off. This may be something for him to look into.

*

Emily and her cousin pull up to the house just as Donut is taking up the last of the fried chicken from the pan. He switches the stove off and steps into the living room to meet this new addition to their family.

Sarge is helping Emily out of her warm clothes; her eyes are glittering with her usual excitement. Her cousin is slipping out of his own jacket and hood; Donut looks him over curiously. He's a bit on the short side, with the same golden-brown skin and dark, bushy curls as Emily, and a deep furrow in his brow. His face is impassive, and calculating, and Donut feels like he's under a lot more scrutiny than he seems.

“This is Locus,” Emily says cheerily. “Locus, this is Donut, and this is Sarge.”

“Hello.”

His voice is deeper and calmer than any seventeen year old Donut has ever met. He fixes Locus with his most dazzling smile.

“Hi~! Emily has told us loads about you. It's nice to finally meet you.”

Locus just raises an eyebrow. “I'm sure,” he says. He falls silent, and looks around; Donut recognizes the lost look on his face and decides to rescue him. He comes over and loops his arm through Locus's.

“Come on! I'll show you around. Dinner will be ready just as soon as Sheila gets here.”

“Sheila?”

“Lopez's girlfriend. She had work today so she's running a little bit late.” He half leads, half drags Locus through the house, chattering cheerily and hoping that Locus will relax soon.

Grif's room is the first one he comes to; Grif and Kai are sprawled across Grif's bed putting colorful beads onto a string. Every time Kai picks up a bead, she holds it up and asks Grif what color it is; sometimes she'll put it down and pick up another one, and sometimes she'll put it on her end of the string.

“Hi guys,” Donut says, dragging Locus into the room. “Emily is here and this is Locus. Dinner will be ready as soon as Sheila gets here so you should start wrapping up. Locus, this is Grif, and Kai.”

Locus glances between them as they start picking the beads up, a thoughtful frown furrowing his brow. “Do you not know your colors?” he asks. Kai just shakes her head, but Grif glares.

“She's colorblind and it's none of your business.”

“I merely asked.”

He looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up. Donut takes pity on him and points out the window, where a pair of headlights can be seen pulling up outside. “Looks like Sheila is here,” he says. “Come on, Locus, I'll introduce you. Hurry down, guys~”

Donut leaves with Locus in tow, while Kai and Grif finish pouring their beads back into the bag.

Downstairs, Sarge and Emily are setting the table for dinner. Donut leaves Locus at the table while he goes to take his bread out of the oven, and soon enough everyone is settled around the table while Sarge says grace. They dig into their food, warm conversation passing freely between them. Locus, as it turns out, speaks Spanish; he and Lopez get into a discussion about (as far as Donut's limited knowledge of Spanish can tell) socket wrenches.

The Spanish recalls something Donut was thinking about earlier, and he scrunches his face in thought as he tries to remember.

Grif, meanwhile, is trying to get some advice from Sheila about his Simmons situation.

“I can't get him to talk to me,” he says. “I know something is bothering him, but he won't say what.”

“Maybe he needs a little space to figure it out on his own,” Sheila suggests. She touches his hand gently, in that comforting motherly way she has. “Instead of trying to get him to talk to you, take a step back and leave him to sort out his own head.”

“I just want to be there for him.”

“Sometimes being there for someone means taking a step back and letting them do it on their own. Right, Dr. Grey?”

“That's right! It will probably also help him if you aren't hovering right there over his shoulder. He might feel pressured otherwise.”

“I guess,” Grif says, and chews dejectedly on his chicken.

Across the table, Donut looks up, utterly confused. “Wait a second,” he says. “What baby?”

Beside Grif, Lopez and Sheila exchange a look. Lopez drops his gaze to his plate.

“Mierda.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Sheila is pregnant.

She's about two months along, and they've only known for a week or so. Lopez holds her hand the entire time she tells them, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles on her knuckle.

“We weren't keeping it secret intentionally,” Sheila says lightly. “We haven't known for long and we were still talking it out between the two of us. We were going to tell you all soon.”

“This is so exciting!” Donut says, resting his chin in his hand, beaming. “Babies are great, aren't they?”

“Hold on, Donut,” Emily says. “They haven't even said whether they're keeping it.”

“That's one of the things we're talking about,” Sheila says. Lopez shifts and gives her hand a squeeze. “It's sooner than we'd intended, and with both of us still in school it'll be difficult. But we do want this- both of us.”

“I don't have to give up my room, do I?” Kai asks. “Randy said when his parents got a new baby he had to move into his brother's room.”

Sheila just laughs. “No, sweetie, we're going to start looking for a new place to live soon, somewhere with enough room for all three of us.”

“Wait, you're moving?” Grif glances at Lopez, who shrugs; Grif can't understand the way his stomach is suddenly tightening at the thought. He turns back to his chicken without a word, not sure what to do about this weird feeling. Beside him, Sheila reaches over to give his arm a squeeze.

“Why not just stay in the guest house?” Sarge suggests, gesturing out the window at the small building that- currently- houses Lopez. “It's kinda small, but there's room for three and you wouldn't have to worry about how to support yourselves and your family while also finishing your education.”

Lopez and Sheila exchange another of those looks, before Lopez shrugs again and Sheila plasters a smile on her face that doesn't quite meet her eyes. “That's something else we've got to talk about, I guess. But you're sweet to offer.” Her smiles shifts to a little more genuine, a teasing glint in her eye. “And I'm sure you're only offering out of the goodness of your heart, and not so that you can have your grandchild nearby at all times, of course.”

Sarge's mouth snaps shut almost audibly at that, and his fork clatters to the floor. He ducks under the table to retrieve it; he's out of sight for a long moment, and they can hear him taking a long, shuddering breath before reappearing. “You're right,” he says. “I have ulterior motives. How'd you guess?”

“Because I know you.”

“Yeah, that's true.”

He doesn't stop smiling for the rest of the night.

*

Before leaving, Sheila says she's going to tell her own family as soon as possible, saying that it's not fair for Lopez's family to know and hers not to, so it's hardly surprising when, two days later, a fancy black towncar pulls up in their front yard. Grif and Simmons are curled up on the couch watching a movie with Kai and Donut; Kai jumps up to answer the door.

It turns out to be Sheila's father, Malcolm Hargrove, a stern looking potato of man, and York, who waves cheerily at the boys and winks his good eye at Kai. She giggles over this, and beams questioningly up at Hargrove.

“Good afternoon, young lady,” he says. “Is your father home?”

“He's out back,” Kai says. “I'll go get him!”

She skips off; Hargrove stands waiting by the door, stiff and formal, while his son ambles over and makes himself at home on the couch between Grif and Donut.

“Sheila was over yesterday, she told us about the baby,” he says. “Pop was spitting fire about it at first, but she's talked him around. Pointed out that he beat old Dr. Church to grandchildren, that calmed him down.”

“Richard.”

“What? It's the truth.” At a stern look from Hargrove, though, he shrugs and makes himself more comfortable. “So it looks like we're gonna be all one big happy family now,” he says. “I call dibs on being the fun uncle.”

“No way dude,” Grif says, but York just gives a massive 'what are you going to do?' shrug.

“Sorry, man. I already called it. According to the International Dibs Protocol, that means it stands.”

“What? Aw, man. Stupid International Dibs Protocol.”

He mock-pouts, and then oofs as he suddenly has a lap full of Kai, York having taken her seat on the couch while she was gone. Sarge is already coming in behind her.

“Morning, Malcolm,” he says cheerily. “What can I do for you on this fine day?”

“Last night my daughter came to us and told us that she was pregnant- by one of your boys.”

“That's right. They told us over dinner night before last.”

“Yes, so she said.” His face is somewhat sour at that, no doubt offended that he was not the first to know. “I will not mince words with you, Colonel. I intend for you boy to make an honest woman of my daughter.”

There's a silence at that, and then Sarge bursts out laughing. York has his face buried in his hand. “Poooooop. Why did you have to put it like that?”

Hargrove looks grumpy. Sarge stops laughing and shrugs.

“Sorry, Malcolm. Just think it's kind of funny, you thinking I control Lopez in any way.”

“I'd rather not have my grandchild born out of wedlock.”

“Not up to you, though. They're adults, let them make their own choices. If they want to get married, great. I'll break out my dress uniform and dance with Sheila at the wedding. But you can't force them to and if you try you'll only push them away.”

“I know your family is unorthodox,” Hargrove says, with a pointed glance at the kids that has Sarge scowling in annoyance, “But the Hargrove family has a great deal of standing in this town and I do not wish to see its name tarnished.”

“That's funny,” Sarge says, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. “I seem to recall your own daddy said the same thing when you decided to marry Phyllis. How is Phyllis?”

Hargrove's displeasure at this point is quite obvious, but they can see him schooling his face into a more neutral expression. “She's well,” he says finally. “She is of the same mind as you, with regard to Sheila and your boy.”

“Smart woman. Always said she was a smart woman. You should listen to her, Malcolm. Mighty smart woman.”

For a long moment the two stare each other down; Hargrove's scowl deepens with each passing second. Finally he makes a 'hrumph' noise. “And you stand by this? You won't even talk to your boy about doing the right thing?”

“Lopez,” and Sarge stresses the name, “is a grown man. What he does is his own choice, and between him and Sheila to decide.”

“Very well then. I have nothing more to say. Come along, Richard. Good day, Colonel. I hope our next meeting is under more favorable circumstances. Richard,” he says again, because York is still slumped on the couch. York sighs and pulls himself up.

“I guess I'll see you guys around. Sorry my Pop's such a potato.”

As the door closes behind them, they can hear York laughing while Hargrove scolds him for being rude.

“What's unorthodox?” Kai asks.

“He means we're not a proper family,” Grif answers, annoyed, though he can't explain why. He's said the same thing a hundred times before, and meant it. Kai just frowns.

“Of course we are. Miss Kimball says a family is people who love and support each other. That's us, isn't it?” She looks from Grif up to Sarge, leaning on the back of the couch over them. “Right?”

There's a long silence, and Sarge reaches over to ruffle her hair fondly. “That's right, princess. That Miss Kimball's a smart woman, too.”

“Yeah.” Kai snuggles more comfortably into Grif's lap, pushing Simmons out of the way as she does. “I like our family,” she says. “Even if Mr. Hargrove doesn't.”

*

Simmons is getting ready to head downstate to visit his family for the break, so Grif calls up Tucker to go Christmas shopping with him the next day. When he meets up with the other boy at the store, Caboose is with him. For once, his bangs are out of his eyes, pushed back with an aqua headband; a teeny bow sits over his ear. Grif cocks an eyebrow at it.

“Nice headband, Caboose,” Grif says, noting the embarrassed way Tucker shuffles his feet at the compliment. Caboose doesn't notice, instead touching the bow and beaming.

“Tucker gave it to me,” he says cheerily. “It is an early Christmas present!”

“Only cause I got tired of you not being able to see anything,” Tucker says grumpily, but he doesn't object when Caboose takes his hand while the three make their way into the store.

It takes Grif most of the morning to get his shopping done. Once his entire list has been checked off, the three boys amble down to the diner for lunch. If Grif notices the way that Tucker keeps trying to get Caboose's attention all morning, he says nothing, and silently wishes the other boy good luck.

York is having lunch at the diner; he waves them over to join him. “I was starting to think I was going to be on my own all day,” he says, when they slide into the booth with them. “Cute headband, Caboose. What are you guys up to?”

“Christmas shopping,” Grif says. “Well, I am. Tucker and Caboose are just here because I didn't feel like going on my own and I don't go shopping with Donut anymore.”

Their waitress comes over then; there's a break in their conversation, and once she goes, York drops his voice so that none of the other diners can overhear them.

“So listen. I heard you're thinking of driving for Tex in those races up in Valhalla.”

“Was thinking about it. Why?”

“Cause I wanted to tell you, those things are dangerous. Last year a kid got killed in them, from what I heard.”

“You think I should say no?”

“I think you should be careful.” He rubs irritably at his bad eye. “Look, I don't make a point of telling people what to do. Lord knows I get into some dangerous shit. Just pick your races carefully. There's this one guy, they call him XT. If you do join on, don't race against him. They say he's a cheater and there was an inquiry about that kid who got killed, they think he might have been the cause.”

“Uh...” Grif isn't quite sure what to say; York's warning seems to have dampened all of their spirits. “Thanks for telling me, I guess.”

York gives him a reassuring smile. “Look, like I said. Just be careful. You guys are buds of mine, I don't want to see any of you get hurt.” They still seem pretty down, so he cracks a proper grin. “All right, change of subject. How about that party a few nights ago? Heard your pal Church is a thing with South now?”

“Yep.” There's a pause as their food arrives, and York shakes his head once their waitress has left.

“Better him than me, is all I can say,” he says. “I made out with South at a party once? Girl kisses like a train wreck. I'm pretty sure my bruises had bruises by the time we let up.”

“Church is into that, though,” Tucker says. “We made out a few times over the summer and he always said I was being too gentle with him.”

“Wait, what?”

“...oh.” Tucker glances down at his plate. “I, uh. I wasn't supposed to say anything about that.”

“You and Church?”

“We were just messing around.” Tucker shrugs, as nonchalantly as he can. Plays with his straw. “No big deal. Not like we were dating or anything.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, like you never got bored and made out with your best friend.”

“Dude, I do that all the time, but my best friend is also my boyfriend.”

“I really should have thought that argument through.”

“Well, I get bored and make out with my best friend at least once a week, and we're not dating,” York says. “At least, I'm pretty sure we're not dating.” He frowns. “Um, forget I said anything. Carry on, I'm enjoying this argument.”

“It's not an argument. Tucker just won't admit he's into gay shit.”

“But you do gay shit all the time, dude!”

“Yeah, but I'm actually gay. I think.”

“You're certainly not straight.”

“Doesn't make me gay. There's other options. Maybe I'm... I don't know. Something else.”

“Maybe you're a curly fry!”

They all turn to stare at Caboose. He beams, and pops a curly fry in his mouth. “Curly fries aren't straight either.”

*

Simmons leaves to visit his grandparents next day. He stops by to say goodbye to Grif before he goes; the two stand on the front porch while his parents wait in the car, hands held on either side of them and foreheads touching.

“Do you have to go?” Grif asks, a touch of a whine in his voice. Simmons smiles, and kisses his forehead.

“Yes. I haven't seen my Grandpapi since summer and Granny since last Christmas. I actually am looking forward to seeing them, you know. And it's only for a week.”

“But I'll miss you.”

“It's only a week, fatass.” He leans in to kiss Grif goodbye, long and slow. Behind them, Simmons' dad lays on the horn to hurry him up. They break apart to a grumble from Grif. “I have to go. I'll see you in a week.”

“Later loser.” He waves, and waits for their car to pull out of sight before sighing long and deep and turning to head back into the house.

*

Grif and Tucker wander out onto the walking path after church a few days later, hands shoved down into coat pockets and shivering against the frigid air.

“I don't know man,” Tucker says. “I feel like everything is changing.”

“That's puberty,” Grif says, shrugging. “Your body changes, your chemicals and shit start changing. Feels like everything else is changing along with it.”

“Cappy and Reggie are getting married.”

“Oh. You meant... actual changes.”

“Yeah.” Tucker shivers. “I just, I don't know. I guess I'm happy for him, but. I mean. It's just been the two of us for like three years now.”

“I'm sorry, dude. How long has this been a thing?”

“Couple days. Cappy wants Sarge to be the first one to know, but he didn't want to overshadow the news about the baby so he decided to sit on it for a few days. So don't say anything.”

“Lips are sealed.”

Grif glances around behind him, notes that no one is paying any attention to the walking path, and pulls a cigarette and lighter out of his pocket. Tucker scowls at him.

“Move downwind if you're gonna do that,” he says. “I gotta keep my lungs nice and clean if I'm gonna have a successful singing career.”

“Whatever.” Grif shifts over to his other side before lighting up, and takes a long drag, blowing smoke out into the cool afternoon air. “So a wedding though. That's pretty exciting.”

“I guess. My dad used to get married all the time, back when I was living with him. I went through like four stepmoms in six years. I've had enough weddings to last me a lifetime.”

Grif takes another long drag of his cigarette, and is relieved that the cold air turns their breath to ice, masking the rising smoke to any distant onlookers. “Lopez is going to move out soon. He and Sheila are already looking for an apartment.” His stomach is still curling at the thought, though.

“Everything really is changing.” Tucker gives him a sidelong glance. “You ever wonder where you'd be right now, if Sarge hadn't taken you in?”

“Some shitty foster home somewhere, probably.” Grif shrugs. “Taking care of Kai and hoping to God that we didn't get split up. Wondering how long it was going to be till we got dumped somewhere new. Counting the days till I was eighteen. You?”

“Same, probably. Except for the little sister thing. And I'd probably never get to see my dad anymore. Or maybe I'd be living with my last stepmom, I don't fucking know. Why are we even talking about this?”

“You're the one that brought it up.” Grif drops his used cigarette butt and crushes it under his heel. “If you didn't want to talk about it, why bring it up?”

“I don't know.” He reaches down for a handful of snow, rolls it into a ball and hurls it. It hits the ground with a satisfying splatter. “You know? I think I'm probably just being selfish. Cappy is happy with Reggie. And if anyone deserves to be happy, it's him. I can put up with Gary's dumb jokes and Reggie being Reggie if it means he gets to be.”

They turn, and begin making their way back up to the church. Tucker bumps Grif's shoulder with his own. “Hey Grif?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm glad Sarge and Cappy decided to adopt at the same time. It's nice having someone else around who gets it.”

"Yeah." Grif returns the affectionate gesture. "Yeah, same."

*

o/o

Chapter Text

Church turns sixteen in February and, as planned, his father gifts him with a Scorpion, a car that Dr. Church says is “as close to an actual tank as possible”. It's not cool and he bitches about it constantly while he's driving, that first day when he grabs his friends and drives them up to Valhalla to enjoy the freedom of being able to do just that.

(Grif and Tucker have had their licenses for ages; the novelty has worn off of them a bit, but it's nice to have someone else driving for a change.)

“Hey Simmons,” Church says, glancing at the boy in the rearview mirror. “When are you going to get your license?”

“Oh. Um.” Simmons has been having a slap-fight with Grif in the back, but now he stops and pushes his glasses up nervously. “Well, um. My dad doesn't really want me to have it yet. He's not sure if I'm mature enough to handle the responsibility.”

“Fuck that, you're more mature than the rest of us.” Church scowls at the mirror and turns his attention back to the road. “So he prefers you have to rely on other people to be able to get around?”

“Of course he does,” Grif says. “How else can he be an over-controlling asswipe? He just wants to leave Simmons dependent on him, that's all.”

“He's looking out for me.” Simmons shifts uncomfortably. “I mean, he's doing a terrible job of it, but he is trying. And does it matter? Grif does all the driving when we're out anyway and I never go anywhere without him.”

“I do all the driving because you don't have a license. Maybe I want to chill in the passenger's seat and distract you for a change.”

“I don't distract you. That's dangerous.”

“Of course you do. You sit there looking hot, and all I can think about is kissing you. That's pretty distracting, dude.”

“Oh.” At Grif's suggestive eyebrow waggle, Simmons hunches over, embarrassed but clearly pleased. Grif scoots over into his personal space, gets right up on him, and grins.

“Hey! No gay shit in the back of my car, guys. Keep it clean.”

Grif frowns at him, but scoots back over into his own seat (between them, he grabs Simmons hand and tangles it with his own). “Like you've never done any gay shit before.”

“No, because unlike you fuckers, I am actually straight.”

“Right,” Grif drawls out, giving him a disbelieving look. “Totally, completely one-hundred percent straight.”

In his lap, his phone buzzes, and he glances down to see a text from Tucker.

Dude cut it out if Church knows I spilled the beans he'll never speak to me again.

Grif sighs, and shoots off a reply. Im not gona tell unclench ur ass cheeks

Seriously. He doesn't want anyone to know.

All right, all right. Jesus. Are you sure Caboose is the one you have a crush on?

Shut up

Church side-eyes Tucker curiously. “Who are you texting so furiously over there, Tuck?”

“Nobody! Um. Caboose?” He hastily switches his text conversation back over to Caboose's. “He's pouting because he couldn't come with us today.”

“He's not the only one,” Church mutters, glancing irritably over at his friend. “How's that whole 'Operation: Woo Train' going?”

“Terrible,” Tucker scoffs. “I keep giving him presents and I gave him a whole box of chocolate at Valentine's and I've used all my best pickup lines and nothing. You think maybe he's really not interested? Ugh, this is stupid. I just want to kiss his sweet dumb stupid face, why won't he notice?”

“Because he's Caboose, and Caboose is an idiot.”

Tucker opens his mouth to protest, then sighs an irritated “Yeah...” and slides down in his seat, back to texting presumably Caboose with a defeated look in his eyes. Meanwhile, Church's scowl deepens and he turns his gaze back to the road. Grif frowns, glancing between them, and leans forward to talk to Church.

“So how does South feel about not getting to come with us today?” he asks. Church glances at him.

“She doesn't care. Said she didn't want to hang out with you losers anyway. She's doing stuff with Wash and Carolina today.”

“I thought she and Carolina didn't like each other? And I'm not touching that Wash thing.”

Church shakes his head. “She's still into him, but it's not a big deal or anything. I mean, feelings don't just go away just cause you want them to.” He glances over at Tucker, who doesn't notice, and makes a scoffing noise. “That shit takes time. She's just not letting it control her. And she shouldn't. You fail, you move on. Find someone new. That's how it works. Especially if the person you like has someone else.”

He glances over at Tucker again, and Grif sits back in his seat thoughtfully. He gets the feeling that something happened between his friends when he wasn't paying attention; he resolves to ask Donut later. Donut always seems to know everything that goes on in their collective friend group.

*

Valhalla is almost identical to Blood Gulch, but unlike Blood Gulch Valhalla has a shitty mall with a shitty movie theatre at one end and a shitty cafe at the other. They get lunch at the cafe and then start ambling their way down the long court toward the theatre, wandering in and out of shops at whim. Tucker is still texting Caboose regularly; every time his phone buzzes Church scowls or huffs or otherwise shows his displeasure in some way, and his words to Tucker are getting shorter and more bitter with each one.

Grif breaks away to use the restroom while they're wandering through an arts and crafts shop, and when he comes back he can hear Church yelling.

“-ammit, Tucker, would you just shut up about Caboose already? We get it, you think he's cute, we don't care.”

“What is your problem, dude? You've been bitching at me all day. I mean more than usual.”

“I'm just sick of hearing about your stupid crush on Caboose, okay?”

“Yeah well tough shit cause this is what's going on with me right now. Or are we only allowed to talk about you and your shit? Self-centered prick.”

“Don't go making this about me, jackass.”

“Why? We make everything else about you. Why not this too?”

“I do not!”

“Oh yeah? Then what do you call this? You just can't handle that I moved on. You're the one who dumped me, Church. Or did you forget that?”

“Well maybe I regret that!”

“What?” Tucker seems taken aback, then goes back to glaring. “Well maybe you should have said something sooner. Does your girlfriend know?”

“One, of course she does. Just like I know she's only using me to get over Wash. Two, please, don't sit there and pretend that everyone, literally everyone, already knows that we're going to crash and burn before the year's up. Half of you are taking bets about when it happens. Guess what? We know it too.”

“Wow. What a healthy relationship you have.” Tucker scoffs. “Doesn't matter anyway. I told you, I moved on.”

“To Caboose.” Church rolls his eyes. “Yeah, what a catch he is.”

“He's a better catch than you.”

“What?”

“Don't act surprised! At least Caboose is actually fucking nice once in awhile!”

“What?!”

“Yeah, nice. I know you've got that cynical bastard jerk-with-a-heart-of-gold thing going on but it's too exhausting to put up with. If I'm with someone I want them to actually pay me a fucking compliment once in awhile.”

“Well if I'm so hard to put up with then why are you still hanging around with me?”

“You know what? That's a good fucking question.”

Church looks like he's been struck, but Tucker ignores him and spins on his heel to storm off. Outside the store, he takes out his phone and they can see him speaking animatedly with someone. A few minutes later he comes back in and goes straight to Grif, bypassing Church and refusing to look at him.

“I called Cappy,” he says. “He's gonna come pick me up and take me home. You guys enjoy your movie.”

“Um- dude-”

“I'll see you later, Grif, Simmons. Church?”

“What?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“You first, asshole.”

Tucker storms off again, flipping them off as he goes, leaving the three of them standing there. Grif and Simmons exchange a look, and sigh.

“So much for a good day hanging out,” Simmons says. Grif just takes his hand. “I hope this doesn't last as long as when you were fighting Church.”

“Tucker's not the sort to hold grudges for too long,” Grif says, though he isn't sure he's if he's reassuring himself or Simmons.

“Neither are you,” Simmons points out. Grif just sighs again.

“True.”

*

Tucker sends Simmons a text when Cappy comes to pick him up, just as they're making their way in for the movie.

I'll tell you later how the movie goes

Please like you're gonna be watching the movie and not making out with simmons the whole time

I'll tell you later how the first five minutes of the movie goes

k

Take care dude

whatever

A pause, and then, anyway cap's taking me for ice cream to cheer me up so fuck you guys I get ice cream and you have to babysit church

In the theatre, they get seats in the middle. Grif and Simmons start making out about five minutes into the movie, while Church sulks beside them. He halfheartedly throws popcorn at the screen and them and the few other patrons for a little while, but without Tucker there to join him as usual he gives it up pretty quickly, slumping down and scowling at the screen.

They'd planned a sleepover at Church's for his birthday, but he's in such a sour mood when they get to his house that he clearly isn't interested in any of the plans they'd made. He sprawls out facedown on the couch in the gameroom, leaving Grif and Simmons to play Call of Modern Warcraft in between trying to cheer him up.

Sometime around midnight, the door opens and they can hear laughter coming up the stairs. Moments later, the door opens a little too hard and Carolina and South come in. South spots Church and wanders over to him, staring down at him a moment before pushing his legs out of the way so she can sit down. He rolls over and sets his legs in her lap, half-glaring at her.

“What's got the birthday boy so down?” she asks.

“I dunno. Maybe I'm miffed that my girlfriend would rather spend my birthday with my sister than me.”

“Yeah right. You didn't want me there with you and your buddies any more than I wanted to be there. Where's Tucker?”

Church huffs and hauls himself to his feet. “Who fucking cares. I'm going to bed. See you guys in the morning.”

He storms off, leaving South staring after him, bewildered. Once he's gone, she looks immediately to Grif and Simmons for an explanation.

“They had a fight,” Simmons says. “Um, apparently there used to be something between them and, uh, Church kind of still has feelings for Tucker. Sort of. Sorry.”

“Oh, that.” South rolls her eyes. “I was wondering when that was gonna explode. All right.” She stands. “I'll go take care of him, I guess. Lord knows he's gonna be a big dumb baby about this forever now. Asshole.”

She storms off after him, and Carolina immediately begins turning the volume up on the game.

“Trust me on this one,” she says. “South is a screamer and Alpha swears creatively.”

It takes them a second, and then Grif gets a horrified look on his face. He jumps to his feet. “You know what? I think we should go on a midnight snack run. Right now.”

*

South and Church's relationship is about eighty percent physical, and they'll be the first ones to admit it. But when the physical is sorted and they're sprawled out on his bed, a foot and a half of space between them because their skin is too sensitive for touching right now, there's a certain intimacy to them too. She nudges his foot with hers and turns to look at him.

“So you told Tucker?”

“I shouted it at him in the middle of an argument.” He buries his face in his pillow, then rolls over and stares up at the ceiling. “Hey South?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I really that hard a person to be around?”

She snorts. “Yes. You're awful.”

“Oh.” He shifts uncomfortably, then throws his arm over his eyes. “How do you put up with me?”

“I'm pretty awful too,” she says. “I like being around awful people. It's the nice people who annoy me.”

“At least you get it.”

“Sure. You'll sort things out with Tucker, I'm sure of it. Now.” She rolls over to him and runs her hand over his chest. “You ready to go again?”

“You're insatiable, woman.”

“Yeah.” She throws her leg over him and sits straddling him. “So is that a yes or...?”

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Tex manages to get a car cheap from the junkyard over Christmas, and spends the next few weeks repairing it. Grif comes over to her garage a few times to hang out while she's working. He's still on the fence about racing for her, but with each visit his indecision crumbles. Tex has been visiting the races, and she tells him about them while she works. It sounds pretty exciting- there's drag races, but the real money is in the obstacle courses, dangerous runs through Valhalla's countryside that test the mettle of any racer.

She finally finishes the car and Grif is ready for his first race early in March. There's only one other person in their pit crew, a skinny beanpole of a senior named Stasney, who lives near Tex and does odd jobs for her dad. Grif only knows him in passing- he's got a bit of a reputation as a conspiracy theorist, and the one time he and Stasney spoke was when Stasney gave him a pamphlet about aliens landing near Blood Gulch. Grif had avoided making eye contact and fled, much to Tucker's amusement.

There's a good dozen crews at the races when they arrive. Grif pulls the car over to their pit while Tex gets them signed in, and almost immediately they're joined by a pair from one of the neighboring crews.

“Always nice to see some new blood,” the taller of the two says. He offers his hand to shake. “I'm Flynt. Welcome to the races.”

“Grif.” He's a little relieved when he shakes the boy's hand; from York's cryptic warnings back in December, he'd expected everyone to be thugs and vagabonds. Flynt isn't much older than him, by the looks of it, and he seems friendly enough. The other boy shakes his hand next.

“Sebastian Rook,” he says, stressing his given name slightly. “Everyone calls me Rookie, though. We're Team Slipspace. Your other neighbors over there, that's the Harvest Kings, and down the way, you've got Team Heretic. They don't speak English and we're not entirely sure what language they do speak. We don't think they even know how to race. It's kinda weird, actually.”

“They're probably aliens,” Stasney says. Rookie and Flynt stare at him, then turn back to Grif.

“What's your crew's name?” Flynt asks.

“Um.” Grif falters, and glances at Stasney, who shrugs. “I'm not sure.”

“We're the Blood Gulch Crew,” Tex says, coming up to join them. She has a little sticker in her hand with just that written on it; she hands it to Stasney to stick in their back window.

“Blood Gulch?” Rookie glances at Flynt. “Isn't that where Frankie is living now?”

“Last I heard. Say, do you know anyone by the name of Franklin Donut?”

Grif looks surprised. “Yeah, I do, he's- well, he's living with my family now. My- dad- found him and took him in, back around September.” Referring to Sarge as his dad leaves a weird taste in his mouth, but he doesn't feel like getting into any sort of explanation of their weird dynamic with these strangers. The boys don't notice, and look a little relieved.

“That's about when he disappeared,” Flynt says. “Good on him, he found somewhere really quick.”

“I wish he'd come to one of us for help, though. I thought we were his friends.”

“I'm sure he has his reasons. I'm just glad he's safe. That's what matters.”

They're joined by another boy wearing a maroon Team Slipspace shirt. He throws his arm around Rookie's shoulders with a companionable air, but there's a touch of malice in his eyes and despite Rookie's grin, Grif has never seen anyone more obviously flipping someone off in his head.

“And this is Jimmy,” Flynt says, a slightly strained edge to his tone. “He's our driver.”

“Temporarily,” Rookie adds. “Just until I get my license back.”

Jimmy reaches out to shake Grif's hand with his free one, half-dragging Rookie with him as he does. “Call me XT,” he says. “Everyone does.”

Something about XT's name sets off alarm bells in Grif's head, but he can't figure out why. He pushes it away and shakes his hand anyway.

“We were just talking about Donut,” Flynt says. “He's staying with Grif's family now.”

“You don't say.” The way XT's grin curls up unnerves Grif. “Small world, ain't it.”

Grif leaves the conversation deeply unsettled, with permanent alarm bells going off every time he looks in XT's direction.

*

Grif wins two races that night, but his only achievement for the obstacle course is that he doesn't come last (that title goes to Team Heretic, who, as Rookie said, doesn't seem to understand how to run the races anyway). He perches on the back of the car with a wide grin on his face while Tex counts out their winnings.

“Not bad for a first night,” she says. “Next week I'm expecting you to win at least three races.”

“I can only get better,” he says, giving her a shrug that does nothing to disguise the way the adrenaline is still pumping in him. He's glad, now, that he didn't turn her down- this is probably the most fun he's had in ages.

While they're piling in to leave, XT wanders over to join them. He'd won the obstacle course earlier, so his own winnings are making his pockets bulge. “Hey, you guys bring Donut with you next time you come,” he says. “He used to hang out here all the time. Tell him his friends miss him.”

“Will do,” Grif says, ignoring the way his gut curls over XT's grin. “The telling him you miss him thing, I mean. He doesn't seem that interested in the races, really.”

“Aww, that's a shame. I'd really like to see him again.”

He gives Grif that smile again, then waves and ambles back over to his own pit. Grif and Tex exchange a look.

“That guy don't sit right with me,” Stasney says, from the back seat.

“Agreed,” Tex says. “We're not bringing Donut with us unless we bring someone to keep an eye on him in the stands for us.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Church is sitting under the bleachers with his headphones on when Grif slips under for a smoke over lunch. He pulls his headphones off and mumbles a vague greeting; Grif nods and slips his cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket. He offers one to Church, who shakes his head, and for a moment there's silence as Grif lights up and takes that first satisfying drag of his cigarette.

“Shouldn't you and Simmons be joined at the hip somewhere?” Church asks suddenly.

Grif quirks an eyebrow at him. “I don't know. Shouldn't you be somewhere glaring at Tucker and Caboose?”

“I don't-” Church makes a grumpy noise. “-I'm just getting sick of them. How can he be happy with Caboose?”

Grif just shrugs, and Church pulls his headphones back up with a huff. After a moment, he puts them back down.

“Things were just so easy when it was me and Tucker. Like he was my best friend, and sometimes I got to make out with him. You know, easy. Isn't that how it is with you and Simmons?”

Grif snorts. “No. We're not easy at all. Simmons is a pain in the ass sometimes. He's high-maintenance, I have to coddle him all the time.”

“How do you put up with it?”

“I dunno.” Grif shrugs again. “It's worth it, I guess. The way he looks at me sometimes, it's... I dunno. It's hard to explain.”

Church sighs, and holds out a hand. “Actually, I'll take one of those after all.”

Grif holds out the pack wordlessly, offers his lighter. Church puffs irritably and scowls. “I hate this.”

“It's an acquired thing.”

“No, idiot, I mean the situation. I just- all I want is- I'm not-” He laughs bitterly. “God, I'm so pathetic. And I'm jealous of you of all people.”

“Me?” Grif looks taken aback. “Why are you jealous of me?”

“Because you fell in love with your best friend and actually got a happy ending. You're sitting here planning out how many kids you're going to have and I'm sat here losing to Caboose.” He laughs again, but it sounds half-way like a strangled sob. “Caboose. Does he even know what sex is? Tucker's innuendos all go straight over his head. I mean, do they- you know, do they do it?”

“Probably not.”

“How can that be satisfying? Especially to someone like Tucker. Guy's insatiable.”

“They seem to make it work. It's not too hard, if you're dedicated enough.”

“Yeah, but-” Church frowns. “Wait, are you saying you and Simmons don't...?” He trails off, a little awkwardly. Grif laughs.

“Not much. We've tried it a few times but he always goes really weird and doesn't talk to me for awhile. I think he might be that thing- the one Cappy told us about, you know where you're not into sex? What was it?”

“Ace?”

“Yeah, that. But I can't get him to talk to me about it so I don't know. I wish he would. I can take care of myself if he's not into it but I'd at least like to know.”

“And that's not weird to you at all?”

Grif shakes his head. “No. It's just us. It's always been just us. It's like that one absolute truth of the universe. Me and Simmons. I don't know, dude. However that's shaped, that we are us is the important part.”

“Grif.”

“What?”

“You're sixteen.”

“And you're pushing away your best friend because you're in love with him and can't handle that he doesn't like you back. So don't go telling me I'm too young to know what matters to me.”

Church opens his mouth to protest, then huffs and goes back to his cigarette. When the first end-of-lunch bell rings Grif stands, but Church ignores it.

“Not coming?”

“I'm just gonna stay out here and think a while longer. Want to stay with me?”

“Nah. Simmons bitches at me when I skip class.”

“Maybe you didn't get a happily ever after after all,” Church says. He stubs out his cigarette and puts his headphone back on. Grif pokes his head back into the space.

“You know, you say that but, I actually really like having someone who gives a shit about whether I do well or not.”

He heads out, then, leaving Church to turn his music back on with a scowl.

*

Tucker has always known Caboose was a tactile person- even before his crush on the other boy, Caboose was always playing with his hands, or leaning on him, or just finding some reason for physical contact. Tucker'd asked him about it once, and he'd said that it helped him to pay attention. He hadn't been able to explain what he meant, and Tucker had filed it away as a Caboose thing, and let it go. Besides, he'd found he didn't mind so much- Caboose's hands are big, and warm, with deep callouses from hard work, and Tucker likes how nicely his own fit in them.

That was before they were dating. Now it seems like Caboose is always finding some excuse to touch him, and if Tucker occasionally finds it stifling, it's still nice to have that contact. And there's a spiteful part of Tucker that likes how much it makes Church glare at them, though he regrets that Caboose is catching the fallout from their fight.

“You guys spend way too much time touching,” Grif says, “And this is coming from a guy who never wants to stop touching his boyfriend.”

“I like touching,” Caboose says. He's playing with Tucker's hand, tracing the lines on his palm and around his knuckles. He's probably memorized their shape by now, with how often he does it. “Touching is nice. Touching is- touching means there's another person there.”

Tucker shifts his hand and twines his fingers with Caboose's. “Don't worry about Grif, 'boose. He's just in a mood because Simmons went on that Mathletes trip and isn't here with him.”

“I am not.”

“Are so.”

“You guys are always touching, that's so sweet,” Donut says, coming up to join them. “Grif, you had Miller for Creative Writing last year, right? Can you help me with my next piece? He's hated everything I've turned in all semester. I have no idea what he wants from me.”

Grif shrugs by way over answer. Tucker glances at him. “You did really well in that class, didn't you?” he asks. “Miller thought really highly over you.”

“It wasn't hard,” Grif says. “You just have to throw a lot of philosophical bullshit at him.” He laughs, and drops into a dramatic reading voice. “Why are we here? That's the question, isn't it? Why are we here? I mean, are we the product of some cosmic coincidence, or is there really a god out there, watching over us? I don't know, but it keeps me up at night.” He grins. “I started a piece with that and he ate it up. I pulled it out of my ass. Just get philosophical on him. It's not that hard.”

“I can do philosophical....”

“I'll help you out, but it'll have to be tomorrow, I've got a race tonight. Speaking of, are you ever going to come with us? I'm getting really tired of Flynt and Rookie asking me when I'm going to bring you. Just come once and talk to them, get them off my back.”

“I don't want to. I never liked the races and- well, I have some bad memories attached to them.”

“According to your friends you used to go all the time.”

“Only because of Jimmy.”

“That guy.” Grif scowls. “I can't believe you dated that creep.”

“Neither can I. Look, just tell them I don't want to come, okay? I'm sorry. I just can't go back yet.”

Grif shrugs, and glances down at the paper he's supposed to be writing. It's due in his next class, and so far all he has is an opening sentence.

“This is so stupid,” he says irritably. “I'm supposed to write a whole paper arguing against military drafting but how in the world do I take up a whole page saying it's fucking stupid? Honestly.”

“Write a list of reasons you think it's fucking stupid and then write really long and pretentious sentences for each of them,” Tucker says. “It's what I do.”

“Yeah, well..” Grif grumbles irritably and goes back to his paper. “At least I can scrape together enough to get a passing mark, anyway.”

*

Church is still in a fowl mood when he comes home, and almost doesn't see the car parked in the driveway- he wouldn't have, if it wasn't in his spot, in fact. He heads inside, wondering who the car could belong to but at the same time assuming that it belongs to one of his dad's clients and mostly only caring because they took his spot.

He swings through the kitchen to grab a pack of crackers and barely spares the woman sat at the table with his dad a glance on his way through the dining room. At the door he stops, and backs up back inside, and stares.

“Oh fuck no,” he says. “What the fuck is she doing here?”

The woman gives him a patronizing smile. “Now is that any way to talk to your own mother?”

“It's the way to talk to the bitch who dumped me here in this hellhole. Dad what the fuck is she doing here?”

“She wanted to see you, Alpha. That's all.”

“Well too bad, because I don't want to see her. I'm going to my room. Let me know when she leaves.”

“Alpha-”

But Church ignores him, and storms upstairs. A few minutes later, Carolina pokes her head through his door. “Hey.”

“I'm not talking to her,” he says. He's on his back, staring up at the ceiling and moving invisible numbers around in his head. He blinks the numbers away and raises his head to look at Carolina. “If she wanted to talk to me she shouldn't have dumped me here.”

“I'm not here to tell you to talk to her,” Carolina says. She comes over and stretches out on her stomach beside him. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“What is she doing here? She washed her hands of me. She said- she told me I could be dad's problem now.”

She doesn't say anything, instead opting to rub his arm comfortingly. He scoots closer, leaning in on her. He'd have been upset anyway, but on top of everything else, it seems like the straw on the camel's back. It feels like every shitty thing is crashing in on him, and that scares him.

“I'm so tired.”

“I know.”

“You think she's gone yet?”

“Probably not.”

“If I sneak out and spend the night at South's, will you cover for me?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.”

He kisses her forehead, then jumps up and heads over to his window. He has a balcony with a tree right up against it, so it's no trouble at all to swing himself into the tree and drop to the ground. From there he just has to hope they're not looking out the right window when he pulls his car out of the drive- and from there it doesn't matter, because now he's down the road on the way to the Dakotas' house, and who cares if dad notices he's gone?

*

Grif has gotten to be almost fond of Flynt and Rookie in the month and a half since he started racing. They're friendly enough guys- Rookie is a bit of a dick, and Flynt is almost always incredibly exasperated with his crew, but they and Grif get along well enough that having neighboring pits goes well for them.

Jimmy, on the other hand, can go fuck himself. Not to mention he's taken to lurking around their car when Grif is talking to the other two. He's there now, watching Stasney fiddle around under the hood. Grif breaks away and moves over to shoo him away.

“Hey, get out of there,” he says. “Stasney, what have I told you about letting him into the pit?”

“Sorry, Grif,” Stasney says. He's halfway distracted, paying little attention while he fiddles around with the engine (Grif doesn't know what he's doing, and doesn't care- his job is to drive the car, not know how it works). “I didn't think he was hurting nothing, and he's hard to get rid of.”

“Well just don't let him over here again. Who knows what he'd try to pull to hobble us. Dammit, the next call is up. Did he fuck anything up under here?”

“Nah, everything's good. I had my eye on 'im the whole time, he didn't touch nothing.” He straightens up and slams the hood down. “You're good to go. Good luck.”

Grif grumbles out a response and heads to the start line. He's been winning more and more races every week, but he has yet to win an obstacle course. He can feel it in his blood, though- this week is his week. He tightens his grip on the wheel and watches the track, planning out his first turn to get him into the lead, ears cocked for the starting pistol.

The pistol fires, and he's off, using that first turn to get him ahead of the other racers, grinning in exhilaration at that first, adrenaline-pumping move. He loves this feeling, this moment when the world is reduced to him and his machine. It's poetic, or it would be if he was the poetic sort. It's a philosophy, maybe. The sort of thing Miller would give him full marks for.

There's another turn coming up, and then the first obstacle- he switches gears and takes it wide, letting out a whoop of delight with the way the car hugs the corners. It's a conversation, he decides, a constant state of communication between him and the car. They both want the same thing, and he's the only one with the skill to push it through.

There are other cars around him, his early lead diminishing as he slows down slightly to maneuver around obstacles. Two pass him; he passes one right back. It's him and Jimmy now, neck in neck, and they're coming up onto the ditches.

This is the tricky part, the one that will require all of his concentration. The jump has to be timed right or he won't make it, and getting the car out of the ditch will take too much time, assuming he manages anyway. More than one racer has had to drop out after getting ditched.

He shifts gear again and manages to clear the ditch, skidding only a little on the other side before he gets his momentum back, and this time manages to pass Jimmy by. He resists the urge to flip the guy off as he does; he can't afford to break his concentration, not now. There's a winding road ahead, made of soft sand that will happily throw him aside if he isn't careful.

Racing is a dance, he thinks, pushing his car through the turns. Perfectly choreographed, improvised, a blend of one and the other. A testament of trust, an artform of its own kind.

He rather likes that thought: he is an artist and the race is his medium. Miller would eat it up.

He keeps ahead for the rest of the race, Jimmy hanging just behind but unable to pass him by for long. Grif's grin is slowly widening as he realizes that this might indeed be his night, that it looks like he really will finally win. It's a good night for it, too: he got a look at the pot for this one and it's huge. Win this, and he'll have enough for a down payment for his own car.

Maybe it's because he's thinking about that that he doesn't immediately catch the shift in the car's balance- that it isn't listening to his commands as smoothly. Whatever the reason, he's not prepared for when the front tire breaks away just as the car hits the last sand-bar before the finish line. He makes a rookie mistake, then, jerking the wheel in his panic and sending it spinning away, out of control. He's only aware of the world turning into a blur, of the shouts of the crowd as they realize there's been a spin-out, and then the scream of metal on metal as he collides with another car.

His head hits the wheel, and pain blossoms throughout his entire body before everything goes black.

*

It's not often anyone calls on the house phone. Donut is washing dishes when it rings; he dries his hands on a dish towel and answers it with a chipper, “Sergeant residence, this is Donut speaking~” There's a pause as he listens to the lady on the other end of the phone, and hums an affirmative. “Hold on, I'll go get him~”

He sets the phone on the counter and pokes his head into the living room, where Sarge is watching a movie with Kai curled up nearly-asleep in his lap.

“Sarge, there's a phone call for you,” he says quietly, and turns to return to the dishes.

A moment later, the door opens and he hears Sarge pick up the phone, hears a gruff, “Hello? …this is him, yes.”

He doesn't pay any more attention until he hears Sarge suddenly grab the counter with one hand to steady himself. He turns to give him a questioning look and is startled to see that Sarge is noticeably pale. He scribbling something on the notepad they keep by the phone, muttering to himself as he does.

“Understood. I'll be there as soon as I can. Donut!” He adds as he hangs up. “Grif was in a wreck, he's been hurt. They're rushing him to the hospital in Valhalla now. I'm going to go up and meet them there- stay here and look after Kai, I'll call and tell you what to do next once I know more. Tell Kai what's going on.”

Sarge shoves the paper with the details into his pocket and pokes his head into the living room. “Kai, princess, something's come up and I have to go. Donut will put you to bed for me.”

Then he's grabbing his coat and his keys and he's out the door and gone, tires squealing a little in the gravel driveway as he pulls out far too quickly. Donut stares out after him, clutching his dishrag a little too tightly. Behind him, the kitchen door opens and Kai comes in, yawning sleepily. She climbs up to the counter and rests her head in her arms.

“What's going on, Donut? Is everything all right?”

“Kai! Oh, um.” Donut turns back to his dishes, not sure. “Um, actually, there's been an accident. Um, Grif was hurt. Sarge went to take care of him.” He fumbles with the bowl in his hand, then sets it down and turns to Kai. “Hey, I know! Why don't I finish your movie with you while we wait for Sarge to call and tell us what's going on? Hmm? How does that sound?”

“Okay.”

In the living room, she settles in his lap, head resting on his shoulder while he plays with her hair.

“Grif's gonna be okay, though, right?”

“I'm sure he will be, Kai. He's tough.”

He runs his hand through her hair gently. He really hopes he's right.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Simmons is asleep when Donut calls him. He groans as he feels around for his glasses; they hang crooked on his face while he fumbles with the phone to answer it.

“..'lo?” he mumbles. On the other end, Donut's voice is kind of high, slightly panicked.

“Simmons!” he says, and Simmons flinches at the tone. “There's been an accident up at the races, Grif's been taken to the hospital, he's badly hurt. Sarge just called a few minutes ago, he said the doctor's are saying he's ruptured something? And something about internal bleeding? I don't know, it's bad, I just- can you come over? I've got Kai in bed and I don't want to be alone right now but Lopez is at Sheila's and I don't- I don't want to worry her. Stress isn't good for the baby, you know. Simmons?”

But Simmons is already on his feet, pulling on his jeans in a half-asleep haze, barely aware of what he's actually doing. He shifts the phone to the other ear so he can do up his belt and grabs his shirt on his way down the hall to his parents' room, barely listening to the things Donut is saying to him on other end of the line.

“Just a second, Donut,” he says, setting his phone down to knock lightly at his parents' door. “Mom? Dad? Something's come up, I'm going to spend the night next door.”

His mom mumbles something incoherent, but his dad sits up and squints at him in the dark. “Dick? What's happened? You're not- I know you like your sleepovers but it's-” He breaks off to yawn, wide enough to crack his jaw, and rubs sleepily at his eyes. “You can't just plan them in the middle of the night. Go back to bed.”

“Grif's been in a wreck,” he says. “I'm going to go help Donut look after Kai while Sarge is taking care of him.”

Now his mom is sitting up, worry etching lines into her brow. “What? Is he okay?”

“I don't know,” he says, and winces when his voice cracks. “I'm just- I'm going next door, okay? I'm sorry I woke you.”

His voice cracks again; he cringes and flips the hall light off, ignoring their words as he tries to navigate his way downstairs to the back door in the dark.

The wet grass is cold against his bare feet and helps to wake him up on the short walk next door. He knocks the grass and dirt off his feet when he reaches the door; Donut is waiting for him, wringing his hands nervously.

“He was being taken to the ER last time Sarge called,” Donut says. “Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah- yeah, no problem. Um.” He rubs his hands on his jeans nervously. “I'm. I'm just- I'm going to sit down.”

*

It's ages before they get another call. Donut squeaks when his phone rings, and Simmons wakes up from an exhausted doze to listen.

“Okay. Yeah, Simmons is here with me.” … “I didn't feel like being alone. Yeah, I'll tell him. Yeah. See you, Sarge.” He sets his phone aside. “He's stable, but unconscious, and the doctors are saying he's out of immediate danger. Sarge is going to get Cappy to come pick us up and bring us up to the hospital to see him for ourselves.”

Simmons nods, relief and anxiety curling and twisting around themselves inside him. He does his best to focus on the 'stable' and not think too hard about that 'not immediate danger', because that could mean anything and if he thinks too hard about it he's sure he's going to end up throwing up.

They get Kai up and dressed for something to do while they wait; even so, by the time Cappy and Tucker get there he's still just sitting in the kitchen trying to keep his breathing under control.

There's no time to really talk; the three of them pile into the back seat of Cappy's car with as little fuss as they can manage. Tucker is half-asleep in the front seat but he gives them encouraging looks.

“Don't worry, guys,” he says. “This is Grif we're talking about. He's probably just taking advantage of a chance to take a nap.”

Tucker smiles hopefully, though it doesn't meet his eyes, and they stare at him until his grin falters and he turns back around with a huff.

“Just trying to help,” he grumbles.

“Tucker,” Cappy admonishes gently, and Tucker shrugs. Cappy glances at them in the rearview mirror. “Has anyone told Church what's going on?”

“I sent him a text earlier, but his phone's off,” Donut says. “He's probably with South somewhere. I'll try again in the morning- later in the morning,” he adds, with a glance at the clock.

The look that passes over Cappy's face is unreadable, but he smiles anyway and gets back to driving.

*

It's the longest, tensest ride that any of them have ever taken. Tex and Stasney meet them at the hospital, show them up to the room they've moved Grif into. Sarge is in there already, sat in the chair by Grif's bed, elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together under his chin. There's an air of quiet desperation in his entire frame, in the furrow of his brow and the tenseness of his shoulders, but when they hover in the doorway he opens his eyes and grins wide at them. (His grin doesn't reach his eyes and it does nothing to ease the obvious tension in him.)

“I wouldn't worry so much,” he says, glancing around at all of them. “He's just sleeping now, lazy son of a... anyway! Should probably leave him to his beauty rest, lord knows he needs it.”

He shoos them out into the hallway, closing the door carefully behind him. Already a doctor is coming to join them; they turn their attention to him as he gives them a brief, not-all-that-detailed explanation of what's wrong with Grif. The gist is that he's had a lot of internal damage but that they're confident they can take care of him with no lasting harm, which is a relief.

“We don't want him being crowded so for the moment we can't let all of you in, though I'm sure he'd be glad to know you all came out to see him. Right now though we're only letting in immediate family members, so who here is on that list?”

“Just Kai and Donut,” Sarge grunts, gesturing at them. Donut's head snaps up; he looks over at Sarge, baffled.

“Me? But I'm-”

“-legally his brother. Did you not know? It's on the paperwork.”

“I- no, I... didn't know...”

Cappy laughs softly. “I don't think any of them have been paying attention, Sarge.”

“No.” Sarge nudges Kai toward the door. “Go on, both of you. We'll be out here.”

Donut gives him another glance, then takes Kai's hand and leads her into the room. She's much calmer than him; when they get the door closed she pushes the chair over so she can climb up and lean over him. She nudges his shoulder, pouting when he doesn't respond.

Donut hangs back while Kai reassures herself that he's all right, taking in what he can of the scene. He doesn't like the way Grif needs so much help just to breathe, isn't comforted by the tube clipped to his nose or the tubes hooked into his veins.

It's almost a relief when the doctor comes to shoo them away; he takes Kai's hand and coaxes her back out into the hallway, where Tucker and Stasney are dozing in the chairs set against the wall, Cappy and Sarge are talking quietly, Simmons is staring out the window wringing his hands anxiously, and Tex is pacing back and forth muttering angrily to herself. Kai climbs onto the seat beside Tucker (he puts an arm around her and lets her lean on him without opening his eyes).

“I can't believe this,” Tex says angrily, ceasing her pacing and muttering. “I should have checked everything between races, made sure nothing was falling apart.”

“Not your fault, Tex,” Stasney says, not bothering to open his eyes. “I think we all know who's to blame here, really.”

“Stasney, I swear if the word aliens comes out of your mouth in the next five minutes-”

“I'm not talking about- that.” He opens his eyes and sits up. “It was that Jimmy Murphy. He was over at the car right before the race, somehow he did it. I got a look at the car while they were pulling Grif and that other boy out of the wreck- the bearings were shot, it was only a matter of time before they came off.”

“Don't be stupid, Stasney,” Tex says. “Jimmy's a creep, but do you really think he'd risk someone else's life just to win a race?”

“Yes.” They all look up at Donut, who shuffles his feet and stares at the ground awkwardly. “I mean... yes. He would. He has.”

He looks like he wants the floor to open up under his feet, but they all keep staring at him, waiting for him to clarify. He takes a deep breath, tries to stop shaking so much.

“About- two years? Yeah, about two years ago Jimmy got a position in the pits for Cannonball. He was good, but he really, really liked winning, and Cannonball was only about average- they won sometimes, but lost plenty. Jimmy didn't like that- he's too competitive. He started, um. He started hobbling the other racers.”

Donut hugs himself nervously. He doesn't like talking about this, and he can already feel their judgment weighing him down. “He started small, just doing stuff to make their cars not start in time, or make them stall before the starting gun. But then he got bold, and started doing more- and everyone knew someone was doing something but Jimmy was sneaky, and he was good, so he didn't get caught, even when everyone was on the lookout for whoever was sabotaging the races.”

“You knew about this?”

Donut nods miserably, staring at the ground rather than looking at Cappy's understanding face. “He kept insisting it was just a bit of harmless tactics, just making sure Cannonball had a good chance at winning. And he was charming and he- made me feel like- like I mattered, and he was so sweet or- or he seemed to be and I-” He hugs himself tighter. “-I told myself it was fine, that he was just a dumb kid and that- that it didn't hurt anything. But then after what happened to Georgia...”

“What happened to Georgia?” Butch asks gently.

“He, um- there was a crash. The car was destroyed and the- the EMT's didn't- didn't make it in time. He was Cannonball's driver,” Donut adds. “Jimmy wanted to start driving races, said they'd win more, but Georgia didn't want to give up his spot so- Jimmy told me that it was an accident, that he'd only meant for the car not to start but that- he was really distressed, he swore to me that it was an accident. He swore he'd stop cheating and, and he seemed to do that so- I didn't say anything. There were inquiries but they couldn't prove anything so- so after awhile it was just written off as a reason that the races shouldn't be allowed. They stopped for awhile and everyone shook their heads and said how sad it was, and....” He trails off, and scrubs away tears forming. “And now Grif is hurt because I covered for Jimmy. I knew it was him- I should have- I should have said something.”

“Donut,” Cappy starts to say, but he's interrupted by Simmons standing up and walking out. Cappy frowns after him, and turns back to Donut. “It wasn't your fault. You messed up, but that doesn't make it your fault.”

“I knew Jimmy was hanging around... I should have warned Grif about his past. I just... I guess I hoped he really had changed.” He scrubs more tears away. “Georgia was my friend.”

Cappy glances at Sarge, then wraps a comforting arm around Donut's shoulders and steers him away. “Why don't we go for a walk, okay? You look like you could use some air.”

Donut mumbles out a small 'thanks' and lets Cappy lead him down the corridor and out of sight. Meanwhile, Tex makes an irritated noise, then rubs tiredly at her eyes. “It's late... or early, I guess. We should head out- Stas, you're riding with me, right?”

“Yeah.” Stasney stands, stretching out tired limbs. “I'll see you folks around.”

“Let us know if anything changes.”

They wave sleepily and head down to the elevator, leaving only Sarge standing watch over Tucker and Kai. He takes a seat on Kai's other side; she wakes up just enough to shift over to lean into his side before falling asleep again. He puts his arm around her, holding her against him while she sleeps. He closes his eyes again, and to anyone walking by he'd seem like he was asleep, but a closer look would show his lips barely moving as he sits there.

*

Grif has strange dreams while he's out of it, dreams that blend in with dazed, blurry realities that only leave him confused before he slips back into unconsciousness. Sometimes he can hear people talking, he thinks; at one point, he hears Sheila whispering reassurances to him and at another, Kai is chattering about something Gary did or... something. He definitely hears Dr. Grey somewhere in there, rambling about robot arms and he wants to wake up and demand to know what she means but he can't, and he forgets soon enough anyway. He hears Sarge talking to him sometimes, disgruntled muttering that he can't make out, always in the background of whoever else is talking to him.

When he finally does wake up, Sarge is there, slouched down in the chair by Grif's bed, a book hanging loose in his hand as he dozes. When Grif makes some confused noises, trying to reorient himself, Sarge's eyes snap open and he sits up.

“Well! Looks like the lazybones finally decided to wake up!” He grins at his own joke, and Grif is startled to see relief coloring his eyes, eyes that look exhausted and are ringed with dark circles and tired lines.

“What happened? Why does my- everything- hurt?”

“You were in a wreck,” Sarge explains, and he's not able to fight down the smile threatening to split his face in two. “You were banged up pretty bad but the docs pulled you through. Emily has assured me that you've been doing better every day.”

“Oh god, she's not my doctor, is she?”

“No, she's banned from practicing in this hospital. But she can read a monitor and she's been keeping an eye on them in case those white-coats think they can lie to me about how you're doing.”

“Oh good.” Grif slumps back against his pillows, relieved. He likes Dr. Grey, but he doesn't ever want to be one of her patients. “How long have I been out?”

“Bout four days. You came around a few times but you were sloshed to the gills in pain killers so I don't think that counts as really being awake.”

Grif frowns. That's a long time to be out of it. “I always did want to just sleep for days,” he says. Sarge chuckles, and hits a button over Grif's bed.

“Well, you did that. Your doc should be in here in a moment- oh, speak of the devil.”

The door is already opening to let in a young-ish, cheery looking doctor. “Well look who finally decided to rejoin us in the land of the living,” he says brightly. “I'm Dr. McAllister. Nice to finally meet you properly.”

“I'll just- step outside,” Sarge says. “Give you some privacy.”

He seems a bit twitchy as he leaves; Dr. McAllister watches him go and turns back to Grif with a smile. “You gave him quite a scare, I think,” he says. “He's been pretty worried about you.”

“Worried?” Grif scoffs. “You're new around here. Sarge doesn't care about me. Why would he be worried?”

Dr. McAllister gives him an odd look and turns to the machines hooked onto Grif. “The man sat by your bedside for four days and only left when we ordered him to,” he says. “Even then he tried to sneak back in. I don't know where you're getting the idea that he doesn't care about you, but it's pretty clear you're wrong.”

Grif opens his mouth to protest, to mention all the ways Sarge makes it clear otherwise, but the man's words echo in his head and the protests stick in his throat before he can get them out. He slumps back again.

“I'm really tired,” he says, instead.

“That's not surprising,” Dr. McAllister replies. “You may have been asleep for four days, but your body has been hard at work healing itself. That takes a lot out of a person, you know. But you're out of the danger zone, which is good.”

Grif nods, then frowns; there's a thought he's trying to grab hold of. “...I hit someone else,” he finally says, after a moment. “Are they...?”

“Stable.” Dr. McAllister squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. “He was hurt much worse than you were, but we got him stable and he should be okay in time.”

“Oh good.”

The relief comes in on a wave of exhaustion, and he closes his eyes while Dr. McAllister finishes examining him. The doctor gives him a basic rundown of his injuries, and Grif asks a few questions, but for the most part all he wants is to sleep. He's glad when Dr. McAllister finally finishes his exam and leaves. A few minutes after he's gone, Sarge comes back in and sits back down with his book. This time Grif pays attention to how tired he looks. Like he's been sitting vigil at a sickbed for four days with very little sleep.

“...hey Sarge,” Grif says. “Have you been to see me much while I was out of it?”

“I dropped in once or twice, when I had time,” Sarge says, not even looking up from his book. “That doctor of yours says you're supposed to get lots of sleep,” he adds. “You must be pleased.”

Grif frowns. “Yeah. Yeah, really pleased. I'm, um, I'm going to go back to sleep right now, actually. I'll. I guess I'll see you when I wake up. If you're still here.”

“I might hang around. Enjoy your nap, dirtbag.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

When Grif wakes up the next time, Sarge is gone, but Cappy and Tucker are there. They both grin when they see Grif is awake; Tucker shifts from the couch on the wall to sit at the end of Grif's bed while Cappy settles beside Grif, brushes his hands through Grif's hair softly. Grif leans into the touch with a content noise, comforted by gentle fingers.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Cappy says. “Nice to see you awake for a change.”

“And not high as a kite,” Tucker adds. “Dude, you're hilarious when you're drugged.”

“What'd I do?”

“You kept babbling nonsense about space armies and wars with aliens. At some point I think you were convinced you were fighting a war for another planet way off in buttfuck nowhere space. And you seemed to think you'd been run over by a tank.”

“I feel like I've been run over by a tank.” Grif grimaces. Isn't he supposed to be on pain meds?

“I've seen what someone looks like after they've been run over by a tank,” Cappy says. “It isn't pretty. Trust me when I say if you had, you wouldn't have lived to know it.”

Both boys fall silent and look away. Neither is quite sure how to respond to that. Cappy carries on stroking Grif's hair, seemingly oblivious to their discomfort. It's Tucker who finally breaks the silence, a bit of an awkward edge to his voice.

“So... anyway... it's a good thing you're awake. Now you can get Donut to stop beating himself up over what happened. He's convinced it's his fault.”

“Why is Donut convinced my accident is his fault? I'm the one that lost control of the car. He wasn't even there.”

Tucker and Cappy exchange a look. Cappy sighs. “It wasn't an accident, Grif. We think- and Donut is convinced- that your car was sabotaged by a Jimmy Murphy.”

“That rat! I knew he was doing something suspicious! But wait, what has Donut got to do with it? I know he used to date the guy, but...”

“Because this isn't Jimmy's first sabotage.”

They fill Grif in on what Donut told them, and the extra information Stasney had gathered in the interim (Stasney's love for conspiracy theories had only been heightened when he'd found himself, as he said, “Right smack dab in the middle of one.”) Grif is quiet while they talk, but in the end he's still confused.

“Okay, so he didn't say anything about Jimmy's history of sabotage. But why does he think it's his fault? I already knew that guy was a creep and I figured he was going to try hobbling us sooner or later. That's why I told Stasney not to let him into the pit anymore.”

“Tell that to Donut,” Tucker says. “And tell it to Simmons, too, he's really blaming Donut. He won't even be in the same room as him.”

Grif sighs. “This is stupid. I shouldn't have to deal with this bullshit when I'm injured. Hey where'd Sarge go? He said he might be here when I woke up.”

“He had to go home,” Cappy says. “So he got us to sit with you for awhile.”

“Figures,” Grif mutters. “I knew that doctor didn't know what he was talking about.”

“What?”

“I knew Sarge wouldn't hang around. Dr. McAllister said he cared but...” Grif shrugs. “I know the truth.”

“Wh-” Cappy looks shocked. “Doesn't... Grif, Sarge loves you.”

Grif scowls. “You don't know what you're talking about either.”

“No, I've only known the man for forty-five years.” The sarcasm is foreign to Cappy's voice and manages to get Grif's attention. “I don't know anything about him and his complete inability to show affection. That's what this is about, isn't it?”

“That and the name-calling, the yelling, the shaming, the guilt-trips...”

Cappy hums thoughtfully. “That's fair. You're still wrong, but I can see how you wouldn't think Sarge cares.” He sighs, then laughs softly. “That man really is terrible at showing affection. He and Allison used to show their love by punching each other. I think he still has bruises from her right cross. She was very enthusiastic.” His smile falters at the unimpressed looks they give him. “Grif, Sarge loves you. If he doesn't treat you well, it's because he isn't sure how to, not because he doesn't care.”

“He treats Kai just fine. And Donut and Lopez.”

“They're not his.” Cappy's hand stills. “I think you should talk to Sarge,” he says. “If he's managed to persuade you he doesn't care, then it's long overdue.”

*

Cappy is quiet for most of the ride home later, while Tucker puts his headphones on and stares out the window. As they near Blood Gulch and home, Cappy nudges Tucker to get his attention; he puts his headphones down and turns to him.

“Tucker, you know I care about you, right?”

Tucker nods. “Yeah, of course. You tell me all the time and you do stuff that I can see means you mean it. Like when you ask me about stuff that's going on and listen and don't pressure me or push me but you encourage me to do better. You're always supportive and you dish out compliments easy and you just, you know. You do stuff. The kinda stuff I always wished my dad would do. And you tell me all the time how glad you are to have me. So yeah, I know you care.”

Cappy gives him a smile, then sighs and turns his attention back to the road. “Sarge doesn't do any of that for Grif, does he?”

“No he does not.”

There's another long silence. Tucker goes back to staring out the window, a little awkwardly. Cappy drums his fingers thoughtfully on the steering wheel. “You've never said,” he says, eventually. Tucker shrugs.

“Grif told us not to. Said as long as Sarge kept treating Kai as good as he does he'd put up with it until he could graduate and move away.”

“Oh.” Cappy frowns; he pulls into the driveway but doesn't get out, instead rubbing tiredly at his face. “I think... I've messed up, too.”

*

The next time Grif wakes up, the room is dark and the only sounds are the soft humming of the machines hooked to him. He thinks of opening his eyes, of looking around and maybe sitting up, but he's so tired that he really just wants to lie there until he falls asleep again. He's dimly aware of a presence at his side, of a soft voice that he's able to make out the longer he lies listening.

“Butch thinks I'm not doing right by you,” the voice says. “That maybe I'm too far gone to ever do right by you. Maybe he's right. Maybe I left things too long. But I don't- I don't know how to do any different. Kai and Donut and Lopez.. they ain't mine. They ain't proof of how bad I messed up. Maybe I do treat you different than I do them. But you're mine, every bit mine.”

Grif lies still, keeping his breathing as even as he can. He hears Sarge stand, hears him pacing while he talks. He seems to be talking more to himself than Grif at this point.

“Hell, ya' even act like me sometimes. Know how much that scares me? I can't imagine how many heart attacks I must have given my own pa coming up. And maybe you'll get it one day. Maybe you'll have a boy that scares and infuriates and disappoints you as bad as you do me and you'll get it. And maybe by then it'll be too late, lord knows I haven't talked to pa in years. Man's never even met his own grandson. Only knows you exist cause I send ma all your school pictures.”

He moves over to sit back down with a heavy sigh. “I messed up. I know I did. I messed up the day Kalani told me she was pregnant and I've been messing up ever since. And I think the worst part is that I may have left things to long to really fix 'em. Lord almighty, Grif, why'd you have to be so mine?”

His voice cracks on the end, and he falls silent after that. Grif lies awake for a long time after, listening to the sound of Sarge's breathing until it evens out and it's pretty clear he's asleep. Grif wishes he could just roll himself up in his blankets and burrow under his pillows.

“I never asked to be yours,” he whispers furiously, and bundles his blanket around him as best he can without moving too much.

*

Church comes to see Grif a few days later. He has dark circles around his eyes and more lines creasing his forehead than usual.

“You look terrible, dude,” Grif says. Church glares at him.

“Said the guy hooked up to a breathing tube and iv machines and heart monitors and who the fuck knows what else they've got you plugged into.”

“Yeah, but I was in a massive wreck and am lucky to be alive,” Grif says. “What's your excuse?”

“My mom is in town and I've been dealing with her on top of everything else.” Church settles into the chair at Grif's bedside and slides down in it with an exhausted groan. “That good enough for you?”

“Jesus, Church. How much have I missed? I was only out for four days.”

“Yeah, well, that's what you missed. My mom turned up on Friday and she's been staying with us while she's in town. She's trying to persuade me to come stay with her over the summer but fuck that.”

“Why not take her up on it? Thought you hated your dad?”

“Lesser of two evils, I guess.” Church shrugs. “Dad's a jerk but he never dumped me on anyone else. Besides, if I take off, who's gonna have Carolina's back? We're a team. We stick together.”

“It's just for a few months, and it'd be nice to have a change of scenery,” Grif points out. “Get away from Blood Gulch for awhile, anyway.”

“Trying to get rid of me?”

Grif laughs. “Nah, dude, I was just thinking how happy I'd be to have someone turn up an offer to take me away from Sarge for awhile.”

“You know he didn't leave your side at all while you were out,” Church points out. “They had to force him to go home and get some rest at one point and he still didn't actually leave until Cappy wrestled him into the car and knocked him out.”

“That's what everyone keeps telling me, but it doesn't change anything.” Grif lets out a frustrated huff. “Why isn't anyone listening? One four-night vigil at my bedside doesn't change the four years of poison before it. I don't know why he sat up with me while I was out- maybe he felt extra guilty, I don't fucking know. But it wasn't because he cares. He only thinks of me as a burden anyway.” He clenches and unclenches his fists around his bedsheets, glaring down at his lap. He can't get Sarge's words out of his head. “I'm just a reminder of how he messed up,” he says quietly.

Church frowns, slumps farther down in his seat. “Yeah,” he says, just as quietly. “Yeah, I get that.”

They don't say anymore after that, and for a long time it's just the two of them, in silence. Grif is grateful that Church suddenly becomes very interested in his phone when Grif tries to discreetly dry his eyes on his bedsheets.

After awhile, there's a knock on the door, and Tex comes in with a cheery “Hey there, cockbite!”, followed by Connie, carrying an orange teddy and a card in one hand. Tex glances over at Church. “South let you off your leash today, then?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Church says, not even looking up.

Tex drops herself into the other chair, while Connie settles on Grif's bed. She hands him the teddy and the card. “We were in here a few days ago and your room was lacking in color so I brought you this to brighten it up,” she says. “And the card is from everyone at the shop. It was Sheila's idea.”

Grif flips the card open to look at the signatures, and is rather pleased by seeing all of them signed it. He sets it and the bear on his bedside table with the most casual, dismissive air he can, but he still smiles when Connie catches his eye. At his bedside, Tex reaches over to kick Church's knee; he flips her off but still refuses to look up.

“So what's the car look like?” Grif asks.

“Mangled,” Tex says casually. “But nothing I can't fix eventually. I'll have it ready to race again by the time you are, assuming you still want to.”

“Hell yeah I want to!”

“Dude!” Church scowls at him. “You were nearly killed, Grif. Are you seriously planning to go back out and race some more?”

“Yes. It's easy money, man, and I have plans. And I'm not letting that rat Jimmy Murphy scare me away from racing, either. What's going on with him, anyway?”

Tex shrugs. “They're looking into it but so far there's no proof of foul play. Bearings mess up all the time, we've got two in the shop right now even. It looks like he's going to get away with it, from where I'm standing.”

“And what's to stop him from doing it again? Two people got hurt- it sounds like someone actually died last time- speaking of, how's the guy I hit? Is he doing any better?”

“He's out of critical condition,” Connie says. “I've been to see him a couple of times, he's really in bad shape. He's going to be awhile recovering, that's for sure. And he'll have to spend awhile in physical therapy, I overheard his parents talking about it.”

Grif slumps back, a little relieved. If the guy had died because of Jimmy's tampering- but everyone keeps telling him the guy is fine, and he knows Tex, at least, wouldn't sugarcoat or lie to him.

Tex and Connie only stay for a little while; they're bickering playfully when they leave and Grif is in a better mood for their visit. Church leaves too, not long after, and Grif is alone. He finds his thoughts too loud to bear, now that there's no one to distract him, and he keeps drifting inevitably back to Sarge, to the crushing realization that Sarge really does think of him as a burden. He isn't sure why he's so surprised- after all, Sarge has made it clear from day one how he feels. He supposes it's because everyone has been so insistent that he's wrong that he's managed to convince himself that he was. But all the same, he still thinks he shouldn't be so surprised.

*

He doesn't see Simmons until the third day when he wakes up, and when the other boy finally does come in to see him, he's carrying Grif's school bag.

“I brought your homework,” he says. “So you can keep caught up with class.”

“Sure, thanks,” Grif says. “I'll be sure to ignore that as soon as I can.”

“I just thought you might be getting bored here, with nothing to do.” Simmons huffs, and settles into the chair irritably. “And it's good to keep up with your classes.”

“I barely care about keeping up with my classes when I'm not in the hospital. You should have brought my DS instead. Or my computer.”

“I did, dumbass. They're both in your backpack. I brought your headphones, too, and a few dvd's because I know you're probably getting sick of daytime television. And your phone charger.”

Grif looks sheepishly into his backpack and immediately pulls the charger out. His phone was dead before he ever woke up, and he's been itching to know what's going on outside of his room. He's never quite aware of how much constant contact with his friends means to him until he doesn't have it anymore.

Simmons helps him get his phone and computer plugged in, then folds his arms and stares pointedly at Grif. “Well?” he says. “Aren't you going to apologize?”

“No.” Grif sticks his tongue out childishly, halfway distracted by checking his missed texts. “But I will say thank you.”

“Yeah you better say thank you. Do you know how much time I spent finding all of this stuff in that trash pile you call a bedroom?”

“Is that why you haven't been to see me since I woke up?”

Simmons at least has the decency to look embarrassed. He stares down at his hands. “I haven't had time to visit,” he says quietly. Grif scoffs.

“Please, even Sarge has been able to find time to visit me.”

“Sarge has his own transportation and was able to get someone to sub his classes for him.”

“And you're my boyfriend You should have found a way. Get a ride with someone, or something.”

“I just haven't had time, okay? I'm sorry.”

He's still staring at his lap, so he misses the hurt look that passes over Grif's face when he turns back to his phone. After several minutes, Grif finally makes it through his missed messages and sets his phone down.

“Did you even come see me while I was out of it?” he asks. Simmons shrugs.

“I mean, I've seen you sleeping before. It's not like you were going to do anything interesting.”

“According to Tucker, I was high as a kite and hilarious. You missed that.”

Simmons glares at him. “Fine. Next time you land yourself in the hospital, I will be sure to stay at your bedside the whole time.”

“That's all I ask,” Grif says, deliberately ignoring the sarcasm. “So what's this I hear about you giving Donut the cold shoulder?”

“How do you even know about that?”

“Just because you're a jerk who won't come see me doesn't mean everyone else is. Tucker told me.”

“Well.” Simmons huffs, and folds his arms again. “I'm angry at him.”

“Why? Is it that bullshit about Jimmy?”

“He didn't tell us! He knew Jimmy was going to try something and he didn't say anything.”

“He didn't need to. I've known Jimmy would try hobbling me since I met him.”

“He still should have said something.”

“Would you lay off? It's not Donut's fault. Knock it off.”

Simmons frowns. “Why are you suddenly so defensive of Donut? I thought you didn't like him?”

“Of course I like Donut, we're practically brothers.”

“Legally you are brothers, but you've never actually acknowledged that.”

“Yeah, well.” Grif leans back. “Maybe it's the painkillers, dude, I don't know. I just don't want Donut to feel like it's his fault I'm hurt and I know you blaming him isn't helping. Kid's been through enough as it is.”

Simmons purses his lips thoughtfully, checks his phone for something to do. “What's with these sudden feelings about Donut?”

“I told you, I don't fucking know. I've had too much time to think, I guess. Can't get my mind to shut down up here.”

“Hmm. You thinking about more than whatever you're immediately occupied with? Will wonders never cease.”

“Jerk.”

“Dumbass.”

They glare at each other for a long moment. Simmons brings his hand up to rest on the side of the bed; Grif automatically brings his hand to rest on top it, twining their fingers together.

“I was really scared,” Simmons says quietly. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“Hey.” Grif brings Simmons hand up to his lips for a delicate kiss. “Don't go thinking like that. I'm not going anywhere. I'm too lazy.”

“Too lazy to die?”

“Long tunnel with a bright light at the end? That's way too much walking, dude. And no you there to make it worth it. Nah, I'll stay here.”

"Dumbass," Simmons says. He's smiling when he says it.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Cappy gets Simmons home sometime during the fuzzy period between way too fucking late and unpleasantly early. Simmons staggers up to bed while Cappy explains the situation to his concerned mother; he collapses onto his bed without bothering to do more than kick his shoes off and is asleep in moments.

When he wakes up, a little while past noon, his blankets are over him and there's a tray of sandwiches on his bedside table. He fumbles for his glasses and kicks his covers aside, and sits up. He has a moment of disorientation before his full memory returns and he buries his face in his hands over the realization. He's still like that a moment later when his moment comes in.

“Good, you're awake,” she says. She comes over to sit beside him. “I was starting to think you were going to sleep all day.”

“I feel like sleeping all day.” Simmons groans and rubs sleepily at his eyes before bringing his hands back down to his lap. “I'm so tired.”

“I know, baby.” She puts an arm around him and pulls him to her, petting his hair with gentle hands. “Butch called about an hour ago. He said Grif is doing a little better now, if that helps.”

“Yeah, it does,” Simmons says quietly. It's nice, being petted.

“But not by much?”

He just shakes his head. She gives him a fond look and brings him down to rest his head in her lap, still petting his hair. He's reminded of many times when he was a little boy, when he was upset and she'd hold him and pet him until he felt better, and he's grateful for that.

She tangles her fingers in his thick curls, makes a soft humming sound. “Ten years I've spent trying to get you to top cutting these off, and in the end all it took was a cute boy telling you they were pretty.”

“I don't like them long,” he says quietly. “You know that. They're too thick, they make my head hot and they get in the way. And I am still keeping them cut, you know.”

“Mm-hmm. But not as often and not as short.”

“I like how it feels when Grif plays with my hair,” he says, and turns his head enough to bury it in her thigh. He feels like he's probably close to tears at this point. His mom hums softly again.

“I'm going up to the hospital later to visit Grif. Are you coming with me?”

“I don't- um...” He swallows. “I uh, I really shouldn't. I have loads of studying to do- I already missed out on half a day and- and you know, they're not letting in anyone but immediate family right now anyway, so- so there's really not much point.”

Her hand stills in his hair. “Dick?”

“Yeah?”

“It's okay if you're afraid.”

There's a long silence, while her hand resumes its gentle motions. After a moment, he lets out a shuddery breath.

“It's not right,” he says, halfway to a sob. “He's not- he's not supposed to look like that. They let me in for- for just a minute before we left. Just long enough I could see for myself he was okay, and he- he's got all these machines hooked up to him to- to help him breath, to make sure his heart doesn't start failing and- and-” He takes another deep breath, scrubs away tears on the fabric of her jeans. “Its not right.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

“I just can't look at him like that.”

“You know he'd want you to visit.”

“Yeah.”

“I won't force you to go. But you know if you don't, he'll be hurt when he finds out.”

“I know.”

“Do you think he'll understand?”

“No. But I still don't think I can go.”

“Okay.”

*

After Cappy drops Donut and Kai off at the house, Donut takes Kai upstairs and puts her to bed before going to his own room. He's still awake, a bit, and he can't sleep, so he takes his phone out and, after staring at the screen for a moment, pulls up his last conversation with Maine.

Can I get you to come over for awhile?

There's a long break before he gets a reply. slping ovr w wash, the reply says. After another long break, a second reply. ii can com ovr if you nd m to.

Donut stares at his phone for awhile longer. No, it's fine , he sends back. I'll see you tomorrow .

k

Donut sighs and lays back on his bed, leaves his phone on his bedside table and roles over to face the wall. He curls in on himself with another sigh, pulls the covers over his head, and lets the tears come until exhaustion drags him into unconsciousness.

*

Lopez and Sheila have come over by the time Donut finally wakes up. Sheila is washing the breakfast dishes, but when she sees him she sets this aside and opens her arms without a word. He steps into her embrace willingly, grateful for the maternal warmth she has to offer and not even bothered that her belly is in the way of a proper hug. He needs this, this comfort and reassurance that she offers.

“Where's Lopez?” he asks, when he finally pulls away, wiping tears away on his sleeve. “And Kai? Is she still asleep?”

“Lopez took Kai into town to get groceries,” she says. “He thought it might be a good distraction for her.”

“How's she doing?”

“Okay. I think she's too tired to be anything else, but she tells me she's confident that Grif will be okay. As am I, for that matter. He's tough. You'll see.”

“Well I'm glad you're not worried. That's not good for the baby, you know.” He opens the fridge. “Were there any leftovers from breakfast?”

“We had bacon sandwiches. There's a few pieces in the microwave, if Lopez didn't take them.”

Donut checks the microwave; there's just enough left to make a sandwich, so he grabs them and throws some bread in the toaster. He leans on the counter while he waits, watches Sheila while she gets back to the dishes. “How soon are you guys going to be able to move into your new apartment?”

“Hopefully the beginning of next week. You'll help us move, won't you?”

“Sure. You shouldn't be doing any heavy lifting, anyway. That's-”

“-not good for the baby,” she finishes, amused but with a hint of impatience in her tone. “That's what Lopez keeps telling me, every time I try to do anything. He's become a bit of a mother hen about all this.”

“He's just worried because he loves you. It's sweet.”

“Sweet, but also irritating. I know what I'm capable of, I'm not going to push myself too hard or risk hurting my baby, you know. But I can carry light things. I can help.” She huffs. “It's not enough to worry about though, I suppose. And his mother did have a history of miscarriages...” She trails off, chews her lip thoughtfully. “I guess I can forgive him for hovering a little. Even if he is driving me crazy.”

“There you go.” Donut smiles brightly at her, and turns to make his sandwich as his toast pops up. “Besides, there's worse things than being pampered.”

“I've been pampered my whole life. I want to be independent and self-reliant.”

“I've been that. I'd rather have someone to take care of me.”

“I don't mind Lopez taking care of me. I mind that it feels so one-sided. We're supposed to take care of each other. We're supposed to be a team.”

“True. But sometimes you need your teammate to carry all of the weight for a little while. You were on the wrestling team in school, right? If someone got hurt, would you expect them to carry on doing their usual? Isn't it the same thing?”

Sheila turns to eye him, and smiles. “No. We'd all pick up the slack while they healed. You're right.” She winks. “But it's still frustrating.”

*

Simmons ends up staying home and studying when his mom drives up to Valhalla to visit Grif. He feels a stab of guilt as she pulls out of the driveway, but he tells himself, repeatedly, that it wouldn't matter anyway. He's not immediate family. He wouldn't get to see him. There'd be no point in his visiting anyway.

Mom gets home just in time for dinner, bringing home a family bucket from KFC rather than come home and cook. Simmons sets the table while she fills him in one what Sarge told her while she was there (Simmons was right; they're still not letting in anyone but family). According to Sarge, Grif is doing better, though she expresses doubt in how Sarge is doing.

“I haven't seen him like that since Jenna was hospitalized,” she says, glancing at his dad as he comes in to join them. She moves out of the way of the sink so he can wash his hands, and leans on the counter with a sigh. “I don't think he could handle losing Grif, too. I hope for his sake that boy pulls through. Rich, grab some forks out of the drawer.”

“Chicken is finger food, Esme,” he says. She waggles a serving spoon at him.

“You want to eat your mac and cheese and mashed potatoes with your hands, be my guest. But Dick and I will be using forks.”

He grumbles- dad hates being corrected- but complies and brings forks to the table. There's a break in the conversation while they say grace, and mom starts passing around sides and chicken.

“Not that I think he won't pull through,” mom adds, with a glance at Simmons, who has gone an unpleasant shade of grey at the idea of losing Grif. “No, that boy is far too stubborn. Got too much of his daddy in him.”

Simmons nods, stares down at the drumstick in his hands. “Can we talk about something else?” he asks quietly. Dad grunts his agreement.

“Yes, Esme, let's change the subject. No doubt Dick doesn't want to think about his- boyfriend- in the hospital while he's eating dinner.”

Simmons snorts internally. Dad sounds almost pained saying the word boyfriend, but it's a big step up from not saying it at all. Maybe one day he'll be able to say it without even having to pause and steel himself, or making a face like his mouth tastes bad afterward.

Mom appears to agree, because she falls silent, but Simmons almost wishes he hadn't said anything because now his thoughts are chasing themselves around in his head. He chews slowly on chicken that takes unpleasantly like sawdust while his parents slowly fall into discussion about something one of dad's hands did out in the field today. He tries to focus on their words, hard to hear over the sound of buzzing in his ears.

“-lucky boy, Dick,” she's saying, when he finally manages to focus. “If Grif is anything like Red, he's going to age beautifully.”

Oh, they're back to Grif. Simmons wonders how they got onto this topic- whatever path it was, it has dad frowning. Simmons can't really blame him- he and Sarge look the same age, but he's a good seven or eight years younger than the other man, and already going to seed. Where dad's hard work has taken its toll on him, Sarge's seems to have frozen his aging in place- even with the heavy scarring and the many tattoos that decorate him.

“You're upsetting Dick, Esme,” Dad says, still frowning. “How do we keep getting onto this subject, anyway?”

“I'm sorry,” she says. “I'm just worried about them. Dick isn't the only one in this family who loves them, you know.”

“Right.” Simmons glances down at his dinner, barely touched, and takes a long gulp of his drink. “I'm not hungry,” he says, standing. “I'm going to go back to studying. Thank you for dinner, mom.”

He hears her saying something as he leaves, but the buzzing is back in his ears and he doesn't bother trying to make it out. He just wants to get his thoughts quiet so he can stop worrying, just for a few minutes. But the image of Grif lying in his hospital bed won't leave his head; he sits at his desk staring at his math book for a long time before groaning and dropping his head onto it. “Grif. Why can't you just be okay?”

*

Donut finally manages to get a message to Church about Grif's accident late in the afternoon, while he's sitting at the table for dinner and trying to hold his tongue and not lash out at either of his parents. The obvious tension between his parents isn't helping, and his mom keeps eying Carolina with distaste as well, which Church finds the least forgivable- whatever Carolina's mom did to anger Church's mother, it's nothing she has any right to take out on Carolina.

Dad scowls at him when his phone goes off, but he ignores it and glances at the text anyway, frown deepening as he does.

“Grif wrecked his car at the races last night,” he says, turning to Carolina. “He's in the hospital in critical care now.”

Worried lines furrow across Carolina's brow. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Donut says he's holding stable, but that's all he knows. I think I'm going to drive up after dinner and visit him. You want to come with me?”

“Yes,” Carolina says, at the same time mom says, “Who is Grif?”

“He's our friend.” Church scowls. “You wouldn't know him.”

This gets a frown from mom; dad sets his fork down.

“Was anyone else hurt?”

“Donut says he ran into another car, but he doesn't know how he's doing.”

“How late will you be out?”

“I don't know. Long enough to see how he's doing? I mean, they probably won't let us see him- Donut says it's just immediate family right now- I just- you know, I want- you know, I just want to see for myself.”

A furious blush crawls into his cheeks, and he stares down at his food as though this is the source of his anger. He stabs his potato once, then sighs. “I'm not really hungry. Carolina, let me know when you're done so we can head out.”

Carolina doesn't take much longer to finish dinner- in truth, she's just as desperate to get out of the adults' company as Church is- and the two head off with reminders to be back by curfew (dad) and to drive safely (mom). Once they're on the interstate, Carolina side-eyes him thoughtfully.

“Are you going to be okay?” she asks.

“I'm fine.”

“No you're not.”

“Why did you ask if you weren't going to take my answer?”

“I asked if you were going to be okay. Grif is one of your best friends and you don't take this sort of thing very well.”

“Think I don't know that?”

“I'm just worried about you.”

“I'm fine. Or I will be,” he adds, at the look she shoots him. “Once I can see for myself that he's okay.”

*

The hospital are just starting to lax the no non-immediate family rule when Church and Carolina arrive, and they're allowed into the room for a few minutes. Seeing Grif like this is unnerving- he doesn't even look like he's sleeping, since Grif tends to sprawl when he sleeps comfortably, mouth wide open and one arm thrown over his belly. They leave long before their time is up, taking seats outside the room while Sarge tells them what details he can before he goes back in.

“Oh dear, he still hasn't gone home, has he?”

They look up to see Cappy coming up to join them, Tucker trailing behind. Tucker and Church lock eyes and scowl for a moment before each turning their gaze elsewhere; Church turns to Cappy. “Sarge? He was here when we got here, so, looks like it.”

Cappy just sighs. “He won't leave until he's forced to,” he says. “Stupid man won't take care of himself- I'll have to bring him some food later. But Church, how are you? I heard your mother is in town-”

“How do you even know that?”

Cappy just gives him a knowing smirk. “I have my ears to the ground, you know. And your father called me in a bit of a state after she arrived. He's not happy to see her.”

“Well he can join the goddamn club because no one else is happy see her either. I just wish she'd fuck off back to Sidewinder where she belongs- and far away from me.”

Cappy just purses his lips, glances at Tucker- still staring resolutely out the window- and then moves over to sit down with a heavy sigh. “I don't blame you,” he says. “Your mother is an exhausting woman. You know I don't like to speak ill of people-”

“-she's a bitch is what she is,” Church says, scowling. “Just call it as you see it.”

“I try not to speak ill of people,” Cappy repeats. “But yes, she is a bit of a bitch. I never liked her very much. Nor did she like me, for that matter. I was too close to Allison. And oh she hated Allison.”

Church makes a soft noise at that, glances at Carolina. For her sake he won't say what he's thinking- that he's not crazy about the woman either, after the way her shadow has ruined both his and her lives even years after her death.

“We should go,” he says, instead. “We only came up to see how Grif was doing.”

“I'm sure he'd be glad to know you care,” Cappy says, waving as they start making their way to the elevator. “Tell your mother I said hello.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Simmons takes the bus to school that Monday, since Grif isn't there to take him and he's not willing to ride with Donut in Maine's truck. He knows he's probably being irrational, but he can't shake the need to blame Donut for what's happened to Grif. After all, if he'd just warned them about Jimmy- about his history- maybe Grif would have been more careful. If he'd come forward at the time of the first wreck, Jimmy wouldn't have even been there to sabotage their car in the first place.

(There's a tiny voice in the back of his mind that is saying this is unfair- that Donut would have been only fourteen at the time and likely scared, that he'd just lost a good friend and was no doubt hurting too much to think rationally- but at the same time it helps him to blame the other boy, because it makes it seem like the sort of thing that could have been prevented- like it wasn't just random chance, that Grif wouldn't have to be lying in a hospital bed right now, instead of driving to school and bitching about early mornings like usual. Like he's supposed to be.)

There's a sub in Sarge's class when Simmons passes by on his way to homeroom. He feels weird about that- he's not sure Sarge has ever needed a sub in his life. In homeroom, he glances at his usual seat- at the empty seat beside it that Grif usually claims- and drops his bag into a different seat entirely. He's probably taking someone else's usual spot and they'll probably be angry, but right now he can't handle his regular place.

Sure enough, only a moment later South is standing scowling over him. “You're in my seat, fuckstick,” she says. “Get out.”

“There's nowhere else,” he says, for once too exhausted to actually be afraid of South. She turns to point at the two empty seats where he and Grif normally sit, then hesitates. Her face softens a little, and she sighs and settles into the seat behind him.

“How's he doing?” she asks quietly. “Church told me what happened. Are you holding up okay?”

Simmons raises his head to look at her. There's genuine concern in her eyes, and he remembers that she and Grif get along very well, that Grif always speaks so well of South and that the pair are actually friends. He drops his gaze back to his lap. “Last I heard he was out of critical condition. Dr. Grey says his odds are pretty good right now.”

“Oh god, she's not his doctor, is she?”

“No, she's banned from practicing in that hospital.”

“Hardly surprising. And you? How are you doing?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Because you two are more joined at the hip than a pair of Siamese twins and you can't possibly be taking this well.”

“I'm not the one in the hospital.”

“Also, you look like you haven't slept in two days.”

“I slept most of Saturday.”

“Didn't do you any good, then.”

He scowls. She laughs. “I'm dating Church, you idiot. Scowls don't really work on me anymore.”

This only makes him scowl harder, and she slaps his back gently. “Okay, okay, I'll stop. Man. I hope Grif gets better soon, just so you'll cheer up a bit.”

*

Tucker finds Caboose after homeroom, slipping his hand into the other boy's while they walk to class. Caboose smiles down at him, rubbing his thumb over Tucker's knuckle comfortingly. “You need to sleep,” he says. Tucker shrugs.

“We were at the hospital till late last night,” he says. “Sarge didn't want to go home so Cappy had to persuade him.”

“Did he do it by asking nicely?”

Tucker hesitates. In fact Cappy had knocked him out and wrestled his unconscious form into the front of Dr. Grey's truck, but it was so surreal and Tucker was so tired that he's not entirely sure that's what he'd actually witnessed. “...yeah, by asking nicely. You know how Cappy is about manners.”

“Yes. He is very nice, and absolutely doesn't call people cocksuckers, because that would be mean.”

It's oddly specific. Tucker wonders if Caboose has actually heard Cappy calling someone a cocksucker at some point. Tucker shakes his head.

“Hey Caboodle, you want to come over tonight? I don't think I can stand another trip to the hospital right now and if I stay home I'll be stuck with Reggie and Gary. I know your parents don't like you to be out on a school night, but, please? I can have you home by curfew, I just need some company for awhile.”

“Hmmm.” Caboose pretends to think about this, then leans down with a smile so that he and Tucker are face to face. “Okay!” he says. “I will bring some of the cake my mom made yesterday and we can make out on your bed.”

“Oh hell yeah.” Tucker grins and loops a hand around the back of Caboose's neck and gives him a quick peck, pulling away before Wash or one of his hall monitor buddies can tweet their whistle and tell them off for pda. He straightens up and adjusts his bag, while Caboose does the same. “Okay, get to class before you're late. I'll see you at lunch?”

“Yes. Bye-bye~”

He waves while Tucker heads into his own classroom, ignoring the teasing whistle from York as he slides into his seat.

“You're just jealous that I have a hot boyfriend to make out with,” Tucker says, not looking up at him while he digs out book and notebook and a pencil. “And you're stuck with No-Eyebrows North.”

“Eyebrows have nothing to do with an ability to be a damn good kisser,” York says haughtily. “And North is hot even without eyebrows.”

“Hey York?”

“Yeah?”

“You ever think it's weird that, like, almost everyone we know is gay? I mean, that can't be statistically likely, you know. There's only like three hundred something kids in this whole high school. This seems disproportionate. Almost like some kind of weird plot element.”

York stares at him. “You okay dude?”

Tucker is silent, then shakes his head roughly, almost like he's waking himself up. “Sorry. I haven't gotten much sleep this weekend.”

*

Simmons is on his way up from the field after PE at the end of the day (track day is his best area in PE) when he spots Tex and Connie at Connie's jeep. Tex is leaning back against the jeep with Connie leaning on her; Tex has Connie's hands held up over their heads and the two look like they're fighting, but they're laughing. He hesitates, feeling like he's intruding, and is about to take another route when they spot him. Tex lets go of one of Connie's hands to wave at him; Connie takes advantage of this to pop one of the buttons on Tex's shirt. Tex looks indignant at this.

“Why you little- hi Simmons. Track day?”

“Yeah.” He looks down, face hot, unwilling to look at either of them too closely, not now that he's realized most of Tex's buttons are undone. “I should, um- I have to catch the bus, so, I should go.”

“Why are you taking the bus?” Tex asks. She has Connie's hands back in hers, keeping them in place effortlessly even as Connie struggles to get to her last two buttons. “If you need a ride, you can ride with me. We're going up to Valhalla to visit Grif soon anyway- you can come with us.”

“Oh! Um.” Simmons purses his lips, delving for an excuse. “Um, actually, one of dad's hands had to call in today and I promised that I'd cover for him. So uh, I should really get going.”

He half turns toward the buses, face falling as he realizes they're pulling out of the lot already. Tex snorts, then lets out a laughter-filled “Hey!” when Connie manages to get another of her buttons undone. Simmons' face gets even hotter as he realizes the only thing now between his vision and Tex's bra is a single button. Tex just gives him that shark-grin of hers.

“I don't mind giving you a ride, you know. Besides, I wanted to talk to you anyway.”

“Is it about Grif?”

“Yes. Or, more specifically, it's about Jimmy.”

“Oh.” Simmons scowls. Connie stops struggling with Tex, and hopes up to sit on the hood of the car while Tex redoes her buttons.

“You were at a couple of the races, right? You met the guy?”

“Yeah. He was a creep. Kept asking about Donut.”

“Yeah, exactly. Did you notice him hanging around the car while you were there?”

Simmons frowns, brow furrowed in thought as he tries to remember those nights. He'd spent most of the time off to one side, not wanting to get in the way of either Grif or the crew while they were dealing with the races. He remembers that he was very specifically a spectator that night; even between races, Grif didn't have much time to pay attention to him. He can't remember much about Jimmy, though- he'd paid the creep as little attention as he could, in the hopes that he would go away.

He shakes his head. “I'm sorry, I didn't pay much attention to him.”

“Dammit.”

“What's up?”

“He's saying that he didn't go anywhere near our car, and since I wasn't there at the time, it's his word against Stasney's. And Stasney apparently has a history of lies. Not to mention that his obsession with conspiracy theories is working against him.” She scowls, and slams her fist into her palm. “That little creep... I was hoping if I could prove he had a history of hanging around the car too close maybe that might help.”

“Sorry.” Simmons considers offering to lie- to say that he'd noticed Jimmy hanging around the car the few times he attended, but he hesitates. He's a terrible liar, and that might make things worse in the long run.

“Don't be sorry,” Tex says. “It's not your fault- it's that Jimmy Murphy. And when I get my hands on that little rat-” She cracks her neck angrily. Simmons suddenly remembers that he's terrified of her. “If the law won't take care of him, I will.”

Simmons whimpers. “Um. Maybe I'll find someone else to drive me home. I could call my mom-”

“Relax, idiot. You've done nothing to earn my wrath, at the moment.”

“It's that 'at the moment' part that worries me.”

“Just get in the car.”

*

Donut likes track and field practice days. At least, under normal circumstances. Today, he's just tired- he didn't get much sleep over the weekend, and he's too worried about Grif to really pay attention to what he's doing. There's also Maine, who he normally loves getting to see during practice, but has been a bit aloof over the past few days. He knows something is wrong, but he can't think what it must be. He wishes Maine would talk to him, but the other boy has never been particularly talkative and unlike Wash, Donut isn't blessed with the ability to understand Maine's silences.

Donut settles on the sidelines for a break and watches the pair of them- and Doc- running laps. Doc and Wash are distance runners, keeping a distance ahead of the sprinter that is Maine as they run. Every time Wash passes Maine by, he laughs and calls 'on your left!', which usually just sets Maine flipping him off with a growl. Occasionally, though, he'll pick up speed and start charging, while Wash desperately tries to keep ahead of him before he loses his wind. He's doing that now; Donut laughs and watches them, ignoring the pang that twists his belly at the thought of how easy Wash and Maine get along.

He hears heavy breathing at his side and turns to see Doc, who grabs his water bottle and sits beside him. “You've noticed it too, haven't you,” he says. Donut glances away.

“Noticed what?” he says, not quite able to keep his voice from cracking a little.

“Them. Whatever they are.” He sighs. “Wash has been my best friend since we were in diapers- literally. I've always known him better than anyone. But lately- it seems like Maine always comes first.” He falters, realizes how he must sound. “I mean- I'm sure it's just because our relationship has changed into something new and so the best friend space is open now,” he adds. “He's probably still adjusting.”

He doesn't sound like he believes that, and he and Donut both turn their gaze to their water bottles, unwilling to look at either each other or their boyfriends, still running laps around the field.

“Break's over, you two!” Coach calls to them. They share a look, then sigh and stand, Doc going back to laps while Donut heads over to rejoin his own group. Donut glances over at Doc, and doesn't fail to notice that he's hanging back rather than try to catch up with Wash and Maine.

*

The reason Reggie and Gary are at Cappy's place is because their apartment lease ran out last month, and rather than renew it when they would be moving in just a couple months anyway , they'd simply placed most of their things in storage and are now staying with Cappy. Tucker barely gets any privacy anymore, not now that he's sharing his room with Gary (and his room is way too small for two people, but Cappy keeps reassuring him that it's just for a few months). He really can't wait to move and get Gary out of his room.

He also can't wait to move because in the new house, his room will be on the other end than Cappy and Reggie's- which means Tucker won't have to wear his headphones to bed anymore (how Gary stands it, especially when his bed is against the shared wall, is a mystery).

He's managed to get a little bit of privacy now, though, by persuading Reggie to keep Gary in the living room while Caboose is over.

“Come on, dude,” he'd said. “I just want to spend a little time alone with my boyfriend. I know you can understand that. Just make him stay in the living room. Or the den. Pleeeease?”

Reggie had eyed him, twisting his mustache thoughtfully before finally nodding. “All right, I suppose that's fair. But no hanky-panky! I was a teenage boy once, you know.” (“A hundred years ago,” Tucker thinks.) “Keep your pants on . And your trousers, too,” he adds. “If I look in I expect all clothes to be on your bodies.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tucker waves that away absently- not like he's in any danger of getting laid any time soon anyway, not as long as he's dating Caboose. He's not entirely sure Caboose even knows what sex is. “Just keep the twerp away from me for awhile. I mean twerp with affection,” he adds, when Reggie frowns over the insult to his son.

Caboose arrives not much later, carrying a tupperware bowl with cake in it. He greets Reggie, ruffles Gary's hair, and lets Tucker drag him back into his bedroom with a frustrated noise. Tucker pulls him down into a deep kiss, pouring every bit of his tension into it while Caboose just lifts him up and settles back on the bed, adjusting them so Tucker's knees are either side of his waist and Tucker can reach him comfortably. When Tucker finally breaks the kiss, Caboose smiles at him and gives him a quick peck.

“You are in a bad mood,” he says. Tucker nods. “Do you want to talk about it?” Tucker shakes his head. “Are you sure?”

This time Tucker hesitates, before shrugging and sitting back onto Caboose's legs, just behind his knees. “My house is too crowded,” he says. “I don't like sharing my room, I don't like how thin the walls are, and I don't like that Reggie keeps acting like he's my dad or something. I'm worried about Grif, my fight with Church is exhausting me but I'm not done being mad at him, I'm stressing over exams, and all the work we're putting into planning Cappy's wedding is taking its toll on me.” And I'm desperately horny but can't even ask my boyfriend for sex because there's no way he'd understand what I'm asking for . “It's just a lot to deal with at the moment.”

Caboose is silent for a long time. He takes Tucker's hands, tangling their fingers together while he thinks, before he finally asks, “Do you need me to do anything for you?”

“Just hang out here for awhile,” he says, a sigh coloring his voice. “We can eat cake and I can forget my troubles for a little while.”

“I can do that,” Caboose says. He opens his mouth as though he's about to say something, then seems to think better of it and smiles. “It is good cake. Maybe we can also watch a movie? And then not watch the ending?”

Tucker leans his forehead against Caboose's, gives him a tiny little kiss, and nods. Caboose always knows how to cheer him up- and Tucker hasn't seen the ending of a movie since they started dating.

*

Tuesday and Wednesday pass with much the same tension as Monday. Grif's accident is all over the school now, the current biggest source of gossip, between the interest in Grif's condition and the continuing absence of Sarge. His sub is mostly giving his classes review worksheets that Sarge is sending, and a few students have complained that they're falling behind while a few others are telling those to shut the fuck up because the man is too worried about his kid to really teach them and don't you have any heart ?

Church just taps his pen irritably on the desk, and pretends not to know that they're only saying that because they like not having to do actual work. (He's already finished his own review worksheet, and the next three as well, because he was bored. He misses Sarge. The man is the only teacher in this whole damn school who actually knows how to engage Church's mind fully in class, and Physics is the least boring subject in school as a result.)

“Mr. -Church,” the sub says, getting his attention with one eye on the seating plan. “Are you going to pay attention to your work, or not?”

“I already finished,” he says. “And the next three, too.”

“Really.” He looks like he doesn't believe it, and he comes back to Church's seat and holds his hand out for the worksheets. Church hands them over with a scowl, folding his arms and staring up at him while he looks over the answers. After a moment, the man sighs and hands the sheets back. “These are completely correct,” he says. “Did you have help?”

“No. I just have an IQ that's off the charts and this stuff is child's play for me.”

The sub looks startled, and makes his way back up to the front. He consults his notes.

“Oh,” he finally says. “Sarge left me a note about you, actually- there's some extra work for you in this folder. I'm sorry, I didn't catch that.”

“Yeah, well-” Church shrugs. “I'm not exactly complaining about a lack of extra work.”

He goes back to tapping his pen irritably while he tends to the worksheets, then jumps, startled, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He slides it out of his pocket and squints down at the text. It's from Donut.

Grif finally woke up , the text reads, and another one is already coming through. Sarge is with him now and he's pretty coherent. Can you take me to visit him after school?

A flood of relief washes over his entire form. He keys in a y and slides his phone back into his pocket, then turns back to his worksheet with less of a scowl than usual.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Grif has gotten used to these evenings with him and Sarge, Cappy, and Tucker in his hospital room. It's actually kind of nice- Sarge is different when Cappy is around, more at ease, more relaxed, and Grif recalls some distant conversation he and Cappy had once had, where Cappy had told him that the war had changed Sarge, that Grif never knew him before the horrors he saw had twisted him into the man Grif knows now. He thinks he can almost see him, though, when Cappy is around.

He wishes he could have met that Sarge. He thinks maybe he'd have liked him.

Now they're talking about something Gary did earlier, while Grif helps Tucker with his math homework (he's given up pretending not to be good at math around them- they've caught on to him and there's no point). He's got half an ear on their conversation, so he hears when Sarge chuckles at whatever joke Cappy made, and gestures over at Grif.

“That one's my problem child,” he says. “The other three don't give me half so much trouble as he does, put together.” He chuckles again, not noticing the scowl forming on Grif's face or the look that passes between Tucker and Cappy. “Can't really see any of them doing something to land themselves in the hospital.”

“If I'm such a problem then why did you even keep me?” Grif says, surprising himself as much with his outburst as he appears to surprise Sarge. Tucker reaches over to grab his math book and stuffs it into his bag before standing; Grif ignores him and clenches his fists in his lap. “You used to threaten to send me back to Hawaii all the time- why don't you? Since I'm such a problem . Cause I don't remember ever asking to be your problem.”

“Tucker, I think it's time we left,” Cappy says, but Tucker is already halfway out the door (“Dude, I am way ahead of you.”). Cappy hangs behind, standing in front of Sarge, who looks baffled and little bit lost.

“Please don't leave,” Sarge says. Cappy just makes a soft noise and takes Sarge's face in his hands, forcing Sarge to look him in the eye.

“Sarge? Talk . To your son .”

“But-”

“Talk.”

He's out the door before Sarge can protest again, leaving the man to shuffle awkwardly before turning to face Grif, who is still fuming, fists clenching and unclenching in his lap. Sarge swallows around a sudden lump in his throat.

“I'm sorry,” he says, suddenly, quietly. Grif's head snaps up, his jaw slack, before snapping back and frowning harder.

“What?”

“I'm sorry. I know that- doesn't really mean much, but I am. I made ya' think I didn't care about ya', and for that I'm sorry.”

Grif takes a minute to process this, and takes a deep, steadying breath. “Four years,” he says. “Four years you've treated me like shit, four years you've spit hate and anger and poison at me. Four years I've had to put up with hell, and you think sorry is going to make up for that?”

“No. But I'm sorry all the same.”

He paces for a moment, rubs tiredly at his face and finally takes a seat at the end of the bed, back to Grif, shoulders slumped in defeat. Grif stares, not sure what to make of this Sarge, who seems more tired and broken than Grif has ever seen him. Grif almost takes pity on him there, but his words from the other night are still echoing in Grif's head and Grif's face hardens again.

“I heard the things you said,” he says. “When you sat at my bedside a few nights ago and told me what a disappointment I am.”

“Disa-” Sarge seems startled. He half turns to give Grif a bewildered look; his eyes widen as he remembers. He turns back away. “Grif, I said you disappoint me, not that you're a disappointment.”

“What's the difference?”

“There's a huge difference! Grif, you're one of the smartest kids I've ever known in ten years teaching. Given half a chance and a little effort you could think circles around any of your classmates, and you- you pretend you're an idiot, that you need Simmons to talk you through all of your schoolwork! Of course ya' disappoint me! You could be so much better than you are and you won't even try !”

“Well maybe I don't care about any of that!” Grif makes a disgruntled noise. “I pass all my classes. I don't get into much trouble. I only get detention sometimes, and for dumb things like being late or skipping class. I've never had any trouble with the law. Why can't that be enough for you?”

“Because you could do better ! Because you're better than that!”

“But I don't want to be better than that! Don't you get it? None of that matters to me! I'm just a kid! I'm sixteen! I just want to hang out with my friends and do dumb teenager shit and if I don't make honor roll or get straight a's, I'm okay with that. I just want to be a kid. I don't care about my potential.” He watches Sarge while he speaks, his vitriol slowly dissolving at the way the man's shoulders sag more with every word. Finally, Grif looks away, stares down at his lap. “I'm sorry I disappoint you,” he says, quietly. “I know I'm not the son you wanted- that I'm just a reminder of your failures. Maybe if you had someone different you'd be happier. I don't know. I just want to enjoy myself. I don't care if I'm the best. I wish that was enough for you.” He swallows, hard. “I wish- I wish I could make you proud of me without giving that up.”

“Oh, Grif .” Sarge clenches his hand at his side, raises one shaking fist and makes a motion in front of his face. His shoulders are trembling. “I am proud of you. I am so goddamn proud of you .”

“Wh-”

“I don't show it too well. I should. I know I should. I don't know how . So I fall back on what I do know, I fall back on sarcasm and insults and heated words and- and I don't stop to think how you'll take that and I messed up, I know that, but all can do is make it worse. And I want to be better for you because lord knows you deserve better but I don't know how .”

“You do okay with Lopez, and Donut and Kai.” He tries to keep the bitterness out of his tone, but it shows. Sarge lets out a weak laugh.

“They ain't mine though. I didn't abandon them before they were even born, I didn't ruin things for 'em because I'm- because I was too busy thinking of myself to actually be a father to my son.” He makes that jerking motion with his arm again. Grif's brow furrows at it. “Kalani told me she was pregnant and all I could think was this isn't how it's supposed to happen and I ran away. I told myself I was doing you both a favor but I was- I was scared.”

Sarge turns to stare out the window; Grif is startled to realize his face is wet. That his own face is wet, too.

“I'm scared, Grif. You terrify me, you don't even know.” He lets out a weak laugh, scrubs his tears away. Hangs his head. “Everything is just another way I could mess up, make my failures worse. It'd be better for you if you weren't mine cause maybe you'd have a daddy you deserve. One who can actually do right by you.”

Grif isn't really sure how to respond to that. He turns to stare at his heart monitor rather than look anywhere near Sarge, doing his best to focus on the green spikes of his heartbeat through the tears that keep forming.

“I always wanted a dad,” he says quietly. “When I was a kid. All the other kids had dads, why didn't I? And no one mom dated was really- I mean Kai's dad stuck around for a little while but mom never even told him she was pregnant. Said he didn't deserve a kid. Moved us to Wahiawa for a couple years just so he wouldn't accidentally find out. I really liked Wahiawa. There was an ice cream parlor- anyway...” He trails off, chances a glance at Sarge, who's watching him while he speaks. Looks away.

“All I ever wanted was a dad to hang out with, like my friends had. Mom was great- she was great but she wasn't- she couldn't be around much, you know? And she wasn't a dad, even if she did have a beard and people always thought she was my dad before they got a closer look. She was a mom and she was great but she wasn't a dad and that's all I ever wanted. And then mom died and you came along.” Grif sniffles, tries to keep his voice from cracking. “I didn't need you to be perfect. I didn't- cause I was gonna have a dad and I didn't need you to be perfect. I just wanted you to love me. That's all I wanted. It's all I ever wanted.”

He falls silent again, staring down at his lap and the tear stains on his blanket. He's dimly aware of the sound of Sarge standing and moving over to him, and then suddenly there are arms around him. He freezes, and slowly, hesitantly, brings his own arms up.

It's awkward and they're both relieved when Sarge pulls away. Grif sniffles, wipes his arm across his running nose and forces a soft laugh. “So was that as awkward for you as it was for me or...?”

“I do love ya', Grif,” Sarge says. “I'm sorry I don't show it well.”

*

Grif finally gets to come home from the hospital at the beginning of May, just in time to start reviewing for final exams at school. He whines a lot on his way to school that first day back, and is immediately surrounded by people once he actually gets there. Everyone wants to know the details of the wreck that they haven't been able to get, and Grif gets exhausted by his hangers on almost immediately.

“I wish everyone would just fuck off,” Grif grumbles, ducking into homeroom. He hands Miller his doctor's note and heads back to his seat with a groan.

South drops into the seat beside his, the one where Simmons usually sits, and glares at an approaching classmate until the boy gets the hint and shuffles quietly back to his seat. Grif gives South a grateful smile.

“Thanks, dude.”

“Hey, no problem. I'm just glad you're back. This place gets pretty dull without you around to talk to and all your friends in a sour mood because of you.”

“What?”

“Yeah, no kidding. You're really lucky to have friends who care so much about you, but they've been insufferable to the rest of us. It's kind of annoying, actually.” She pokes him. “So next time you go to land yourself in the hospital, remember what the rest of us will have to put up with and don't.”

“It's so nice, how much you care. How do you do it?”

“All right, nerdlord, I was actually worried about you, too.” She pokes him, more gently this time. “Don't scare me like that again.”

*

“We're going to start moving everything into the new house next week,” Tucker says, over lunch later that day. “You guys wanna help me move?”

“Can't,” Grif says. “I'm banned from doing any heavy lifting.”

“Well you can come stand around and make carrying noises with your mouth,” Tucker says. “Like you wouldn't have done that anyway.”

Grif sighs. “Fiiiiine. But only if Cappy feeds us while we're there.” He makes a content noise. “No one has ever made vegetables actually edible like he does.”

“At least with Sarge you actually get steak, though.” Tucker directs a pout at his pasta salad, which has a distinct lack of meat in it. “I just want some meat to put in my mouth. Bow chika bow wow.”

“You can have some of my meat,” Caboose says. He gestures to the steak nuggets on his tray, then pounds Tucker on the back when the other boy starts choking. “Are you okay, Tucker?”

“I'm fine!” Tucker wheezes, shooting a glare at the taunting look Grif is sending him. “Just fine!”

Caboose looks dubious, but he just picks up a few of his nuggets and sets them on Tucker's plate with a 'ta-da~' noise. Tucker manages to get his breathing under control, finally, and gives him a small smile.

“Thanks, Caboose.”

*

Maine and Donut head down to the lake after school that day. It's a warm day, and the lake is a popular spot to hang out on warm days- in the distance from their own secluded spot, they can see and hear other teens shouting on the shore, splashing in the shallows. Maine is swimming; from his grassy bank, Donut watches him, admiring the way the muscles bunch and pull under his skin as he moves.

When Maine finally emerges after his swim, he shakes himself off heavily, sending water over Donut while the other laughs. Then he throws himself into the grass at Donut's side, humming happily when Donut's hands are suddenly on him, chasing water down his chest and side as he leans in for a kiss that quickly deepens.

They're just setting a pace when Maine's phone buzzes. He sighs and digs it out of his bag, sitting nearby, and glances at the screen.

“Who is it?” Donut asks, a sinking feeling in his chest that he already knows the answer.

“Wash,” Maine grunts. He turns the phone off and shoves it back into his bag before pulling Donut over on top of him. “Where were we?”

Donut grins, and lets himself be pulled into a steadily deepening kiss.

*

Sarge is on the phone when Grif and Kai get home, and they start to slip through the room quietly when he waves for them to stay put. They do, a little baffled, but after a few minutes of 'yeah' and 'uh-huh' and other similar phrases, Sarge hangs up and turns to them, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“How'd you two like to spend a couple weeks in Hawaii this summer?” he asks. Grif raises an eyebrow.

“Are you serious?”

“Ayup. Remember that great-uncle I had pass away back in January?”

“The one that left you all that money?”

Sarge rolls his eyes. “Yes, that one. There were some tangles, but that was his lawyer, she says the whole thing was sorted out and the money should be getting here sometime in the next few weeks. And since it's been a few years since we had a family vacation, and I know you two must be homesick...” He trails off, and shrugs. A slow smile is spreading across Grif's face as he realizes that the offer is genuine.

“You- you're serious. You really wanna take us home.”

Sarge chuckles. “I'd have taken you for a visit sooner if I could've afforded it, you know. It'll have to be late in the summer, after the baby is born and after Butch's wedding. And it won't be anything fancy-”

“I don't care!” Grif is beaming; he grabs Kai's hands and spins her around, stopping when the exertion pulls uncomfortably at his stitches. “I don't care if we're taking an ancient jet and sleeping on the beach the whole time! Kai, Kai, we're going home.” His grins threatens to split his face. “The only down side will be waiting.”

He spins Kai again, more slowly this time, while she smiles up at him. “You're happy, bro?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I'm happy, too.”

*

When Tucker gets home that evening, he only spends about ten minutes in his room before Gary's constant jokes send him back out. He finds himself in the backyard, up in his old treehouse, the only place he has any sort of privacy. He sprawls back on the floor, staring up through the missing ceiling (they never got around to putting a roof on it) at the stars in the clear night sky.

After awhile, he hears a soft knock at the door and looks up to see Cappy poking his head inside. “I just came out to check on you,” he says. “You seemed upset.” He hauls himself up to sit in the doorway and looks around at the treehouse, running a hand thoughtfully over the faded, messily-done paint job of the walls (a chaotic overlap of teal, cobalt, maroon, and orange, because they'd never been able to agree on a color when they built it). “I haven't been up here in awhile,” he says.

“We didn't come up much once all my friends started growing and wouldn't fit anymore.” Tucker sits up, moves over to sit next to Cappy. “I'm not really upset. I just needed some space. Gary was bugging me.”

“The role of little brothers everywhere,” he says, laughing softly.

Tucker opens his mouth to say something, then hesitates, and all that comes out instead is a soft “oh.” Cappy raises an eyebrow at him. He shrugs. “I guess... he is going to be my brother, isn't he? I never actually thought of it but...”

Cappy nods. “I'm going to adopt him, once everything is said and done with Reggie and me. We've already talked about it with him. I'd like it if Reggie could adopt you, too, and make us a proper family, but I know how you and Reggie are about each other, so I've left that between you two. Has he said anything to you about it?”

“It might have come up.” In fact, Reggie's exact words had been 'You're not hoping I'm planning to adopt you once all is said and done with Butch and me, right?', to which Tucker had replied 'God, no', and the conversation had died then. Tucker decides not to mention that part. It'd probably just upset Cappy. “But, I mean, we're not any less of a family just because there's no papers to prove it.”

“I know.” Cappy pats Tucker's knee fondly. “Like I said, I'll leave that between you and Reggie.”

“Thanks.” Tucker leans his head back against the wall. “I think I might make up with Church.”

“That's good. I hate when you and your friends fight, you're always so miserable.”

“Yeah. I'm still mad at him, but... I dunno. I miss hanging out with him more than I want to stay mad.” He takes a long breath, letting out some of his frustrations. “Did you and Sarge ever fight this badly, when you were our age?”

“Mmm, sometimes. Not much. Sarge and Allison were the ones always at each other's throats.”

Tucker frowns. “But he always speaks so highly of her.”

“Of course. He loved her. Just because they fought sometimes- sometimes even fought physically- didn't change that. And Sarge and I have had more than our fair share of fights over the years, too, you know, and they never made me love him any less. That's what love is- you let someone under your skin and give them the power to hurt you.”

“What if it seems like all they ever do is hurt you?”

“Then you have to decide if they're worth it.” He pulls himself back onto the ladder. “You'll have to decide for yourself what you want, but I can give you this piece of advice: Church is a lot like Sarge was at that age, and Sarge is the truest friend I ever had- terrible attitude notwithstanding. Do you want to sleep out here tonight? I can bring your sleeping bag out for you.”

Tucker considers it, then shakes his head. “Nah. Nah, I'll head back in in a little while. If I sleep out here I'll just wake up cold and wet.”

“All right. Don't stay up too late, then.” He disappears down the ladder, but a moment later reappears. “You know, we haven't really had that much time for one-on-one us time since we started planning the wedding and getting ready for the move,” he says. “How about after everything settles down we go out of town for a couple of days, just the two of us?”

Tucker smiles. “Yeah. I'd like that.”

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Somewhere in the middle of June, not long after Connie, Tex, and York graduate from high school and only a few days before Cappy and Reggie's wedding, Sheila gives birth to a tiny little boy who looks way too small to have been made from his six-foot-plus parents. But he's got Sheila's cheekbones and Lopez's wild curls and there's a crooked tilt to his mouth that unmistakably came from his uncle and after all, Sarge points out, Lopez was also quite small when he was born.

The boy is named for his father, but Sarge teasingly refers to him as “Lopez Dos-point-oh” and less than three hours into his life, his entire family is just referring to him as Dos. Two hours after that, Lopez just tosses his hands into the air and accepts it before walking away, muttering to himself in Spanish.

Sarge just chuckles to himself and turns his attention back to the infant in his arms, brushing a thumb lightly over his round cheeks. “Don't mind him, Dos. It's a cute nickname, he'll get used to it eventually.”

“He won't have much choice, by the looks of things,” Sheila says. “Are you going to let me hold my son now, Sarge?”

“Aww... all.. all right, here.” He grumbles a little, but relents and hands the baby over to his waiting mother. “I mean ya've only been holding him for nine months...”

“You'll have plenty of time to hold him later,” Sheila says, while her nurse comes to shoo them out of the room. Sarge is the last to leave, brushing a hand lightly over Dos's curls one last time before following.

Outside, Dr. Grey is arguing with one of the doctors on the ward.

“We do not offer robot body parts to people with functioning limbs!” he's saying, looking about as exasperated with her as everyone else who talks to her for longer than five minutes, barring Sarge.

Dr. Grey humphs. “You just can't appreciate my science!”

“I can appreciate that you're a looney! Are we going to have to ban you from this hospital altogether?”

She sticks her tongue out at him when he storms off, then squeaks in delight when Sarge comes up behind her and loops his arms around her waist, nuzzling into the dark curls at the back of her neck. She hums and leans back into him.

“You're in a good mood. We should have gotten you grandchildren sooner.”

He just scoops her up and spins her around. “No. None of my kids were old enough to give me grandchildren sooner.” He shoots them all a collective look. “And I don't want any more for at least a few years, understood?”

Grif and Donut exchange a look. “You do remember that we're both into guys pretty much exclusively, right?”

“Good! Let's keep it that way!” He grins and kisses Dr. Grey, and nods at Kai. “And you're waiting at least a decade,” he adds. She just scoffs.

“Who wants kids anyway?”

“Oh, telllll me about it,” Dr. Grey says. “Do you know how many things can go wrong in a single pregnancy? And then you've got an infant to deal with and they need sooo much attention.”

“So no Sarge/Grey babies anytime soon, then?” Donut asks. Dr. Grey laughs.

“Oh, sweetie, I had my tubes tied years ago! And I'm on the pill, and we always use protection. I'm not taking any chances.”

Sarge looks like he's pouting at that, but all he does is grumble a little as he finally sets her down. “Ah- aw, well, it's probably for the best. I'm too old to be running after an infant anyway.”

“You have four, that's plenty.” She tweaks his chin and kisses him softly. “And now you have a grandson, too.”

“True.” His grin returns at that. “I can live with that.”

The kids turn their attention away from Sarge, ignoring his blatant pda. Grif is waiting for Simmons to get to the hospital (he'd had to wait around for his mom, who also wanted to see Dos) while Donut is texting Maine, a frown etching his face. Grif glances over at him curiously.

“Hey, Donut, what's up? You look like something's bothering you.”

“Huh? Oh, um.” Donut glances down at his phone again. “No, I'm fine. I just misunderstood, that's all.” He plasters that fake grin on his face and turns back to his phone. Grif frowns, but doesn't pry; if something is bothering him for real, he'll let them know. Probably.

I'm sorry, I didn't understand what you meant. Can we please drop it now?

fin

Donut sighs. This is getting ridiculous. I'm going to go hang out with my family now. Tell Wash I said hello.

not w wash

That's new . Donut stares down at the text. He should send it, but it feels too- too confrontational. He deletes it with a sigh and keys in a different message. Sorry, I assumed. I'll talk to you later.

k

He doesn't bother to respond. He's not even sure he believes it, that Wash isn't wherever Maine happens to be or vice versa- it seems lately they're always together, and Doc has said as much to him too.

“Wash is his friend,” Donut says to himself. “I should trust him. Still, though..”

“It's about time you got here.” Donut glances up at Grif's words, sees Simmons coming to join them. “You're too late to see Dos, they kicked us out so Sheila and Lopez could have some alone time with him.”

“Dos?”

Grif shrugs. “He's pretty cute, wait'll you see him. If you can get Sarge to put him down long enough,” he adds. “We only got to hold him for a few minutes apiece because Sarge doesn't like to share.”

Simmons settles beside Grif, who immediately takes his hand. “How much longer until they can have visitors again?”

Grif just shrugs, then grins as the Hargroves (finally) arrive. “Hey York, I got to see him first. And I got to hold him. Ha!”

“Aww, not fair.” York drops into the seat opposite Simmons with a pout. “Pop was in a meeting, and I was with Connie taking a load of boxes up to the new apartment. By the way, Connie's throwing a house-warming once we get moved in. Tex says you're coming.”

“Okay. Do I have to bring a gift?”

“Nah. But enough about that. Tell me about my nephew.”

“Our nephew. He's pretty cute. Not much else to say? And he's tiny. Like, fits in just your hands tiny.”

York looks pleased by that; meanwhile, Hargrove is arguing with Sarge about the injustice of not being allowed into the room.

“He's my grandson,” he's saying. “I'm just saying I should be allowed to see him!”

“And ya will be,” Sarge says. “Soon enough, anyway. His parents are spending a little time alone with him right now- give 'em time to bond. You'll have your chance.”

Hargrove looks almost ready to pout. “You're only saying that because you already got to hold him.”

Sarge doesn't even bother trying to hide his smug grin at that. “True. But I was here already- course I got to hold him first.” He waves Hargrove's protests away. “Just give 'em time. Ya waited nine months, an hour or so more won't hurt.”

“Hey, come walk with me,” Simmons says, pulling Grif to his feet. “Since we've got about an hour to wait anyway.”

Grif whines a little about standing, but lets Simmons pull him up and away anyway. They walk hand-in-hand through the corridors for awhile before Grif speaks.

“So where are we going, anyway?”

“Nowhere in particular. I was just hoping to find somewhere private where we could make out.”

Grif snorts. “Given the way Sarge and Dr. Grey were acting before you got here, I don't think anyone would have cared if we'd made out right there in the waiting room.”

“You know I hate pda,” Simmons mumbles. “Anyway, I was thinking- you know- maybe we could a little bit more than make out?”

“Oh.” Grif grins, and peeks into the room they're passing. It's empty; he pulls Simmons in and pulls the door closed behind them, pushing Simmons up against it. “Why didn't you say so sooner?”

*

Cappy and Reggie don't want to move into the new house until after the wedding, “So that our new life together has a fresh start,” Cappy had explained. They have started moving all of their things over, though- everything Reggie and Gary had in storage, the things from the attic and their winter things were the first things, but lately Tucker has also taken to throwing a few boxes in the car and taking them over just to get a little time away from his over-crowded home.

He's persuaded Church to help him this time, the other boy grumbling as he helps Tucker pile his boxes into the backseat of his car.

“What's in these boxes, anyway? Rocks?”

“Books, mostly. Some dvd's. My old action figures.” Tucker drops the last box into the seat and closes the door, and they head out. “Stuff that'll take me awhile to get onto the shelves so I have an excuse to stay gone for awhile.”

“You know you could just come hang over at my place,” Church says. “We won't be crowded and we don't have to do any work, either.”

“Maybe, but I also kinda like having the house to myself. Oh right, you haven't seen the new place, have you?”

“No, you haven't taken me over yet.”

“Aw man, wait'll you see it, it's huge. And there's a room between mine and Gary's, and a whole house between mine and Cap and Reggie's. No more wearing my headphones to bed because Cappy doesn't know to bite his pillow. Scoooore!”

“I didn't need to know that.”

“And I didn't need to know that Cappy calls Reggie Mr. Mustache in bed or that Reggie has a daddy kink, but we all have to suffer sometimes.”

Church snickers. “Man, I am so glad that my dad doesn't even have his room on the same floor as mine. I will go to my grave believing he has only had sex twice and that he and Aiden are just doing each other's nails during their sleepovers and nothing is going to change that.”

Tucker laughs. “Lucky you. Though Cappy's not as bad as my dad. He never seemed to quite figure out what was appropriate conversation to have around his eight-year-old son.”

“You know I feel like that explains a lot about you.”

“Don't be a dick, dude. There's the house up ahead.”

It takes them about half an hour to get Tucker's boxes into his new room, setting them down against the bookshelf on one wall. Church sets the last box down and drops onto the bed- a new, full, king-sized bed, bought to replace his single now that he has room for it- to watch while Tucker starts opening them and stacking his books on the shelf.

“This is a pretty sweet place, Tuck.”

“Nicest place I've ever lived. I'm going to go grab a drink from the cooler, want one?”

“Nah.”

When Tucker gets back into the room he doesn't see Church anywhere; he sets his drink down and moves to look for him when he's suddenly being pressed up against the wall and Church's lips are on his. For just one moment he forgets himself and kisses back, before reaching up and pushing his face away.

“Dude, not cool. W-t-fuck, man?”

“Oh come on, Tucker. Are you really surprised? You can't deny we've been feeling some sexual tension lately.”

“Have we? I hadn't noticed because I was too busy with my boyfriend. You know, Caboose? That guy I'm dating? Remember him?”

“Please.” Church scoffs, and rolls his hips, making Tucker's breath catch in his throat. He's so horny lately that being pinned like this, being kissed the way Church knows he loves, is all it takes to make him aroused. “You're going to stand there and pretend that Caboose can satisfy you? Because I know you, Tucker. I know you haven't gotten any in ages, maybe not even since we broke things off.”

“Since 'we' broke things off? Funny, I don't remember that being a mutual breaking. I remember telling you I had feelings for you and you telling me to get the fuck out of your house until I learned what no homo meant.”

“I told you I regretted that. I said I was sorry.”

“Actually, you never apologized, and it doesn't matter cause I told you I'd moved on. Besides, what about South? Your girlfriend? I know you and her do it, Carolina complains about it.”

“South doesn't matter here. You think she wouldn't do the exact same thing if it was her and Wash? Our entire relationship is based around us not being able to have the person we want.”

“You're a dick.”

“And you haven't pushed me off.” Church leans close again, nuzzling at Tucker's neck until the other registers enough to slap him away. Church leans back. “Tucker, seriously. I'm just offering a little satisfaction, you know? What's a little dick touching between friends? I'm offering you what Caboose can't give you. Does he know how horny you always are, Tucker? Does he know how much you love being fucked, how good it feels being fucked by you? How great you are at giving blowjobs?”

Tucker groans, and Church smirks, because he's won and he knows it, and Tucker wants to punch that stupid smirk off his face. He makes Church wait though, drawing out the time before he finally nods.

“Okay,” he says, and pushes Church's face away before the other can kiss him again. “But no kissing. This is just- just dick-touching. Just sex. And if you ever tell Caboose about this I'm never speaking to you again.”

Church's smirk just deepens. “Fair,” he says, and pulls Tucker with him until his knees hit the bed. He falls back, bringing Tucker down with him. Tucker follows his lead, shutting down the voice in his head telling him what a piece of shit he's being.

*

Simmons is quiet when they rejoin everyone in the waiting room, and doesn't say much while they wait for the Hargroves to spend some time with Dos. He sits in the waiting room with Grif, not even holding his hand, while Grif stares blankly at whatever game he's playing on his phone. The world is doing that blurry thing again, the thing it always does when he tries to have sex with Grif, and he'd really like for it to stop. He just wants to have sex with his boyfriend- maybe reach the point of doing more than just jerking each other off.

(His mind trails back to dildo he knows Grif keeps in his bedside drawer and he feels flush just at the thought of it. How he'd love to be able to replace it! But if he can't even do this without everything going weird, he isn't going to try anything more complicated. Who knows how that would affect him.)

Dos is cute. There's not much else to say about him, really. He's an infant- what else is he going to be? But that doesn't stop Grif from cooing over him when it comes his turn, from murmuring softly at the newborn in his arms and from being gentler than Simmons has ever seen him when he places Dos into Kai's arms, showing her how to hold him safely and brushing a hand over his curls before he moves away. Simmons watches him and wonders where he learned to hold babies like that. Suddenly wonders if Grif wants to have his own kids later on.

Simmons doesn't want kids. He's got enough problems and issues of his own, he doesn't think he could handle taking care of himself and Grif and a kid, too.

He wonders if he should maybe talk to Grif about that.

*

There's a package for dad in the mailbox when Church gets home that evening. He grabs it and makes his way to Dad's study at the back of the house; he and Carolina rarely go there, in the same way that dad rarely goes upstairs. But the package looks important.

In his study, dad is slumped down in his chair in front of his computer, watching a video of a blonde woman in an army uniform. Church sighs. So it's going to be one of those weeks, is it? He sets the package down at dad's elbow.

“You got a package,” he says. No response. The video ends; dad hits the replay button and starts it again. “Looks pretty important. You should probably open it.”

There's still no response. Church scowls. “FILLS, when was the last time he ate?”

“He had a sandwich at approximately noon,” comes the clear, gentle voice of dad's computer system. “He did not finish it, and has had nothing since then.”

“What a shocker.” He rolls his eyes. “I'm going to bring some food in,” he says, and adds, “and you're going to eat it.”

The only response that gets is a light shrug. Church sighs and stalks out and down to the kitchen, muttering to himself. He runs into Carolina when he's in there, pulling a pizza out of the oven.

“Dad's in one of his moods,” he says darkly, and grabs a frozen dinner to throw in the microwave. Carolina frowns.

“Do you need me?”

“Nah, I'll take it this time. You did the last one.”

“I can still help.”

“I know, but you've got enough going on. It'll be fine. I'll make sure he eats.” He scowls at the microwave while he waits for the meal to finish. “What I should do is have FILLS wipe every one of those fucking videos so he can't keep watching them. Why does he have to get like this now? Things are actually going okay.”

“If they weren't, you'd complain that he was doing it on top of everything else.” She fishes the pizza cutter out of the drawer. “Which video is he watching?”

“The one from the last time she left.”

“Oh.” Her face falls; she chews her lip worriedly for a moment. “Are you sure you don't need me? We don't need a repeat of last time.”

“I'm sure. I've got FILLS keeping any eye on him for me. She'll let me know if he tries anything.”

The timer goes off and he grabs the meal, swearing when he burns his fingers on the tray, and heads off back to the study with it. It'll have cooled by the time he and FILLS persuade dad to eat it anyway, and if they're lucky maybe scorching his tongue will wake him up from his stupor. The last thing Church wants right now is a whole week- or more- of dealing with this bullshit.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Kai is going to be flower girl in Cappy's wedding. Donut is helping to make the last touches on her dress- she's grown since her fitting, so he has to let the seams out a bit. It's an easy fix- Donut is good at sewing- or at least it would be if Kai would hold still long enough for him to get the pins in place.

“Hold still, Kai,” he says, as sternly as he can. “I'm going to end up poking you with these pins if you don't.”

“But this is boring.”

“Well maybe if you hadn't gone and had a growth spurt after your fitting,” he teases. “But if you're going to insist on growing...” He smiles at her, and then trails off when he realizes she's frowning. “Kai?”

“It's cause I'm fat, isn't it?”

“What?”

“That's what Andy says.”

“Andy?”

“From school. He says I'm just a fat loser and I'm going to make Cappy's wedding look gross. He said some other things too.” She plays with the skirt of her dress. She'd been so excited about it at her first fitting, making Grif describe the colors to her while the seamstress worked, until she'd said she could almost see them herself. “I don't like Andy very much,” she says quietly. “He called me some things that Grif says I'm never, ever allowed to repeat.”

“If you don't like him, then why are you listening to him?”

“Because he's right. Isn't he? I am fat.”

“Well-” Donut hesitates. It's true enough, Kai is fat- but that doesn't mean some punk kid has any right to make her feel bad about it. “Well, yes,” he finally says. “But that doesn't have to be the sort of thing that makes you feel bad. Grif is fat, and he doesn't feel bad about it.”

“Grif is a boy. Boys can be fat. Girls can't.”

Donut frowns. “Well... Grif showed me a picture of your mom, once. She was fat, wasn't she? And she was a successful performer.”

“She was in the circus. People came from all over to gawk at her and make fun of her.” She toes shamefully at the stool she's standing on. “I don't want to make Cappy's wedding look gross.”

“You won't!” Donut stands up and takes her shoulders, looking very firmly at her. “Listen, Cappy loves you. He wouldn't have asked you to be in his wedding if he thought you'd make it look gross. And you won't make it look gross, because you're a beautiful, and yes, fat girl. Those two words aren't mutually exclusive. And you shouldn't ever let anyone make you think they are.” He tilts her chin up, makes her look at him. “Cappy wants you to share his special day with him. Andy just wants to make you feel bad about yourself. Which one would you rather make happy?”

She pouts a little, twiddles her fingers. “Cappy is nice to me. And he makes Sarge happy. And Reggie has a nice mustache. I like mustaches.”

“Can't say any of that stuff about Andy, can you?”

“Well...” She hesitates. “Sarge has never met him, so...”

“You think Sarge would be happy with anyone who made his little girl feel bad about herself?”

“I guess not...”

“Look at me, Kai.” He tilts her head up again. “You're beautiful. You really are. Letting this dress out will be easy- they made it so it could be altered because sometimes people get bigger or smaller after fittings, especially kids who are always growing. And once I get it sorted, you're going to go be in Cappy's wedding for him, and for the rest of your life you'll be able to say that you shared that with him. Isn't that way more important than letting some dumb kid ruin that for you?”

She pouts up at him, then finally gives him a wobbly smile and nods.

“Good, that's my girl.” He pulls her into a hug, careful not to wrinkle her dress, and then pulls away. “Now lets get this dress let out, okay? I can make it fit perfectly, and then at the wedding everyone will say how pretty you are in it.”

“It's the same color as Carolina's dress, right?”

“Yes, because the theme for the wedding is aqua and white. You match Carolina, Tucker, and Sarge, and Gary, too.”

She looks down at herself, smooths down the dress with both hands. “Tell me about aqua,” she says, when he gets back to pinning her dress.

“Aqua is... hmm, let's see...” How does Grif usually do this? “Aqua is like a lagoon, when the waters are still. Everything is bright, and clear, and you can see for miles...”

*

Cappy stays over with them the night before the wedding. “It's bad luck to see each other until the wedding,” he explains. “Besides,” he adds, bumping his shoulder teasingly against Sarge's. “Aren't you supposed to be throwing me a bachelor party anyway?”

“I don't recall getting a bachelor party.”

“I recall that you eloped.”

“Okay, fair point.” He gets up and heads over to the fridge, comes back with two beers. “Here you go. Here's your bachelor party.”

“You're terrible,” Cappy says with a laugh, but takes the beer anyway. “I don't care anyway. What would I do at a bachelor party? My last night as a free man? I thought I was going to be stuck as a free man for the rest of my life. I can't wait to be married. I don't care about being a free man. And the only celebrating I want to do right now is with my Reggie.”

Sarge chuckles. “I'm sure Tucker is glad for the night's respite from, ah, 'celebrating'.”

“What?”

“Apparently your walls are paper thin. Mr. Mustache? Really?”

There's a pause, and then Cappy presses his hand to his mouth, mortified. “He heard- oh no. I had no idea. Oh no! That means- oh, and Reggie's so insatiable- and demanding and- oh no wonder he sleeps with his headphones on!”

He looks so horrified that Sarge can't help laughing at him. “Now you know why I always stay over with Emily instead. I don't want any of my kids knowing the details of my sex life.”

“You're horrible.” He punches Sarge's shoulder playfully. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I thought it was funny. Besides, a little mental scarring never hurt anyone.”

“You're horrible,” Cappy says again, resting his head against the table with a groan. “All this time- and he never said anything...”

“He probably didn't want to embarrass you, or him either. You've got that boy pretty smitten with you.”

“He's a good boy. I'm lucky to have him.” Cappy smiles. “How are things with you and Grif?”

Sarge hesitates, and shrugs. “I guess they're all right. A little better than before. I think we're just testing the waters with each other right now. I hope we aren't too late.”

“I don't think they are. Grif loves you more than he'll let on.”

“Love ain't always enough.” He takes a long drink, swishes it thoughtfully. “I called Pa a few days ago.”

“Well that only took two decades.” Cappy gives him an encouraging smile. “What did he say?”

“Wanted to know if pigs were flying in Iowa these days. Asked after the kids. Asked about the weather. Asked about you. Says congratulations, by the way.”

“Small talk.”

“Very awkward small talk.”

“You went twenty years without talking to the man after an argument that nearly came to blows. Did you think it would be anything else?”

“I- maybe?”

“Sarge...”

“All right, I know. Maybe I'll give it another try in a few months.”

“Sarge.”

“All right, all right. I'll try again after we get back from Hawaii.”

“Good. Are the kids excited? About Hawaii, I mean.”

“Grif is. Donut's looking forward to seeing it- Grif promised to show him his Hawaii, not the one they trot out for tourists. Kai is mostly just looking forward to the vacation. I don't think she remembers it too well.” He frowns at that. “I should have taken them back sooner. Four years is too long to be away.”

“You would have taken them back if you could.”

“I should have figured something out.”

“Sarge.”

“All right, all right!” He gulps down the last of his drink. “This isn't much of a bachelor party. All we've done is talk about our kids.”

Cappy laughs. “Have you noticed how often we do that?” He hums pleasantly. “I wouldn't trade it for anything, though.”

“Nope.” Sarge considers getting another drink. Changes his mind. “Might have done a few things differently, though.”

“We can only keep moving forward, Sarge. The past doesn't define us, you know. It's just a starting point for who we become. Now.” He finishes off his drink, stands up and pulls Sarge up with him. “Enough being maudlin. We are going to get fresh drinks and go sit out in the barn and play music and maybe dance a little and I am going to have a nice bachelor party because I've just decided I want one after all.” He holds his chin up, a grin spreading on his face, eyes glittering with delight. “And tomorrow afternoon I am going to marry my Reggie. I refuse to be maudlin the night before that happens.”

*

There's no room for a sleeping bag in the trash pile Grif calls a floor, so Tucker drags his bedclothes and sleeping bag into Donut's room instead. Grif and Simmons follow to hang out with them, at least until Grif gets ready for bed.

“I love slumber parties,” Donut says, hugging his knees to his chest and grinning at them. “We should watch a movie, ooh, or maybe have a pillow fight!”

“If you come near me with a pillow I'm going to punch you,” Grif says.

“Just don't expect me to paint your nails,” Tucker says, then frowns. He goes quiet for a little while after that, not saying much while Donut chatters happily at them.

They end up watching the first two Vampire Mummy Werewolf movies, and they're in the middle of arguing about whether they should watch the third one (widely regarded to be the weakest in the series, but it's Simmons' favorite) or skip it and move on to the fourth (the one that saved the franchise after the disaster that was the third) when Sarge and Cappy pass by on the way to Sarge's room. Sarge pokes his head into the room to order them to bed.

“Got an early start in the morning,” he says. “Got to head up to the church early to get everything set up.”

The four boys groan almost in unison- it's not even midnight- but it's a mark of how much Cappy means to all of them that Tucker crawls into his sleeping bag while Grif and Simmons drag themselves into Grif's room. Sarge and Cappy say their goodnights and head down to Sarge's room, and it's just Donut and Tucker left. Donut bundles down into his covers with a content sigh, then says, hesitantly, “Tucker?”

“Yeah?”

“Is everything okay? You seem kind of quiet.”

“I'm fine. Just jitters.” He's silent for a long time, so long Donut wonders if he's asleep, before saying, hesitantly, “Donut?”

“Yeah?”

“If I did something stupid... something really stupid... that would hurt Caboose if he found out... should I tell him, or just quietly hope it never comes up?”

“Depends on what it was, I guess.” He scoots over so he's leaned over the edge of the bed. “But, I'm sure it'd be better in the long run to just tell him, instead of letting it simmer and risk him finding out on his own anyway. It can't be that bad, I mean, it's not like, I don't know, cheated on him or something.”

Tucker is silent at that, an uncomfortable twisting look on his face before he averts his gaze. Donut stares.

“Tucker.”

“What?”

“You didn't.”

“It was an accident!”

“How do you do something like that on accident?”

“...okay, so maybe it wasn't an accident.” Tucker groans and buries his face in his pillow. “I fucked up.”

“Yeah you did.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Well...” Donut hesitates. Puts himself in Caboose's shoes. “I guess... if you have feelings for someone else, the fair thing would be to tell Caboose, instead of leaving him in the dark.”

“But I don't have feelings for someone else. And I love being with Caboose, I just- I make bad choices. And Church is a persuasive asshole.”

“Church? Or lord, Tucker, what is wrong with you? Caboose thinks Church is his best friend. How can you both do something that will hurt him so badly?”

“You're not helping.”

“I'm not trying!”

“Donut, please. Tell me what to do to fix this so I can stop feeling guilty.”

“Well first of all you have to stop thinking of your guilt as the number one problem here. You hurt Caboose. You have to make that right.”

“How?”

“I don't know. Try talking to him? You know this won't stay under wraps for long.”

“Yeah... yeah, I know. I'll talk to him tomorrow. I'll wait till later, though, I don't want to deal with that during the wedding.”

“Good. I'm sure you'll do the right thing.”

*

The dinner is untouched and getting cold when Church comes back into the study. The video is playing for the eighteen thousandth time- Church is pretty sure he has her voice burned into his brain, at this point. That he could draw her entire face with his eyes closed. He makes a disgruntled noise.

“FILLS, shut that thing off, would you?”

The video pauses. Dad shifts, raises his head to look around. “Alpha?”

“Oh look, you noticed I'm here. Your food's getting cold. Eat.”

He glances at the tray, then back to the video. “I'm not hungry. Resume playback, FILLS.”

“I know you're not hungry. Eat anyway. And then you're going to get a shower, you reek. FILLS, shut that thing off. Not like it's not burned onto his retinas anyway.”

“I'm sorry, Alpha, but you do not have the authorization to give override orders,” FILLS says, over the video playing back at them. Church makes a disgruntled noise.

“Then I don't suppose I could get you to just wipe the database, could I?”

“No, Alpha.”

“Dammit.” He makes a frustrated noise and runs his hands irritably through his hair. “Why does he have to be like this? What do you want, Carolina?” he adds, when she comes into the room.

“I thought I'd come relieve you for awhile,” she says. “Let you get some rest.”

“I'm fine. Go to bed.”

“I've got this. Don't worry about it- you need rest more than me. Don't want to have raccoon eyes for Cappy's wedding.”

“It won't hurt. You haven't slept in days. Just for a few hours.”

“I've got this!” He glares at her, whips his shoulder out from under her hands. She takes a step back, startled, and he falters. “Sorry. I- just, don't worry about it.” He cracks a sarcastic grin that looks out of place on him. “And hey, you can always take the next one.”

“You need to sleep too, you know.”

“Nah, I'll be fine. I'll get some sleep when dad does.”

“If you're sure-”

“I'm sure.” His expression softens. “Aiden's coming over to keep an eye on him during the wedding tomorrow. I'll sleep when we get home.”

“Okay. Okay.” She sighs. “Try to at least grab a little bit of sleep sometime, though. You'll be cranky.”

“I'm always cranky.”

“Crankier, then.” She gives him a smile, then shifts over to kiss her father's forehead. He tilts his head up to look at her.

“Carolina?”

“I'm going to bed,” she says. “I came to say good night.”

“Oh.” He glances at the video. “Why don't you stay and watch this with me?”

She glances over as well, looks away just as quickly. “I've seen it. Good night.”

She leaves quickly, then; Alpha picks up the tray of food. “You shouldn't snap at her,” dad says. Church snorts.

“You're one to talk. Everyone says I get my temper from you, you know. I'm going to go nuke this. Are you actually going to eat it this time?”

“I suppose. Aiden is coming over tomorrow?”

“Yeah, he's gonna hang out with you while Carolina and I are out. You can paint each other's nails.” Church stands halfway to the door, not quite willing to leave while dad is being so responsive. “Um. I'm just- I'll be right back.”

He makes it as quick as possible, and by the time he gets back dad is moving windows around on the computer. The video is still up in the corner, but it's paused, and when Church sets the tray down, dad pulls up a different one in its place.

“Have I ever shown you this video, Alpha?” he says. “I don't think I have.”

“I don't know. I've seen most of them, though, so-” He hesitates all the same, though, and looks at the screen. At the familiar blonde woman holding a small, scowling toddler in her arms. His mouth falls open. “W-wait.. is that... me?”

It can't be but it must be. He's seen his baby pictures, and who else has eyes that shade of green? And there she is, sat in the grass, holding him up and laughing, tweaking his nose and brushing a hand over his hair and tickling his feet when she sets him down.

“Lord almighty, Leonard,” she says. “He looks just like you. Even has your scowl! Are you sure you didn't just clone yourself?”

“I'm positive,” is the response from behind the camera. “I was there when we made him.”

On the video, Allison frowns, and turns her full attention back to the toddler in her arms. “Don't remind me,” she says with a huff. “Can you smile for me, baby boy? Come on, your daddy has a pretty smile if you can coax it out of him. Did you inherit that, too? I bet if I find your ticklish spots~”

She finds them, all right, setting the tiny Church into a fit of giggles as he kicks his feet and squeals. She grins, then, and scoops him up, blowing raspberries on his neck in delight, which only sets him into more giggles.

“There we go! I knew you had a pretty smile, Alpha.”

Behind the camera, dad sighs. “Allison, I already told you, we are not calling my son Alpha.”

“Why not? It's cute, and it's better than Leo-nerd. And heaps better than Lazer.” She picks the baby Church up again and coos at him. “Why don't you put that camera up and come play with your son? We only have him for the weekend.”

“All right.”

There's some shuffling, and the video ends, paused on a still of her face. Dad reaches out one hand and brushes it against the screen with a sigh. “She adored you,” he says quietly. “I like to think you would have liked her, too.”

He sighs, and falls silent again. When it becomes apparent he isn't going to say anything else, Church sighs, too, and picks up the half-eaten dinner (now cold once more) and carries it back to the kitchen. He cleans up the few dishes hanging around for something to do, then sits at the counter and buries his face in his folded arms.

All those years he'd spent resenting her, and she was the only one who'd actually cared.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

It's way-too-early in the morning when they get to the church to set up. Butch sets Grif, Simmons, and Tucker to put out the flowers in the sanctuary while he, Donut, and Sarge get to work on the main hall for the reception later. Kai runs between the two rooms, carrying and holding and doing whatever she can to help.

Church and Carolina turn up while they're working, Dr. Grey not far behind, and Dr. Grey and Church take over for Cappy, Sarge, and Tucker, so the three can get themselves ready. Carolina takes Kai off to the other changing room to help her, leaving the rest to put the final touches on the reception hall for when the caterers arrive.

“Jesus, Church, you look awful,” Grif says, pausing in the middle of putting up a chain of flowers. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Um...” Church thinks a moment, and yawns. “When was Sunday?”

“Like, six days ago.”

“Well. There. Yeah. Six days.”

“You haven't slept in six days? Why?”

“Just.. stuff. It doesn't matter, I'll sleep later. What are we doing?”

“Simmons needs help getting that string of streamers tied up,” Grif says, waving Church over to Simmons. He goes back to putting up his flower chain. “It's a good thing you aren't in the wedding party,” he adds. “You look awful.”

“So you said. I've been dealing with shit, okay? I haven't really had time to sleep.”

“What kind of shit? Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Leave it, Grif!”

Grif huffs, but goes back to hanging flower chains. He's pretty used to Church being cranky; he's not going to get his shorts in a twist over getting snapped at.

*

“Last time I wore this was for Allison's memorial,” Cappy says, adjusting the collar on his dress uniform. “It's nice to have a good occasion to wear it for for a change.”

Sarge just grunts, too preoccupied with trying to tie his bowtie to say anything else. Eventually he makes a frustrated noise and lets his hands fall in defeat.

“I give up,” he says. “This is your fault, Butch, for making me wear blue. If this was a red tie-”

“-you'd still have trouble because you've never been able to tie a bowtie in your life. Tucker, would you mind?”

Tucker finishes his own bowtie and moves to help Sarge, who is fidgeting and grumbling with his again. He bats Sarge's hands away with a laugh and starts tying the bow carefully.

“It's kind of weird seeing you in a color that isn't red,” he says, prompting more grumbling from Sarge. “It looks good on you, though.”

“No it doesn't.” Sarge looks down at himself with a pout. “The things I do for love of you, Butch.”

“You'll survive a few hours in a shade of blue,” Cappy says, not looking up. He's at the mirror, making a few final touches to the elaborate braids his long hair has been pulled into. “For me? So I can have a perfect wedding?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sarge grumbles and steps over to the mirror. He has to admit, he does look pretty sharp. Even if he is wearing blue.

There's a knock at the door and Carolina pokes her head in, hand up over her eyes just in case.

“It's okay, Carolina, we're dressed,” Cappy reassures her. “Is it time?”

“Nearly. Everyone's filing in, they're going to start lining up the wedding party now.”

“Good, we're almost done in here. Come in so I can get a good look at you- Kai, you too, I see you out there.”

Both girls step into the room, standing up straight so Cappy can look them over. Their dresses are simple, and similar- Carolina's more elegant and understated than Kai's more girlish one. Cappy grins at them both. “Beautiful,” he says. “Both of you- I'm so grateful you both agreed to be a part of this, you have no idea what this means to me.”

“I think I've got a guess,” Carolina says softly. She takes Kai's hand. “Come on, Kai, let's go get in place. You come too, Tucker, I think they're placing the groomsmen now.”

“Right!” He follows, taking Kai's other hand and swinging it a little as they go, leaving Sarge and Cappy alone in the dressing room. Sarge turns to Cappy and rests a hand on his arm.

“How are you feeling?”

“Nervous,” he admits. “Jittery, But the good kind of nervous and jittery- I've got butterflies but... but I'm okay.” A shaky smile spreads across his face. “In fifteen minutes I'm going to walk down the aisle and marry my Reggie. I couldn't be happier, butterflies or no.”

“I'm happy for ya.” Sarge throws an arm around his shoulders, careful not to wrinkle either of them. “Come on, let's go. If I know Vanessa, she's going to start shouting for us soon.”

“We don't want that, no.” He smooths himself down one last time, raises his head high, and steps out the door.

*

Cappy has been smiling that dazzling grin of his since the moment Reggie took his hands, unable to take his eyes off the man before him. Beside him, every few moments, Sarge sniffles a little; at the end of their row, Kai fidgets a little, picking at the ribbon on her basket.

“The couple have decided to write their own vows,” the minister says, and gestures at Cappy to go first. He makes a tiny shuffling motion and ducks his head in embarrassment before looking back up at Reggie, whose mustache twitches a little in an effort to keep his own smile under control.

“Reggie,” Cappy says, and brushes his thumb over Reggie's knuckles. “I'm.. I'm so happy right now that I can't even put it into words. I had long, long since given up on ever finding someone I loved enough to spend the rest of my life with, had given up the idea that one day I could have that joy that so many others had. And then you came into my life, handsome and charming and funny and sweet, and you swept me off my feet and never bothered to put me down, and I'm- I'm just pleased as punch you picked me.”

Behind him, a large sniffle from Sarge interrupts Reggie, who laughs softly before turning his attention back to his groom. He brings his joined hands up to his lips and presses a soft kiss to them. “Butch, I don't have any fancy speeches planned. I tried, I did, but I can't put my feelings for you into words. None of them seem right. All I can think to say is... I proposed to you with a knock-knock joke, and you still agreed to spend your life with me. I couldn't ask for anything better than that.”

“It was funny,” Cappy murmurs, beaming as the minister returns to the ceremony, calling for the rings. There's a slightly panicked moment when Sarge can't remember which pocket he has Cappy's in (inside pocket, it turns out), and then their rings are in place and the minister is pronouncing them wed and Reggie is being dragged into a much deeper kiss than the minister probably intended when he said 'You can kiss your husband now'.

*

“How much longer before we can eat?” Grif whines, folding his arms and leaning against the table. Simmons pokes him until he sits back up. “What?”

“You're going to wrinkle your suit,” he says. “We'll eat soon, the wedding party have to take pictures first.”

“But I'm hungry.”

“You're always hungry.”

“But there's food right there.” He gestures at the buffet tables, laden down with wedding food. “It smells so good, Simmons.”

“You'll live, fatass.” Simmons pokes him again; he catches Simmons' hand in his own with a smile. “What?”

“You look hot in that suit.”

“Oh. Um.” He looks down at the suit in question, clearly embarrassed, picking at the lapels a little. “It's tailored... dad thinks it's important for a man to have a fitted suit if he's going to be in suit-wearing situations.”

“You should have all your clothes tailored,” Grif says, tugging Simmons close enough to kiss. “If this is how good you look. But I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off of you if you did.”

“You can't keep your hands off of me anyway.”

“It's not my fault you're hot.”

“You're just trying to flatter me.”

“Maybe. Is it working?”

“Mmm...” Simmons shrugs. “I could stand with a bit more, I think.”

“Oh, well.” Grif grins, and kisses him again. “I really like your hair like that.”

“What? Oh.” Simmons touches absently at the mini-dreads he'd recently started on. “They were mom's idea. She was tired of me complaining about my hair getting in my way and didn't want me to start cutting it again.”

“Your mom's a smart lady.” He tugs gently at one. “You're gonna be so hot when these grow out.”

“Are you still flattering me?”

“Yes. Want more?”

“Hmm, I think that's enough for now. You can flatter me more later.”

“Oh I will, too. Is it time to eat yet?”

“Soon, Grif.”

*

While Cappy takes a few pictures with Kai and Gary, Tucker moves over to stand next to Reggie. He kicks awkwardly at the floor.

“Sooo..” he says. “I guess we're related now.”

“Yes,” Reggie agrees, mustache twitching slightly. “It was unavoidable, I suppose, if I wanted to go through with marrying Butch. You're a part of his package, just like Gary is a part of mine.”

“Right... soo...” He trails off, shuffles again. “I was thinking.. about me and you, and how we've never exactly had the best relationship.”

“Yes.” Reggie's mustache twitches again. “What about it?”

“I was thinking, maybe, since we're family now, maybe we could just, you know, start over. Fresh slate, and all that. For Cappy.”

“Hm.” Reggie smiles down at him. “For Butch, I will. Perhaps we can find some common ground.”

Tucker nods once, and lets out a long breath. “Thank you,” he says, and then they're being pulled over to join Cappy and Gary, so the photographer can get pictures of the new family.

*

South plunks down beside Church and pokes him until he raises his head, blinking irritably at her. “What do you want?”

“Hello to you too. Why haven't you called me this week? And your phone's been off.”

“I've been dealing with shit.” He pillows his head back in his arms and mumbles something that could, generously, be interpreted as “too busy”.

South just hrumphs. “You know, I try not to be one of those clingy girlfriends. You got shit going on, fine, you got shit going on. But you could at least shoot me a text or something and tell me., hey, going on radio silence for awhile, ttyl. You know, something that lets me know you give a shit.”

“Fine, fine, next time I'll be sure to drop everything and come tell you.”

“Asshole. I'm not asking you to drop anything. Just take five seconds to let me know something.”

“All right.” He grumbles. “Can you just- leave me alone? I'm kinda tired.”

“Fine. But I expect you to dance with me later. I don't go through the trouble to look this hot every day, I better get something good out of it.”

“You're hot every day,” he says automatically, and closes his eyes in the hopes of resuming his nap.

*

The wedding party eventually makes it down to the reception hall, and the celebrants line up to fix their plates. Tucker finds Caboose in the crowd and then has to stop for a moment to collect himself. He was so busy earlier that he wasn't able to get a look at Caboose in his suit and tie, and that's probably for the best because Caboose looks good. There's no way Tucker wouldn't have been distracted during the wedding if he'd known Caboose was out in the congregation somewhere, looking this fine.

“Hey buddy,” he says, tugging Caboose down so he can kiss him. Caboose takes his hand and kisses him back, then leans back to look him over.

“You look very nice in that, Tucker,” he says. “But it doesn't look comfortable. Wouldn't you rather change out of it?”

“I'll change in a little while,” he says. “The photographer's still here to get some candid shots and he wants the wedding party still dressed up for them.”

“Oh.” Caboose pouts, and plays with Tucker's lapel a little. “I want to change out of my suit. It is not comfortable at all.”

“You look hot in it, at least.”

“I am very hot. Oh, wait, you mean- yes. Also, it is hot.”

He goes back to playing with Tucker's lapel. He looks a little embarrassed, so Tucker coaxes him down for another kiss.

“We can change as soon as the photographer gives the green light, okay? I mean, I guess you can change now if you wanted, but I kinda want some pictures of us dancing together all dressed up like this.” He laces their fingers together. “If that's all right with you.”

Caboose just smiles. “Yes. I will wait and change when you do.”

*

When the edge has been taken off of everyone's appetites, Cappy pulls Reggie out onto the dance floor for their first dance as husbands, prompting more couples to move out onto the floor soon after as well. Emily drags Sarge onto the dance floor, looping her arms around his neck and swaying to the music- the only dancing she really knows how to do.

“You look really handsome,” she says. “Irresistibly handsome.”

“I don't feel handsome,” he pouts. “I'm wearing blue. Me!”

This gets one of her head-thrown-back laughs. “Poor dear. Do you want to go get changed? I could come along and, ahem, help you. To change.”

This accompanied by an eyebrow waggle that has him snorting. He steals a quick kiss. “Soon as I get the go ahead from the photographer we can find somewhere you can, ah, help me change.”

“And also suck you off in the changing room,” she adds, prompting a coughing fit as he turns as red as he wishes his clothes were. She gives him a wicked grin, and leans closer so only he can hear her. “Or I could ride you at the dressing table, so you can watch your face in that mirror.”

He growls softly, and pulls her closer, so she can feel his erection pressing against her hip. “Little lady, if you're around my cock, it's not my face I'm interested in seeing.”

“Fair enough.” She nuzzles his neck, kisses the line of the stubble on his jaw. “How much longer did you say?”

“You're a wicked, wicked woman,” he says, a slight strain in his voice as he realizes just how long he'll be waiting.

*

It gets to be clear very soon that Cappy and Reggie are only remaining at the reception out of mere manners, that both are eagerly counting the moments before they can leave and go on their honeymoon (they're taking a plane to a resort in Florida) and so guests begin wrapping up their congratulations so the happy couple can be on their way. Cappy pulls Tucker aside just before he and Reggie leave, while Reggie does the same with Gary.

“Are you sure you'll be okay on your own for a few days?” he asks. Tucker nods.

“Yes, I'll be fine. I know where all the emergency numbers are, the neighbors will keep an eye on things, and Gary and his mom will be around to check on me from time to time.” Tucker grips Cappy's arm reassuringly. “I'll be fine. Dad used to leave me on my own all the time and I was like, eight. I'm sixteen, I can handle it.”

“If you're sure, then.” He still looks a little dubious, but he takes a step back. “All right. You're nearly grown, and it is only for a few days. Don't eat all of the groceries at once, make sure you lock the doors at night, and if you want to have a friend sleep over, that's okay, just make sure their parents know I'm out of town first.” He pats Tucker's shoulder affectionately and turns to leave. “All right, I'll see you in a week. Bye Tucker, love you.”

“Love you too, Cappy.” He moves to join the rest of the crowd waving them goodbye, while the pair drive out of the church parking lot, trailing cans behind the car and a sign reading 'just married' in bright red letters (courtesy of Sarge). Once they're out of sight, he turns and heads back inside.

Inside, the party is still going, somewhat. There are still dancing couples, still guests eating, still music. The photographer is still at it, though no longer with the same intent air as before; he's really only around because he's been paid for the whole duration anyway so he might as well.

In his periphery, Tucker sees Church and South sneaking off and has no doubts about what's going on there. His gut twists guiltily at the thought, and even more so when Caboose comes up behind him and hugs him. He leans back into the embrace. “Hey Caboodle.”

“Is it time to go change now?”

“In a minute.” He sways a little, rests his hands over Caboose's. “Just wanna stand like this for a little while.”

“Okay.” Caboose rests his chin over Tucker's head, fitting them together neatly, and joins Tucker in swaying, somewhat in time to the music still playing. “And then we can go change?”

“Yeah, then we can go change.”

“Good. That's.” He nuzzles Tucker's hair. “That's good.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Tucker regrets his decision to change in the same room as Caboose almost immediately. Caboose has always had trouble with buttons- they're too small and fiddly for him and he always ends up pulling them off- but what that really means is that Tucker is stuck undoing his buttons for him and if he thought being around Caboose in his suit was hard work, being around Caboose while he's half-disheveled, while Tucker helps undress him, is even harder (among other things).

He turns his back as soon as he's got Caboose's buttons undone, rather than have his resolve worn away even more. “You can take it from there, right buddy?”

There's a long silence, so much that Tucker nearly turns back around to check, but Caboose finally says, “Yes,” very quietly. For several minutes there's just the sound of clothes rustling as both boys shed their formal clothes and change into jeans and t-shirts, and Tucker finally turns back around when he's sure Caboose is fully clothed. When he does, he ends up coming face-to-face with Caboose's bare chest, and immediately spins back around.

“Um. I'm going to go see if they need help cleaning up!” he says, voice pitching a little higher than he'd like. He flees the changing room, missing the hurt look on Caboose's face, and hurries up to the reception hall.

*

The guests have all but left by now- there's only a few people left to clear up and take everything down, including Grif and Simmons. They're only half-heartedly cleaning; Grif keeps stopping to eat leftovers that they're meant to be putting away.

Simmons takes Grif's hand as he's reaching for another slice of cake, and tugs him close, pulling him away from the tables to dance to the music still playing in the background. Grif grins up at him. “Are you doing this cause you want to dance, or because you're tired of me eating all the leftovers?”

Simmons just shrugs. “Six of one, I guess. I'm not the only one who looks good in a suit here, you know.”

“Ya think?” Grif glances down at himself: he'd not really given much thought to how he looked, really, but he supposes a well-fitted suit could make anyone look good. He looks up again and wiggles his eyebrows. “I always look good, though.”

“True.” Simmons presses closer, fiddles with his lapels a little. “You know, maybe instead of cleaning we can sneak off and find somewhere private maybe...?”

“Um.” Grif glances down at his hands. “Actually.. we really should finish cleaning. And. Um. I don't want someone else getting all these leftovers. And this is a church, dude. Come on. Have some respect.”

“What?” Simmons takes a step back to look at him in confusion. “You don't- you'd rather clean? I mean. It's okay if you don't want- I mean- if you're not interested- I mean-” He shuffles awkwardly. “Yeah. Yeah, we should- let's get everything cleaned up, that's- yeah, let's do that!”

His voice cracks as he turns away, grabbing a few plates and hurrying off to the throw them away. Grif watches him go with a sigh. He'd hoped to spend the evening without Simmons getting- whatever it is- at him, but looks like he'll have to deal with Simmons being insecure now instead. How rotten.

*

“I can't believe you.”

“South-”

“You're a jackass.”

Church stops short as his shirt is thrown onto his head; he fumbles for a sleeve and gets to work on his buttons while he follows. “South, please- it was- I haven't been sleeping, I didn't- South, come back- South-”

She just carries on storming away, throwing open the doors to the reception hall in her fury. He hurries through them after her; she stops, rounds on him, pokes him hard in the chest.

“I don't. Give a fuck. About your excuses. I don't care how tired you are, I don't care what feelings you've caught. When you're with me, you're with me. Not him.”

She practically snarls in Tucker's direction; he looks up from the streamers he's pulling down and nearly topples off of his stool.

“Dude, you told her? I can't believe you!”

“No, actually.” Church glares; South's frown deepens.

“Told me what?” When neither answers, she storms over to Tucker, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him down so they're eye level. “Told me what, Tucker?”

Silence. Tucker has just remembered that he's afraid of South; Church just slowly starts backing away. South looks between them, and Tucker can see the moment that realization clicks in her eyes. He can almost see his life ending when she pushes him away.

“I can't believe you. You- both of you- how- you-” She turns her glare onto Church. “You. You jackass.”

“Oh please.” Church folds his arms, scowling just as hard. “You're going to sit there and tell me that if given the chance, you wouldn't be all over Wash like Grif on oreos?”

“I would not! You know why? Because I know how to be a decent fucking person and not go banging other people when I'm in a relationship!”

Church scoffs. “You've been pining for Wash since day one. This whole relationship was founded on both of us pining for someone we couldn't have, so don't get all high and mighty at me.”

“Yeah, and you know what the difference is? I went in trying to get over my stupid crush on someone I couldn't have.” She's approaching him again; he backs away, not fully trusting her not to get violent. “I was actually starting to like you, jackass, I was actually starting to fall for you, and you have to go and pull some stupid stunt like this? And then you still act like you did nothing wrong?”

Everyone has stopped cleaning to stare at them now. Behind them, the door opens, and Caboose comes in after taking the trash out. He tilts his head slightly, puzzled.

“Why are we yelling?” he asks, in a stage whisper at Grif. South just turns a glare on him, before her face twists into a sneer.

“We're yelling because your boyfriend banged your best friend behind both our backs,” she says. “And I'm making sure he knows what a piece of shit he is.”

Caboose's brow furrows at that, like he can't quite think straight. Tucker glares at South.

“Not cool, you didn't have to- you know, you didn't have to tell.”

“Tough shit. You're the one that made this bed, now you have to lie in it. Maybe you and Church can fuck in it- I hear he's single now.”

“What?”

“You heard me. We're done. I'm leaving. Don't talk to me anymore.” She spins on her heel and storms out without a backwards glance, leaving Church staring after her, dumbfounded. Once she's gone, Tucker rounds on Church.

“You idiot! How could you let her find out?”

“Me?! You're the one that blabbed!”

“Wh- Tucker, you...” Tucker turns to Caboose to see that he's on the verge of hurt tears; he takes a hesitant step closer, but Caboose just backs away. “Did you- you really- how could you-”

“Caboose, I-”

“Well, you know, maybe if he had a boyfriend who he could actually sleep with, this wouldn't have happened.” Church snorts. “He was so easy, you know? I guess that's what happens when you go ages without getting any. Don't pin this shit on me, at least I know what my dick is for.”

“What?”

“Shut up, asshole. Boodle, listen-”

“I don't- understand-”

“Yeah, big fucking shock.” Church throws his arms in the air. “Caboose doesn't understand, stop the fucking presses.”

At the table, Grif and Simmons exchange a glance. “What is your problem, Church?” Simmons asks. “Why are you doing this?”

“Oh you're going to start with me too? Here's another one who doesn't know what his dick is for!”

“Wh- I know what my dick is for!”

“Oh yeah? Then why does Grif keep complaining about his sub-par sex life? Doesn't sound like you know.”

“He said what?!”

“Dude! Not cool!”

Church grins, a little manically. “Yeah! And he said you were high-maintenance! In fact, he said a lot of things about what a disappointment you are! It's amazing, really, you've got him so tightly wound around your finger he can't even see how miserable he is! So don't you start with me about what I'm doing!”

Simmons turns to Grif, clearly hurt. Grif backs away a little, hands held up defensively. “Okay, listen, he's taking all of that out of context-”

“You actually said I was high-maintenance?!”

“Well- I mean- yeah, kinda.” He shuffles awkwardly. “I mean, you need constant reassurance and-”

“Because I'm dating a fat, lazy idiot who uses insults to show affection! Of course I need constant reassurance!”

“Okay, yeah, again with the fat thing! Haha, yeah, let's all laugh cause Grif is fat! Can't come up with anything else- I thought you- you're- of all the people to- you know what? Never mind. I should have just let you suck me off in the changing room like you wanted, at least then you wouldn't be talking to me right now.”

“What?”

“Oh, dude, you still haven't told him?” Tucker breaks away from where he's been trying to comfort Caboose (who does not look in the least bit comforted) to stare at Simmons. “Come on, man, you were supposed to talk about this!”

“You talked to Tucker about us?”

“You talked to Church!”

“That's different! I was just venting! It sounds like you actually talked to him about something that you should have been talking to me about!”

“What? How does that make sense? It's the same thing!” Simmons turns his glare on Tucker. “And why can't you just keep your mouth shut?”

“Hey, don't drag me into your fight-”

“Actually, why didn't you tell me what was going on? I told you I thought there was something bothering him-”

“You were talking to Tucker too! You're such a hypocrite!”

“I just said I thought something was wrong!”

“Yeah, and then I told you to fucking talk to him and ask him what was wrong, don't pin this on me, I've got my own shit to deal with now.”

“Yeah, right, why should I have taken relationship advice from a guy who sleeps around?”

“It was one time!”

“It's still a shitty thing to do.”

“Well at least I can tell when my boyfriend shouldn't be having sex and don't try to push it!”

“Caboose has been trying to get into your pants since fucking May, dude, maybe if you paid more attention instead of lording it over him you'd have realized!”

While they argue- voices raising in volume until it's hard to distinguish one from the other, when it's hard to tell who is yelling at whom and what they're even yelling about anymore, Church turns and leaves. He doesn't bother to find Carolina; she'll figure out he's gone when his car isn't there and she can get a ride home with someone else. He just goes. He's too tired for much anything else.

*

At home, Aiden meets him at the door. He takes one look at Church's face and sighs.

“You need sleep,” he says. “Leonard is sleeping- properly sleeping- and you should too. You're no good to anyone like this.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Church shoves his garment bag into Aiden's hands and heads to the stairs. “Do me a favor and throw that in the laundry room, would you? I'm going to bed.”

“All right. I'll stay until Carolina gets back, then. I think Leonard is out of the danger zone but I would not yet like to leave him alone.”

Church doesn't even bother responding; he just makes his way upstairs and to his room. At the moment, he doesn't care about what happens to dad- he just wants to sleep, and maybe stop being so damn angry. (This, he knows, will not happen. Nothing ever seems to make his anger go away. But he can hope, anyway.)

In his room, he doesn't bother undressing. Just collapses onto the bed and pulls his phone out so he doesn't lay on it. He's about to put it up when a thought comes to him, and he flicks through his contacts until he finds his mom's number- why he still has it, he doesn't know, but now he sends off a text to her before setting his phone on his table and falling asleep.

hey mo m thta ofer to apend sumner with u stil opn cus id be dft if it is

*

Tucker ends up giving Carolina a ride home. She seems pretty miffed that Church ditched her; she doesn't say anything, and between her own surly silence and Caboose's quiet pouting in the backseat, and his own anger- at Church, at South, at himself- it's one of the most uncomfortable car rides he's ever been on.

It's only after he puts her out at her house and Caboose jumps into the front seat that Tucker tries to actually talk to him.

“So. Um.” He swallows. “You're mad at me, I know.”

“I know what sex is,” Caboose says, quite suddenly. Tucker looks a little taken aback.

“What?”

Caboose is staring down at his lap, hands clenched over his knees. “You think I'm stupid. That I don't- that I don't know what sex is.” His brow is in deep furrows, like he's concentrating hard on his words. “But- I do. I'm not stupid. I'm- I'm not smart but- just because I can't- my words don't always work right, and sometimes I don't- the jokes you make don't always- I can't always understand them but that doesn't- I know what sex is. My stepdad talked to me- my- I took the same health class- I've seen- videos and magazines and- and I've been on the- the internet- I know what- I know what sex is.”

“Oh.” Tucker stares down at his own hands on the wheel. Behind him, a car honks for him to go, and he throws his hand out the window to flip them off without a word before pulling through the light. “Caboose, I'm- look, I'm sorry, okay? I guess I thought...”

“I wanted to have sex with you. I wanted it- very badly. I kept trying but you- you didn't seem to be- to get the hint. And I thought- maybe you- didn't want me?” He looks like he's about to start crying again. “But then Church said- and Grif- and I think- maybe you thought- I didn't know.”

Tucker isn't really sure what to say, and the car ride falls silent until they pull up to Caboose's house. He picks up his bag but he doesn't immediately get out, and Tucker sits waiting for whatever else he's going to say. After a long moment, he takes a deep breath.

“I do not want to talk to you anymore,” he says. “You think I'm stupid. You- sometimes treat me like I'm stupid. And mama says that- I do not need people in my life who- who treat me like I am stupid. So- I do not- want you in my life anymore.”

His words come like a punch in the gut, and Tucker sits for a long time in the driveway, forehead resting on the steering wheel while he tries not to cry.

He leaves, eventually. Ends up at home around the same time Gary's mom pulls up. She chatters an explanation about Gary leaving his hard drive behind, and tries to engage him in small talk the whole time he waits for the kid to retrieve it. He doesn't hear a word she says and barely says a word when she and Gary leave, instead turning to head into the house where he collapses onto the couch and switches the tv on.

He doesn't bother getting dinner and he falls asleep somewhere in the middle of a Vampire Mummy Werewolf marathon that he isn't even paying attention to.

*

Maine doesn't really live that far from the church, so after the reception is over and all of the fighting is done, or at least calmed down a simmering undercurrent, Donut decides to walk down to Maine's and hang out for awhile rather than ride home with Grif and Simmons, both still angry and spitting venom at each other. He's a little astonished by their vitriol; they bicker a lot but he's never heard real anger in their words. But they've been glued at the hip since they were twelve and each of them knows the other inside and out, knows his biggest weaknesses and insecurities and it seems like they've brought out every one, every word meant to cut deep and leave a gaping wound.

It was a little scary to listen to. Donut would much rather hang out with Maine.

Dr. Price is the one who answers the door. Donut gives him a weak smile. “Hello, sir. Is Maine home?”

He just shakes his head. “He's out with Wash right now. I don't know when he'll be back.”

“Oh.” What a shock. Donut kicks the ground a little irritably. “Um. Guess I should have texted him before I came over.” He sighs. “Now I have to get Grif to come back and pick me up- do you mind if I hang out here while I wait? Man, Grif is gonna be so mad, he's already in a mood.”

“If you need a ride, I'd be happy to take you home.”

“You sure?”

“Of course. I don't mind.”

He grabs his keys and motions Donut out the door. Once in the car, he glances at the boy before turning back to the road.

“You and Maine seem to be on... less than acceptable terms, lately.”

Donut sighs. “Is it that obvious?”

“This is the first time you've come to the house in weeks. Maine spends most of his time with Wash these days. He doesn't smile as much when he comes back from seeing you. I don't have to tell him to hang up and go to bed at two in the morning anymore.” He gives Donut a sympathetic look. “Are you fighting?”

“No.” Donut hugs his knees to his chest. “I think it'd be easier if we were. I think he's just... not into me anymore. I think our days are numbered. I wish I knew how to make him like me again,” he says quietly. “If I were more like Wash-”

“Then you wouldn't be Donut.” Dr. Price gives him a small smile. “Why don't you try talking to Maine? I can tell him to call you when he gets home.”

“That'd be nice.” Donut sighs. Thinks about Church, and South, and Tucker. All wanting something they couldn't have and in the end coming to hate each other. He rests his forehead on his knees. “Yeah... I think Maine and I really do need to talk.”

*

There's no one there when Grif gets home. Kai, he recalls, is sleeping over at a friend's house. Donut said something about Maine. Sarge is out having dinner with Dr. Grey. Lopez-

-doesn't live here anymore. Grif punches the wall irritably as he turns to head upstairs. Normally he wouldn't mind having the house to himself- but then, normally, he'd be calling up Simmons to come over and hang out. He vaguely remembers something about a Vampire Mummy Werewolf marathon playing tonight, and there's always Call of Modern Warcraft with the guys.

Now, though. Now the silence in the house echoes, hanging heavy over him while he runs a hot bath, hot enough to leave his skin steaming, and sits back in the tub, watching the water ripple and slosh from getting into it. He isn't sure how long he stays there in that heavy silence- long enough for the water to get cold, for his fingertips to wrinkle and for Donut and eventually Sarge to get home. He stays there long enough to doze off, and then wake up to hear Donut talking to Maine over skype in the next room.

He sits listening as Donut, in a long, rambly, roundabout way, tells Maine that he thinks they should break up, and maybe just be friends for awhile. He listens to the call end, and only when he hears Donut start crying does he haul himself out of the bath, dress, and slip into the other's room.

“Hey Donut?”

“Yeah?”

“I don't really think I can sleep on my own tonight. Mind if I hang out in here with you?”

Donut gives him a wobbly smile, face tear-streaked, and nods gratefully. He pulls his covers aside and Grif slides in beside him, wrapping his arms awkwardly around Donut and nuzzling his shoulder.

“At least we have Hawaii to look forward to,” Donut finally says, after a long silence. Grif just mumbles an affirmative; he's already falling asleep. “Grif?”

“Mmm?”

“Thanks for staying with me.”

“Yeah, well. Misery loves company. Go to sleep, Donut.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

When Church wakes up, it's the next day, and there's a text from his mom on his phone.

Sure, it says. Just call me so we can make arrangements .

It takes him a moment to remember what that's about, but once he does, he groans. Does he really want to put up with his mom for however long he'd be there? On the other hand, he really needs to get away from Blood Gulch. He feels weird here, like he can't breath and everything is pressing down on him.

He puts his phone aside and heads down to see about breakfast- or maybe lunch, he doesn't even know at this point. He'll worry about what to do about mom later.

Dad is at the table when he passes through the dining room, poking absently at a plate of eggs that Aiden has just set in front of him. The scene is oddly domestic, and Church has a moment of wondering if this is their life in another universe- some alternate reality where dad was able to move on when his wife died, where he and Aiden are a romantic couple instead of friends with benefits. He ponders this while he gets breakfast, this idea of Aiden as dad's actual partner.

Maine would be his brother, then. Well, stepbrother. Maybe. If they actually got married, of course. That would be weird. What if Maine and Donut got married? That would make Donut his brother-in-law. He isn't sure he wants Donut for a brother-in-law- he likes Donut, but not enough to have him in the family.

And what if dad and Aiden decided to have more kids? Church doesn't like the thought of that; he's not a fan of babies at the best of times, and wouldn't want one hanging around. They'd have to adopt, though, so maybe they'd get a kid who was older? Like maybe the same ages and Church and Carolina and Maine, that would work.

The thought is weird, and Church doesn't like to imagine having an extra sibling, or even imagining Maine as his sibling.

“Alpha?”

Church glances up from the milk carton he's been staring at. Aiden is watching him with that weirdly passive look on his face that Church learned to hate a long time ago.

“Huh?”

“You've been staring at the milk carton for several moments now. Is everything all right?”

He glances down at the milk carton again, and quickly pours himself a glass before returning it to the fridge and leaning on the counter. “I'm fine, I think,” he says. “I'm just- really tired. I didn't get much sleep this past week.”

“Ah.” Aiden moves over to sit across the counter from him. “You know you could have called me sooner,” he says. “I have experience taking care of Leonard during his moods- I did for years when you and Carolina were younger, after all. You don't have the shoulder the entire burden yourself.”

“You've got actual paying clients to worry about, and Carolina was busy. It's fine. I don't mind. It's family.” He pillows his head in his arms. “That's what family does,” he mumbles. “He's our problem, not yours.”

Aiden just makes a soft noise, one that Church could generously interpret as a laugh. “He's been my friend since we were your age,” he says. “I think that does make him my problem. That's what friends do, too.”

“Then he's lucky to have friends who give a shit.” He sits up to eat his breakfast, and glances down at his phone. “So I'm thinking of going to stay with my mom for the rest of the summer. I hate it, but, I really just need to get out of this town. I need breathing room.”

“Did something happen at the wedding yesterday? When you came home you seemed upset.”

“I got in a fight with my friends. South broke up with me. I'm still not over my stupid crush on Tucker. And taking care of dad is exhausting.” He pokes irritably at his cereal. “And I can't stop being angry.”

“You know my offer still stands, if you want help with that.”

Church just makes a non-committal noise and goes back to his cereal. He's not sure he wants Aiden's help- the man's unsettling calm usually only makes him angrier, when faced with it. He can't really see how Aiden would be able to help him, with that in mind.

Aiden doesn't say much else while Church eats, and Church is grateful for that. At least the man knows when his tactics aren't welcome, anyway. Once he finishes eating, he pours another glass of milk, tosses the empty carton (sets his milk down so he can go over and pick up the carton that failed to ring the trashcan and throw it away properly), and then heads off. “I'm going to go call mom.”

*

Mom is pretty ecstatic to hear that he wants to come stay with her, and a few days later dad takes him to the airport so he can go. Dad doesn't say much during the ride- he's managed to mostly snap out of his mood, but he hasn't been very talkative lately in general, instead burying himself in his work. (There's a new game company trying to court him now, and Church is hoping he'll take them on. Frustratingly smart AI's for video games are a much better focus than dangerously smart weapons, in Church's opinion. Who needs a gun that can fire itself?)

His plane lands around noon, and mom's brother Vic is there to pick him up. Church wasn't entirely sure he'd recognize the man when he saw him- he hasn't seen him in so long he forgot the man existed until he answered mom's phone the other day- but he bears an unsettling resemblance to his twin and Church is suddenly glad he takes after dad's side of the family almost exclusively.

“What's up little dude?” Vic says, when Church joins him at the terminal. “Welcome to Sidewinder- well, welcome to Nesse City, but we'll be in Sidewinder soon enough. Well! Long time no see, little dude. Last time I saw you you were about this high and you didn't know how to smile.” He glances down at Church, scowling up at him, and frowns. “Hmm, looks like there's a few things that haven't changed. Anyway, come on! Gotta get you back to the casa sita. Well I say back I of course mean I have to get you there, since you've never been to be back. Come on anyway.”

By the time they get to the house, Church is starting to wonder if he really forgot about his uncle's existence or if he actively repressed that memory.

There's a boy about Church's age on the porch when they get there. Vic gives him a wave when they pull up.

“Look at that, little dude. The locals are already coming around to welcome you. Hey there, Jimmy! Come to say hi?”

“Yeah.” He sticks out his hand as Church approaches. “I'm Jimmy Jenkins,” he says. “I live next door here. Miss Vicky said her boy was gonna be staying with her and I should come say hello.”

“Uh, Leonard Church,” he says, a little bemused as he shakes the boy's hand. “Yeah, I'm- I'm just here for the rest of the summer, so... not that long.”

“Well it's nice meeting you anyway. If you want I can show you around later. Introduce you to everyone.”

“Uh. That'd be nice.”

The prospect actually has him feeling a little better about his visit. This Jimmy seems like a good kid.

*

There are three other boys living on their street: Delta, whose eyes are almost the same startling shade of green as Church's, his little brother Theta, who is about Kai's age, with hair dyed a violent contrast of violet and mauve, and Sigma, who has a flame tattooed up his left arm and burn scars lacing up his right. Jimmy introduces Church to them after lunch, when the two boys are walking down the main road into town. Delta and Sigma are taking Theta to get ice cream, and Theta excitedly waves them over when he spots the other boys.

“Hey guys,” Jimmy says. “This is Leonard, he's Miss Vicky's boy and he's staying here for the rest of the summer.”

“Actually, it's- uh-” Church hesitates. Actually. “Yeah, that's me. Leonard.” The name tastes foreign on his tongue; he can't remember the last time he was just Leonard. He isn't sure he ever was just Leonard. But it's kind of nice having a first name for a change.

They join the other boys for ice cream and for the next hour Church finds himself pleasant company for the first time in ages. It occurs to him, somewhere between Theta arguing with Delta to let him get an extra scoop and deciding to just pay everyone's ticket at once (hey, being a spoiled rich kid has its advantages) that nobody here knows him.

Nobody here knows him as surly, cranky, perpetually-scowling Church. They don't know him as Dr. Church's spoiled bastard, or Carolina's less accomplished brother, or anything else. Here he is, apparently, Miss Vicky's boy, but this so far has only meant that his neighbors are friendly to him and he gets invited out for ice cream.

It's... relaxing. He lets out a breath and feels like he's pushing away a huge weight that was bearing down on him.

He feels like he's going to like staying in Sidewinder.

*

o/o

*

Cappy and Reggie get home a week later, looking tired but happy and- in Reggie's case- badly sun burnt. Tucker is glad they're home- he's been going stir crazy at the house on his own. He's played all the way to the end of Call of Modern Warcraft on zen mode, watched every Vampire Mummy Werewolf movie in the main series, and eaten all of the good groceries the first few days so for the past two he's been living off of ramen and potatoes. He could go around to the store and get more, of course, but that would mean washing his clothes, and that's out of the question.

Explaining this when Cappy and Reggie come home and try to make lunch, only to discover that there are no groceries, a week's worth of dirty laundry, and the dishes haven't been cleaned either, just leaves Cappy laughing until he's in tears. He calls in an order for take-out while Tucker throws a load of laundry on and gets started on the dishes, a little embarrassed.

“Guess I couldn't manage staying on my own after all,” he says. Cappy just squeezes his arm fondly.

“I'm not surprised, though. Or angry. It was your first time on your own, it can be hard to remember to do what you're supposed to when there's no one to tell you. But you managed all right.”

*

It takes most of the next day to get the last of their things moved over to the new house, and two days later, Tucker and Cappy are packing again, for their weekend away. Tucker's looking forward to it- he's been miserable lately, without his friends to talk to (Simmons isn't speaking to him, Grif and Donut are in Hawaii- and Grif isn't speaking to him either, anyway- and Church, he heard from Carolina, is out of town too. And Caboose. Well. Caboose. That's the one that hurts the most.)

After lunch on Friday he and Cappy throw their bags into the car and head off, leaving Reggie and Gary to their own weekend of one-on-one time.

Cappy has them booked for a weekend at a bed and breakfast upstate, the Keystone B&B. There's a pool out back, but when Tucker glances out at it on the way to their rooms, it's empty.

“What's with the pool?” he asks the attendant. She glances out as well.

“Oh, that. It all evaporated. We're not sure why, but we're working on refilling it. It should be okay by tomorrow.”

“That's good. I was hoping to swim while we're here.”

*

Cappy shivers when they get to the room. “They're very enthusiastic with the ac here, aren't they?” he says, moving to adjust it. “I would almost think I was back in Russia, as cold as it is.”

Tucker looks up from digging his clothes out of his suitcase. “You were in Russia?”

“Mmm, about... twenty years ago? Something like that, anyway.”

“What were you doing in Russia?”

“Nothing I'm allowed to talk about.” He wraps a blanket around himself and plunks onto one of the beds. “Well, except Ivan. I'm technically allowed to talk about Ivan, but I don't think you want to hear about him.” (This is true.) “Tucker, sit down. Talk to me. Something's wrong- you've been miserable since I got home. Tell me what's going on.”

“Well.” Tucker stalls a little while he bundles up too, wrapping himself in a cocoon of blankets and settling down beside Cappy with a sigh. “I got in a fight with my friends while you were gone,” he finally says. “None of them are speaking to me now.”

“Oh, Tucker. Do you want to tell me what you're fighting about?”

“Dumb shit.” He shrugs, a pout already forming. “And, well. I kinda slept with Church. Caboose found out and broke up with me.”

“No! Why would you do that?”

“Because I make bad choices.” He huddles deeper into his blankets, not from the cold, which is starting to dissipate, but more because the disappointed way Cappy is looking at him stings almost as badly as the hurt looks he'd gotten from Caboose. “I messed up, I know I messed up. You don't have to tell me that. I already know. And the worst part is that I really hurt Caboose and I don't know how to make that right again.”

Cappy frowns, and opens his blanket bundle. “Come here,” he says, and Tucker crawls willingly into the embrace. Cappy wraps him up in a big bear hug and for a long moment, Tucker just lets Cappy hold him. It doesn't matter that he's nearly seventeen and almost grown, Cappy is comfortable and comforting he hasn't had anyone to give him this kind of affection since his second stepmother.

“You want some advice?”

“Please.”

“Give everyone time to cool down. If you try to talk to everyone about what you fought about now, all they'll remember is that they're angry. But once you're all done being angry, you'll remember how much you love each other.

“I guess.” Tucker sulks, and Cappy ruffles his hair fondly. “I just wish we could skip that part.”

“Hopefully you'll get through it quickly.” He rests his chin on Tucker's head and hums softly, soft voice drifting into a gentle tune that relaxes Tucker and lulls him into a loose doze.

It'll be rough going with his friends, he knows. But Cappy makes him feel like they'll actually get better in the long run, and that helps.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

They've only been in Hawaii for a couple of hours- long enough for them to check in and get their things settled in their hotel room- before Grif is begging to go out. He wants to remind Kai of what her home looks like; he wants to show Donut his Hawaii, and most of all, he doesn't want to be cooped up in a little hotel room when he's finally back home where he belongs. Sarge finally relents, saying he has some small business to take care of before he can properly enjoy himself anyway, and Grif's face lights up before he's herding his siblings out the door and down to the ground floor and then out into the bright, beautiful sunny world of Hawaii.

Sarge waits until they're gone before leaving himself, heading in the opposite direction. Being in Honolulu is bringing back painful memories, both of his time with Kalani and everything from before that. It hurts, but in a bittersweet kind of way- maybe he'd fucked that one up, but he'd gotten his son and his daughter out of the deal, so that was at least a viable pay-off.

He stops off at a florist on his way and buys a bouquet of flowers- bright, beautiful, and sweet-smelling, the kind she liked best. The florist looks at the big bouquet and Sarge's dour expression with a knowing look. “Messed up with the missus, did you? These'll get you back into her good books.”

Sarge just stares. “It's a little late for that, son,” he says. “And flowers wouldn't do the trick anyway. Keep the change.”

His walk through Honolulu takes him to places that are both a distant memory and as clear as if they had happened yesterday; a blur surrounding complete clarity as he remembers a lost moment here, a missed opportunity there. A fling, he'd called their relationship, and that was true, but only on the surface. But he'd never gone into it looking to fall in love and she'd known that from the beginning. He hopes she understood, when all was said and done, why he couldn't love her. He thinks she might have. That, at least, she'd never held against him.

The cemetery is much the same as he remembers it four years ago, a few more tombstones perhaps but well maintained, if a bit rough around the edges. He's only been once but his feet carry him to her grave as though he has walked this path a hundred times. Once there, he coughs and shuffles nervously, and takes on a stance of a shy suitor.

“Uh.. hope you don't mind I came to see ya,” he says. “I, I brought ya flowers.” He sets the bouquet down on the grave, and carefully unties the ribbon holding them together. When the wind blows, it will carry the flowers away, bit by bit, scattering their color across the graveyard. She'd have liked that, he thinks. “I was in the neighborhood.. thought I'd drop by- I- um.”

He doesn't know why he's so nervous. It's not like she's really there, her soul having long departed from her body. But he's still nervous. Perhaps it's hanging around, perhaps she can see him now.

“Anyway... I just wanted to let you know that the kids are okay. Our boy is- he's growing into a fine young man. Taking the roundabout way to get there but he uh, he's gonna be okay. And your girl is... she's something. She's gonna be something, that one. Gonna make a name for herself, just hope it's a good one. Probably a good one.” He smiles. “I'm doing my best with 'em, Kalani. I think you'd be proud of 'em. Think you'd be proud of me. Finally did what you told me to. Took me a good fifteen years but I did it.”

A small breeze passes through the cemetery, plucking at the flower petals and pushing the bouquet apart a bit. He decides to take that as a good sign, that he's managed to please her in some way, and he smiles.

“I don't think I ever apologized for walking away,” he says. “And for leaving you to handle our boy on your own. And it's a little late in coming but for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I should have done more. If I could change time, I would.” He rubs at the back of his neck a little awkwardly. “Anyway, that's- that's all I wanted to say. I'm gonna head out now. Gonna take the kids out to eat tonight, somewhere authentic maybe. I think Grif'd like that. He seems really excited to be home.”

The breeze picks up again, stronger this time. His smile spreads. “All right. I'll go now. And, you know. I'll try to make it back before another four years passes this time.”

He leaves, then, muttering to himself as he goes. He feels a bit better about things, now... and ready to enjoy a much-needed vacation with his kids.

*

A week and a half into their vacation, just a few days before they're scheduled to leave, Grif approaches Sarge. They're out at the beach, Sarge keeping a watchful eye on Kai and Donut, who are walking the beach looking for seashells, and Grif had been out swimming but now he's dropping himself heavily into the sand. He's been pretty happy lately, and Sarge hasn't missed the difference: Hawaii really is where Grif belongs, and it's never been more apparent than now. He's never been this happy in Iowa.

“Hey Sarge.”

He looks a little apprehensive now, and Sarge just raises one questioning eyebrow at him.

“I was wondering if I could get a tattoo.”

Sarge just glances down at his own body, covered in tattoos of his own, cutting a diagonal from his right collarbone across his chest and down his left arm. He grunts. “I'd be a hypocrite if I said no. What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing fancy.” Grif grabs their bag and digs through it, pulling out his wallet and handing Sarge a piece of paper tucked away inside. “I've been doing research- I just want to take a piece of home back with me, you know, carry it with me wherever I go.”

Sarge isn't sure what he's expecting- something tribal, perhaps, since Grif mentioned doing research- but what he sees is a flower, slightly stylized (and he recognizes Grif's careful pencil strokes, but doesn't say it). The flower is nothing special, but he's seen it around a lot and understands what Grif means by carrying a piece of home with him. He grunts softly.

“Looks good,” he says, and notices the tiny shift and Grif's expression at the 'unintentional' praise. “We'll have a look around tonight, find somewhere you can get it done safely. Should probably wait till right before we head back, though. Don't want to go ruining your trip by having to deal with taking care of a new tattoo.”

The change in Grif's entire demeanor is noticeable, and Sarge realizes he genuinely expected Sarge to say no. That he expected to have to fight for this.

Or- maybe he expected Sarge to say yes and be done with it. That almost hurts a little more, even more that it's a completely founded notion.

God, he really did fuck up, didn't he? He pats Grif once on the shoulder, the best form of affection he can manage without getting awkward, and hands the drawing back. “Been awhile since I got a new tattoo,” he says. “Might look into getting one myself.”

*

o/o

*

Simmons knows when Grif and the others leave for Hawaii.

He knows because Donut sends him a text from the plane, excited about actually being on one for the first time in his life. He also mentions that Sarge and Grif are both being very quiet and a little green at the edges over flying, and doesn't mention that it's because Grif is afraid of heights and- apparently- so is Sarge.

He's not surprised Donut doesn't know. Grif doesn't talk about the things that genuinely bother him. Instead he prattles on about trivial things, or goes on long predictive tangents about science fiction scenarios and apocalypse scenarios, all taken from watching too many movies- Grif watches a lot of movies, repeatedly, playing them as background noise while he draws, which is another thing only Simmons knows about Grif, because if anyone else found out that Grif likes to draw- that Grif is good at drawing- Grif would be mortified.

The fact that Grif doesn't mind drawing around him- actually drawing, not his dumb, crude doodles that he does on his notes during class- should say a lot about the level of trust Grif has for him.

Had.

The mental correction leaves a sour taste in Simmons' mouth, and he feels a bit sick. After the things he said, Grif is never going to trust him with anything again.

But after the things Grif said to him, he isn't sure he wants to trust him, either.

He's still lying there with his phone in his hand, half-heartedly texting Donut about his flight, when Dad comes up. He sighs and sets his phone on silent. He still hasn't told Dad about him and Grif breaking up- are they broken up? Things had sounded pretty final when Grif had snarled at him to not bother calling him anymore.

But Mom knows, and Mom probably told him.

In fact, what Dad is coming to talk to him about has nothing to do with Grif.

“I've been thinking, Dick,” he says. “I think it would be a good idea for you to come work for me on the farm for the rest of the summer.”

“What?”

“I know you've always lent a hand when I needed one, but you'll be eighteen in a few months, and I think it's time you started learning our trade for real. You can do the work- I know you can. And it'll be a nice way to keep yourself occupied for the summer.”

Simmons has never had trouble occupying himself during the summer- though, admittedly, this is because he always has Grif to turn to if there's nothing to do. They don't really do much, but they at least don't do it together.

Actually, finding some way of occupying himself sounds good right about now. So he doesn't have to sit around on his hands missing Grif, at the very least. He shrugs.

“All right,” he says. Why not? It'd look good on a college resume, after all. Hard labor, and all. And understanding stuff about agriculture. Or something.”

He forces a smile, one that becomes a little more genuine when Dad actually smiles back, looking pleased and a little relieved that they aren't going to fight about this like with everything else. “Good,” he says. “That's good- you can start tomorrow. Hey, you know, I've got another kid your age working for me this summer too- that Dakota kid you used to hang around with. The polite one.”

“North?”

“Yeah, that one. I'm sure you two will work well together.” He pauses, as Mom calls them down to dinner, and swats hesitantly at Simmons' shoulder. “Get washed up and come on down. And hey, I'm really glad you agreed to this.”

“Yeah, no problem.” He turns to close down his game as dad leaves, mind buzzing. He used to hang out with North a lot, back before he got held back and they were separated. And that was right before Grif turned up and took over his life too. Now that he thinks about it, a lot about his life shifted when Grif turned up.

That doesn't really sound healthy, now that he thinks about it.

Maybe this break-up will be a good thing. Maybe it'll give him a chance to get his life back under his own control.

And if nothing else, it'll be nice to hang around with someone who doesn't resort to insults to show affection for a change.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

The first day of school is never fun for Grif, but this year he's actually looking forward to it, if only to get away from the farm. Sarge has had him working hard lately, pulling the weight that had before been delegated to Lopez. But Lopez is off doing the dad thing with is own family now, and Grif is learning first hand just how much work he'd always done- it's no wonder, in light of that, that Lopez is built like a bear.

He doesn't remember, until he walks into homeroom and sees Simmons, that he's fighting with his friends, and since they're all in his year, that means that today is just going to be a constant reminder of that.

Simmons isn't sitting at the back, where he usually sits with Grif. Instead he's at the front of the room, like the nerd that he is, reading over his schedule and ignoring the shouts of his classmates catching up with one another after a summer apart. Grif huffs a little and sinks into the back seat that he prefers, only to have the seat in front of it taken by South a moment later. She takes a second to look him over.

“Wow. You look miserable.”

“Hello to you too,” he says. She laughs.

“Well you do. So you heard, then? And my brother and Simmons?”

“Heard what? I know Donut mentioned something about them hanging out-” In fact Donut's exact words had been 'Simmons and North? I never would have-' before he'd cut himself off, glanced at Grif, and turned back to his phone with an awkward look. 'I mean, I'm glad they're reconnecting,' he'd finished with. Grif had ignored him. “-but I wasn't paying much attention.”

“Oh. Well, you may need to sit down for this.”

“I am sitting.”

“Right. Well, they're dating.”

“What?” He glances up at Simmons (spots and subsequently ignores the hicky peeking out from under his shirt collar), gives himself a moment to process, and then shrugs. “Oh. Well, good for them,” he says. “I hope they're happy together.”

South just raises an eyebrow at him. “So you're really okay with them?”

“Why shouldn't I be? Simmons and I aren't together anymore. It's his business.”

“Oh.” She hums a little. “It's kinda sad, though, you know? Not many people stay with their high school sweetheart forever, but of the two in a million who do, I kind of expected you guys to be among them.”

“Not everything we expect works out.” He picks up his schedule and looks it over. He's repeating history- big surprise there- but all of his other classes are new. And he's in Sarge's Advanced Physics class, which he's not sure how he feels about. On the one hand, he's always enjoyed Physics, especially the way Sarge teaches it (it's amazing, the number of ways there are to contain an explosion), but on the other hand, Basic Physics had been a constant battle between him and Sarge regarding his habit of not applying himself to his work.

His first class of the day is weight training, his phys-ed elective. He groans. He'd only signed up for it because it was better than running or playing team sports in gym, but he hadn't realized that meant he'd basically be working out first thing in the morning. South takes his schedule and looks at it.

“Oh hey, we've got weights together. Cool. Want to be my partner? It's going to be either you or Carolina and I can only handle her in small doses.”

“I thought she was like your best friend these days.”

“She is. But I can still only handle her in small doses. She's too competitive.”

“She-” Grif breaks off, and snorts. “Wow, you really are a kettle, aren't you?”

South just sticks her tongue out at him and flips him off. “So what about it? Want to be my partner?”

“Sure. Why not?” He shrugs. “But you're not going to shout at me, are you?”

“Nah. Well, maybe a little. You can handle it.”

“I hate being shouted at.”

“Tough tits.” She flicks his ear and goes back to his schedule. “We're in physics together, too, cool. I think Wash is in with us too, I know he took Basic last semester. Hmm, don't share any other classes, though, and our lunch only overlaps a little. Lame.”

“Can't have everything in life.” Grif snatches his schedule back and starts doodling on it. He glances up at Simmons, briefly, and turns back to South. “You wanna hang out after school or something?”

“Still not talking to your other friends?” She smirks at him. “Sure, sounds fun. We can head back to mine and go swimming.”

*

Maine is in their weights class, too. He and Carolina partner up, and when they've all gone through and figured out their limits and listed their goals on the board, Carolina looks at South, who is ahead of her (understandable, since South has been at this longer than she has) and sets her face into a hard line. South just flips her off smugly; Maine and Grif exchange a look of deep solidarity and sigh. It's going to be a long semester with these two trying to outdo each other.

*

South rides with him to her house after school, helpfully distracting them when they pass by North and Simmons, headed to North's truck out in the parking lot. Fortunately the new couple don't come round too, so it's just Grif and South at the Dakota house. He's glad he keeps a pair of swim trunks in the jeep, since he never knows when they're going to go swimming. South wolf-whistles playfully at him when he comes out of the changing room.

“Ha ha,” he says, while she just laughs. He considers pushing her into the pool in retaliation, but he knows how strong she is. She'd probably pull him in with her and he hates getting into the water too quickly. He settles for sitting at the edge of the pool and flicking water at her after she dives in headfirst, sending water everywhere. She splashes him back, a much bigger splash than his playful flicks.

“Come on, you pansy. Are you coming in or not?”

“In a minute. I don't like to hurry.”

“Except where food is concerned.” She hauls herself out to sit beside him, then shifts and lifts his arm to look at his hip. “Hey, cool tattoo.”

“You like it? I got it in Hawaii.”

“Yeah, it's good. And you're definitely the flower tat type of guy.” She pokes it, then traces the outline of the petals. “Whoever designed this did a really good job. It's so.. you.”

He's really glad a blush doesn't show well on his dark skin. He swats her hand away, a little embarrassed, and pushes off the side of the pool to drop the rest of the way into the water. “All right, I'm in. Happy now?”

South just stands up and jumps in again, surfacing spitting water at him, and grins. “Yes.”

*

Church's first day back to school is awful. He's reminded, in homeroom, that he still isn't speaking to Tucker; in Lit, that Simmons is still angry at him, and in Physics, that Grif hasn't forgiven him for ratting him out to Simmons. He doesn't even look at South for more than a moment- she was over with Carolina the day he got back to town and made it clear then she still has nothing to say to him. He's forced to take the only empty seat in the class, next to an Asian boy with bangs dyed a bright, tangerine orange. Church has never seen this kid in his life, which he supposes is a plus, since the boy probably has no idea of his reputation.

“Hi there,” the boy says cheerily. “Name's Felix.”

“Church,” he says, glancing over at Grif. The other boy is snickering at a conversation between South and Wash. It's a little depressing- he should be over there with them, joining in their fun. “You're new here, right?”

“What gave me away?” Felix beams at him, and then shrugs. “Yeah, my folks and I just moved here from Canada- my mom got transferred to some tech company- Necessity or.. something.”

“Mother of Invention,” Church corrects automatically. “That's my dad's company.”

“Ooooh!” Felix grins, and sticks out his hand. “I was going to ask about the name- so my mom is doing R&D for your dad, then?”

“Looks that way.” Church glances at his hand, then mentally shrugs and shakes it.

“Small world. Hey, listen, I don't really have anyone to show me around- it's been a real pain navigating this place all day, you know. Maybe, if you don't mind, you could help me out? Maybe introduce me to some of your friends?”

Church glances over at Grif and South. South is drawing on Grif's shoulder with a black Sharpie while Sarge passes out the syllabus for the course. He turns back to Felix. “I don't really have friends,” he says. “I'm Leonard Church. Having friends just waters down the experience.”

This is accompanied by another glance in Grif's direction, and so he misses the smirk that flitters across Felix's face before Sarge is telling them all to sit down and shut up so he can call roll. Church props his head in his hand and turns his attention back to Felix.

“But sure, I'll show you around if you want.”

“I'm so grateful,” Felix says, and Church doesn't miss the slight note of sarcasm in his voice.

*

Tucker rides with Cappy on the first day of school, so at the end of the day he wanders down the middle school classrooms to hang out and wait for him to go home. Ms. Kimball is up from the Elementary wing; she waves at Tucker when he comes in.

“I won't be much longer,” Cappy says. Tucker slides into one of the desks and takes out his Lit book while he waits, only half-listening as Kimball complains about their new secretary while he goes through and bookmarks the pieces they'll be reading this semester.

“You're being too hard on him, Vanessa,” Cappy says. “He's a little stuffy, but he means well, and he comes highly recommended.”

“He's a pompous, arrogant ass,” Kimball says. “Every word he's said to me so far has been patronizing. If I have to put up with him all year-”

“You will,” Cappy finishes for her. “You became a teacher for a reason, Vanessa. Don't let one rotten coworker spoil it for you.”

She just grumbles at that; Cappy rests a hand on her shoulder. “I'll talk to him, but honestly, you'd do best just to ignore him. Like I said, he doesn't mean any harm.” He puts the last of his papers into his bag. “Tucker, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah.” Tucker shoves his book tabs into his book for safekeeping and moves to leave. “See you, Ms. Kimball!”

He waves and waits outside; Cappy joins him a moment later and the two head out to the teacher's parking lot. Cappy gives his shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

“How was your first day?”

“Lousy. Church still isn't talking to me, and Caboose keeps giving me sad puppy eyes. I did make a new friend, though- new kid named Felix in my math class. He seemed nice.”

“Well that's good. I'm glad you have at least one good thing to say about today.” He throws an arm around Tucker's shoulder and ruffles his hair. “Keep your chin up, I'm sure it will only get better.”

“I'd say it couldn't get worse, but to be honest that's just an invitation to see how it could.”

*

Simmons wasn't expecting to be so miserable after his first day back to school, but he is. He's retaking algebra- his grades weren't quite up to speed, despite his talent with numbers. He barely sees North at all, since the other boy is almost exclusively in senior classes and their lunch period only overlaps by about ten minutes. Church and Tucker are still ignoring him, neither even looking in his direction in Lit. And Grif, who he's spent the past two weeks telling himself he could handle seeing again- after all, he has a new boyfriend now, which means he's moved on- just sends his stomach into cold knots every time they're in the same room together. That Grif seems to be in such high spirits- he saw him cutting up with South on the way to second period- only seems to make things worse.

Doesn't Grif know he's supposed to be miserable? He lost Simmons and Simmons has moved on and Grif is supposed to hate that. He's supposed to be upset and realize what he's lost. Doesn't he know that's how this works?

The end of the day is a little better, at least. He and North have Civics together, and for once he doesn't have to worry about choosing between his instinctive position at the front of the class and his usual place in the back, with his boyfriend. North likes to sit at the front of the room, too; they get a table together and spend the class nudging their feet against each other while they don't look in each other's direction.

North throws an arm over his shoulder while the two make their way down to the parking lot, Simmons deliberately ignoring Grif when they pass by. North and South do that twin communication thing and then South and Grif are gone. North shifts his arm down to hold Simmons' hand instead. “Feel like going out for ice cream?” he says. “Maybe a movie? It's our last time not having homework for awhile.”

“Sounds good. I thought we were going swimming, though.”

North just shrugs. “We can swim some other time. I don't feel like going home.”

“Oh. Well, uh. Sure. Ice cream sounds good.”

*

Donut was expecting it to hurt seeing Maine in homeroom, but he finds himself giving the other boy a cheery smile that he absolutely means when he greets him. It doesn't hurt him seeing Maine and Wash sat next to each other, either, though he does notice that Wash looks miserable. He wonders what that's about- he'd have expected the other boy to be happier, being with Maine now.

“He's not with Maine now,” Carolina says, when Donut mentions this to her. “He was never really into Maine.”

“But Doc said-”

Carolina just shrugs. “Doc was wrong.”

“Oh.” Donut stares down at his hands. “Maine, though-”

“Oh, Maine was definitely into Wash. It just wasn't mutual. Maine seems to be bouncing back, though. What about you? How are you holding up?”

“Better than I was expecting. I think we would have fallen apart soon anyway, to be honest. We were really only together out of habit by the end.”

“I'm glad you're both okay. I don't want to get stuck choosing between friends.”

“I would never ask you to do that!” Donut looks horrified at the idea. “Gosh, it's hard enough staying friends with Simmons now that he and Grif are broken up- I feel like I'm betraying Grif every time I talk to him.”

“How's Grif doing?”

“Surprisingly well, as long as Simmons doesn't come up. Hawaii really did him some good. You should have seen him, Carolina- I've never known him so happy. Have you ever been to Hawaii?”

“Once. I got a terrible sunburn and Alpha spent the rest of the trip rubbing his tan in my face. Smug prick- that would be the one thing he inherits from his mom's family.”

“Church tans?”

“If he'd ever go outside, he'd be as dark as Grif- or at least Simmons.”

This information- and the mental image that goes with it- takes a moment to process. Donut shakes his head. He can't imagine it.

“Are you going to join the wrestling team this year? I know last year you said you might this year.”

“I'm thinking about it. South wants me to. And Tex was pestering me about it last time we went up to Spiral to visit- but I don't know. Wrestling? Not really my thing. It's too bad we don't have a martial arts team, I could carry that.”

“Why don't you try starting one?”

“Because North and South and I are the only ones who study martial arts in this school, and North is graduating this year. Not much of a team, and if it's just South and I we'll just spend the whole time trying to outdo each other.”

“You do that anyway.”

“Only because she's so competitive. She has to make sure she's the best at everything.”

Donut snorts. “Pot,” he says, earning a scowl to rival her brother's- that scowl really is genetic, it seems.

*

Donut's lunch period is only shared with Wash and- for a short overlap- South; he finds them off in a corner near the teachers' tables and gets a beckoning wave from South when he's spotted.

“Why are we sitting near the teachers' tables?” he asks, sitting across from him. South gives him a wicked grin.

“Because Washpot here has been bad,” she says. “He's being punished.”

Wash glares at her, then turns his attention back to Donut. “I came to class late because I was helping a cat that had wandered into the break area,” he says. “But I was tardy and the principal thought I had brought my pet to school so I was told to sit here for lunch so the teachers could watch me.”

It's a common punishment for minor infractions- sit where the teachers can watch you. The implication that you can't be trusted, along with the humility of having that small amount of autonomy taken away, tends to be a deterrent for most students contemplating a bit of rule-breaking. Donut knows Grif and Tucker get stuck at the front table a lot, as does South, which is probably why she's teasing him so much now. He hopes Wash can understand her dedication in sitting at the front table- letting people, including other teachers, think that she's being punished- and doesn't hold her teasing against her.

(Donut has never had to sit at the front table, ever. He can almost feel everyone's eyes on him as they murmur about what he must have done.)

Donut has only been a few minutes before South has to go back to class. She leaves with a wave and a blown kiss in Donut's direction, leaving Wash to sigh and slump down in his seat. Up close he really does look pretty miserable; Donut nudges his brownie toward him, knowing how much Wash loves chocolate.

“Everything okay with you?”

Wash glances at the brownie, and takes it hesitantly. He picks at it dejectedly. “Not really. I miss Doc. I didn't just lose my boyfriend, you know, we've been best friends literally since we were babies. And now he's gone.” He picks at Donut's brownie for a few more minutes, but he doesn't eat all of it before he's getting up to carry his tray away. “I'm going to go spend the rest of my lunch period in the library,” he says. “I'll see you around.”

“Okay. See you.”

Donut waves sadly and watches him go, trying not to be miffed about his wasted brownie.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

The following weeks pass by in much the same vein as the first few weeks of school in any area, the students slowly returning to their routines and getting over the novelty of being back. Though the four boys are still not speaking to each other, they find that it's easy enough to remain civil as long as they don't interact- and even in this case, only Church is receiving the full brunt of their anger, being the catalyst for their fight in the first place.

Caboose still isn't speaking to Tucker. Fortunately, he's repeating half of his classes and Tucker barely sees him anymore, having so few overlaps with Freshmen classes. Tucker is a little relieved by how little he sees him; on the one hand, as much as he thinks being forced to see each other might help, he also can't handle the hurt look Caboose sends him every time he does see him.

He at least isn't in as bad a situation as Church and South, who have two classes together, and he's very glad he's not in the same boat as Grif and Simmons, who along with seeing each other so much, have to deal with losing both their boyfriend and their best friend in one go. They seem to be bouncing back a bit, though, to a surprising degree: most of their classmates would have expected them to take much longer in moving on from each other but Simmons and North are doing well and there are rumors floating around about Grif and South now.

But losing their friendship with each other is what stings the most for all four of them. None of them realized how much they had come to mean to each other in the four years since they met, until they no longer had that friendship to fall onto.

*

“Everyone thinks we're a couple,” South says, out of the blue one day while she and Grif are playing Mud Mummy Invasion in her room. Grif pulls up his inventory screen so he can consider South's words carefully; after two years of friendship he's gotten better at reading the things she doesn't say but it still takes time to parse through sometimes.

“Do you... want to be a couple?” he asks carefully.

“Nah.” She unpauses the game. “Gets really exhausting being part of a set all the time,” she adds. “I kinda like just being single right now.”

“That's fair.”

“North is graduating this year and next year I'll be on my own. I won't be North Dakota's twin sister, I'll just be South.”

“I think most people think of you as just South at this point anyway.”

“Not enough people.” She scowls, and takes out her frustration on a hoard of mud mummies. “And if I can make enough of a name for myself on the wrestling team- maybe bring home a few trophies to display in the trophy case- then in a few years, no one will even remember that I'm a twin. All the younger students will remember is that South Dakota was a star and North will just be another name on the alumni list.”

“This is a really big deal to you, isn't it?”

“Just be glad you and your sister were born six years apart. It really sucks being always known by who you are to someone else. I don't know why it doesn't bother North so much- but he practically encourages it sometimes.”

“Well I don't know. I spent four years being lumped in with Simmons all the time and to be honest, it was kind of nice, always having someone else there, knowing someone else was going to have your back.”

“Well I don't like it. It sucks.”

She grumbles a little while they play, but destroying hoards of mud mummies is therapeutic and by the time they've made it through the level she's feeling better. She switches over to the title screen and lays back with a content noise. “We should fuck,” she says, after a moment.

Grif is in the middle of eating an Oreo when she says this; he chokes and sprays cookie crumbs everywhere. She pounds him on the back until he stops.

“What? It was just a suggestion.”

“You just said you weren't interested!”

“In a relationship. Sex and dating are two different things. Come on.” She sits up and leans against his back, breath hot on the crook of his neck. “What's a little clit touching between friends?”

“Um!” Her proximity is making it hard to think; he edges away, and she gets the point and backs off. “I don't actually have one of those, you know.”

“You know what I mean.” South leans back on her elbows. “I'm not asking for a commitment. I know you're still pining over Simmons-”

“Am not.”

“-and I'm not interested in dating you. I just want to get off to something besides my own hand. Please?”

Grif looks her over, considering it. Objectively, he has to admit South is hot- a body sculpted through years of hard work, carried with confidence and shown off with pride. In a general sense, the thought of her has his dick twitching with interest. But he's never been attracted to South- he isn't sure how to be.

On the other hand, she's not really asking him to be. She's asking to get off, and to get him off in return. And that- almost doesn't seem like a bad idea. He scoots closer.

“No penetration,” he says. “I don't really want to be a teen father or anything, and- I-”

He hesitates, but South is better at reading him than he is her and a wicked grin crosses her face.

“You know, I have a strap-on, if that's more your style.”

His brain shuts down at her words, accompanied by her suggestive eyebrow. He makes a noise that sounds a bit like 'Glurk?' and coughs. “I'm... not gonna ask why you have that,” he says. “Because the answer probably involves Church and I don't want to know-”

“Who says Church has to have been involved?” She leans on his back again, slipping her thumb up under the hem of his shirt and tracing the tattoo on his hip. “I do hang out with Tex and CT a lot, you know.”

That has his dick fully interested. He looks over his shoulder at her. “You are a temptress,” he says. She grins, and mouths at his neck.

“Of course. So is that a yes to the fucking or...?”

“Yes. Yes it is.”

*

No matter how old he gets, Tucker will always love those moments when the teacher says they need someone to take something to the office for them. These moments are rare, and he doesn't always get chosen, but the chance to get out of class for a few minutes, to walk the empty halls of the school, past the many classrooms with students who must remain in class, always sends a thrill straight down to the part of him that will always be ten years old.

And speaking of ten year olds, when he reaches the office, he's surprised to see Gary and a boy he doesn't recognize sitting outside. Gary is holding a wad of paper towels to one arm, and the boy has an ice pack pressed onto one eye, as well as a series of bruises already blossoming on the opposite cheek. Tucker slips into the office to hand off the folder to Doyle; once outside, he stops and stares at the two boys.

“What in the world happened?” he asks. Gary gives him a defiant look, but the other boy answers before he can.

“I'll tell you what happened. King Nerdzilla over here can't handle the truth about his girlfriend being a fat skank.”

“You have a girlfriend?” This accompanied by an eyebrow; Gary just glares.

“No,” he says, eerie monotone almost leaving his voice in the heat of his anger. “Andy just cannot understand that girls do not exist only for the romantic interest of boys.”

Tucker shakes his head. “You wanna try that again? Try being specific.”

“I am tired of him calling Kai rude names.”

Oh, right. Tucker thinks he can remember Grif saying something about Kai having problems with a bully. “So you gave him a black eye?”

“No. Kai gave him a black eye. I got him in the cheek.”

Andy just giggles. “Kai's got a lot of weight to put behind a punch,” he says. “Zing!”

“Keep that up and I'm going to punch you,” Tucker says. “Where's Kai, then? She okay?”

“Meh, she's in the nurse's office. She'll be fine!” Andy adds, at the glare Tucker shoots him. “She just knocked a tooth out when Mr. White Knight here elbowed her in the face. Won't stop bleeding.”

“It was an accident,” Gary says quietly. “We are not very good at fighting.”

“Good, just means you've never had any reason to be.”

He ruffles Gary's hair fondly and leaves, then, with a parting remark that if Andy tries talking anymore shit to take out his other eye.

On his way back to class, he considers the situation. He has the same lunch period as Grif; he's been ignoring the other boy mostly but if the tables were turned, if Grif had found out Gary was fighting and had gotten hurt, he'd want to be told, if for no other reason than so he could know. On the other hand, Grif is still not speaking to him, and he has Sarge's class after lunch anyway. No doubt Sarge will be happy to tell him, right?

He muddles the question over and by the time he gets to lunch, he just decides to go with it. He'd want to know if it was Gary. Grif can live with talking to him for a few minutes in light of that.

Tucker leaves his lunch tray with Felix (with a stern order to not steal his pudding cup again, seriously dude, not cool) and heads over to where Grif and Carolina are sitting. He slides awkwardly into the seat across from Grif and drums his fingers nervously on the table at the confused look he gets from them.

“What are you..?”

“I know you don't want to talk to me,” Tucker says, putting up one hand. “I just know I'd want you to tell me if it was the other way around, okay? I had to take some stuff to the office earlier and I ran into Gary and some other kid, they'd been fighting. Anyway, they said Kai had been fighting too and she was in the nurse's office cause she got a tooth knocked out and her mouth wouldn't stop bleeding. That's all,” he adds. “I'm sure she's fine but, you know. Like I said. I'd want to know.”

Grif frowns. “She's okay, though?”

“Probably. I mean, I got this from the kids, but I've had a tooth knocked out before and I was fine.”

“Yeah, same.” He considers this for a minute. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for telling me, dude.”

“No problem, man.” There's an awkward moment, and Tucker stands. “I'm, uh, I'ma go back before Felix steals my pudding cup.”

He hurries back to his seat, where Felix is finishing off his pudding with obvious relish. “So what was that about?” Felix asks. “Thought you two weren't speaking to each other.”

“We're not. Just... I dunno, doing a good deed, I guess.” He pokes morosely at his vegetables, and stabs at Felix's hand when the other boy tries to sneak the rest of his fruit.

“Ow! Not cool, dude, you're allergic to those anyway. I'm doing you a favor.”

“What? Oh.” He hadn't realized it was citrus. He passes the bowl of fruit over to Felix. “Sorry, habit. Between Grif and Church I have to guard my food with a vengeance. Um, had.” He goes back to moping, at that. He misses having lunch with his friends.

He looks so down that Felix sighs around his stolen fruit. With a look of deep regret, he passes Tucker the rest of his tater tots (that most coveted of lunch items at Blood Gulch High, for some reason). “Here,” he says. “Take them before I change my mind.”

“Um. Thanks?” Tucker takes the tots. “What's this for?”

“Because you really look like you're hurting, and I can't stand to see my friends sad.”

“Oh.” The gesture, unexpected, touching, and generous, leaves a warm feeling in Tucker's stomach. “Thanks, dude.”

*

When school lets out later, Grif heads straight down to the middle school wing to check on Kai. She's in better spirits than he expected, but he shouldn't be surprised. Kai is the sort to bounce back from anything pretty quickly. There's a bruise blossoming across one dark cheek and her mouth is swollen, but otherwise she seems fairly unscathed from her first fight. When he makes her open her mouth so he can look, though, one of her lower incisors is missing. He frowns.

“Sarge said he's taking me to the dentist tomorrow,” she says, voice muffled and words slurred a little. “They're gonna take care of it for me.”

“Heh, we match now,” he says, opening his mouth to show off the missing canine he'd lost years ago, while they were still in foster care. He chucks her gently on the chin and ruffles her hair, then puts an arm around her shoulder while they head out to the parking lot. “Now tell me why you were fighting.”

“Andy was being a pissbaby. He called me those names again, the ones you won't let me repeat.” A dark look passes across Grif's face, but Kai doesn't notice it. “Then Gary told him to go away and leave us alone, and he started saying rude things about Gary, too. So I hit him. Then he called me a fat skank and Gary hit him. But Gary elbowed me at the same time and knocked my tooth out. It was an accident,” she says hastily, lest he hold any anger to her friend. She doesn't say anything else, a little worried by how angry her brother looks.

South is waiting for him at the jeep. Kai's face immediately lights up when she sees her and she hurries forward, opening her mouth to show off her missing tooth.

“South look, I got in a fight today!”

“Cool. Did you win?”

“I think? How could I tell?”

“Did the other kid cry like a baby when you hit 'em?”

“No. But he swore a lot and then went and tattled to the teacher.”

“Sounds like a victory to me.” She tugs at one of Kai's pigtails and glances at Grif, still staring angrily at the ground as he approaches. “Hey, we hanging out today or are you just gonna take the kid home?”

“What? Oh.. yeah.. you can come back to the house with us, if you want. I have homework and then it's my turn to cook dinner, but we can still hang out.”

“You should come for dinner,” Kai says, taking South's hand and pulling her the rest of the way to the jeep. “We always have pancakes for dinner when my brother cooks, cause that's the only thing he knows how to make. But he makes really, really good pancakes.”

“I know how to cook other things,” Grif says. “I just don't like to. Too much work.”

South raises an eyebrow at him, then grins. “Sure, sounds fun.”

*

Sometimes Felix follows Church home from school.

Church doesn't remember ever actually inviting the other boy over, but one day Felix had just come out to the parking lot with him and gotten into his car as natural as ever, and Church hadn't thought anything of it until after Felix had gone home. They'd spent the afternoon playing Mud Mummy Invasion, after Felix had had a look around the house (“You and your sister have the entire top floor to yourselves? Really?” “Oh, dude! This tv is the size of a billboard, that's amazing!” “Is that seriously a dumbwaiter? You don't even have to go downstairs to get your food?”). Apart from Felix's starstruck behavior- which toed the line between endearing and irritating- it wasn't a bad visit. Felix had turned out to be pretty good at Mud Mummy Invasion- he even showed Church how to find a hidden area he hadn't known about.

And it was nice to have company again, and company that actually liked him for a bonus.

Now Felix follows him home sometimes, and Church feels like if it were anyone else he'd object to the intrusion. There's just something about Felix, though- Church likes having him around.

“We should go swimming,” Felix says. It's a hot day, and he's leaning against the balcony window looking out at their pool. Church is at his desk, scribbling down a complex equation that won't get out of his head; Felix wanders over when he doesn't answer and sits on the edge of the desk. “Come on, man, it's too hot to hang around inside all day.”

“In a minute.” Church scratches his head, staring at the equation and trying to figure out what goes next. “I'm busy.”

“Aww man, you suck.” He pouts, and wanders over to the balcony again. “Oh hey, that Price kid is here. What's his name. The big one?”

“Maine?”

“Yeah, that one. He and your sister are swimming. We should go join the-” He breaks off. “...on second thought, I don't think they want company.”

Church takes his glasses off and rubs irritably at his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Well, they're kinda making out on the diving board-”

“What?!” Church is on his feet in an instant, striding across the room to the balcony window. Felix moves aside so Church can see, and sure enough, Carolina is down there with Maine, pressed against him in the water. It's hard to see from their angle, but their faces are way too close to be doing anything else. Church almost snarls in annoyance. “What the fuck does he think he's doing?”

“From this angle it looks like he thinks he's groping her,” Felix says. “Kinda hard to tell thou- where are you going?”

He hurries after Church, who is storming out of the room and down the stairs. He moves in front of him, trying to block his path. “Hey, hey, Church? Calm down. Okay? Don't get into it with Maine, he's a foot taller than you and he works out daily. For a grade. So does Carolina. If you go down there, and try to stop them, they will both kick your ass. Is that what you want?”

Church stops and takes a step back. Okay, that's a fair point. He sighs and rolls his eyes. “Fiiiine.” He grumbles. “So you wanted to go swimming?”

“Going to go hover uncomfortably close so they can't touch?”

“That's the plan.”

“Devious. I'm in.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Halfway through September, Tex shows up at the house and informs Grif that she finally got the car back into racing order, and offers him a place on her newly revived crew, if he still wants it.

“Fuck yeah,” he says, immediately. At Donut's worried look, he shakes his head. “I'm not letting that creep Jimmy ruin something I enjoy doing. We'll just be more careful this time. Who's on the crew? You and Stasney, or did you replace him?”

“No, Stas is still in. He's good at what he does even if he is irritating. Connie's on board too. I'm also looking into getting a backup driver, in case you can't make it at some point. Know anyone?”

“Only person I can think of is Maine. He drives like a maniac but he keeps it between the lines and he goes fast and has yet to hit anything.”

“Perfect, I'll ask him. It'll be good to have some muscle on the crew, too, just in case that rat Jimmy actually does try anything else.”

*

“Absolutely not,” Sarge says, when Grif tells him later. Grif stares.

“What? Why not?”

“Wh- Dammit, Grif! What do you mean, why not? You nearly got killed last time you got involved with those races! You think I'm gonna let you back out there to try it again?”

“That was a fluke! We're making plans to be more careful this time!”

“And when all your precautions fail and you get hurt again? Next time you really could get killed.”

“Then at least I'll go out doing something I love!”

He regrets his words almost immediately; Sarge looks as though he's punched him. He stares Grif down for a minute, then his shoulders sag and he turns away. “You're not doing it,” he says, a tired edge to his voice. “That's final.”

“But-”

“I said no, Grif!”

Grif glares at Sarge's back for a long time, then turns on his heel and storms out. “Fine.”

*

Grif goes outside to fume, and without realizing, his feet carry him to the edge of the property, to the space near the fence that is out of sight of both his and Simmons' houses, where the grass grows high and, if he were to sit down, would swallow him from view. He and Simmons used to spend a lot of time in this spot, when they were younger- it's where they met, where they became friends, where they had their first kiss, even.

Once upon a time, he could go out to the fence and call Simmons and Simmons would appear, as if by magic, and things would be a little less dull or annoying for awhile.

He pokes dejectedly at the fence post. He really misses Simmons.

*

Since he and North started dating, Simmons has noticed that his dad is having an easier time accepting that his son is just Not Straight (Simmons is hesitant to use the word gay; he's not entirely sure it applies). He no longer treats the word boyfriend like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He actually manages to be more than just coolly civil to North when the other boy is over. Yesterday he even almost smiled at him.

It kind of stings a little. Sure, North is in many ways the cookie cutter ideal- any parent whose child was into boys would be happy to have that child date him; he's polite, he's friendly, he's caring, he's funny, he's witty, he's smart, and he has an air about him that would put anyone at ease, even if they didn't know him. He wears collared shirts and slacks (the sort of clothes Simmons' parents buy for him), he helps clean up the dishes when he comes over for dinner, and he always brings mom little tokens, “as a thank you for the hospitality,” he'd explained, when she asked about them.

And he makes cookies that would probably have Grif salivating.

In every conceivable way he presents a picture that is a stark contrast to the picture Grif presented, and Simmons can see why his dad is so much more willing to accept him as Simmons' boyfriend- he's actually taking the time to court them and seek their approval, something Grif always flat out refused to do. That's what stings, really- that his dad is only willing to accept his son Isn't Straight as long as he chooses a partner he approves of.

For the most part, Simmons appreciates North's courtship, though. His family is important to him, drama and disputes aside, and Grif had never been able to understand that. Family doesn't matter to Grif the way it does to Simmons.

But sometimes it can get a bit tedious. Like when he wants to go kiss his boyfriend but his boyfriend is insisting they do the dishes first.

“If we go up to my room, we can make out,” he says, nudging his hand against North's purposefully as the other places another plate into Simmons' side of the sink. North just winks at him.

“Let's finish the dishes first, okay? Your mom worked hard cooking dinner, the least we can do to thank her is clean up.”

“She's not in here, you know. You don't have to say those things when she can't hear you.”

“I don't say them because I want her to hear me, I say them because they're true.” He reaches around to pat Simmons' ass lightly before going back to the dishes. Simmons knows he has a wet, soapy handprint on his butt now. The knowledge has him blushing furiously and grinning despite his irritation. “This won't take long if we work together and then when we get to your room we can make out or do anything else you want.”

He turns his full attention to the plates he's washing, to the pots and pans, and it would look like a perfect picture if the person looking wasn't close enough to hear what North is saying, which is a list of suggestions for what 'anything else' could mean. And that's another thing about North- no one should be able to look so calm and composed and- and golden while spilling such filth, but the words have Simmons hot under the collar and squirming where he stands. When they finally do finish, North steps into the living room to tell Mom and then he has his fingers loosely tangled with Simmons' and is leading him up the stairs.

Simmons stumbles after him; he pulls the door closed and lets North press him against it. During these intimate moments, North is assertive and commanding, yet another contrast to Grif, who was always too lazy.

But North's lips are on his neck, then, and all thoughts of Grif are pushed from his mind.

*

Emily knows Sarge well enough to know when he's upset- she sits beside him and curls her knees up against her, tracing his arm with light fingers. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He's silent for a long time, focused on Emily, warm at his side, touch gentle, soothing. “He's going to sneak out and go to the races anyway,” he finally says. “He's going to get hurt. He's going to- what if he gets killed this time? I can't lose him, Em.”

He hangs his head, and Emily moves her hand from his arm up to comb through his hair; she kisses the top of his head. “I know, sweetie. Have you tried talking to him?”

“Won't do any good.”

“Are you sure?” She tilts his head up to look her in the eye, traces her thumb softly along an old scar on his jaw. “Talking seemed to do you both some good before.”

“That was different. That was- God, I don't even-” He leans forward and buries his face in his hands. “How do I even start? He's young and he wants to do things and he's so good at it and I- how can I make him understand how much the thought of losing him terrifies me? When in his place at his age I would have done the same thing? When I did worse?” He lets out a long, shuddery breath. “I think I liked it better when he didn't have any motivation. At least then I didn't have to worry about him.”

“Where is he now?”

“Helping Kai with her homework.”

“Maybe after they're done you could try talking to him.”

He just grunts. She sighs.

“Or you could just sit here worrying yourself sick over him while he plans how to sneak out and do exactly what you're worried about him doing.”

*

Felix is so easygoing and friendly that Tucker has found it very easy to talk about his problems to him. In just a few weeks of friendship, he's already outlined the entirety of the details of his fight with his friends, his relationship with Caboose and why they broke up, and how miserable he is without any of them. He's told him about how awkward things are with Reggie now that they're trying not to hate each other, told him about how a part of him really wishes Cappy had never met Reggie and it was still just the two of them, even though another part actually shudders at the thought of not having Gary around anymore- despite himself, he's actually gotten attached to the kid.

Felix is a good listener. He doesn't offer advice- it's not his style, he says. He just listens, and oddly, that seems to be enough.

“I think I might try apologizing to Caboose,” Tucker says, in math one day. “You know, see if I can clear the air a little.”

“Sounds good,” Felix says. He's copying the answers to their homework from a piece of paper sticking out of his notebook; if Tucker was paying more attention, he'd recognize Church's neat scrawl and the loopy zeroes that are a signature of his handwriting.

“Yeah, if I can just get him to listen. I think he will? Maybe. I don't know.”

“Don't know unless you try.” Felix tucks the answer sheet back into his notebook. “So I heard something about races being held over in Valhalla, I was thinking of going. Any good?”

“The Valhalla Circuit? Yeah, I guess.” Tucker shrugs. “I used to go sometimes, Grif drove for one of the crews for awhile last year, before he crashed.”

“Yikes. At least he walked away from it though, right? Crashes can get pretty nasty, you know.”

His words conjure a memory of Grif, lying far too still in the hospital bed, hooked up to beeping machines. Tucker shakes his head, forcing the thought away. “He uh- he was actually hurt really badly,” Tucker says. “That's why he has those scars down his face and arm.”

“Oh.” Felix stares down at his book awkwardly. Tucker never mentioned that- he doesn't like thinking about it, if he can avoid it.

“Look, it's fine, you didn't know. But yeah, the races are okay, if you're into that sort of thing. Or something to do if you're bored and have gas money to drive that far and money to spend on entry and concessions. I mean, I always got in as a guest with the Blood Gulch Crew, but we'd have to pay this time around.”

“Hmm.” Felix frowns at that, like he's considering the value of the entertainment versus the money he'd have to spend on it. “I suppose we could split the gas money and bring our own snacks. What do you think? Want to go this weekend?”

Tucker shrugs. “Sure. Not like I have anything better to do.”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Wow. Wow, you just- you know, sometimes I am just so overwhelmed by how much you clearly want to hang out with me.”

“Hey, don't be like that, dude.” Tucker punches his arm lightly. “I just mean the races aren't really what I'm into, that's all.”

*

Skype calls with Jimmy are getting more and more frequent these days. Sometimes Delta and Sigma join them- usually disappearing about halfway through when they're in the same place and then reappearing awhile later with more hickies than they signed off with.

They don't even talk a lot when they're in call. Sometimes they just leave the call open while they work on homework, or watch movies. Falling into conversation and then falling out while they return to comfortable, companionable silence. It's reassuring and Church loves it, for all that it leaves a pang in his chest when they hang up. He wishes they lived in Blood Gulch, so he could see them all the time- or, given how shitty things are in Blood Gulch now, that he lived in Sidewinder. Even mom, who didn't really seem all that interested in him once he was there, would be an improvement over all of this.

But he can't leave Carolina. They're a team, even if she does seem to have forgotten about that lately.

(Dad had seemed not to mind about her relationship with Maine. In fact he'd even seemed to encourage it. It's disgusting.)

(“Churches and Prices go well together,” he'd said. Then he'd given Aiden that look that was as close as he ever got to a smile, and gone back to work.)

“What does she even see in him, anyway?” Church says. He's been complaining to Jimmy off and on all afternoon, in between rounds of Mud Mummy Invasion Online. He hears a shifting sound on the other end that means Jimmy in shrugging.

“I dunno, man,” he says. “From what you tell me they've been friends for ages. Maybe they just decided to take their friendship in another direction.”

“But Maine is into Wash,” Church says. “He and Donut even broke up over it. What's he doing making eyes at my sister now instead?”

“Attraction changes, Leonard. And people move on when they can't have the person they want.”

“Nah, that's bullshit. You don't just get over your feelings for someone just like that. Especially when you spend a lot of time around them.”

There's that shifting sound again. There's a long, slightly awkward pause, before Jimmy just decides to change the subject. “When are you gonna come back to Sidewinder?”

“I don't know. We've got a long weekend coming up at school, maybe I'll convince dad to let me head up then.”

“I'll look forward to it.”

“Well forget that, though- when are you going to come visit me?”

“Maybe I'll come over winter break,” Jimmy says, laughing. Church's lips twitch into a hint of a smile at that.

“Great, you can celebrate Hanukah with us.”

“That sounds fun, we haven't really done much for Hanukah since my brother and I got 'too old', to quote my parents.”

“You're never too old for eight days of presents. And you can try Doc's Hanukah cookies while you're here. They're exactly like Christmas cookies but he shapes them like Menorahs so he doesn't 'offend me'. It's been six years; I don't have the heart to tell him I don't care what they're shaped like as long as they're delicious.”

This gets a laugh from Jimmy. “It's still kind of sweet. He's being considerate. More than some people can say.”

“I guess.” Church shrugs. “So December, then? I'll talk to dad about having you come down. He probably won't care. Probably won't even notice.”

“December,” Jimmy says, and Church can hear the grin in his voice even without video chat turned on.

*

“He's not stopping me,” Grif says, pacing the floor in Donut's room while the other tries to focus on his homework. “If I'm not letting Jimmy take it away from me I'm certainly not letting Sarge do it. I'm good at racing, and I like racing. I'm going to race.”

Personally, Donut agrees with Sarge- but he doesn't think Grif can understand that. He was out of it during that four days that they were worried sick about him. Instead he sets his pencil down and leans back. “He's worried,” Donut says. “You really scared us.”

“But this is different. Tex is taking precautions- and we're going to be extra careful, and- look, it'll be fine. And if it's the risks in a regular way, why doesn't he mind me leaving the house in the mornings?”

“Because you leaving the house in the morning isn't lodged in his mind beside you in a hospital bed and doctors telling him they were being cautiously hopeful about your chances. Do you know what cautiously hopeful means, Grif? It means you might survive, but if you don't, don't be surprised.”

“So?” Grif goes back to pacing. “I mean, for fuck's sake, Donut, he's the one always telling me I need more motivation. Well, guess what! I'm motivated! And I'm going to do it, one way or another. And he's not stopping me.”

Donut sighs. Why did Grif have to pick now of all times to want to do something?

*

North does homework after they have sex.

Simmons doesn't really like being touched afterward- especially by North, whose body, sweeping planes and carefully crafted angles, is just too hard to be comfortable against when he's feeling so charged. North is understanding. Simmons had hesitantly, awkwardly, unsurely (Grif's mocking 'High maintenance' echoing in his head) told him not to touch him when he was coming down, and North had moved away instantly. Now he does homework, while Simmons tries to get his world back into focus.

While he sits there watching, North leans back in Simmons' desk chair and takes off his glasses to stare thoughtfully at the ceiling. “You know,” he says. “It's not like it's anything to be ashamed of.”

“What?”

“The whole... no-touching thing. Lots of people get really charged after sex and need space. There's nothing shameful about it, and anyone who tells you otherwise is wrong.”

Simmons just hugs his knees to his chest. “Grif always wanted to cuddle afterward. He always seemed so hurt when I'd push him away.”

“So you...?”

“I stopped pushing him away. I never wanted to hurt him...”

“Huh.”

North doesn't say anything after that, returning to his homework (seniors have so much homework. Simmons isn't sure how he manages) without a word. He doesn't explain what that 'huh' means. Simmons waits, for a long time, but when it's clear North isn't going to say anything else, he goes back to thinking.

At least North isn't as clingy as Grif. That's good.

Right?

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Grif sneaks out to go to the races that Saturday.

Tex hasn't finished registration yet, so he's only going as a spectator, but he wanders down to the pits anyway. Along with the racing itself, he's been missing some of his racing friends as well. Though the circuit has always had its fair share of sore winners, sore losers, pricks, dicks, and assholes, a lot of the other competitors were friendly, and he'd been on decent terms with many of them.

Besides, they'd understood the thing he couldn't put into words, the thing he felt when it was just him and his machine.

There's rules about spectators being too close to the pits, but Crunchbite, one of the mechanics for Team Heretic, spots him and waves him over. She manages- in choppy, thickly-accented English- to tell him that they've missed him, and that they're glad he's okay now. She traces the heavy line of scarring down one side of his face with one long finger (in the back of his mind, Stasney mumbles something about aliens) before honking cheerily and clapping his shoulder.

Grif is a little moved. The Heretics have always been the enthusiastic sort anyway, but it's touching to think that he was actually missed.

*

There's a spiderweb of cracks in the plaster on Church's wall, surrounding a dent the size of his fist. His hand is throbbing, his knuckles turning a bright red, but he's not paying any attention to that. He's staring at the dent, a blank look on his face as his brain tries to get the rest of him to catch up.

The anger he felt only a moment ago is rapidly being replaced by fear. What of, he's not sure: dad never comes upstairs, so it's not like he's likely to be in any trouble. Besides, it shouldn't be too hard to fix, and not the first time it's necessary- there are patches on Carolina's wall that date back to when they were both small children, so many that it's hard to tell, now, whether her wall was originally seafoam or teal or aqua. But there's still a sense of terror that has his ears ringing.

Why is he so angry, anyway? He's not even the punchy sort when he gets mad; he prefers to just shout himself hoarse, voice pitching far too high as he fails to control it in his anger. He doesn't punch walls. He doesn't even really know how to throw a punch.

But Carolina had sent him a text canceling their standing movie night because she had plans with Maine, and he'd seen red and next thing he knew there was a dent in his wall. The thought has his blood boiling again. He can see them in his mind's eye, Maine with his arms around Carolina's shoulder as he leads her away, both laughing far too loud and far too cruel to be real.

“She's not yours,” he hisses angrily, and only just stops himself from throwing another punch. “You can't have her.”

*

Tucker's never come in through the main entrance- the only time he ever went to the races was with the Blood Gulch Crew, and they always went through the racer's entrance. Now he and Felix get stuck in line for twenty minutes waiting as the line moves far too slowly.

Inside, they find seats near the drag strip, and before they really manage to sit and get comfortable, a long, lanky figure takes the seat beside them.

“Well,” the figure says, “look who it is. I was wondering if any of Blood Gulch's finest were going to come back. What are you doing in the spectator seats, Tuck?”

Tucker just glares. “Hi Jimmy. Shouldn't they have you locked up somewhere?”

“Why? Because of my alleged involvement with those accidents?”

“Those weren't accidents and you know it.” Tucker stands up. “Come on, Felix, let's find somewhere else to sit.”

He all but pulls Felix away, ignoring Jimmy's parting shot of “Tell Frankie I said hi”. Once they're far enough away Tucker pulls Felix into a new set of stands and sits down. Felix gives him a confused look.

“What was that about? Who was that guy?”

“His name is Jimmy.” Tucker scowls at just the thought of him. “Remember I told you about Grif's accident last spring? Well, it wasn't an accident, it was sabotage, and Jimmy is the one who caused it.”

He tells Felix the whole story, the other boy sitting quietly through the whole thing. Felix grimaces when Tucker finishes the story.

“Yikes,” he says. “He sounds like a real piece of work. And you say he even got another boy killed?”

“According to Donut, yeah. But he's good- there's no proof he did anything, and accidents happen.”

“Nasty.” Felix shakes his head, and doesn't say much more after that.

It's a while later when Felix stands and stretches idly. “I'm going to go get some nachos,” he says. “You want anything from concessions?”

“Bring me back a drink,” Tucker says, not taking his eyes off the race. Felix gives an affirmative and then he's gone. It's a long time before he gets back, nachos soggy and Tucker's drink watered down with melted ice. Tucker stares at his drink with a frown.

“Sorry,” Felix says. “I ran into a really cute boy on my way back and I just had to stop and flirt with him. Took longer than I was expecting to get his number.”

Tucker just pouts and gets up. “Dude, I'm not drinking watered down soda. I'm gonna go get a fresh one.”

*

Grif ends up in three or four pits before the night is over, greeting friends who all wave and smile and comment on his absence. “Dude, we missed you,” accompanied by a relieved squeeze of his shoulder. “Glad to see you back on your feet,” said while the speaker knocks his head affectionately. “What, you don't know how to pick up a phone and call?” while his arms is punched just hard enough to sting.

The last pit he ends up in before he leaves is by accident- it's the one for Team Insurrection, but last time he was here it belonged to Harvest. He's approached by the crew captain- a guy in his twenties sporting a baby mohawk; Grif thinks his name might be CT- before he realizes his mistake. Before he can turn to leave, the guy has a hand on his shoulder.

“I know you,” he says. “You're the guy from the wreck last spring.”

“Yeah, that's me. Um.” He takes a step back. “Look, I'm really, really sorry about that. It wasn't me, there was- well, our car had been damaged- we didn't realize...” The captain is frowning at him. He gulps. “How is your driver?”

“Still in physical therapy,” the guy says, and lets go of Grif's shoulder. “He won't be driving again, at least not on a racecourse. Not since that wreck took out one of his eyes.”

“His eye?” Grif's stomach twists guiltily. To lose the ability to drive at all- but with only one good eye, the course will never allow him to race. He'd be a liability. Another wreck, waiting to happen. “I'm really sorry.”

“You should be. What are you even doing here?”

“I thought this was still the Harvest Kings' pit.”

“Harvest isn't racing anymore. One of the Joneses moved and they haven't been able to replace him.”

“Which one?”

“Hell if I know. The one with the accent?”

“Okay, that narrows it down to two, anyway.” Grif rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, I only came to see my friends, but since they're not here I'm going to go now. Uh, tell your driver I'm sorry. I really am.”

He takes a step back, and when CT makes no move to stop him, turns and hurries away. He doesn't feel like watching anymore races tonight; the image of Insurrection's driver- what was his name again? Terrence?- is flashing through his mind. Last time he saw the older boy, he was laughing, just before their race. Now he's in physical therapy, has lost an eye, and won't be allowed to race anymore.

Grif knows it wasn't his fault. His gut twists guiltily anyway.

*

Church rarely goes to his dad's room- especially when Aiden is over- but this is extenuating circumstances. His hand is still throbbing; he twists it nervously in the grip of his other a moment before knocking.

Just as he knocks, he hears, on the other side of the door, Aiden's calm voice, laced with a commanding tone. “Don't talk with your mouth full,” he says, and before Church can fully process what he's heard, he's already knocked. There's the sound of a thump from in the room at his knock, and dad's muffled swearing, followed by the creaking of a desk chair and rustling that sounds- oh god- like clothes being adjusted. He's about to just turn and leave when dad calls for him to enter, and the door slides open automatically.

Thanks a lot, FILLS, he thinks and steps into the room. Dad is sat behind his desk, Aiden at his shoulder, and they'd both seem fairly innocuous except that dad's face is red and he's rubbing the back of his head with one hand. Dad seems a little annoyed, but when he gets a better look at his son his brow furrows in concern.

“Alpha? What's wrong?”

“Noth- n- um.” He hesitates, rubbing uncomfortably at his hand again. “I was- I want to talk to Aiden. For a few minutes. In private.”

The two men exchange a glance, dad's eyebrow raising slightly before Aiden gives his shoulder a squeeze and moves out from behind the desk.

“Of course,” he says, gesturing for Church to go ahead of him. He half turns to dad. “I'll be back soon to finish what we started,” he adds quietly.

They end up in the library, on one of the window seats overlooking the garden. Church sits with leg shaking slightly, rubbing at his hand again, while he waits for Aiden to sit down beside him. He can't handle the passive look Aiden is giving him; instead he turns his attention to the garden, focusing on the flowers outside the window, barely visible in the dim light.

“Did you hurt your hand, Alpha?” Aiden asks, when Church doesn't say anything for a long moment. Church glances up at him, then drops his gaze to said hand.

“I was wondering if... your offer to uh, to help me with my anger stuff still stands,” he says quietly.

Aiden makes a soft noise. “Of course. It has always been standing.” He holds out his hand; Church hesitates, and puts his own into it. Aiden is silent while he looks it over. “May I ask what made you angry enough to lash out? I understand you tend to prefer verbal expression to physical.”

“I was-” Church hesitates. How to explain it without making it sound like he hates the man's son? Especially when, for the moment, he does. “I um. Carolina and I have this standing movie date- we always watch a movie together on Saturdays, like always. But then she canceled on me and I just- next thing I know there's a hole in my wall.”

“I see.” If he knows, he doesn't say anything. “What about her canceling made you so angry?”

Church just shrugs. “I don't know. She ditched me, I guess. I mean, I'm not surprised but- well, still hurts. And so does my hand. Ow.”

There's a long silence. Church waits while Aiden considers him, studying him closely. “When was the last time you had a full night's sleep?” he finally asks. The question has Church surprised.

“I... haven't really been sleeping that well lately,” he admits. “Do you think that's the reason...”

Aiden shakes his head. “No. But I don't think it helps.” He stands. “For the moment, I can make you something to help you sleep, but I think a long term solution is needed. And it will take time, Alpha. These problems are not solved overnight. But I have confidence. That you are willing to admit you need a solution at all is a big first step. Come with me.”

He leads Church into the kitchen, gesturing for him to sit down while he moves around at the stove, mixing ingredients into a boiling pot of milk. Church watches him, already somewhat calmed by the pleasing aroma, as well as the relief of having gone for help in the first place. But Aiden is right though- this is just a first step, but the first step is always the hardest, isn't that what they say?

Aiden eventually sets a mug of his concoction in front of Church. “It's a relaxer,” he says. “It will help calm you enough to sleep.” He waits for Church to take his first sip- of liquid euphoria, it turns out- before he speaks again. “Your father has a temper too,” he says. “And you are so much like him at times it seems like looking back through the years. But it will no doubt reassure you to know that he has never admitted he has anything that he needs help with .”

It does, actually. Church takes another thoughtful sip at his drink. “But you can help me?”

“Of course. It's why I went into counseling in the first place.”

“Well. Good.” Church sighs. “Because- I'm just so tired of being so goddamn angry all the time. All my friends ask me how I do it like- like I'm doing it on purpose. I don't think they realize that I don't know how to not be angry. That I literally have no idea how to turn it off.” He slumps on the table, exhausted. “Just so tired,” he mumbles. Aiden makes a soft sound.

“You should go to bed.”

“Yeah, I know.” He hauls himself to his feet to trudge away and upstairs. “Dad's probably waiting for you to get back anyway,” he mumbles, without a look back.

*

When Grif gets home, sometime in the dim light of late night, too early to be early morning, Sarge is sitting on the back porch waiting for him. He stands and comes down to meet Grif as he approaches the step, and gestures toward the truck, the battered pick-up that is his personal vehicle. “Get in,” he says, already heading for the driver's side.

Grif stands rooted to the spot for a moment, baffled, before turning toward the truck instead and sliding into the passenger's side, glancing nervously at Sarge. “Where are we going?”

Sarge says nothing as he pulls out of the yard and onto the highway, nor does he say anything for the entire drive. A few times he glances at Grif, opens his mouth as though he's about to speak, and then closes it again and carries on driving with a shake of his head. Grif watches him, wonders what this is all about.

“So,” Grif says, once, in an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence. “Is this the part where you take me to the outskirts of town and leave me there?”

He tries to crack a smile, but Sarge just glares at him, so he falls silent with an awkward laugh. “It was just a joke,” he mumbles, turning his attention out the window instead.

They drive for awhile, Grif staring out at the passing lines on the side of the highway, before Sarge finally pulls into the parking lot of a small, twenty-four-hour diner near the interstate. It's clearly just there for truckers, and the place is currently dead at this hour, but the older woman behind the counter greets Sarge as though she recognizes him and comes over to seat them.

“'Lo, Sarge,” she says, taking out her ticket pad. “Is this your boy?”

Sarge just nods. “Two of my usual, please,” he says, and she's already scribbling the order down. Grif doesn't know what the usual is, but he doesn't say anything. He's nervous- he'd expected Sarge to yell at him, or not do anything, not take him out to a truck stop in the middle of nowhere.

Once the waitress leaves, he stares down at the place mat. “So, um. Is this some kind of consolation?” he asks. “Some kind of last meal before whatever punishment is in store?”

Sarge still doesn't say anything, and the silence stretches out, until the waitress returns with two sundaes, Oreo and hot fudge with heavy whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles. It's the same thing Grif would have ordered for himself, if he'd been allowed to. Grif stares, while Sarge just picks up his spoon.

“Did you think you didn't get it honest?” Sarge says. He gestures at the sundae in front of Grif. “Eat,” he says, and Grif picks up his spoon automatically, still deeply confused.

Sarge doesn't speak again until they're both deep in their sundaes. He sets his spoon aside and folds his hands on the table in front of him.

“Do you know how I ended up with Lopez?” he asks. The question is so sudden, so out of left field, that Grif has to take a moment to process.

“Because his parents are dead,” Grif says. “Right?”

“Right, but I mean, how did I, specifically, end up with Lopez. He ever tell you?”

Grif shrugs. “I don't know. I wouldn't understand him if he did.”

“Eh- true,” Sarge concedes. He picks up his spoon and goes back to his ice cream, but there's only a few bites before he speaks again. “Francisco- his papa- he and I go all the way back to childhood. He was a few years older than me, and I adored him. Bit like Kai and your friend South- I lived for those moments he'd spend time with me. Over time, worship grew to actual friendship. I loved that man like he was my brother. When Lopez was born, they named me his godfather and I loved him like my own son- well, at the time, I had accepted that I would never have a family, and Lopez was- well- he helped.”

When he goes silent again, Grif turns to his melted sundae and stirs the fudge and ice cream into soup, waiting for him to speak again. He has no idea where this is going, unless Sarge is explaining why Lopez is a better son than he is. Grif wouldn't be that surprised if he is.

“It was raining,” Sarge finally says. “The bottom had fallen out of the clouds and every few seconds lightning split the sky in two. I remember Lopez and I going outside the watch the storm- he used to like watching storms.”

Surprising. Lopez usually gets extra surly when it storms, pacing the house restlessly, wandering into their rooms without a word to stare at them for a few minutes before returning to his pacing.

“They were coming home from work. It was late at night, and there's no way they could have seen more than a few inches in front of the car. Francisco lost control and went off the road, wrapped the car around a tree. Killed on impact, the coroner said. Like that was supposed to make it easier to cope.” Sarge pokes at his ice cream. “And next thing I know, I'm standing at my friends' graveside with their fourteen-year-old son who doesn't understand why he just lost his parents and refuses to speak to me, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do to handle things. And it was around that time Lopez stopped speaking English, too, which didn't help anyone at all.”

This time when he goes silent, he pushes his remaining ice cream away. Grif mirrors the motion.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asks. Sarge makes a soft grunt.

“Because I need you to understand, Grif. I have buried so many people that I care about. The thought of adding you to that list- it's enough to keep me up sometimes, enough to give me nightmares far worse than anything the war left me with.”

“Oh,” is all Grif can manage to say. “I never.. realized...” He trails off. How to finish the sentence? There are a lot of things he never realized. “But I don't understand. Why bring me here to tell me all this?”

Sarge shrugs. “I come here sometimes, when I need to get away. It's a quiet place.”

They leave, not long after that. Grif slumps down in the truck seat, staring out the window, mind drifting to Sarge's words. Wrapped the car around a tree , he'd said. Poor Lopez. At least Grif had seen his mom's death coming- she'd been sick for awhile, it was almost a relief when she finally went, and he didn't have to see her in pain anymore. But to go from watching a storm to an orphan in the space of a moment-

“I'm sorry about your friend,” Grif says quietly, after awhile. “I'm sorry that you lost him, and that you lost so many other people. And I'm sorry that you spend so much time worrying about me and- and I'm sorry that I probably give you a good reason to.” He fiddles with the window controls. “But you can't just- just take something I love away from me like that. You always tell me to find something that motivates me, and I- I'm really motivated. Racing is- Racing- I- I can't just give it up.”

He wishes Sarge could understand that- how he feels when he races, why he can't just stop.

Then, “I know,” Sarge says quietly, so quietly that Grif isn't sure he heard him.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Tucker resolves to at least try talking to Caboose. Even if Caboose never forgives him, he can at least apologize. After school he drops by Caboose's house and is informed by one of the older sisters (Tucker can never remember their names) that he's gone to the lake, so he drives down that way with the words he might use ringing in his head and the glare of Caboose's sister still burned onto the back of his neck.

The first person he sees when he reaches the lake is Wash, his lower half hanging out of a tree, one shoe on the ground below him and his shorts on the verge of falling from his hips. Tucker stands staring up at him for a moment before pinching his forehead. “Wash.”

“Oh, hey Tucker!” He pulls one arm away to wave, then yelps and clings more tightly to his branch when he nearly slips. His shorts slide down a little bit further.

“Wash, what are you doing?”

“There was a cat stuck in this tree,” Wash says, fumbling to pull his shorts up before they fall. “I was trying to get it down.”

“Where is it?” Tucker looks around; he can't see any cats anywhere.

“Uh- well- it jumped down when I got close to it. And knocked me off of the branch.” There's a pause; Tucker feels embarrassed for him so he can only imagine how Wash must feel. “Hey Tucker? Do you think you could help me out? It's a long drop and my arms are getting sore.”

“Yeah, sure.” He considers this a minute, and moves under Wash; Wash's feet are nearly low enough for him to wrap his arms around. “Okay, if you drop just a little I should be able to get hold of you? Yeah, let's try that. Okay?”

“Okay.” He drops just a little bit, kicking his feet around carefully in search of Tucker's arms- loosening his shorts as he does. Tucker only registers they're falling again before they're on his face. “Oops.”

“Wash.”

“Yeah?”

“Please tell me you're wearing underwear today.”

“Um- well- I was.”

“Oh god.” Tucker pulls the shorts off his head and drops them, then raises his hand over his eyes so he can't see up. “Okay, new plan. I'm going to go away now, and you can sort yourself out. And buy a belt, for fuck's sake! This isn't the twenty-tens, nobody wears their shorts that low anymore.”

He turns around and stomps away, not bothering to turn back around when he hears a crack, a yelp, and then a thud as Wash finally gets himself out of the tree.

*

Tucker finds Caboose down at the lakeshore throwing frozen peas out for the ducks. Every time one of them grabs at his offering he laughs, and Tucker leans against a nearby tree to watch him rather than interrupt his fun just yet. It's nice, seeing him this happy again. God, Tucker was an idiot to ruin that, wasn't he? He could have been out there with him, he could be showing off the trick his dad once taught him to get the ducks to come up to him.

Caboose notices him, eventually. He makes a humphing noise and turns away, and Tucker pushes off the tree and makes his way down to the shore beside him. He keeps his distance, the way Dad always said to do with the ducks, and shoves his hands into his pockets, kicking dejectedly at the ground.

“Hi,” he says quietly. Caboose just turns away from him, hunching over while he plays with the little bag of peas in his hand.

“I said I do not want to talk to you anymore,” Caboose says.

Tucker nods. “Okay. Okay, that's fair. You don't have to talk. Just- just listen, just for a minute. Then if you want I'll go away and- and I won't try to talk to you anymore.”

Caboose considers this for a moment, then peers at Tucker over his shoulder. “Just for a minute?”

“Yeah. Time me, if you want.”

“I do not have a watch.” He thinks a moment, then tilts his head. “What do you want to say?”

“Well..” Tucker takes a deep breath. “I wanted to say that I'm sorry. For- you know, for sleeping with Church, and for not talking to you about stuff, and for treating you like you're stupid. I'm sorry. I shouldn't- I shouldn't have done that.”

Caboose nods. “No, you shouldn't. What else?”

“Um, I wish that I had talked to you instead of just assuming things, cause that fucked things up for everyone. And I wish I hadn't, because I hurt you. And I really miss you.” He rubs the back of his neck. “And if you're ever able to forgive me, I'd really like to be friends again. But if not, well, I understand that too. Anyway.” He pauses. Caboose still hasn't moved. “Anyway, that's it. I'll leave you alone now.”

He turns to go, but suddenly Caboose's hand is on his shoulder. “Wait, Tucker.”

“Yeah?”

“I am- still upset with you. And I do not think I want to be your friend again. But- maybe- soon? Maybe. I will have to think about it?”

Tucker just gives him a small smile. “Yeah. Okay. Take all the time you need, buddy.”

*

The grass is hot in the sun, the car almost unbearable to touch, but South and Grif have found a comfortable shady spot to rest in while they study. Well, while South studies. Grif had poked half-heartedly at his notes before setting his things aside and lying back to take a nap; he's snoring softly now, and South is considering dropping some grass blades into his open mouth to see what happens.

She decides to try if he's still sleeping when she finishes these problems. Her notes aren't helping, though; she reaches over to poke Grif awake.

“Hey. I need to borrow your Physics notes.”

“They're in my bag,” Grif says, swatting her hand away and rolling over to go back to sleep. “The orange notebook.”

Grif's bag is very similar to his bedroom, that is, it's a disgusting filth pile and impossible to find anything in it. She grabs the first orange notebook her hands land on and pushes the bag away, but as soon as she opens it she can tell this isn't his physics notes. It looks more like a drawing notebook; there are sketches and doodles covering half the pages. She flips through, astonished, all thoughts of studying forgotten. If this is Grif's work- she's amazed. There's technical mistakes everywhere but his attention to detail is apparent and there's obvious skill in each line.

The picture on the last page is the one that catches her eye, though. It's a full-page sketch of her, a wide grin on her face while she flips the viewer off. It's carefully done; there's less technical errors than any of the other drawings and far, far more details. He's managed to capture her beautifully- accurate, from the half-faded highlights in her hair to the scar on her cheek to the swagger in her shoulders. Wash told her once that when she smiles, she smiles with her whole body, but she's never understood that until just now, looking at Grif's drawing of her, and the way he's managed to capture the motion of her smile in every bit of her.

South traces the outlines of the drawing with one light thumb. It occurs to her that she's looking at herself through Grif's eyes, and that brings a lump to her throat as that hits her.

“Fuck,” she whispers, and then again, because it wasn't strong enough the first time. “Fuck.”

*

When Grif wakes up, South is lying with her head pillowed on his belly, his drawing notebook held up while she flips through it. He sits up suddenly and tries to grab it from her, but she moves away before he can get it.

“You know, these are really good,” she says, holding it out of his reach. “I didn't know you could draw.”

“It's not exactly something I like to broadcast.” He reaches for the notebook again and this time she hands it to him.

“So what is my silence worth to you, then?” she asks, grinning. He frowns.

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“Yes.” She points at his hip, the one with his tattoo on it. “You designed that, right? Will you design one for me?”

“A tattoo?” He glances down, self-conscious. “I mean, I guess. If you want. You don't have to blackmail me, though. All you had to do was ask.”

“Blackmail is more fun. So you will?”

“Yeah, sure. Got anything particular in mind?”

She shrugs. “I was thinking something like, you know, a compass star pointing south? You know, cause I'm South.”

“I could throw in the state bird for South Dakota while I'm at it,” he says, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. She glares.

“No, because I'm only a Dakota by default. But I'm South- first and foremost, before anything else, before any other identity that anyone wants to stick me with, I'm South. And I'm going to wear that embedded in my skin for the rest of my life.”

“All right, all right. It was a joke.” Grif digs a pencil out of his pocket and starts scribbling on a fresh page. He has some vague ideas, and some new ones coming to mind while he sketches variations of a compass star. “What's the southern version of the Big Dipper?” he says.

“The Southern Cross,” she answers, peering at his sketches. “Got something in mind?”

“I think so.” He writes that down, next to a question mark, and shoves the notebook back into his bag. “I'll see what I can come up with and get back to you tomorrow. Okay?”

“Okay.” She sits back against the tree and closes her eyes. “You know, you really surprise me sometimes, Grif,” she says. “I had no idea you could draw. Why's it such a big secret, anyway?”

Grif shrugs. “I don't know. People always expect things from me when they know I can do things. You know I actually used to really enjoy school? Gifted, they called me. Bright. Clever. But it was never good enough- I got an eighty-nine, well, I should have gotten a ninety. I placed near the top of the class, I should have placed higher. I did well, I should have done better. Nothing was ever good enough. I expected more from you, they always said.” He scowls, and holds his hands out, palms up. “I learned really, really young that if you dig the best ditches, they just give you a bigger shovel. And I got really, really tired of people ruining the things I love because they couldn't let me just enjoy them.”

“Well-” South hesitates, and falls silent. She isn't really sure what to say to that. What is there to say? She's spent her whole life taking people's expectations as a personal challenge. It's not exactly something she can understand on a personal level.

“That's why I like you, South,” Grif says, ignoring her broken off sentence. “You shine so bright you blind people to the rest of us.”

An image of North flashes through her mind, just for a moment. She hugs her knees to her chest. “Not bright enough,” she says. “Never bright enough.”

“Nah.” Grif waves that away like an irritating insect. “North, he's nothing. He's like- what's that word? The one that means something is gold-plated?”

She thinks a minute. “Gilded?”

“Yeah, that's the one. He's gilded. Fake. He puts it on so people think he's great but he's not better than you, not really. But you. You're golden.” His face falls. “I wish you could see that.”

The image of his sketch of her flashes through her mind. She gives him a small smile, leans over on his shoulder. “I wish I could, too.”

*

Simmons doesn't get up to Spiral that often, but North had some errands to run and wanted to stop by and visit York, and he'd persuaded Simmons to come with him. Simmons doesn't mind- it'll be nice to see Connie again, and York's not so bad in small doses. And if he's a little reluctant to have North visiting his ex-boyfriend (or whatever he and York are) alone, well, he knows that North has been going out of his way to make sure Simmons doesn't see Grif. Tit for tat, right?

Connie greets him with a hug that leaves him rubbing painfully at his ribs while she leads them into the apartment, making accusatory comments about him not coming to see her since she moved in. He makes appropriately guilty noises and tries not to let her see how surprised he is. He and Connie have never been particularly close- she's a friend of Grif's family, and he's always felt like they were only friends through other people.

Apparently Connie disagrees.

He and North are waved toward the counter, where Tex and York are studying- it looks like they're studying, anyway. When Simmons looks over at Tex's work, he recognizes the logo for the Valhalla Circuit.

“Registration forms?”

“Hm?” She glances up at him, shifts her things aside so he can sit down. “Yeah, the forms I have to fill out as crew manager are endless.”

“You're getting a new crew together?”

“Old crew, actually. With some new faces. Connie and Maine are joining us, too.”

Simmons frowns. “Wh- who are you getting to drive for you?”

“Grif. I told you, it's the old crew- don't give me that look,” she says, stern, when his face falls into a glare unbidden. “Grif has already said he isn't letting anyone take the races away from him, and I'm not cruel enough to try. If I don't take him on, he'll just get someone else to do it.”

“You're the crew captain. You can refuse.”

“I could, yes. But I'm not going to. I told you, I'm not that cruel. Besides, I need the best, and Grif was pretty close to being exactly that when he wrecked.”

“You could get me,” York says. “I'm a good driver.”

“You're a terrible driver, and they wouldn't let you anyway. You've only got one working eye. Too much of a liability.”

“This is discrimination,” York says, pouting. Tex waves that away.

“Besides, blind side or not, you're still a terrible driver.”

“I've never hit anything.”

“What a ringing endorsement.” Tex jabs her pen in Simmons' direction. “Stop looking at me like that. This is Grif's decision, and frankly, I support it. He needs this.”

“What he needs is to stay off of a racecourse.”

“What he needs is for people to stop trying to make his decisions for him.”

Simmons huffs and folds his arms. “Sarge will never allow it.”

“That's the thing about the circuit, though. All the regulations they have in place, and not one of them about a minor needing a parent's permission to race.” She leans back, props her feet up on the counter. “Grif is a good driver Grif is a great driver. I need that for my crew. He's got a place with us, as long as he wants it.”

*

When they leave, North is in much higher spirits than Simmons. Simmons slouches in the passenger seat, glaring out at the passing buildings that slowly become more and more spread out as they leave the city. North doesn't say anything for a long time, and it's only when they're on the interstate that he finally reaches over and laces his fingers with Simmons'.

“Hey, you okay?”

“If Grif goes out on that racetrack, he's going to get hurt again. He could actually be killed this time.”

“Could. But I doubt it.” He gives Simmons' hand a last reassuring squeeze before turning it back to the wheel. “You ever been badly injured? You know, beyond the standard fare of active kids.”

“I shot myself in the foot with Dad's pistol when he was teaching me to use it,” he says. North stares. “I shot off two of my toes. It was really bad. And I never picked up a gun again.”

North just goes back to driving, startled. “Well... that explains why you never take your socks off when we make love. I wondered about that.”

“My feet get cold.”

North falls silent, not quite sure where to go now, before finally remembering his original point. “Anyway, sometimes when things like this happen the best way to deal is to get right back to it- get back on that horse, you know?”

“What have horses got to do with this?”

North sighs. “Never mind.”

*

South flops facedown onto North's bed when she gets home, and she's still there when he arrives awhile later. He says nothing while he puts his things away and changes out of his school clothes into something more comfortable, then sits down beside her. She just grumbles and inchworms forward until her head is pillowed in his lap. He laughs softly and strokes her hair.

“Something wrong, goose?”

“Feelings are stupid and I hate them.”

“Ah.” He rubs gently at her back with his other hand. “And what feelings are we talking about today?”

“All of them.”

“Nothing like equal opportunity hatred,” he teases. “Come on, goose, talk to me. Tell ol' Northy what's wrong.”

For a moment, she's silent, then she twists and rolls over and glares up at him. “You are such a dweeb.”

“But a dweeb who loves you.” He leans down and kisses her forehead. “And who is willing to listen if you want to talk about your stupid feelings that you hate.”

She bats him away. “Stop it, dweeb. You're so gross.” She rubs at her forehead, then flops back over. “I don't want to talk about it. Go back to petting me.”

North laughs, and obediently goes back to rubbing her back. “As you wish, then.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Grif isn't quite sure how he's going to get to the races Friday, when Tex calls to tell him she finished registration. He suspects that Sarge will be waiting for him to sneak out, but maybe he can just not go home after school? But he has to take Donut home and he has to pick up Kai from her dance class, and he can't take her with him when he's already deliberately disobeying Sarge enough as it is.

“I'll take them home,” South says, when he tells her this later. “That way you can head on up to Valhalla after you pick Kai up.”

“Really? You'd do that?”

“Sure, why not? I'm all about helping in a bit of rule-breaking.”

“You're a godsend, South.”

“And don't you forget it, either.” She punches his arm lightly. “I'll head up to Valhalla after I drop Kai and Donut off. I wanna see you race- see if you're really as good as they say.”

“You bet I am.”

She perks up. “Are there bets? Can I actually bet on that?”

“I mean, on the down-low, you can.”

“Sweet, I can double my allowance or lose all of it. Sounds like fun.”

*

Felix greets Tucker by draping himself over the other boy's back when he comes into math. Tucker takes his headphones off and glares at Felix over his shoulder.

“You ever hear of personal space?”

“Aww, but what's a little affection between friends?” He nuzzles the side of Tucker's head playfully and straightens up to take his seat. “Are we going back to the races tonight?”

“Nah, I'm taking Gary to see the new Vampire Mummy Werewolf movie tonight.”

“Ouch, stuck babysitting on a Friday night?” Felix grimaces. “I'm glad my parents never have any trouble finding a sitter for my little brother.”

“Actually, I volunteered. Gary and I marathoned the entire Vampire Mummy Werewolf franchise over the summer and when the new one came out I knew we had to go see it together.”

“Wow.” Felix looks genuinely impressed. “You're really getting attached to the little sprog, aren't you?”

“Yeah, it's weird, I thought I'd hate it. But before it was like he was an invader in my space, you know, cause he was living in my room, and before that he was just an extension of Reggie. But now it's like, he's there and he's around and he's got his own space and he's family and I don't know, it's kinda cool having a little brother. I'm really getting into it.” He considers a second, and adds, “As long as he stays out of my room.”

“Well, good for you, but that sucks for me.” Felix pouts at him. “Who am I going to go to the races with now?”

“What about that cute guy you met last week? Call him up.”

“Hmm, now there's a thought.” He grins. “I think I've left him wondering long enough to call him up.”

*

“I'm getting a tattoo,” South says, by way of greeting, when Carolina joins her in study hall that afternoon.

“Hello to you too,” Carolina says, not even a bit put off by South's choice of greeting. “What kind of tattoo?”

“Don't know yet, the designer is still working on it.”

“Where are you going to put it?”

“Still trying to decide that, too.” South shrugs. “Want to come with me when I get it done?”

“Sure.” Carolina digs her creative writing book out of her bag and leans back in her chair with a sigh. “Our assignment this week is to write about someone who inspires us but I don't know who to write about.”

“You should write about me.”

“You don't inspire me, South.”

“Sure I do. You're always trying to outdo me.”

“I always do outdo you. Just because you're ahead of me in weights-”

South just sticks her tongue out. “Come on, write about me. I always wanted to be the subject of someone's assignment.”

“Is that why you're so determined to be famous?” She can't keep the grin out of her voice at that. “So people will be given school reports about you?”

“It's my dream to have my name in the subject line of a powerpoint presentation,” South says, deadpan. She strikes a flashy pose. “My name in lights! South Dakota- um, hmm. Might need to see about getting a different last name. What in the world were my parents thinking?”

“Probably the same thing my parents were thinking when they named me North Carolina Church.”

South stares, opens and closes her mouth several times, astonished. Then she bursts out laughing, loud enough to get her shushed by the monitor. Carolina glares.

“That doesn't leave this conversation.”

South just grins. “Oh? And what is my silence worth to you?”

Carolina glares, then sighs. “Fine. I'll do my assignment about you.”

“Oh, rad!” South grins. “But that's not enough to buy my silence. I want something else.”

“What do you want?”

“I don't know yet. Let me think about it.”

She falls silent to think, while Carolina starts brainstorming, scribbling vague half-sentences in search of the right angle to do her paper from. After awhile, South gets bored and starts doodling on her arm in black marker.

“Are you going to the races tonight?”

“No.” Carolina sets her pen aside and stretches idly. “Alpha and I are going to see the new Vampire Mummy Werewolf movie.”

“Oh, that. I'm going to see it tomorrow, with Grif and Donut and Kai. You should wait and come see it with us. That way you can come to the races with me tonight.”

Carolina snorts. “Still trying to get that date from me?”

“Nah, I've moved on.” She presses her hand to her forehead. “You broke my heart, but I'm pulling through, bit by bit.” Carolina snorts again and South grins. “I just don't feel like going on my own, that's all. Come on, wouldn't you rather hang out with me than with your brother?”

“No,” Carolina says, completely seriously. South looks surprised, but Carolina gives her a quizzical look. “Alpha and I are a team. I like you, but if I had to choose between you, I'd choose him. I thought you knew that.”

South just shrugs, and slumps down in her seat, arms folded, a small pout forming on her lips. “Yeah, of course I knew. Just wasn't expecting you to say it, that's all.”

They fall silent after that, the silence not nearly as comfortable as it was before.

*

Donut purses his lips disapprovingly when Grif tells him South will be taking him and Kai home instead that night. He doesn't object, though, and agrees to tell Sarge that they just told him they were going out. Grif gives him a relieved look- he'd expected to have to fight Donut on this, since Donut is against him racing again as well.

“I never said I was against it,” Donut says, when he mentions this. “I just understand why Sarge is against it. And I wish you'd wait longer. Besides,” he adds. “Now you owe me.”

“Remind me later and I'll make it up to you.”

Kai is disappointed when they tell her she can't come to the races with them. She sits in the back of the jeep and pouts over the unfairness of it all.

“Why can't I come too?” she says. “I want to watch Grif race.”

“Maybe next week, kid,” South says, ruffling her hair. “We're going to be in enough trouble as it is, don't want Sarge getting mad at us for kidnapping you, too.”

“It's not kidnapping. Grif is my big brother.”

“Well, still. We're testing the waters this week. Some other time.”

“Not. Fair.” She folds her arms and sinks down in her seat. “I never get to have any fun.”

*

They take Kai out for ice cream before parting ways, partly to make up for leaving her out of their plans and partly as a bribe to keep her quiet about what they're doing. (“Not like he doesn't know,” Grif adds. “But we're not going to broadcast it.”) Then Donut and Kai switch over to South's car and head out home, while Grif leaves for Valhalla.

He arrives well before the rest of the crew, who pull up beside him a little after sundown. Tex is in their car and he gives a low whistle at the sight of it. The paint job is new, but the body still bears the scars of his wreck. He cringes. If this is what it looks like fixed...

“What do you think, Grif? Ready to race again?”

He nods, swallowing around a sudden lump in his throat. “Yeah. I'm ready.”

*

Church has been feeling better this past week than he had been, in part due to getting more sleep (he'd persuaded Aiden to show him how to make that warm milk drink of his) and in part thanks to dad giving the green light on Jimmy spending winter break with them. It's helped, too, that he's had tonight to look forward to, and all in all he's just in bright spirits when they get into the theatre and start looking for seats.

“Church! Church!” He stops in the aisle as his name is called, and turns to find Gary waving at him from one row. He and Carolina make their way down the next row back until they're behind him; he turns around to grin at them. “Church, I have a new joke for you. It is about a rabbi and a penguin.”

Church frowns. “Is this one of those jokes we talked about?”

“No.”

“Then hit me.”

“A man goes to a dinner party being hosted by a penguin. When he arrives, the penguin introduces him to another guest, and says that the other guest is his rabbi. The man says, 'This is strange, I could have sworn that you were Catholic'.” He falls into that weird monotone giggle of his, while Church raises an eyebrow at him. He stops laughing. “It is funny because the word penguin means distant nun.”

“Oh!” Church chuckles. “Okay, that is pretty funny.” (Beside him, Carolina scoffs and mutters something about his weird sense of humor.)

“O'Malley told me that joke,” he says. “O'Malley is very funny.”

“He sounds like it. So are you here with your dad or..?”

“No. I am here with Tucker.” He points at the end of the row, where Tucker is coming toward them with snacks and drinks. “Did you get me gummie worms?”

“I didn't have enough for gummie worms and nachos and drinks,” he says. He still hasn't spotted Church, who'd leaned back in his seat when he saw him coming. “Maybe next time we just sneak our snacks in instead. I forgot how expensive theatre stuff is, usually Church just paid for everything for us.”

“You know, I could get the kid some gummie worms, if it's a big deal,” Church says, noting how disappointed Gary looks. Tucker jumps, startled, and turns to glare at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you, dumbass, I'm watching a movie.”

“That is not a very nice word to use,” Gary says. Church digs a few dollars out of his pocket.

“Here kid, go get yourself some gummie worms on me, okay?”

He waits till Gary has run off before turning back to Tucker, who's just glaring. “You know, you didn't have to sit right behind us,” Tucker says. “There's plenty of room in this theatre for you to sit somewhere else.”

“Gary called us over. We didn't know you were here- assumed it was Reggie or something.”

“Well there's nothing stopping you from moving now,” Tucker says, though his face falls when he glances around and sees that the theatre has filled up in the time they were talking. The only seats left are in the first two rows, and he knows Church gets headaches when he sits that close. He scowls. “Well... whatever.”

He turns around with a huff, though he's managed to stop pouting by the time Gary gets back with a box of gummie worms. He offers the box to each of them politely (they all decline) and then settles down in his seat; Tucker and Church exchange a glance with a clear meaning: no fighting in front of the kid. Agreed.

*

Grif runs in three drag races that night and wins one of them. He's in high spirits when it comes to the obstacle course, his adrenaline running fast as he psychs himself up. Tex and Stasney give the car a going over before he pulls to the starting line, and Tex runs a checklist by him of warning signs that something might be about to go wrong. He nods along, pretending he can hear her over the ringing in his ears, and finally pulls to the starting line when she backs away from the car.

At the starting line, the driver beside him- he can't even tell who it is, everyone's faces are running together suddenly- flashes him a thumbs up and he manages a shaky smile in return before turning his attention back to the track.

The track, at least, is in hyper focus. He feels like he can see every single detail stretching up before him. He hears the countdown start and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes until he hears the starting gun and he's off.

He doesn't waste any time getting an early lead and the ringing in his ears deadens a bit now that hes under way. This is where he belongs: this is what he was born for, this- this conversation between man and machine in perfect cooperation with one another. How could anyone have tried to take this away from him? How could they have thought it possible?

The turns are easy; the ditches child's play. What was he so nervous about? He's leading, he's doing well: without Jimmy to hobble them there's nothing to worry about. He's winning- he's going finally win an obstacle course, like he should have done months ago, before Jimmy stole his win from him.

He's coming up on the last turn, and then it's a clear stretch and it looks like he's going to win, the nearest drivers are right behind him but he's sure he can keep ahead of them on the turn. Turns are his thing, after all.

His ears start ringing again when he gets to the turn. He feels like the wheel is shaking in his hand- and can he hear the sound of metal grinding on metal? He thinks he can- is something going wrong? But they were so careful!

Grif isn't conscious of pulling off the gas, only stops himself from slamming the breaks because he knows that'll only make things worse, and slows down. He can't chance it- he won't chance it- what if he really can hear metal grinding?

He places seventh of eleven in the race. When he pulls into the pit, the others are looking at him, baffled.

“What happened?” Tex demands. “You were in the lead! How did you lose?”

“I-” He hesitates. “I thought I heard one of those warning sounds you mentioned. Didn't want to chance it.”

A snap of Tex's fingers has Stasney and Connie on the car, going over every inch of it. Tex raises an eyebrow at him.

“Grif- you okay?”

“Hm?” He shrugs. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just being careful! I'll win the next one.”

She gives him a dubious look, then nods and turns to join Stasney and Connie on the car. “Okay.”

*

Tucker and Church are arguing when they come out of the movie theatre, but not about anything they've been arguing about already- they're arguing about the movie, and don't even seem to realize they're walking side by side ahead of Carolina and Gary.

“Dude, I told you that girl was coming back in this movie!” Tucker is saying. “I mean, come on, she was so popular with the fanbase they'd be idiots to write her out.”

“I didn't think they'd write her out because they didn't like her,” Church says. “The Vampire Mummy Werewolf movies just don't usually have the budget for Mecha-Shark-Jaguar women.”

“Found a way around that, though, didn't they?” Tucker says. “Though I think the transformation sequence was a bit over-the-top.”

“No way, that transformation sequence was perfect. It was everything the Vampire Mummy Werewolf franchise has come to stand for!”

“Terrible, over-the-top, cheesy graphics, cliché writing, and bad effects?”

“Exactly!”

Tucker slurps the last of his drink and tosses it in a nearby trash can, shaking his head at Church's commentary. “Look, I like the low-budget signature of the Vampire Mummy Werewolf franchise as much as the next fan, but there's a difference between stylistic suck and just plain suck. I'm not sure the new directors understand that difference.”

“Okay, first of all, fuck you,” Church says. “Rocky Moon is a great director and if anyone deserves to take the reigns of the Vampire Mummy Werewolf after Willy Williams stepped down it's him.”

“I'm just saying, it could have been better-”

Behind them, Gary nudges Carolina with his elbow. “I am confused,” he says. “Are they friends again or not?”

“I'm not sure,” Carolina whispers back. “But they've had this conversation before, so let's keep our fingers crossed and hope.”

They reach Tucker's car mid-argument, and they break off, suddenly awkward.

“So uh-” Tucker rubs the back of his head. “I should get Gary home, it's nearly his bedtime.”

“I am not tired.”

“I'll see you guys around, I guess.”

There's another awkward moment, and then they're gone, leaving Church and Carolina to make the walk back to Church's car in silence.

“I like the Mecha Shark Jaguar woman,” Carolina says, eventually. Church snorts.

“You would!”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Grif sleeps over with South that night after the races, not willing to go home and get yelled at in the middle of the night. He'll deal with Sarge's wrath after he's had breakfast and managed to get some sleep.

All the same, sleep isn't easy in coming; when he closes his eyes, he hears the scream of metal on metal and feels the white-hot echoes of old pain. In the end he wakes South up and persuades her to do a bit of fooling around, something to wear him out and relax him enough to get some rest. She complies sleepily, her lazy, drowsy movements not lacking the intensity he's come to associate with South, and when they've both gotten off it's much easier for him to slip into sleep.

*

They sleep late next morning, only waking up when the sun is high in the sky and streaming in through South's bedroom window. She wakes up before him, already done with her morning workout by the time he drags himself out of bed, yawning and blinking blearily at her when she tosses her night shirt at him on her way into the bathroom to shower.

After a long moment, she sticks her head back into her room and gives him a stern look. “Okay, so can you not take a hint or...?”

It takes him another moment before he's letting out a startled “Oh!” and hurrying after her. He's not generally the type to shower in the morning, but that's the sort of invitation he can't say no to.

It's late in the morning when they eventually make it downstairs. North is on the couch watching cartoons when they pass through the living room, and in the kitchen is a woman Grif assumes- based on the white-blonde hair and the long nose- must be their mother. He's never actually met South's mother. It's an odd realization.

“Morning, Mama,” South says, leaning over to kiss her mother on the cheek. There's something new in her voice, something Grif has never heard there before- something sweet and tightly controlled and barely contained. “This is Grif,” she goes on, moving over to take bowls out of the cabinet. “He was too tired to drive home last night- he lives in the country, you know, those roads are so dangerous at night, especially when you're tired? Anyway I told him he could crash here. I hope that's okay.”

“I suppose it will have to be,” Mrs. Dakota says, turning to look Grif over. She frowns. “Why haven't we met this young man already?”

“I don't know,” South says, voice suddenly dripping with sugar. “Because he's over here so much you'd think you would have met him at some point. I guess he just never comes over when you're home.”

Her face seems so sweet and Grif wonders why her mother isn't unnerved by it. He knows he is.

They make their cereal quickly, and South leads him out onto the back porch, over to a picnic table that overlooks the garden.

“Sorry,” she says. She seems tired- so different than he's used to seeing her. “I just don't feel like giving my mom a chance to ask any questions.”

“It's fine. I like eating outside.” It's a blatant lie. He hates eating outside- there's bugs, it's hot (though the late September weather is cooler this early in the day) and he'd much rather be where there's air conditioning- but one look at South inside and he would never admit that in a million years.

She starts to relax more while they eat their cereal, though, and she's laughing again by the time they've drained their bowls. They still don't go inside, though, and they're still sitting on the porch when a car pulls into the back driveway and a man gets out.

This man is definitely North's father- from the sweater-vest to the slacks to the sensible shoes, to the neatly combed hair, everything about him makes the resemblance obvious, for all that his children seem to have taken more after their mother. He approaches the porch with a smile and a wave, eying Grif curiously, and offers his hand to shake when he gets near enough.

“You're one of Sarge's boys, aren't you?” he asks. Grif nods. “I thought so, you look just like him. The foreign one, right?”

Grif blinks, startled by the question. “Um. I'm American.”

“Are you sure?” Mr. Dakota squints at him. “Aren't from one of those... islands, somewhere in the Pacific?”

“Yes, sir,” Grif says. “Hawaii. Which is a state. In America.”

“Oh.” He looks genuinely startled. “So it is! Don't know how I forgot about that. Seems like such a far off, distant place.”

“Nope. Still America.”

“Well, it's nice meeting you.” He gives Grif a fatherly pat on the back and heads inside. Grif turns back to South, who just sighs and sinks down in her seat.

“My dad is kind of...” she trails off. “I'm so sorry.”

“Well- I mean-” Grif considers. He's heard far worse. “My dad is Sarge, so you're still winning.”

“Okay, fair point. Sarge is like, my favorite teacher ever, but I can't imagine actually living with him.”

“Favorite teacher ever? Seriously?”

“Grif, he lets us- no, encourages us- to blow shit up, and his only rule is that we write it down cause that makes it science. How many teachers do you know who would do that?”

“Just Sarge, but I don't know if that makes him the best.”

“I didn't say he was the best. I said he was my favorite.”

“Okay, fair.” He falls silent, and sighs. “Speaking of Sarge, I should go home and face the music. Can't put it off forever.”

“Yeah.” South stands and takes his bowl. “I mean, I'd offer to let you live under my bed, but I don't think you'd fit.”

“I'd rather live in your bed anyway,” he says. He punctuates this with the cheesiest eyebrow waggle he can, which has her snorting laughter while she walks him to the front door and waves him away.

*

South only takes a few minutes to clean up their breakfast dishes, then wanders into the living room and throws herself onto the sofa beside North. He loops an arm around her shoulder and lets her settle against his side without a word.

“What are we watching?”

“The New Animated Adventures of the Vampire Mummy Werewolf,” he says.

“That cheesy two-thousand remake of the even cheesier seventies cartoon?”

“No, the cheesy twenty-tens remake of the gritty nineties remake of the low-budget sixties cartoon.”

“Oh.” They watch in silence for awhile; it's North who breaks that silence.

“So those stupid feelings you hate.”

“What about them?”

“Nothing. Just haven't heard you actually laugh on a Saturday around the house in ages. Am I to assume Grif is involved in these stupid feelings?”

“No. Shut up.” She huffs. “I'm just in a good mood cause I got laid this morning, that's all. It's none of your business.”

“Ah.” He smiles. “So Grif is involved.”

“In that manner of speaking, yes.” South is silent for a moment, then a wicked grin spreads across her face. “You know that look Grif gets, when he's eating food? Like he's a starving man who's just been given a feast?”

“Yeah.”

“Turns out he he looks like that when he's eating pussy, too.”

North's jaw drops; he opens and closes his mouth several times without a word, then, “I don't remember asking for that information,” he finally says.

“Then don't ask prying questions about my feelings,” South replies, and stands up to flounce out.

*

Grif takes a moment to steel himself before coming into the house. Sarge is sitting at the kitchen table grading papers; when Grif comes in, he looks up at him and takes off his reading glasses. Grif had expected him to be angry, but mostly he just looks tired. He gives Grif a once-over and grunts a soft affirmation.

“Did ya win?” he asks.

Grif just shrugs. “I won a drag race. Lost the course.”

“Right.” Sarge puts his glasses back on and turns back to the papers he's grading. Grif hovers just inside the door awkwardly, wondering if he should go up to his room or not. He moves toward the door to do just that. “By the way, you're grounded,” Sarge says, as he reaches the door.

“Aw, man!”

*

Grif isn't really sure why he keeps ending up at the fence lately. He'd only gone for a walk to get out of the house, but his feet had carried him to the fence and he'd grumbled to himself before throwing himself down into the grass with a sigh. It had seemed like a good enough place to take a nap as any, after all.

He's still dozing there an hour later when he's woken by Simmons tripping over him. He scrambles up with a confused groan.

“Wh- Simmons? What are you doing here?”

“Going for a walk. And this is my family's land anyway- what are you doing here?”

Grif glances over at the bright tape that marks the property line. Oh right. “I was taking a nap. Can't you watch where you're going?”

“You disappear into the grass when you lay down, and I wasn't expecting anyone to be here.” Simmons drops down to sit beside him. “Whay are you napping out here, anyway?”

Grif just shrugs. “Seemed as good a place as any. I went for a walk and this was where I was when I got tired of it.”

“I'm surprised you made it this far without getting tired.”

“Hey, I don't get tired that easily.”

“Yes you do.”

“No, I get bored that easily. I've got pretty decent endurance, dude, if I feel like it I can go for awhile. I just never feel like it.”

“You get winded running up the stairs to your room.”

“That's running. Running is not the same as walking.”

“Oh whatever.” Simmons makes a scoffing noise. “So I heard you were planning to start racing again.”

“Not planning- I did. Had my first night back last night.” He gives Simmons a cocky grin, then turns his head away as the scream of metal echoes softly in his ears. “Is that a problem?”

“I can't believe you! Are you seriously that callous- after you nearly got killed the first time, you're just going to put everyone through that again?”

“I don't care about 'everyone',” Grif replies, turning back to glare at Simmons. “And 'everyone' can stop treating me like I'm a fragile little boy. I know it's a risk, okay, I know. But I finally found something I love and I'm not letting anyone take that away from me. Not Jimmy, not Sarge, not you, and certainly not my own stupid head.”

“What?” Simmons gives him a confused look. “What are you-?”

“I choked, Simmons.” Grif rests his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his palms, rubbing at his scalp irritably. “I was winning- I was so close- and I choked. All I could think about was the last time I was there and I heard the wreck all over again, and I choked. I placed seventh.” He spits the word like it's poison. Simmons gives him a pitying look, hesitantly brings his hand to Grif's shoulder comfortingly.

“I miss you,” Grif says quietly, after a long time. “Can we stop fighting?”

“I didn't realize we still were,” Simmons admits. “I just thought you didn't want to be friends anymore.”

“I thought you were still mad at me.” Grif shuffles awkwardly. “So... can we stop fighting and be friends again?”

Simmons tries to look nonchalant, then snorts. “Course we can,” he says, shoving lightly at Grif's shoulder. “Dumbass.”

*

It takes about four hours for Grif and Simmons to catch each other up on everything that's happened in their lives since they stopped speaking. Simmons tells Grif about working with North at his dad's farm, about how North had spent a week very clearly showing off before finally asking him out, and how he'd said yes hesitantly but hasn't regretted it since. Grif fills Simmons in on his trip to Hawaii, shows Simmons his tattoo and tells him about designing one for South.

“So are you guys actually dating?” Simmons asks. Grif shakes his head.

“Nah, we're just friends. Who fool around sometimes if we're both in the mood. Neither of us is really into the idea of a relationship right now.”

“You really think that's going to last?” Simmons asks. “Friends don't sleep together without catching feelings for one another. It just doesn't work.”

“Don't be stupid.” Grif looks away, a little uncomfortable. “South and I are just friends, I'm not into her like that. And I won't be. At all. Ever. And neither is she,” he adds. “I mean, do you really see someone like South falling for someone like me?” He forces a laugh. “Come on, dude.”

“Why not?” Simmons says. “I did. And South fell for Church so... she hasn't exactly got high standards.”

“..okay, true.” Grif shrugs. “But that doesn't mean she'll fall for me. We're just friends.”

Simmons looks dubious, but decides to drop it. “Okay,” he says. “Whatever you say.”

*

Lopez and Sheila are over when Grif gets back to the house. He grins and greets Sheila with a kiss on the cheek that is actually just distraction while he plucks Dos out of her arms, an act that has her laughing when he pretends to run off with the little boy. At three months old, Dos is still not particularly interesting, but that isn't going to stop Grif from stealing him away for uncle-nephew time anyway.

Besides, he can relate, in a way- all Dos wants to do is sleep and eat, too.

“Heard you went racing last night,” Sheila says, once Grif settles down beside her, Dos in his lap. “Did you win?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“It's a natural question. What's wrong? Do you want to talk about it?”

That's the thing about Sheila, right there- she's always willing to listen when there's something wrong. He opens his mouth to tell her about the race and spills everything, from his anxiety in the moment to the lingering worries ever since. He tells her about his nightmares last night, the trouble he'd had falling asleep and the uneasy sleep he'd had once he actually did. She wraps her arms around his shoulders while he talks, letting him lean against her and he finds comfort in the maternal warmth that she surrounds him with.

He glances down at Dos, and can't help but smile. The kid is so lucky to have Sheila for a mom.

“Are you going to keep racing?” Sheila asks, when he finally stops. He nods.

“Of course. But I mean- what happens if I choke again? What happens if I keep choking? What if I never win because every time I get close I get flashbacks and pull out?”

“You keep trying, I guess,” Sheila says. “I don't think it will last forever. In the meantime I'm just glad you're being careful.” She gives him a squeeze. “You scared us, you know.”

People have been saying that to him since they found out he was racing again, but somehow when Sheila says it it feels real- genuine. His stomach turns over uncomfortably at the thought of making them worry about him. “Sorry,” he says, quietly. Sheila just squeezes him again. “Thanks for listening, Sheila.”

“I'm always here for you, Grif, you know that.”

*

South gets invited over to Grif's for Sunday dinner the next day. It's a spontaneous thing- she doesn't feel like hanging around the house Sunday so she drives out to visit Grif, getting there just as they're getting home from church. Kai half-falls out of the jeep in her excitement to see the older girl, showing off her new Sunday dress (the skirt flares out when she twirls), and dragging South into the house. South gets invited to stay for dinner and she actually hesitates, but Sarge reassures her that there's always room for one more at their table.

“Honestly,” Grif says, as they head up to his room. “As many of us as there are now, no one is even going to notice.”

“Aren't there only four of you?” South asks, counting quickly in her head. Grif just shakes his head.

“There's the four of us, then there's Sheila and Lopez and Dos, and Dr. Grey and if he's down for the weekend, Locus.”

“That is a lot. Are you sure there's room for one more? You guys don't have a big dining room.”

“There's plenty of room,” Grif says again. “And Locus probably won't be here this week, he doesn't come down much. Besides,” he adds. “I like having you here.”

“Well. If that's the deciding factor-” She punches his arm playfully. “By the way, did you ever finish the design for my tattoo?”

“Oh right!” He grins and digs his drawing notebook out of his desk and hands it to her, open to the page he's been using for the designs.

There are a lot of flubs, rejects, and scribbles on the page, as well as several tentative designs, but her eyes are drawn to the one in the top corner, with a broad circle around it. It looks like a southern cross- she's already seen the first stages of the design, so she knows about that part- but the bottom star of the cross is an eight point compass, with an elegant S under it. She traces the lines approvingly. There's a simplicity to the design that the others lack, which pleases her- she likes big, loud, vibrant things, but this wouldn't work if it was big and loud and vibrant. She grins.

“It's perfect. Exactly what I wanted.”

“Great.” Grif takes his notebook back and flips to a different page, handing it back. “I'm designing another one for me now, too,” he says. “What do you think?”

“...is that from Blade?” She grins as he snatches the notebook back, embarrassed. She shakes her head. “You are such a loser.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

“I can't believe I have to pick up my stupid little brother from football practice,” Felix says irritably. He and Church are at the diner getting ice cream and he'd been in a good mood until his mom had texted him a few minutes ago. He grumbles irritably as he shoots off a reply. “Wanna come with me? Ugh, this is so lame.”

Church just rolls his eyes. “Sure, no problem. Didn't even know you had a brother,” he adds. Felix just scowls, hard enough to rival Church.

“He's just my half-brother, my mom's kid with my stepdad. And he's such a pain. Little twerp thinks he's going to blow up the universe when he grows up. I walked in on him practicing his evil laugh the other day. How lame is that?”

“Pretty lame,” Church agrees. “But I mean, come on. The kid's, what, ten? Eleven? Everyone's got their phases, dude.”

Felix just stares, and groans. “So stupid. I hate, I hate. Well, I should go, I guess. Wouldn't want to leave the little twerp on his own for too long, who knows what trouble he could get into.”

He goes up to get a refill of his drink while Church leaves a generous tip and goes to settle their tab, and they're off. Felix keeps complaining while they ride, to the point that Church is ready to throw him out of the car and make him walk if he doesn't shut up. He says as much, and ends up with a pouting Felix for his troubles, but it's better than a moaning Felix, so he'll take it.

*

Practice is wrapping up when they get up to the school. The sixth-grade cheerleaders are practicing too; Church spots Kai among them while he waits for Felix to collect his brother, and he waves at her when she sees him looking. She waves back and then drops into a split that leaves him impressed: he wouldn't have expected her to be so limber, but none of the other kids are half as good, by the looks of their own splits.

“She's very impressive, isn't she?” says a voice around his elbow, and he looks down to see a kid leaning on the railing beside him, messy black hair falling into his eyes while he looks down at the cheerleaders, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. “Imagine what else she must be capable of!” Church frowns, is about to tell the kid not to be so inappropriate, but he keeps going before Church can reply. “I mean, I imagine she could kick a man's head clean off without breaking a sweat!”

That's actually creepier than what Church was expecting. He looks around, and there's Felix approaching them, arms folded.

“You are a creepy little bastard, O'Malley,” he says. “Can't you just make lewd comments like the other kids? Do you have to start talking about decapitation?”

“I'm just saying what we're all thinking,” he says, going back to watching Kai. “She will make an excellent queen to sit at my side when I'm ruling the universe.”

“Thought you were going to blow up the universe.”

“Right. And then I'm going to rule what's left. And the lovely Miss Grif is going to rule at my side.” He puffs up proudly. “She already said she would.”

“Of course she did,” Felix says, clearly exasperated. “Come on, let's get you home so I can get back to my own social life.”

*

Part of Grif's grounding was having his keys taken away, so after school Monday he heads to Sarge's classroom to wait around for him to be ready to leave. He slides into one of the desks and leans back to wait, then sits up.

“Wait, where's Donut?” he asks, looking around. Donut usually rides with him after school, unless he wants to use the library, and rides with Sarge. Now he's nowhere to be seen.

“He went home with Tucker,” Sarge says. “He's not grounded, after all.”

“How's he going to get home?”

“I'll pick him up when I pick up Kai from cheerleading,” Sarge says. “Got any homework?”

“Just that lab report you gave us,” he says. “And a set of problems for math but those won't take long.”

“Good time to do them now, then,” Sarge says. “Since they won't take long.”

Grif just grumbles, and pulls his book out of his bag. Being grounded sucks.

*

Tucker and Donut have been working on their story for a year now. They've written the whole thing, barreling through every chapter together in the time they were able to get to themselves, and now they're going over the whole story- a whopping two hundred thousand words- with a fine-toothed comb, finding every inconsistency, every grammatical and spelling error, every line that doesn't work and every word that needs to be moved or removed. This is a long, tedious, drawn out process that involves a lot of arguing about every line that one wants to change.

It's surprisingly fun, actually.

“I finally talked to Caboose,” Tucker says, interrupting for yet another break. Donut glances up from the computer.

“That's good,” he says. “What did he say?”

“That he's still not ready to be friends again, but maybe he would soon.” Tucker shrugs. “It's better than I was expecting, honestly.”

“He misses you,” Donut says. “He told me. He's just very- understandably- hurt. And he needs time before he's willing to be around you again.”

Tucker just sighs. “Yeah... I know I fucked up. God, I fucked up so bad.”

“Yeah you did.” Donut reaches over and gives his shoulder a squeeze. “But you're trying to make it right. That matters.”

“You think?”

“Yes. Now. Let's go over this section again, okay?”

*

Maine isn't a runner, not like Carolina. He can manage short charges but anything longer leaves him breathless. He's just too bulky, built like a tank and just as immovable as one. But Carolina- Carolina loves to run.

So she takes off around the track, making lap after lap as he trudges along to finish one.

She has the vague idea that they're supposed to be running together- that's what couples do, right? But Maine doesn't seem to mind, and he seems to enjoy watching her when she passes him, ponytail streaming out behind her. And when they're both tired of running, they throw themselves panting in the hot grass with cold water and it's nice, this quiet togetherness.

Until he throws some of his water on her, and she yelps at the sudden shock of cold and reciprocates. Soon they're having a water fight on the field, which ends when she pounces on his back and clings, locking arms and legs so he can't shake her off. She knows he could shake her off, if he really wanted to, if he was willing to hurt her, but she knows- trusts completely- that he would never do that. He stops trying, after a few minutes, and holds up both hands.

“Stalemate?” he asks. She considers.

“Agreed.” She drops off of his back and he turns around to link his arms around her waist. This is nice too, this closeness, and she pushes up on tiptoes so she can press a tiny kiss to his chin. “Want to head out now? I don't know about you but I could do with a swim to cool off after that run. Anyway I'm soaking wet.”

This gets her an interested purr, and she thwaps his chest lightly, giving him a stern look. “Because you threw water on me.”

A suggestive purr this time. “Give me a minute.”

“If that's all you need, it's nothing to brag about.” He looks startled by that and she laughs, then wiggles out of his arms and links their hands together for the walk back to his truck. “Staying for dinner tonight?”

An affirmative grunt. His thumb works in circles on her hand.

It's nice, this, just being together.

*

Even if Grif wasn't grounded, he wouldn't have been able to make it to the races this week. It's South's (and North's, but mostly South's) eighteenth birthday this week, and her party is on Saturday and, if he wasn't grounded, he would be there instead. (North's party is Friday. Grif couldn't care less, though he had been invited and would have happily gone if allowed.)

It's actually the first time his grounding hasn't been more than just annoying; Grif loves parties at the Dakota house and had been looking forward to the event. But Sarge is standing firm- grounded is grounded.

“Oh come on, I promised weeks ago I'd be there!”

“Should have thought of that before you disobeyed a direct order,” Sarge says. Grif rolls his eyes.

“Direct order? Seriously? You're not in the army any more, old man. And come on, it's just one night.”

“Keep talking like that and I'm slapping another week on.”

“Man, South is going to be so disappointed if I'm not there.” A thought comes to him; he gives Sarge a sly look. “You know... South told me that you're her favorite teacher. Ever. Of all time. Wouldn't you hate to disappoint her?”

Sarge just carries on shelling peas. “I'm not the one disappointing her, you are,” he says. “You brought this on yourself. Maybe next time I tell you not to do something, you'll not do it.”

Grif throws his hands in the air, exasperated, nearly upsetting his own bowl of peas as he does. He grabs it to steady it and huffs. “I still think you're blowing this whole thing out of proportion. Just let me race. I'm good at it. I just want to race.”

Sarge grunts. “Hmm. How've you been sleeping lately?”

“Wh-” Grif cuts his sentence off, and clenches his fist against the shaking of his hand. Not well is the answer, his sleep plagued by flashes of memory and frantic words, panicked shouts from onlookers and urgent instructions from paramedics. But he'll die before he admits that to Sarge, who is paying close attention to his peas like they hold the secrets to the life, the universe, and everything. “Fine,” he says, instead. “I've been sleeping fine.”

“That so.” Sarge looks up and stares at him. “You must think I'm stupid or something.”

Grif stops himself from making a smart-ass comment. This is probably not the place for it. “What's that supposed to mean?” he asks, instead.

“It means I can hear you at night and you don't exactly sound peaceful. Now you want to try that question again?”

Grif makes another of those exasperated noises. “Okay, fine. I've been sleeping terribly, because I'm having nightmares about the wreck! Is that what you want to hear? Yes, okay, yes, it's affecting me and I'm terrified and last week I lost because I choked at the last turn and now every time I close my eyes I see the world spinning out of control again! And no, I'm not going to let that stop me from racing so will you please just let me race! Please.”

Sarge is silent for a long time, shelling peas with a furrow in his brow. After a long time, he sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, sighs again. “Okay,” he finally says. He sounds tired. Grif makes a startled noise.

“Really?”

“Yes.” He grunts softly. “Think you might actually need this.. dammit...” He shoots a stern look at Grif. “But not until you're off being grounded,” he adds.

“Aw, come on!”

*

“That sucks,” is all South has to say when he tells her he won't be at her party. She scowls. “Can't you just sneak out or something?”

Grif shakes his head. “I mean, I could, but if I do, he'd probably take it back about letting me race again. Sorry.”

Something unreadable passes across her face, so fast that he wonders if he imagined it, but all just does is flick his ear playfully. “Idiot. Don't go apologizing for something like that- there'll be other parties. I'll have other birthdays. You need to race again. That's important.”

“I'll make it up to you,” he says, quite suddenly. He catches her hand when she goes to flick his ear again, lacing their fingers together and just holding it there. She looks a little startled, and shrugs, but doesn't let go of his hand. “No, seriously, I'll make it up to you. I'll take you out somewhere once I get my keys back.”

“Take me out, huh?” She catches his other hand, brings it up to mirror their others. “Take me out where, exactly?” She's grinning now, wide and taunting. “Somewhere nice? Somewhere I have to wear heels?”

“Um-” Grif raises an eyebrow. “I was thinking to a semi-nice restaurant that we can still wear t-shirts to, actually. I can't afford anywhere fancy and I can't picture you in heels, either. Do you even own heels?”

“Of course I own heels, my mom would have a fit if I didn't. Sit down restaurant we can wear t-shirts to is way better. Buffet?”

“All you can eat, duh.”

“Good.” She lets his hands drop and shoves her own into her pockets. “I'm going next week to get my tattoo done,” she says. “Carolina is going with me. We're gonna make a day of it. You know. Girl stuff.”

“Where are you going to put it?”

She tilts her head slightly, and a wicked grin spreads across her face. She taps his chin playfully. “You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?”

*

Grif getting his keys taken has proven annoying for Donut, too- without Grif to take him home after school, he has to either take the bus or wait around for Sarge. He doesn't generally mind riding with Sarge, but his limited options means that he has less freedom to just hang out with his friends after school, confident in knowing that Grif will pick him up before he heads home. (He's sixteen in two months. It'll be so nice not to have this problem anymore.)

Donut is fairly certain he's also being punished, for covering for Grif. Sarge must have known what he was doing.

Today is a hang-around-waiting-for-Sarge day, so Donut wanders down to the field to watch the football team at practice. He's not particularly interested in football, not really, but there are worse things that sitting around watching sweaty guys in tight pants. Especially as one of those guys is David “I don't know how not to sign up for things” Washington. Donut may have long since gotten over his crush on the other boy, but that doesn't mean he can't appreciate how good he looks.

The cheerleaders are taking a water break when he gets there; they wave him over to chat with them when they spot him. He's startled, when he gets there, that Tucker's friend Felix is among them.

“I tried out on a whim,” he explains, patting the bench beside him in invitation. “I thought, you know, I'm pretty flexible, I'm new and need a way to meet people, why not?” He grins wide. “Not to mention that the cheerleaders practice overlaps with the football team's practice a lot, so I get to look at all those cute sweaty boys in tight pants. What could be better?”

Donut nods, glancing out at the practicing football players.

“I like number 57,” Felix says. “He's cute, but he also keeps falling on his face, and I think that's funny.” He nods toward Wash, who has indeed just tripped, possibly on thin air. “So what brings you down here? Boywatching, or something else?”

“Waiting on Sarge. He's in a meeting with a parent and I'm stuck here till then.”

Felix frowns. “Lame. Hey, why don't you hang out with me after practice? I can give you a ride home later, I don't mind.”

“That sounds fun. Let me just ask Sarge-” He takes out his phone; Felix stands and stretches.

“Looks like breaktime's over. Let me know what he says.”

*

Sarge gives the greenlight, so after the cheerleaders eventually wrap up practice (long after the footballers have called it a day), he and Felix head up to the parking lot, Felix still breathing heavily.

“Those girls go hard-core,” he says, scrubbing a damp towel on his face. “I was in the gymnastics club at my old school- we never went so hardcore.” He tosses the towel around his neck, loops and arm around Donut's shoulder. “I was going to suggest going for something to eat after this, but I think before I do anything else I need to take a shower. Wanna head back to mine?”

Donut agrees- Felix is starting to stink- and they head back to Felix's place. It's a nice house- very open and airy. Felix's mom is at the counter working with a computer, and his little brother is watching a movie in the living room, when Felix leads Donut through the house. Felix barely spares a moment to introduce Donut to them before leading him upstairs to his room, a big room over the garage, with its own bathroom. Donut looks around while Felix digs into his drawers for a change of clothes.

“Pretty sweet, huh?” Felix says. “My parents decided that as a 'young man on the cusp of adulthood', it would be healthy for me to have my 'own space', a place to get away from the rest of my family. But this is my favorite part.” He reaches around Donut and slides a deadbolt in place. “I can lock my little brother out and don't have to worry about the little brat touching my stuff. Hang here, I'll just be a few minutes. Unless you want to join me,” he adds, with a wink, as he heads into the bathroom.

Donut's eyes open wide and he stares after him, startled. That wasn't- was that a come on?

He was probably kidding. Donut moves over to sit on the couch, playing with his phone while he waits. A few minutes later he hears the shower shut off and Felix comes out in just a pair of shorts. He plops down on the couch beside Donut and scoots closer. There's still steam rising from him, and his hair is dripping.

“By the way,” he says, leaning close. “That was absolutely a come on just now.”

Donut's brain takes a moment to catch up, and he grins and sets his phone aside to look Felix over. There are far worse people to be hit on by. “Well,” he says, while Felix takes that as an invitation to crawl into his lap. “Why didn't you say so?”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

When Grif comes down to breakfast the morning his restriction is over, he finds his keys sitting on the table at his place. He grabs them and grins, clutching them to his chest while he crows his triumph. Sarge and Donut are both at the table eating; Grif barely spares them a glance before he's taking off back upstairs, where he throws open his closet and digs out his nicest jeans and the only t-shirt he owns that doesn't have stains on it.

He stops in front of the mirror to check his hair, but it's only been a week since he had it buzzed back down and so it's not long enough to do more than just run a wet hand through it before carrying on. Then he's down the stairs and on his way out the door, keys jingling in his hand. Sarge stops him as he's getting to the door.

“Hold on, Grif!” he says. “Where in the world are you heading?”

“Sorry Sarge,” Grif says. “I have to keep my promise to South. See you later!”

Without another word he's heading out the door, leaving Sarge to raise an eyebrow at Donut.

“He promised to take South out once he got his keys back, to make up for missing her birthday party,” Donut says.

Sarge nods. “Right,” he says, and frowns thoughtfully. “So are he and South...?”

“Yes.” Donut downs the last of his milk and gets up to set his dishes in the sink. “But I don't think either of them knows it yet.”

*

South is watching cartoons with North when Grif's text comes through. get dressed Im taking you out to lunch. It takes her a moment to figure out where that came from, but she remembers his promise and grins down at her phone.

you got your keyss back?

yep
gona kep my promise
wear smth nice

i always look nice

“Who are you texting over there?” North asks, glancing over at her curiously. “And why do you look so smug?”

“Smug is my default setting,” she says, and stands. “I'm going out with a friend, that's all.”

If he had eyebrows, North would be raising one at her. “Okay... so you're not being cryptic at all.”

“I'm glad you agree. I'm going to go get dressed.”

“Okay. Tell Grif I said hi!” he calls up to her, while she's heading up the stairs. Just before she disappears from sight, he sees her flip him off, and leans back in his seat with a smug look of his own.

*

North is the one who answers the door when Grif arrives. He leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed, staring at Grif thoughtfully (Grif is startled- and pleased- to note that he has to tilt his head back a little to do so).

“South is upstairs getting dressed,” he says. He looks Grif over, taking in his good jeans and his non-stained shirt. “So where are you kids heading, anyway?”

“Just hanging out.”

“Don't be a loser, bro,” South says, coming up behind North and shoving past him. She grabs Grif's hand and pulls him toward his car without a backwards glance; Grif turns enough to flip North off with his free hand, while South tosses her own free hand up to do the same. North just laughs softly.

“Be back by tonight, don't forget we have plans!”

*

Once they're on their way, Grif glances over at South curiously. She raises an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” He turns his eyes back to the road, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Your hair is down.”

“Wha.. oh.” She touches her hair, and the headband pushing the bulk of it back from her face, then shrugs. “Didn't feel like fighting with it this morning. So where are you taking me?”

“The Garden. Figure that's nice enough to make up missing your birthday party.”

“Yeah, no shit. I love their sesame chicken.” South settles back into her seat with a content noise- she hates being stuck around the house on Saturdays. “Gonna race tonight, then?”

“Yeah. Coming to watch?”

“Can't, North and I have plans.” She scowls at this. “He's taking me into Spiral to see some play a friend of his is in. It sounds lame, but...” She shrugs again. “I'd much rather be at the races, though.”

“Yeah.” He trails off into silence for the rest of the ride; there's a thought tugging at the back of his mind that he can't get hold of, and it's bothering him. If she notices the silence, she doesn't say anything, until they pull into the parking lot and climb out of the jeep. She shivers slightly.

“Kinda wish I'd worn sleeves, now,” she says. “It's chilly today.”

“It'll be warmer inside,” he says absently, still lost in thought. He doesn't say much while they're seated, or while they fix their plates. He's chasing that thought, that thing in him that's trying to tell him something, if he could only catch it and find out what.

South finally notices his silence when they settle down with their food. She tilts her head at him curiously. “Something on your mind? You've been quiet.”

“Hm?” He fiddles with his chopsticks- he's not very good with them- and shrugs. “Just wondering why we're here, I guess.”

“You're the one that picked the place,” she says, giving him a baffled half-smile. “You tell me.”

He falls silent again, before finally shaking his head and shrugging. “I don't know. I just remembered you said how much you loved their chicken, I guess.”

“I do love their chicken here.” She frowns when her chicken falls out of her chopsticks, and makes a disgruntled noise before picking it back up. “Moreso when I can actually eat it.”

“Yeah, why are these so hard to eat with?” He grumbles as he tries- and fails- to scoop up a mouthful of noodles. “Okay, fuck it. Where's my fork?”

This gets him a laugh, and they fall into a much more comfortable silence while they eat, Grif with a fork and South still struggling with chopsticks. Grif is pleased to note that the weird thought he couldn't grasp is gone, which makes it much easier to enjoy their lunch. When they're done eating, South leaves their tip while Grif settles their check and they head out, in bright spirits and full enough to burst.

“So where to now?” Grif asks. “What time do you have to be back home?”

“Not till five, we've got a few hours. Want to head over to the lake?”

“Are you sure? It's kinda cold for the lake.”

“Not that cold. Besides, I think we can find a way to keep warm.” She tugs him down to level with her- he wonders how long he's been tall enough to need that- and mouths softly along his jaw. “You know... I don't think I ever showed you my tattoo, yet.”

“You haven't,” he agrees. Her proximity has his heart racing. He thinks about his design etched into her skin, and smiles against her lips when she kisses him. “Will you show me? Where did you decide to put it?”

“Mmm.” Her smirk is wicked against his. “You'll have to find it for yourself.”

*

Lopez comes over later that day to help Sarge and Donut put up the new chicken pen. A storm a few days ago knocked a tree down onto one end and this is the first chance they've had to fix it. Sarge has the chainsaw out already when Lopez pulls up, sawing the tree down into smaller chunks while Donut carries the pieces off to the workshed to be dealt with later- probably in his smoker; Donut won't be surprised if there's a cookout in their near future.

“Nah,” Sarge says, when he brings this up. “Not good smoking wood. I know how to find some artsy folk who'll be happy to buy it off me, though.” He stands up and waves when Lopez pulls up, then frowns, a pout tugging at his lips. “You didn't bring Dos with you?”

“Está con Sheila . El ruido no sería bueno para él.”

“Noise is bad for sensitive baby ears,” Donut agrees. “Besides, you'd be too busy to play with him anyway.”

Sarge just grumbles and fires his chainsaw back up; Donut gives Lopez an amused look and goes back to picking up the cut up logs.

“Estás mejorando en entenderme,” Lopez says, once they're farther away from the noise of the chainsaw. Donut tilts his head to one side, mentally translating his words, then nods.

“I've been living in a multilingual household for a year now,” he says. “Between you, Sheila, Dr. Grey, and our friends, I'm around enough Spanish speakers to get better at it.” He frowns. “Did you think I was just going to stay bad forever?”

“Él es.” Lopez nods toward Sarge. “Él llama a mi hermano padre, y ni siquiera podía aprender su idioma.”

“Oh.” Donut tilts his head again. “Why don't you just speak English? I mean, you understand it...”

Lopez considers this question for a long time, while he and Donut carry another round of logs. “Mi mamá odiaba hablar Inglés,” he finally says. He doesn't offer any further explanation, but Donut thinks he understands anyway.

*

Felix stops by late that evening, around the same time Grif is getting home. He gives Grif a cursory greeting before giving Donut all of his attention; Grif almost completely ignores him in favor of heading up to his room to change.

“I was thinking I might go up to the races tonight,” Felix says, settling on the couch beside Donut. “Want to come with me?”

“Oh, um.” Donut catches his hands in his laps, wrings them nervously. “I don't really... I don't like to go to the races,” he says quietly. “It's not- really my scene.”

“Really? That's a shame.” He gives Donut a soft smile. “I guess I'll find someone else to go with. Maybe Church'll like to go, or Tucker.”

“Probably,” Donut agrees. “I uh, I think Tucker's going to go see a play tonight, though. So.. maybe ask Church...”

“That's a good idea.” Felix sits back, putting a bit of space between them. “I'll call and ask. If he doesn't want to, though, I'll have to go alone. And that's just so lame.”

“Sorry.” Donut shrugs. “Grif is racing tonight, by the way. Be sure to cheer for him while you're there.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Felix seems like he's pouting, but Donut is too focused on stilling his shaking hands to pay that much attention to him. “I guess I'll head out, now. See you later.”

“Yeah. Later.”

*

South's tattoo is on the inside of her right thigh, up near the top. He'd found it, eventually, mouthing gently at still-red, still-tender skin. There's something about that knowledge that sits heavily on him, though the weight is an odd one: his work, a permanent part of South's skin, of her body, placed so intimately. He finds he rather likes that thought.

He's got his sketchbook out now, trying to recall the way she'd looked lain out in the grass in nothing but her panties, every inch of her relaxed and content and totally at ease. He's got the image burned into his brain and he wants to immortalize it, thumb tracing carefully over the fresh lines to smooth them, calm them, capture the sleepy air.

South is a great subject to draw, really: every inch of her communicates her feelings so well that there's never any dull line anywhere, but she creates a challenge for the same reason.

There's a knock at the door. He snaps his sketchbook closed and leans back, rubbing at a smudge of graphite on his arm while he calls entry. It's Donut, and his hands are shoved a little too nonchalantly into his pockets; the way he leans against Grif's doorframe is just a little too casual.

“I was feeling kind of lonely,” he says. “Mind if I hang out in here for awhile?”

Grif looks him over, but doesn't voice his disbelief. Instead he just shrugs. “Mi quatro es sus quatro.”

Donut giggles as he moves over to flop out on Grif's bed. “You just said 'my four is their four',” he says.

“Really? Oh. Well.” Grif shrugs again, and grabs his math notebook. “I don't speak Spanish.”

“Why not? You live in a multilingual household.”

“Do you know any Hawaiian?”

“Do you?”

“Eh.” He wobbles his hand vaguely. “A bit. Not as much as I used to, and I was never very fluent to begin with.” He frowns. “I really should relearn it, though. Kai barely remembers any, and I don't want her forgetting everything about where we came from.”

“Well, there you go.” Donut gives him a stern look. “If you start speaking Hawaiian regularly, I'll do my best to learn.”

“No, thank you,” Grif says. “I'd rather not having you butchering my language like you do Lopez's.”

“But I'm getting better!” He pouts, but Grif just turns his attention to doodling dicks on his math notes. Donut's pout falters into an unsure look. “So, you're.. going to race tonight.”

“Yep.”

“You're sure this is the right choice?”

“Of course. Even Sarge realizes.”

“I think Sarge thinks his hands are tied.” Donut sighs. “You'll take it easy, won't you?”

“Donut, I was born to take it easy.” He gives the other a reassuring smile. “Look, last time I raced I thought I heard something wrong with the car and immediately pulled back. I'm being careful- I'm going to be fine, Donut. Don't worry so hard about me.”

“I don't want to worry- it's just-” He hesitates. “Jimmy is still out there. And if he thinks he has something to gain from hurting you, he will. In a moment.” He hangs his head. “Georgia was on his team and he still k- he still hurt him. I just don't want to lose you. You're my b- you're my family. That's all. I can't help worrying.”

Grif sighs. “I'm being careful, Donut. But if I give up racing? Then Jimmy wins. And I'm not okay with giving him that.”

“I guess.” Donut gives him a small smile. “At least you are being careful.”

“Fuck yeah. I don't want to end up back in the hospital either, you know.”

*

Church agrees to go to the races with Felix, albeit reluctantly. It's not his thing; he doesn't like the crowds or the noise, nor does he find it particularly interesting to watch. He'd been once or twice back when Grif was racing and honestly he'd never been able to see the appeal. But Felix is pouting, because he doesn't have anyone to go with and doesn't want to go alone, and Felix can be hard to refuse when he's pouting, so Church sighs and gets his coat.

“I guess I do need to get out of the house,” he says. “I've been working almost non-stop on this project Delta and I are doing- Delta's my buddy up in Sidewinder, I told you about him- and Carolina says if I don't leave my room in the next twenty-four hours she's going to kick me out herself.” He rubs at his neck. “I guess the races is as good a place to go as any...”

“That's the spirit!”

Felix looks positively cheerful in the passenger's seat beside him, though there's an almost embarrassed air to his posture, and when they get to the circuit and get in line for entry, Church is startled by Felix sliding a hand into his hesitantly. Church stares down at their hands, a little bewildered, before pulling his away; Felix brings his own up, held up placatingly.

“Sorry!” he says. “I- I guess I misread that. Sorry. Sorry. Carry on! Pretend it never happened!”

His smile looks a little forced, and Church just shrugs and shoves his hands down into his pockets. “S'okay,” he says. “Just. You know. Wasn't. Really. Um.”

“No, no! It's fine!” Felix shoves his hands into his own pockets and stares at the ground sheepishly. “I- I should have asked, right? Instead of just- you know, springing it on you. But it's fine! I'm cool, I'm not- it's fine! Um.”

The silence that falls over them is awkward; Church stares straight ahead, pretending not to notice while Felix composes himself. Felix will bounce back, he knows; he just needs to give him time to do so. And sure enough, by the time they make it inside, Felix is back to his usual self, making snarky comments about the people around them and not bothering with the concept of personal space. Church lets out a relieved sigh.

*

Grif pulls into the pit and looks up at the score-board. Fifth. He punches the console irritably. Still not good enough. But the world starts spinning wildly every time he starts the car and at this point he's probably lucky that he was able to push through and finish the course at all- and fifth out of nine is better than seventh out of eleven. Probably. It's better than last, anyway.

He just has to keep telling himself that, and hope he starts to believe it.

Tex is at the door, opening it so she can lean on the roof and peer in at him. “Grif?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure you're okay?”

“I did better this week!” He hauls himself out of the car and slams the door a little too irritably. “I pushed ahead two places, that's an improvement. Look, I just- I need to actually have a chance to get the hang of the course again and I can't if I keep getting interrupted. I'll do better next time. Swear it.”

“I don't doubt that but-” She sighs. “Okay. We'll try again next week. Can I count on you for both days next week?”

“Hell yeah! That's two chances to win!” He grins, but at the serious look she's giving him his grin falters. “Look, I'm just- I just need time, okay? But I can do this.”

Tex just shakes her head, folds her arms over her chest. “All right, all right. Come on, Stasney's boyfriend brought us coffee, come warm up before we head out.”

“Thank the lord for Coffee Guy,” Grif says, making a beeline for the little table, with the cups set out. He makes a little cheers motion at Kaldi with his and sighs pleasantly at the first sip. Before he can take another, Tex pulls him over to the car to talk.

“If you're still worrying-”

“This is about something else,” she says. “South came over a few days ago, she showed me her tattoo. Said you're the one that designed it.”

She's side eyeing him carefully while she says this, and he frowns. He really should have known South would break her promise to keep his drawing under wraps. Tex rests a hand on his shoulder.

“Relax, would you? She didn't spill on purpose, it just kind of- happened. If I'm honest, I guessed. Look, I just wanted to know if you'd be willing to design one for me. That's all. I'm not going to tell anyone, she says that's some big secret.”

“Yeah, I- wait, what?” He raises an eyebrow at her. “Wait, are you blackmailing me too?”

“I could if you want me to. I was thinking I might just pay you, though. Seems a lot easier.”

“Oh.” This takes him several moments to process. “I... yeah. Okay,” he says, finally. “Yeah- yeah, okay.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

It takes Grif two and a half weeks to design Tex's tattoo, a lonely star with a cluster of yellow roses springing from one joint. It's big, designed to nestle on her back, between her shoulder blades, and he goes through a lot of designs before he finds one that satisfies both of them enough to clean up and finalize.

She gives him twenty dollars for the design, and he stares down at the twenty in his hand while she puts the paper away somewhere safe.

It's not much. It's enough to cover gas and lunch for the day, but that's about it. But it feels like so much more.

His art, turned to cash in his hand.

Tex raises an eyebrow at him. “You okay over there, Grif? Hello, Grif?” She waves a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Grif, come in.”

“What? Oh.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, spaced out for a minute there... what were you saying?”

“I said I'll let you know when I get it done. You want to see your work finished, right?”

“Yeah!” He grins. “I'm looking forward to it.”

*

“Alpha, you have to stop fighting me.”

Church is pacing, breathing heavily, and now he throws his hands in the air in exasperation. Aiden doesn't react. He never reacts.

“How can you just- just-” He makes a frustrated noise. “You act like this is something I can just turn off and I can't, okay. It's too hard!”

“I know.”

“How do you know?” Another of those noises. More pacing. “Do you even feel anything? You're worse than dad's fucking computers over there. At least FILLS knows what it is to be annoyed!”

“I feel a great number of things over the course of a day,” Aiden says. “But I am in control of my emotions, not the other way around. It is something I am trying to help you learn.”

“Well you're doing a shitty job of it!”

Aiden just sighs. “Perhaps another topic. You're visiting your mother this weekend, correct?”

Church stops pacing, and sits down with a huff. “Yeah. It's Delta's birthday, I'm going up to visit for it. Dad even let me take an extra day off from school for the trip so I'm going up on Friday.”

“You always speak very highly of your friends in Sidewinder.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, they're not assholes like my friends here always were. Like, you've got Delta. Dee's smart, dude. Like, smart enough to put me to shame, and he doesn't slack off. And his little bro, Theta, he's probably just as smart, always figuring out really complex physics equations and shit. Mostly uses it for skateboard tricks and stuff, but he's ten, so...” He shrugs. “And Sigma, he's- kinda like you, frustratingly calm all the time, doesn't get worked up, but, like, he's not annoying about it.”

This gets him a frown. Aiden raises an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, like that,” Church says, gesturing at his subtle changes in body language. “Got a flame tattooed on one arm, right? The other arm is covered in burn scars though, cause the idiot set himself on fire. Just- set his own arm on fire! Said he wanted to see what happened. Crazy, right? But he's not even bothered by it, cause now he knows what would happen. Got the flame tattoo so he'd match.” He shakes his head. “And Jimmy-” He breaks off, and his scowl softens. “Jimmy is a good kid. He's got this girl he wants to ask out- been trying to work up the nerve. I'm going to see if I can help him out while I'm up there this weekend.”

Aiden nods. “And your mother?”

“Eh.” Church shrugs, scowl back in place. “She's a rotten bitch, but what else is new?”

“Then you aren't visiting for the sake of improving your relationship with her?”

“No. Tch. I'm visiting for my friends. You know, the people who actually give a shit about me.”

He sulks down in his chair after that, scowling at Aiden while the man considers him. After awhile, Aiden sighs.

“I think that's enough for today. Perhaps we'll try again next time.”

“Whatever.” Church pushes himself to his feet and shoves his hands deep into his pockets to amble out. At the door, he pauses. “You know, up in Sidewinder they call me Leonard. Not Alpha or Church or... whatever.”

This said, he leaves, letting the door close heavily behind him. He wonders, sometimes, why he even bothers with Aiden's help, since it doesn't seem to be working- but the dent is still on his wall, glaring accusingly at him every time he considers giving up, reminding him why every time his blood starts to boil over whatever is annoying him this time.

He takes a deep breath. “Next time.”

*

Neither of them is exactly sure when or how, but somewhere along the way Tucker and Grif both forgot to be angry at each other. They're at Tucker's, now- Grif had come over to drop Kai off, and Tucker invited him in to play a few rounds of Mud Mummy Invasion while the kids played.

“Okay dude,” Tucker says, in between rounds. “I gotta know. Did South actually get a tattoo on her junk? Because Zachary Miller said he saw her changing after weights a few days ago and said if I didn't believe him I could ask you about the tattoo on her junk.”

“It's on her thigh,” Grif says. “And tell Miller he can suck my dick, it's none of his business anyway.”

“All right.” Tucker turns back to the game. “That answers my other question.”

“We're not a couple, if that's what you mean,” Grif says irritably. “I know about her tattoo because I designed it.”

“Whoah. Really?”

“Yeah. I also designed one for Tex, and I designed mine, too.”

“Wow.” Tucker looks impressed. “I'm starting to regret not talking to you for three months, it seems like I really missed a lot.”

“You really did. Maybe next time don't be such a bitch and we won't go three months without speaking.”

“Me a bitch? Dude, you got pissy cause your boyfriend talked to me about something instead of you. And fyi, I told him to talk to you about it.” He turns back to the game. “So don't bitch at me, bitch.”

Grif grumbles, but Tucker is unfortunately right. He huffs. “You talked to Church any lately?”

“Couple times. Mostly just when I'm hanging out with Carolina. She says he misses us but, you know, it's whatever. I'm not going back to him this time, he misses us bad enough he can actually fucking apologize for a change.”

He grumbles to himself over that, takes his frustration out on a slew of mud mummies, while Grif nods his agreement and reinforces their walls against the ones trying to get through. When their current push is through and they have breathing room, they pause the game and set their controllers down; Tucker stands to stretch out aching limbs with a groan.

“Kinda wish he'd apologize, though,” Tucker says, eventually, when he sits back down.

Grif picks up his controller and unpauses the game with a nod. “Yeah,” he says. “Same.”

*

Carolina runs with South in the evenings, at least twice a week. Carolina is faster than South, but it's not a competition, or at least, it's no more a competition than any other shared interest, which is to say that it is a competition, but neither will admit this and both will insist that it is the other who turns it into a race, every time.

All the same, for the most part their run is spent side-by-side, easier stretches punctuated by quiet conversation. South has a lot to say, and Carolina is willing to listen.

Today she's complaining about North.

Most days she's complaining about North.

“He keeps prying into my personal life,” she says irritably. “And nagging me about college. Says I have to start looking into colleges now. Like no shit, bro, what the fuck do you think I'm doing?”

“Have you even decided on a major yet?”

“I don't know. Probably just going to enlist or something. Get the fuck out of this town and away from everyone. See the world a bit. Do something important.” She shrugs. “Who the fuck knows? Maybe I won't even go to college. Maybe I'll take a road trip, see the country for myself. Or backpack across Europe. Or something.”

“That sounds fun. But you'll still need to learn a trade at some point.”

“Yeah, well.” She stops to catch her breath, to take a long drink from her water. “I'll burn that bridge when I get to it, I guess. Not that I'm going to tell my parents that. They'd probably think it was unbecoming or something. Improper. 'A young woman of your standing should have an education'.” She spits the words like poison. “So I can find some rich man to marry, then spit out a couple of babies and go off and have a career and never be around them.”

They start running again, silent now but for their labored breathing, until they're across the bridge and the ground starts in a gentle downward slope.

“But the joke's on them. I've been saving my money, putting it into an account they don't have access to. When I graduate and they find out I'm not going to follow their perfect plans for me, and they cut me off, I'm going to be prepared.”

Carolina frowns, and the two of them fall into silence again.

“Want to come up to the races with me this weekend?” South asks, when they finally reach South's house, while they lean panting on the gate. “I'm going both days so it doesn't matter which day.”

“I can make both days,” Carolina says. “Alpha is going out of town this weekend so I don't have any plans with him.”

“What about Maine?”

“He's got a project to work on for school, so nothing with him, either. This weekend, I can be all yours.” She punctuates this with an eyebrow waggle that has South snorting.

They part ways after that, South in brighter spirits as much for their talk as their run, and for the promise of hanging out to look forward to.

*

“I think I might be ready to forgive Tucker.” Caboose and Donut are walking through the fields behind Sarge's land; Caboose kicks shyly at a rock. He's not looking at Donut and he has his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “I am still very hurt, but I am also tired of being sad. And I miss him.”

“He misses you, too,” Donut says. “And he is very sorry for hurting you. He told me so.”

“I asked him to give me space and he did.” His voice is very quiet now, and slow. “He said he was sorry and then he went away like I told him to.” He gives Donut a hopeful smile. “Do you really think he is sorry?”

“Yeah. Or he's a very good actor, and he's not a very good actor.”

“You are a good actor.”

The praise startles him, but he smiles. “Thank you, Caboose. That's sweet of you to say.”

“Mama says it is important to tell the truth.” He takes Donut's hand and swings it while they walk; he starts to hum happily, before suddenly stopping and tilting his head to one side. “I hear something.”

Donut frowns, but falls silent while Caboose strains to listen for whatever it was. Donut's hearing isn't great, but when it sounds again he hears it too: a high, distressed keening sound. He looks around for the source, hoping it isn't some wild animal that might attack them.

“Over here,” Caboose says, leaving the foot path to wade into the high grass. Donut follows- he trusts Caboose's ears better than his own, and the keening is getting louder anyway. They finally end up at a post, probably from some now-nonexistent fence, and the source of the keening turns out to be a dog, a brindle-coated boxer-mix, tied to the post with a length of old, frayed rope. Donut frowns and holds back in case the dog is violent, but Caboose just crouches and edges closer, one hand held out to the dog.

He goes slowly, but in just a moment the dog is inching towards him as well, sniffing cautiously. They finally meet somewhere in the middle, the dog nosing at Caboose's hand, sniffing at him before finally deciding he means no harm and licking him. Caboose's face splits into a grin at this and he brings his free hand up to ruffle the dog's ears.

Now that the dog is occupied with Caboose, Donut moves closer to get a better look of his own. The dog has obviously been abandoned, and not by a kind owner, if the patches in his fur and way his ribs stick out are any indication. But he seems happy now, stump of a tail wagging quickly at Caboose's attention. Donut turns his attention to the rope tying him to the post: it's old, and the knots have been pulled tight, no doubt by the dog trying to pull free. He remembers that it rained last night, and his scowl deepens.

“Some people are cruel,” he says fiercely, and takes out his pocket knife. “Let me see if I can do something about this rope. Keep him distracted, okay, Caboose?”

“Okay!”

Caboose is happy enough with the task of distracting the dog, petting his ears (one of them torn and ragged and long-since healed) and scratching his neck (Donut will do something about that end of the rope later) and cooing at him, telling him what a good boy he is. Donut manages a small smile while he works on sawing through the rope.

Once he gets the rope cut, Donut sits back on his heels to watch the dog thoughtfully.

“Well, he's free, anyway,” he says. “What do we do now?”

“He needs food,” Caboose says. He wraps his arms around the dog's middle and stands, picking him up as though he weighs nothing- though, considering that he looks half-starved, he probably doesn't. And in Caboose's arms, he looks like a puppy- certainly he seems pleased to be carried, licking Caboose's ear happily. “We will take him back to your house and feed him.”

“That's a good place to start,” Donut agrees. “We'll take it one step at a time, then. And there'll be better knives at the house to cut that rope off with, too.”

“Yes.” Caboose smiles, not bothered by the cleaning his ear is getting, and the pair set off for the house, the dog nestled in Caboose's arms.

*

Sarge and Dr. Grey are sitting together on the back porch swing when they make it back; Dr. Grey has a textbook open in her lap and Sarge keeps kissing the back of her neck, tracing hands up her side and arms to distract her. They both look up when the boys approach, and Sarge frowns when they get near enough for him to see the poor condition the dog is in.

“Where'd you find the dog?” he asks, standing to join them. Caboose sets the dog carefully on the porch; he sits where he was placed, looking warily at the new people around him. Sarge does the same thing with him that Caboose did, crouching low and approaching with one hand held out, palm up, while Donut gives him a brief summary, and while Dr. Grey goes inside to get something to feed him.

“I call him Freckles,” Caboose says, once the dog deems Sarge acceptable, licking softly at his hand. “Because he has little freckles on his nose.”

“So he does,” Sarge agrees, scratching at the dog's- at Freckles'- chin. “I think we can do something about that rope around his neck,” he adds, taking out his own pocket knife. “Caboose, can you hold his head? He might not like me having a knife so close to his throat. Can't say I'd be too happy with it myself, if I was in his shoes.”

Caboose takes Freckles head in both hands, holding him in a firm grip. He whines at the restriction, moreso when Sarge begins fiddling with the rope tied around his neck, but Caboose speaks softly to him again, reassuring him that they're trying to help him. Soon enough, the rope falls free, and Sarge makes a soft, disapproving sound at the way the rope has dug into the dog's skin, rubbing it raw where he tried to pull free and only pulled it tighter.

“It's a wonder he didn't manage to strangle himself,” Sarge says. “Probably what the owner expected- this fella is lucky you boys were out there. Ah, but you're in good hands now, buddy.” He punctuates this by scratching behind one of Freckles' ears. “We'll make sure to take good care of you.”

“He needs to see a vet as soon as possible,” Dr. Grey says, when she returns with a piece of chicken from last night's dinner. Sarge starts cutting small pieces off, passing them to Caboose to feed to him. “But I can give him a small check-up now- or, anyway, I can once he's been given food and water.”

*

By the time Grif and Kai get home, the dog has been fed, watered, and Dr. Grey has seen to his immediate health. A call has been made to the vet and an appointment set up for tomorrow afternoon, and Freckles is now curled up in the utility room in a makeshift bed of old towels and one of the more ragged quilts from the linen cupboard.

“Are we going to keep him?” Kai asks, once she and Grif have been deemed acceptable as well. “I'd like to have a dog.”

“I wouldn't mind,” Sarge says. “He's a sweet fella- but that'll be up to Caboose and Donut to decide, since they're the ones that found him. He can stay here while they sort it out, though, and we get him taken care of. After everything he's been through, he probably shouldn't just be taken around as many people as are in Caboose's house just yet.”

“Yes.” Caboose sighs. “There are many, many people in my house.”

Donut nods. “And Freckles would probably get very nervous and upset being around so many people all at once. So he can stay here until we get him taken care of. We can decide which of us gets him after that.”

“I'd like to have a dog, too,” Donut says, once Grif has left to take Caboose home. “But he seems to like Caboose a lot more. So it's up to whether Caboose's parents are okay with him having a dog.”

“I'd kinda like to have a dog too,” Sarge admits. “Used to have one, before I got any of you kids- sweetest mutt you ever met.” He rubs absently at his chin, considering this. “Well, we'll see what happens. Caboose's parents have eighteen kids to wrangle, they might not want to add a dog to the mix. And if they do, well, there's plenty of dogs down at the pound.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Caboose's parents won't let him keep Freckles. They have too much on their plates taking care of their many children, they say, to add a dog to the mix. No pets.

Caboose pouts and cries and moans, but they stand firm. Donut pats his shoulder comfortingly.

“Aww, don't worry, Caboose. You can come over and play with Freckles all you want to, you know that. He can still be yours, he'll just be living with us.”

Caboose sniffles, wiping his nose on one sleeve and giving Donut a wobbly look. “You mean like how when Papa was alive and I went to stay with him sometimes my dad was still my dad and my mamas were still my mamas?”

“Exactly!” Donut gives him a reassuring smile. “We'll just be like parents with joint custody, that's all. Freckles will be our baby!”

This actually gets a smile from Caboose. “He is a good baby to have. He is nice. And I will be a good papa and teach him tricks. Like how to roll over, and how to shake!” The idea has him in much brighter spirits, and Donut gives him a proper smile at that.

“Exactly. Freckles sure is lucky to have someone like you, Caboose, that's all I can say.”

*

Grif loses again Friday night, jumping back up to sixth place. He kicks the front tire in frustration when he gets out of the car, glaring up at the scoreboard. Why. Why can't he just get his act together and just fucking win? He knows he's good enough. He knows there's nothing wrong with the car- Tex refuses to let them get complacent, especially as they've heard from Tucker that Jimmy is hanging around the races again. There's never anything wrong with the car.

But he starts the car, and the world spins away from him. He reaches the turns, and hears the echoed screams of metal on metal. He comes to the last stretch and his foot pulls off the gas, inevitably. And he knows Tex is only going to take this so long, that sooner or later she will tire of losing, will tire of the lost profits that come from putting him into races he can't win. Will tire of watching the pot go to someone else.

His dread of that day is the only thing that keeps him pushing, sometimes. Not racing at all scares him far more than the chance of crashing again. But he's so tired and he's starting to wonder if it's really worth it.

“Maybe next time,” Tex says, a sigh in her voice, when he kicks the tire again. “At least you win drag races.”

She turns to go, either not noticing or not caring how deeply her words have cut him. At least you win drag races. He can win more than that, if he can just keep it together long enough. He frowns, aims one last kick at the tire, and then turns to go as well.

*

“Maybe you got back in too soon,” Simmons says, when Grif tells him over Skype that night. “Maybe you should have waited longer, given yourself more time to recover.”

“Bullshit, dude,” Grif says. “Waiting would have made it worse.”

“Or maybe it would have given the wound time to heal. Getting back on the horse is all well and good, but doing it when the leg is still broken is just asking for trouble.”

“What do horses have to do with this?”

“I don't know, that's just what North keeps saying.”

Grif snorts. “Simmons, I don't give a fuck what North has to say about my racing- or anything else, really.”

The viciousness to his tone surprises Simmons. He goes quiet for a moment. “You've... got something against North?” he asks, hesitantly. “Because he's on your side with the racing, thinks you should do it.”

“...oh.” Now it's Grif's turn to be surprised, scrubbing awkwardly at his face with one hand, at the patchy stubble that is not yet heavy enough to bother shaving. “I didn't know. No, I don't have a problem with North. I think. I don't know. South complains about him a lot and he keeps giving me the stink-eye, it's hard not to have a problem with him, though. Speaking of, what's with that? What'd I ever do to offend him?”

“Same thing that O'Malley kid you were bitching about did to offend you, I would imagine,” Simmons says, a shrug in his voice. “He's protective of his sister.”

“South is a grown-ass woman who could bench press me if she wanted to. He's got nothing to protect her from. So tell him to stop glaring at me.” Grif huffs. “And O'Malley is creepy, okay? He keeps talking about blowing up the universe and says that Kai's gonna be his queen. I've got to keep an eye on him, as long as Kai thinks that kind of thing is sweet.”

“He's ten, Grif,” Simmons says, rolling his eyes. “Weren't you doing weird shit when you were ten?”

“When I was ten I was doing most of the work taking care of my four-year-old sister because my mom was slowly dying and couldn't do it herself.” Simmons isn't quite sure how to respond to that; after a moment, Grif hears a quiet “oh” from his end of the line. He gives it a moment, then shrugs as though it was nothing. “But I mean, yeah, I get what you're saying. Ten year olds are weird.”

“I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“For- I don't know. That you had to go through that, I guess. That you didn't get to do weird shit like the rest of us.”

“What weird shit did you do when you were ten?”

“I was convinced I was a cyborg. I kept trying to hook myself up to computers, but I couldn't find my port.”

“Okay, that is weird. I'm glad you got over that before you met me.”

*

Around midweek, Tucker decides to hang around the park for awhile after school, rather than heading straight home. He ambles down the foot path for awhile, before deciding what he really wants is to sit in the shade and relax. He picks a likely looking tree and settles under it; once he's seated, there's a rustle overhead and some leaves fall down on him. He glances up, expecting squirrels or maybe a bird, and then sighs.

“Hey, Wash.”

“Hi Tucker.”

“Chasing cats again?”

“Not this time.” Wash adjusts his perch on the branch. “Caboose's dog tried to kill me.”

“Freckles? Wash, he's half-starved and skittish as hell. You could have stomped in his direction and he'd have backed off.”

“I panicked.” He adjusts his perch again. “Um, I'm kind of stuck. Do you think you could go get the caretaker or something? So he can get me down?”

“Yeah, all right.” Tucker stands to do that, but stops when he sees Caboose approaching, Freckles walking happily at his side. Freckles is still as scrawny and ragged as he was when Caboose found him, but he seems pretty happy, at least- his little stumpy tail is wagging and when he spots them, he barks once and bounds over, planting his forepaws on the tree trunk and barking up into its branches. Wash clings tighter to his branch.

“Cabooooose! Please get your dog...”

“Hi Wash!” Caboose says cheerily. “Don't worry, Freckles just wants to play! Isn't that right Freckles?”

Freckles barks once in affirmation, turning back to bark up the tree, while Caboose turns to Tucker, suddenly awkward. He shuffles his feet shyly and peeks up at Tucker.

“Um, Tucker, do you think we could maybe talk for a few minutes?” At Tucker's nod, he tugs on Freckles' halter, pulling him back from the tree and clipping his leash back on. The pair head off down the foot path, Caboose still quiet. There's a set to his mouth that Tucker recognizes, one that tends to mean he's planning his words carefully ahead of time, laying them out in order so that he doesn't get tangled up in them. Tucker is quiet, too, letting Caboose organize his thoughts before he finally speaks.

“I think that I am ready to forgive you,” he says, slowly. “I am still very hurt by what you did, but you listened to me when I told you to stay away. And you have said you are sorry.” He falls silent again, but Tucker doesn't speak yet, and he carries on after a moment. “I am still hurt, but I miss you more than I am hurt. And I think that if we are friends again, that will make me hurt less.”

“I miss you too, buddy,” Tucker says. “And I'd like to be friends again, too.”

*

Donut's sixteenth birthday is in October, and he wants a big birthday party- with music and dancing and punch and lots of friends over. Sarge agrees, with the caveat that he doesn't have to be involved in the planning, and gives Donut a budget to work within before leaving him to it. Grif peeks over Donut's shoulder at the budget, curious- he's not one for big parties, and usually just prefers to have his friends over to cook out for his own birthdays.

“I'm inviting Church to my birthday party,” he says, working on his guest list a little bit later. “Just so you know.”

“Why are you inviting him?” Grif asks.

“Because he's my friend. Just because you're not speaking to him doesn't mean I have to stop being friends with him. I just wanted you to go ahead and be ready for that.”

Grif huffs. “Do what you want. There'll be enough people here I won't have to talk to him. Fucker.”

“I'm inviting him, too.”

“What?”

“Tucker. He's invited to my party. Aren't you two friends again?”

“I said fucker, not Tucker.”

“Oh.” Donut looks a little sheepish. “I- misheard, I guess.”

Grif frowns. “You've been mishearing a lot lately.” He taps his fingers idly. “When are you going to tell Sarge how bad your hearing is getting?”

“It's- not that bad.” Donut pats his hands nervously on the table. “Look- I'm not- I can manage. I can still hear okay, I just- you know, I have to focus on who I'm- talking to and- look, hearing aids aren't cheap, okay?”

“I know we're not exactly the Church's, Donut, but I'm pretty sure Sarge could afford hearing aids if you needed them. Which, you know, you do.” He sighs. “How bad is it?”

Donut stares down at his hands, and shrugs. “It's mostly only the right side,” he admits, finally. “The left side is just- you know, things come through a bit faint, is all, or it can be hard to pick something out when there's a lot of background noise. But on the right side I can barely even hear low pitches at all anymore.”

“You need to tell Sarge.”

“You're one to talk, about needing to tell Sarge things.”

“This is different. This isn't me and Sarge being stubborn fucks- this is about you getting the things you need. You're different than me. Sarge actually likes you.”

“Sarge likes you.”

“No, Sarge loves me. But we're a long way from like. And stop changing the subject! Talk to Sarge.”

“But-” Donut pouts. “He's already done so much for me as it is...”

“And he'll do this, too. Talk to Sarge.”

“Talk to Sarge about what?” Both boys look up as Sarge passes through the kitchen on the way to the fridge; he grabs a strawberry Yoo-hoo from it and turns to face them. “Something up?”

They exchange a look, Donut's face pleading. Grif sighs. “Donut isn't sure whether to have his party the weekend before his birthday, or after. I told him to talk to you about when would be best.” He stands, ignoring Donut's grateful look. “I'm gonna go call Simmons. Have fun with your party planning.”

*

If South's parents knew that she was sleeping over with a boy, and not Carolina as they believe, they would probably not approve. She knows how they would react- her father would shake his head and say that it was inappropriate, unbecoming, and her mother would nod in agreement and point out that people would talk, that she would gain a reputation as a 'loose woman'. And then they would give her that look that she knows so well, the one that says she is a disappointment, and forbid her from seeing Grif at all anymore.

Fortunately, South doesn't give a rat's ass whether her parents approve of her or not, or anyway, she's convinced herself that she doesn't, and really the only reason she lies to them is so that she doesn't have to deal with them. Easier to let them think their daughter is merely subpar rather than truly vile, right?

It's very easy to convince herself this is true, when she's sprawled out in Grif's bed with one arm thrown over his middle, her head pillowed on his soft chest. He has her hand held in one of his own, a sleeping habit of his that she tries not to think too hard about, and he's snoring loud enough to keep her awake, so when there's a soft knock at the door she's the one who hears it. She raises her head to peer at the door creaking open, and sees Kai there, peeking in. She blinks sleepily at the younger girl.

“Kai?”

“South, um, I was, um.” She shuffles awkwardly; she's standing oddly, and South furrows her brow. “Can I talk to you?”

“Yeah, okay.” South tugs her hand free and slips out of bed, grabbing the first shirt her hands land on and throwing it on over her shorts. She pads quietly from the room- not like it'd matter- and pulls the door closed behind her before crouching down in front of Kai. “What's up, buttercup?”

“Well, um.” Kai twists her nighty in her hands and stares down at the floor. “I uh, I couldn't sleep- my tummy was hurting and I- I got up to use the bathroom and, um.” Her voice drops very quiet, so quiet that South has to strain to hear her. “I got my period.”

Ah. South considers this for a minute. “Do you need anything? Or have any questions?”

Kai shakes her head. “No. Sheila talked to me ages ago, and Dr. Grey got me everything I needed. She said I'd probably be an early bloomer and she wanted me to be prepared.” She wrings at her nighty again, still staring at the floor. “I just don't feel like being alone right now, and I don't think my dad or my brothers will understand.”

“They might, but I feel you.” South stands and puts an arm around Kai's shoulders, leading her downstairs. “Come on, let's see if you guys have any chocolate milk, okay?”

Kai nods and leans into South's side. “We have Yoo-hoo's,” she says quietly.

*

Five minutes later, she and South are sat at the kitchen table, Yoo-hoos with curly straws in front of them. Kai takes a long sip of hers before speaking.

“How old were you when you first- you know,” she finishes awkwardly. “Got your first one?”

“Nearly fourteen,” South says. “I was a late bloomer- ended up getting it the day before a track meet, that wasn't any fun.”

“At least you had your mom there, though,” Kai points out. “Right?”

South shakes her head. “Mama was too busy. But Sheila was there. She took me out for ice cream and helped me buy the things I needed.”

This gets a grin from Kai. “Sheila is pretty great, isn't she?”

“Yeah...” South gives a grin of her own. “When I was your age I used to wish she could be my big sister. I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. Of course, I have all the maternal instinct of a clam and Sheila practically bleeds motherhood, so that plan didn't exactly have any grounding on it. But I still wished she could be my sister, all the same. You're a really lucky kid, you know.”

“Sometimes I wish you could be my big sister,” Kai says shyly, and takes a long sip of her Yoo-hoo rather than look up at South. “If you married my brother like Sheila did, you could be. And Sheila would be your sister, too. So everyone would win.”

South just snorts at this, and reaches over to tug on one of Kai's braids. “How about I just be your big sister anyway, huh? No marriage required.”

Any disfavor South might gain from her parents finding out that she's sleeping over with a boy is worth it in this moment, just for the way Kai's face lights up at this. She stares at South for a long moment, and finally makes a small squeaking sound. “Is that really even allowed?”

South shrugs. “Why not?” She grins. “Besides, if I married your brother, then Sheila would be my sister-in-law, but Sarge would be my father-in-law. I'm not quite sure if the payoff is worth it.”

*

Eventually Kai reaches the point of almost falling asleep where she's sitting. South takes her hand to lead her upstairs and puts her to bed, then slips back into Grif's room and crawls back under the covers beside him. He wakes up as she does, opening his eyes halfway to peer sleepily at her.

“What's up?” he asks, voice slurred in sleep.

“Shh, it's nothing,” South replies. “Just talking to Kai.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it's fine. She just couldn't sleep.” She considers a moment, and adds, “Also, we've decided we're going to be sisters. We pinky swore on it.”

“Oh. Okay.” Grif yawns and rolls over, sleep already reclaiming him. “That's good.”

“Go back to sleep, Grif.” She waits for a response, but there's just silence, and the sound of his breathing already evening out. She snorts and rolls onto her side, scooting until her back is pressed against his. “Good night to you too, then.”

*

Donut's party comes, and teenagers crowd into the back field, which has been set up and decorated as an outdoor dance floor. There are colored lights criss-crossing overhead, casting a dim light over everything, speakers set up at the corners to play whatever music happens to come from Donut's expansive digital library, and tables laden down with food and punch along one end. There are more tables and chairs along the side, for those not dancing, but the bulk of the area is just open for mingling.

Grif and Simmons wind up at a table at the far end of the field, glasses of punch and plates of food in front of them (Donut is keeping a close eye on the punchbowl, shooing York away every time he gets near it; the other boy was last seen sulking at the other end of the field with North, drinking straight from a flask while North teased him).

It's not a bad party- it's just not either of their kind of thing.

Grif is considering getting up for more punch when Tucker comes over to join them. He looks like he's been having fun- last time they saw him, he was dancing with Felix- but now he just drops into the chair and slides down, stretching his arms out in front of him. It's only a moment later that he notices Simmons, and stops mid-stretch, looking for all the world like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Oh uh. Hey Simmons,” he says, slowly. “Didn't see you there.”

“It is dark,” Simmons agrees. “People can be easy to miss.”

There's a long, awkward silence. Tucker rubs the back of his neck and stares anywhere but at Simmons, who has his hands shoved into his pockets and is staring up at the sky. Eventually, Tucker sighs.

“You uh. You think maybe we can stop fighting and be friends again?”

Simmons considers this for a moment, before lowering his gaze to face Tucker, finally. He nods. “Yes. Thank god. I actually was starting to miss you.”

*

They're still at the same table hours later, talking and laughing, when Church approaches from the crowd, arms folded in front of his chest. He stops in front of their table and their laughter dies, and for a long time it's silent as the three of them stare at him, while he stares right back, a tired scowl in place. He looks almost like he's in physical pain.

After awhile, he looks away, reaches one hand up to comb through his hair nervously.

“So,” he begins, awkwardly, and stops. He takes a deep breath, and tries again. “So.. I'm an asshole.”

The three of them exchange a look, one that communicates loudly for all that they say nothing. “Yeah,” Tucker agrees. “You are.”

“But, I'm- an asshole who... misses my friends...” He hangs his head. “And... really- regrets being such an asshole to them...”

Another of those exchanged looks. This time it's Grif who speaks. “Did you... seriously just apologize?”

“Don't get used to it,” he snaps back, and then nods, a little awkwardly. “But- yeah. Don't.. please don't ask me to repeat myself.”

“Yeah, you look like that actually hurt you,” Simmons says. “We'd have to be pretty cruel to make you do it again.”

“I can stand to be cruel,” Tucker says; Grif elbows him. “What? I'm the one he screwed over most.”

“Actually, that title belongs to South,” Grif says. “But, yeah. See what you mean.”

There's a long silence. The boys exchange one more look, and Grif reaches out with one foot to push their free seat out. “You uh. Want to sit with us?”

Church blinks, then nods blankly and slides into the seat without a word. After a second, he slumps over with a sigh.

“I can't believe how much I actually missed this,” he says, stunned. The others nod in agreement.

It's been a long, long time since they've felt this right.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

In the nearly six months since they all became a family, Tucker and Reggie have fallen into a kind of stalemate: though it's clear neither is particularly fond of the other, their shared love for Cappy has made them willing to coexist peacefully, for his sake. This is achieved mostly by staying out of each other's way, and maintaining civility when their paths do cross.

Like now, when both have wandered into the kitchen in search of food.

“Pardon,” Reggie says, shifting out of the way so Tucker can look in the fridge as well. They stand there for a long moment, staring at the contents of the fridge with a deep lack of enthusiasm. Finally, Tucker sighs and straightens up (Reggie does the same, a much more noticeable action. Tall ass motherfucker).

“I mean, there's veggie-burgers,” Tucker says. “The difference isn't... that noticeable.”

Reggie snorts. “The perils of living with a vegetarian,” he says. “I knew what I was getting into when I married him but all the same...”

Tucker nods. “Though, it's not so much 'living' with a vegetarian as letting the vegetarian do all of the grocery shopping.”

“True.” Reggie sighs. “Oh what I wouldn't give for a steak now, dribbling with juices and perfectly made...”

Tucker groans as his stomach growls its agreement. “Dude, don't even. I was just about ready to resolve myself to a veggie-burger.”

He opens the fridge back up and stares at the burgers, trying to regain his resolve. After a moment, Reggie closes the fridge back.

“Tucker, go get dressed. We're going out for lunch and we're going to get steak. Actual, real, proper steak. Or a burger, if that is your preference. Somewhere with meat.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“I will be right back.” Tucker turns and hurries off to his room to change, grinning.

Of course, finding some common ground helps, too.

*

o/o

*

With the weather officially moving into 'cold' territory, it's time to swap out summer clothes and bedding for their winter counterparts. This means lots of packing as well as washing and- in the case of Grif and Donut, who've both put on several inches in the past year- shopping. Which means more washing.

“You'll both need new coats, too,” Sarge says, eying them up while he makes his list. “Though actually..” He leans back and looks them over critically. “I think I have some coats up in the attic that'll fit you perfectly. Grif, mind getting 'em down for me? They'll be in that stack of boxes next to the chimney, the one labeled 'coats'.”

“Yeah, all right.” Grif sighs and heads upstairs. He doesn't really want to wear some old hand-me-downs that have been in storage for who-knows-how-long, but he doesn't really want to fight Sarge on something like this, either. He'll decide when he sees the coats, he supposes. Maybe they'll be from the right time to be vintage and he at least won't have to worry about standing out too badly.

It's still early enough that the attic is not yet blazing hot, though it's still a bit stuffy and uncomfortable all the same. He tracks down the boxes Sarge mentioned and finds the one marked coats easily enough. He's about to just pick it up and carry it down when he hesitates, and sets the box back down to open. No reason he can't get a preview of what Sarge has in mind for them, after all.

The coats are mostly along the same lines, heavy and brown, with thick wool lining. Functional and warm, the most important thing. But there are a few others, including a black overcoat and a bomber jacket, that he supposes wouldn't be so bad to use.

When he's packing the coats back up, a picture falls out of the pile. He frowns and picks it up to look, curious.

It's a picture of a young pregnant woman by the lake. She's laughing, leaned back on her arms with her head tossed back. She's very pretty, he thinks. Unruly curls and the same set to her mouth as Lopez, and a friendly smile. Grif flips the picture over curiously, but all it says on the back is 'Jenna' in Sarge's heavy hand. He frowns. He recognizes the woman; he's seen her in a few of Lopez's family pictures.

From downstairs, he can hear Sarge calling for him to hurry up, and he sticks the picture into his shirt pocket without thinking before grabbing the box and heading down, the woman in the picture already driven from his mind.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Grif usually looks forward to Christmas break. It's nice to be off school for a few weeks, there are presents waiting for Christmas morning, and as much as he'll never admit it, getting to hang out with his family during their weird Christmas traditions is actually kind of fun.

But this year isn't looking to be as fun. For one, most of his friends are going out of town with their own families, which means he won't have Simmons, South, or Tucker to talk to, and since Church has a friend coming to stay with him over break he probably won't see that much of him, either. On top of that, Lopez not living with them anymore means that there'll need to be a great deal more coordination on any family gatherings, as he'll be required to make appearances with Sheila's family as well as his own.

On the bright side, it's Dos's first Christmas, though at six months, he isn't likely to notice much.

But on top of everything else, Sarge's parents are coming to spend Christmas with them.

Grif has spent the past four and a half years laboring under the assumption that Sarge's parents were dead. He never talks about them, apart from occasional mentions of arguing with his father. They've never called or visited. But as it turns out, Sarge and his father got into a big fight about twenty years ago, and haven't seen each other since. After Grif's wreck last spring, Sarge finally decided to bury the hatchet and resume contact with his father, and now his parents have decided to visit their son for the first time in two decades.

Grif doesn't really mind the idea in principle. He's never had a grandfather and he hasn't had a grandmother since right before Kai was born, so it might be nice actually having grandparents. But ever since Sarge agreed to have them around he's been surlier than usual, and Grif is reluctant to meet his grandfather- if Sarge wasn't good enough for the man's standards, how is Grif ever going to gain his approval? He's not sure he can handle having any more of his family disappointed in him.

“I wouldn't worry about it,” South says, the day before she leaves for the mountains with her family. “Twenty years is a long time, and if he doesn't like you, I mean, they live in California. How often are you really likely to see them?”

“I mean... I guess.” He shrugs. “Still, it'll be a lame Christmas if we're all arguing.”

“True.” Her phone buzzes; she glances at it and rolls her eyes. “I have to get going,” she says. She catches his coat lapels and pulls him down for a long, deep kiss that leaves him breathless when she finally pulls away. “I'll see you in two weeks. And listen, there's something I want to talk to you about when I get back, okay? So try not to have too miserable a time, I want you in a good mood.”

Another dizzying kiss and then she's gone, leaving him to head back inside and wonder what she could want to talk to him about that they can't just talk about now.

*

“It's so lame that I'm stuck going to stupid England cause Reggie wants to show off Cappy.” Tucker grumbles and folds his arms. Church ignores him and carries on sucking at Squidpapa; Tucker huffs, trying to get his attention, before Church finally gives a frustrated noise at Squidpapa's impossible controls and sets the game down.

“I swear, Tucker, you could bitch about anything,” he says. “You're going to a whole other country, what is there to complain about?”

“I don't know, probably cause me and Cappy have all these Christmas traditions we've established and now we're giving all of those up cause of Reggie? I don't care about stupid old England. I just want to stay in Blood Gulch and do stuff the way we've always done. I mean, would you want someone to come in and change everything about the way your family celebrates Hanukah?”

“That's different,” Church says, turning back to his game with an irritated huff. “It's the only time of year dad actually hangs out with us, if someone took that away I'd probably go for the jugular to stop them. But you and Cappy do stuff together all the time- and come on! When you turned up that meant changing how he'd always done things before. And how you'd done things, too. You didn't mind giving up your past traditions for Cappy, did you?”

“Church, the first Christmas I had with Cappy was the first Christmas I got to actually celebrate Christmas in like, six years. The year before that I was in the middle of changing homes because my social worker found out my current foster mother was scamming money out of the system. So yeah, I didn't mind getting a few new traditions as part of the deal.”

“Oh.” Church stares down at his hands, twiddles the controls a little, suddenly feeling very awkward. “I didn't realize...”

“That's cause I don't talk about it. But yeah, Cappy's the best thing that's ever happened to me so forgive me if I don't want someone else coming in and changing everything for us.” He slumps down on the couch, and holds out a hand for a turn with the game. “Besides, Cappy even kept up some of the traditions I had with my dad from before. Cause he cares just that much.”

*

Jimmy's flight gets in two days after school lets out for the semester, the same day Tucker's flight leaves for England. Church and Carolina go up to the airport early to collect Jimmy, the plan being to hang around with Tucker and keep him company before his own flight leaves. Church has already cleared that with Jimmy, who said he wouldn't mind getting to hang out with one of Church's friends for a couple of hours before leaving the airport.

“Or just sitting around napping while you hang out with your friend,” Jimmy had added.

“I don't even know why we have to get here hours before our flight leaves,” Tucker says, stamping his feet against the cold as they look for Jimmy's terminal. “At least you guys are here to keep me company.”

“It's mostly just to make sure you have time to get everything sorted out,” Church says absently, scanning the board for Jimmy's flight. “There it is! It's deboarding now, come on. Wait'll you meet him, Tucker.”

He heads off toward the terminal in question, and stops when he realizes they're not behind him, he turns around and raises an eyebrow at them. “Guys?”

“Dude.” Tucker's eyebrows are climbing up to get acquainted with his hairline. “Are you smiling?”

“I mean. I guess?” Church shrugs. “What's the big deal?”

“The big- you never smile! Tell him, Carolina.”

She nods. “It's true. The Church scowl is a permanent fixture of your face.”

“Oh, ha ha.” He turns to storm off to the terminal, back to scowling, leaving Tucker and Carolina to follow or don't. They exchange a curious look.

“This guy must be something special,” Tucker says. “You know him?”

“Never met him. Alpha's been up to visit him a couple times since this summer but his mother doesn't like me so I never get invited to join him.”

“Why doesn't his mom like you? You're cool.”

“That's sweet. But it has to do with my mom. I don't really care. She's a bitch, I'm not sure I want her liking me anyway.”

“Fair enough. Where'd Church go?”

They look around, but they don't see him anywhere. They turn and head back to where Cappy and the others are waiting; Church will find them eventually, they figure.

*

Church is practically bouncing on his heels while the plane deboards. He isn't smiling anymore, but there's a softening to his face that means it no longer qualifies as a scowl, either. He can't believe how excited he is, but he doesn't care: Hanukah is his favorite time of year and he gets to spend it with one of his favorite people, and he can finally introduce Jimmy to his friends, or several of his friends anyway, and it looks like things are finally looking up for him and is that Jimmy?

He waves, and manages to get the boy's attention. Jimmy waves back, grinning, and before Church quite realizes what's happening he's been rushed and scooped into a hug. He laughs and thumps Jimmy on the back once before he's set back on his feet- fucker's gotten even taller and lankier since his last visit, it looks like.

“How was your flight?” he asks, grabbing Jimmy's duffel and throwing an arm around his shoulder, steering him off toward baggage claim. “How're the guys? And your folks? And everyone else up in Sidewinder, everything okay up there?”

“Everything's fine,” Jimmy says, laughing. “Darn cold, though, nice to be somewhere warm for a change. Where are your friends?”

“Eh, I don't know. We got separated and they wandered off, I guess. Probably back waiting with Cappy for Tucker's flight.”

*

When Church eventually makes it back to the others, he's accompanied by a tall, lanky boy, and the pair are chattering about something stupid one of their friends did. He pulls Jimmy over to introduce them.

“So y'all are Leonard's friends?” Jimmy says. “He talks about you. No wait, you're his sister. I've heard loads about you especially.”

Tucker snorts, and raises an eyebrow at Church. “Leonard?”

“That's my name, dumbass.”

“Yeah, but you don't use it.”

“I do in Sidewinder.” Church shrugs. “Anyway, this is Jimmy.”

Tucker falls silent and lets the others lead the conversation, studying Jimmy while he talks. He doesn't see anything particularly special about him- he doesn't seem that different than the typical hayseeds in their own area, really. Okay, he's friendly, and polite, but so... ordinary. But the effect he has on Church is astonishing- Tucker has counted about four times that Church has come close to smiling just since he arrived, and he hasn't scowled once the entire time. And he's suddenly very touchy; where normally Church doesn't like anyone to come into his personal space, he doesn't seem to mind how often Jimmy touches him to draw him into whatever he's saying.

It's weird and so opposite what Tucker is used to that it makes him uncomfortable and leaves a bad taste in his mouth to think about it.

Tucker still hasn't warmed to Jimmy by the time their flight is called, but he tells himself it's probably just overhype and decides to let it go- it's not like he has to hang out with him now that he's leaving the country for two weeks, after all. He fistbumps Carolina and claps Church on the shoulder in farewell, and accepts Jimmy's handshake without letting his irritation show, then grabs his backpack and follows Cappy to the terminal.

He's still not looking forward to England, but at least he doesn't have to deal with Church being weird and out of character anymore.

*

Sarge's parents arrive five days into winter break, having driven all the way from California. They call early that morning to say that they'll be along sometime during the day, and so the rest of the morning is spent in making the final touches to the house to welcome them. Sarge is gritting his teeth for most of this time, even less talkative than usual, which has the rest of them on edge as well. After lunch, Sarge disappears out to the barn while Grif and Donut clean up (or, while Donut cleans up and Grif makes cleaning noises with his mouth), and then they sit down with Kai to watch ancient Christmas specials that have already played fifty-seven times since December started alone.

They arrive somewhere in between a special about a dog confusing herself for a reindeer and another special about Rudolph's son. Sarge's smile as he leads them in is almost forced, but the grins his parents greet them with are genuine and honest. Grif twists around on the couch to watch them while Donut and Kai go to introduce themselves first.

Sarge takes after his mother, mostly: a short, broad-shouldered woman high cheekbones and grey curls cut short and manageable. His father, on the other hand...

Grif has put on a lot of inches in the past year, shooting past six feet and still growing. And once he'd noticed, he'd spent a long time wondering about that, given that both of his parents are so short. He understands, now: Sarge's father is a giant, dwarfing his wife and son, and even Grif has to look up to talk to him. He's built along the same lines as Lopez: like a bear, one made on a slightly larger scale than the average human, though gone somewhat to seed in his old age.

“...and this is Grif,” Sarge says, when Grif finally joins the crowd at the door.

“Only one who's actually ours, right?” his father asks, sticking out a massive hand for Grif to shake. “Good to meet you.”

Grif nods, shaking his hand slowly. “Yeah,” he says, dropping the man's hand and finding himself the subject of a rib-cracking hug. He wheezes once he's released, rubbing at his chest and pulling away before he can be hugged again.

“I thought you had four children, Red,” his mother says. “Where's your oldest boy? And his lovely family, I've been looking forward to meeting them.”

Sarge clears his throat and grabs a suitcase, leading his parents through the house an out back to the guest house. “Lopez is at work right now,” he says. “And Sheila and Dos are spending the day at her parents' house, I think. They'll be around later.”

He shows them out to the guest house to put their things away, but they come back in very soon, talking about Dr. Grey this time.

“-been looking forward to meeting your young lady,” his mother says. “From what Butch has told us she seems so lovely.”

“She'll be around later too. Uh, I've got some work to do getting supper ready. Why don't you both stay in here and get to know the kids for awhile?”

“Trying to get away from us?”

“Why would I-”

“We'll see you at dinner.” His mother just pats his cheek once, tweaks his chin, and drags her husband over to the couch while Sarge retreats into the kitchen with a sigh. “Hello, kids,” she says. “Your father wants us to get to know you all.”

*

By the time Lopez and Sheila arrive, Grif is ready to retreat to his room for the evening. His grandparents- 'Granny' and 'Gramps', as they insist the kids call them- are an overwhelming pair, and seem determined to make up seventeen years worth of missed personal questions in one evening. He grabs the sleeping Dos away from Lopez and makes an excuse about taking him somewhere quiet until dinner, then disappears upstairs to leave the others to field things. He's sure that the addition of two new people will distract them from him well enough to not notice if he doesn't come back.

“Grandparents are exhausting, Dos,” he says, settling the baby down on his bed and lying down beside him. Dos is too sleepy to respond extensively; he curls under the blanket Grif pulls over him and stuffs his fist into his mouth before slowly dozing back off. Grif grins. “You've got the right idea of it, buddy. If anyone asks, I'm up here to keep you out of trouble, okay?”

*

Dr. Grey has Locus with her when she finally arrives. Grammy eyes him curiously.

“Red, I thought you said you had four kids- who is this one?”

“Not one of mine,” Sarge grumbles. “He's Emily's charge.”

“Not mine, either,” Dr. Grey says cheerily, accepting the warm hug Grammy gives her. “He's my cousin, he just stays with me while school is out for the term. Seemed a shame to leave him at home, he doesn't get many hot meals living up in the dorms, ha! Hope that's all right,” she adds to Sarge, who just grunts softly.

“You know the boy is always welcome at my table.” He nudges Kai. “Go get Grif, tell 'im dinner's ready.”

Kai heads upstairs, while Donut hurries to get out plates and get up drinks for everyone. There's some confusion and shuffling and noise, but eventually everyone gets seated and grace is said, and the family digs into their meals. It's Gramps who breaks the silence, turning to Dr. Grey with a smile.

“So.. Emily, right?” She nods; he presses on. “From what I've heard- from Butch, mostly, since Red doesn't like talking about his life to me directly- you two have been seeing each other for awhile.”

“It'll be two years in March,” Dr. Grey says cheerily. Sarge 'hrms' an affirmative.

“Any idea if you two will be tying the knot any time soon then?”

Another 'hrm' from Sarge, this one irritated. Dr. Grey reaches over to squeeze his knee reassuringly under the table while she fixes Gramps with her most unnervingly cheerful smile.

“Well, sir, we've talked about the idea, of course, but in all honesty I just don't see marriage as a part of my future. I'm comfortable where I am both with myself and with my relationship right now, and so marriage, while not completely off the table, is very unlikely. And of course Sarge has no interest in walking down the aisle again any time soon either. So, while we have spoken about marriage, we've both agreed that it isn't in our foreseeable future.”

Her grin becomes a little more rigid, a little more fixed. Donut catches Grif's eye across the table and mouths 'again?'; Grif just shrugs.

“I only ask out of curiosity,” Gramps says. “I like to know what's going on in my son's life and I'd rather not have another daughter-in-law sprung upon me without warning.”

“Oh I can assure you sir, if we do decide to get married we'll be sure to let everyone know.”

Gramps is starting to back down in the face of Dr. Grey's grin. He turns back to his dinner, giving her a placating smile as he does.

“It's all I ask,” he says. “I'm, ah, glad you're both happy.”

Under the table, Sarge gives Dr. Grey's hand a grateful squeeze.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

When there's no school on and not a lot of work to be done around the farm, Donut tends to be the first one awake, barring Sarge, of course, who can be heard stirring even before the sun has risen. He he grew up on a farm and has just never been able to shake the habit of rising with the sun. He's already pulling himself out of sleep when Kai's pet rooster starts crowing, and by the time the yard is glittering with morning light he's got his clothes on and is making his sleepy way downstairs to start breakfast.

Grammy is in the kitchen when he gets down there, frying sausages while the smell of fresh biscuits fills the room. He pours a glass of orange juice and sits at the counter to watch her.

“Good morning, Donut,” she says cheerily. “Would you like some breakfast? The biscuits will ready in a few minutes, and I can make you an egg too, if you like.”

“An egg would be nice,” he agrees. “But not if it's too much trouble.”

“It's no trouble at all.” She grabs the eggs from the fridge and breaks one into a fresh frying pan. “I wanted to make breakfast for you kids. I like making breakfast, I've never gotten the chance to do that.”

“I like making breakfast for everyone too,” Donut says. “Actually, I just like cooking in general. And it's fun to cook for people.”

Sarge comes in from his chores while she's taking the biscuits out. They hear him stomping snow from his boots in the utility room, and by the time he's unwrapped his coat and scarf there's a plate of food sitting on the counter for him. He gives it a startled look, then her as well.

“Morning, Ma,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. “You made me breakfast?”

“It's been twenty years since I got to cook breakfast for my boy.” She pats his cheek and shoos him toward his plate. “Did you really think I was going to miss this chance?”

“I guess not.” He turns guiltily to his breakfast and doesn't say much else; Donut distracts Grammy from his silence by asking about her biscuit recipe.

Grammy is easy to talk to, and Donut enjoys chatting with her while he eats breakfast, eventually drawing Sarge into the conversation as well. After awhile, though, Gramps comes in, and Sarge falls silent again. He grabs the last of his bacon and stands.

“I have chores to get to,” he says. “Morning, Pa. Thanks for breakfast, Ma.”

Gramps watches him go and sighs. “He can't keep running from me forever, right?”

“Baby steps, Verm,” Grammy says. “He just needs time.”

“I suppose.” He stares down at the plate she puts in front of him, managing a small smile when he realizes she's made a happy face with it. “Thanks, Scarlet. I just hope he doesn't need more time than we have. I'd like to be on good terms with my son again before we leave.”

*

Dad takes them all out to lunch the next day, up to Spiral and a rather nice restaurant. Between his uncharacteristic good mood and her brother's cheer at having his friend around to visit, Carolina feels like she's part of a completely different family. Still, it's not often she get to hang out with either of them in good spirits, so she'll take it.

She's not sure what she thinks of Jimmy, not yet. While she likes that he makes her brother happy, she's a little unnerved by how easily he does it. She hasn't seen him smile since they were kids, and even back then it was like pulling teeth.

All the same, he does seem like a good kid. And he's very polite, and has to be told about three times that he really can order anything on the menu, and to not worry about the price.

“Dude, we're sitting on a fortune,” Church says, the third time he catches Jimmy mumbling about the prices. “We will literally make back the amount we spend before we're even finished eating. Right, dad?”

“I wouldn't bring you out to eat and limit your choices,” Dad says with a nod. “Order whatever you like.”

“Sorry.” Jimmy looks sheepish. “It's just a habit. My mama didn't raise me to order expensive food when someone else is paying.”

“Expensive is relative, though,” Church points out. “What's expensive for someone else is pocket change for us.”

“I... guess.” He seems to struggle with this for a moment, and finally smiles. “I guess you'd know better than I do. And doubting you is probably worse manners anyway.”

“Exactly,” Church says. “Stop being so rude.”

This gets a giggle out of Jimmy, a crooked half-smile from Church. Carolina turns her attention back to her menu, baffled. This is just too weird.

*

Grif finds himself alone with his grandfather later that evening, when he comes downstairs and finds him on the couch with Dos. The baby is dwarfed by his massive form, but Gramps' hold is gentle. Grif looks around curiously.

“Are Lopez and Sheila here?”

Gramps nods. “Sheila went for a walk with your grandmother,” he says. “Lopez is in the workshop with Red. Thought I'd take this as a chance to spend some time with my great-grandson here.” He tickles Dos's side and looks up at Grif. “Come sit with me. Give me a chance to get to know my grandson, too.”

Grif hesitates before taking the indicated seat, ruffling Dos's hair fondly before he does. He doesn't say anything for a long time, so long that Gramps finally sighs.

“What a scintillating conversation we're having,” he says. “Come on, boy, there must be something you want to talk about.”

Grif shrugs. “I mean, not really. I only came downstairs to see what was on tv.”

“Christmas specials, mostly.” Gramps sighs. “Tell me about yourself, then. Red says you're into racing?”

“Oh, yeah, that's true. I'm not doing any at the moment, though, the circuit closes during December, January, and February. Too dangerous, cause of the ice on the course.” Dos reaches over to Grif; Grif grins and takes him. “Hey, buddy. How you doing?”

“Sounds exciting.” Gramps leans back and drapes his arms over the back of the couch. “Win much?”

“Well...” Grif shrugs, as nonchalant as he can. “I win drags a lot. I still haven't won a course yet. I almost won a course last spring, but that was when I had my accident so...”

“Right, I heard about that. At least you came out the other end all right. Got some cool scars from it, too.”

“These?” Grif traces the scar that runs down one side of his face. “I don't know if I'd consider this a perk.”

“No? Scars are just tattoos with better stories, you know. And I'm sure you can figure out how to spin that one to make it good. Play up the cool racer aspect. The ladies'll love it.”

“Oh, uh...” Grif turns his full attention to Dos. “I'm not.. really looking to attract any ladies.”

“Lads, then,” Gramps says, and shrugs. “I'm a modern guy, I won't judge. Point is, you can work with it.” He eyes Grif sidelong. “So what about it? Got your eye on someone in particular?”

Talking about his love life with his estranged grandfather is literally the last thing Grif wants to do. He shrugs again. “Not really. I mean, I had a boyfriend but we broke up back in July.. not really looking to get involved with anyone again anytime soon.” Not to mention getting involved with someone will mean changing how he and South are with one another. And he likes what they've got going for them, he doesn't want to give that up.

Something in his tone- a bit too casual, a bit too nonchalant, seems to tip Gramps off that there's more going on than Grif is letting on. He ruffles Dos's hair affectionately and eyes Grif curiously.

“You know.. when Red was your age, he had a thing for his friend Allison. But he never really acted on it, and before he knew it that Church boy had swept in and swept her off her feet. Something to think about.”

“Oh my God, Pa.” They both turn around, Sarge is standing in the doorway, arms folded, glaring at his father. “I did not have a 'thing' for Allison. She was my best friend! She was like a sister to me! And for your information I was the one that told her to give Leonard a chance when she told me about it. Are you seriously still convinced that Allison was some kind of- what, the 'one that got away' or something?”

“I don't know, son,” Gramps says, folding his own arms. “You seemed pretty upset by her dating someone else.”

“Because they spent most of their time fighting and kept cheating on each other! I was worried she was going to get hurt! It wasn't that I wanted her for myself, and I don't know why you still want to believe that's true.” He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Grif- I need you to run to the store for me, we're out of flour and oil and Donut wants to fry up a chicken for tonight.”

While Grif would normally argue, it seems like a good chance to get away from his grandfather. He stands up and passes Dos over to Sarge in the hopes of cheering him up, and heads upstairs to change out of his pajamas with a wave.

Sarge's face softens now he has Dos in his arms, but almost immediately he turns a glare back to his father. “You want to think she was some kind of- rebound, that I never really loved her, that I was only with her because I couldn't have Allison. You want to think that because as long as that's how things are, then you were right and I shouldn't have gotten angry. But you were wrong. I loved that lady with every bit of me and if you still can't accept that when she's been nineteen years in the ground then there wasn't much point in you making this visit, was there?”

He doesn't give his father a chance to respond. He turns on his heels and storms out, muttering reassurances at a now-fussy Dos.

*

Carolina calls Tucker the next morning, when her sleep is uneasy and she's too restless to lie in bed despite the far too early hour. She grabs her phone and headset and slips outside to take a walk, a little surprised that he shows online until she remembers that England is a few hours ahead of Iowa.

“How's England?” she asks, once he picks up. She can almost hear him shrugging on the other end of the line.

“It's okay. Cousin Shane is nice, her housemate Clyde is a lunatic. Tea is apparently a meal. It's been raining since we got here.”

“Sounds about right. Not as bad as you were expecting?”

Tucker sighs down the line, sending a burst of static into her ear. She grimaces. “I wasn't expecting England to be awful, that's not why I didn't want to come. How're things with Jimmy?”

“Changing the subject?” She stops at the street, considers her directions, and heads in the direction of the park. “Jimmy's fine. He's... very nice. Very polite. Thoughtful and considerate...” She trails off. Her words are all glowing praise, so why does her tone sound like she's describing something she found on the bottom of her shoe? “He makes my brother happy,” she adds, and can practically hear Tucker grimacing on the other end.

“Yeah, I noticed.” He sounds grumpy. Carolina snorts.

“Oh come on. Listen to us, we sound like assholes. We both love Alpha, we should be glad he has people that make him happy. Right?”

“Well, yeah, but...” Tucker trails off, and sighs. “Those people are so far away.”

“Yeah.” Carolina comes to a halt and sinks onto a park bench, leaning forward to bury her face in her hands. “Yeah, they are.”

*

Grif and Donut head into Spiral to go Christmas shopping, and stop by Tex's apartment over lunch. The whole apartment is full of baking smells when they arrive, and the counter is covered in plates of baked goods. Grif's face lights up, but Tex swats his hand away from the cookies when he reaches for one. He pouts at her.

“Those are for gift bags,” she says. “If you get them Connie will eat you.”

“But they smell so goooood.” His stomach grumbles pointedly, and he turns out the pout as much as he can- it's not a very good one, and he's never been able to pout anything out of Tex, but there's always the possibility of today being the day. Tex just laughs.

“Nice try. We've got some broken ones stashed in the cabinet, hang on.”

“Aww, but the broken ones are never as good.” He follows Donut to the table anyway, grumbling halfheartedly but making no protest when the plate of damaged cookies is set between them. Tex grabs them all sodas from the fridge and joins them.

“Tough tits,” she says. “I've been working hard on these since this morning, if you don't like it you can get your cookies from the store.”

“I never would have figured you for the baking sort,” Donut says, selecting his cookie carefully.

Tex shrugs. “I'm not, not really, but sometimes you just get into a mood to bake, you know? And we needed some for gift bags. Speaking of, I've got ones for you guys, remind me before you head out.”

“Aww, that's sweet!” Donut grabs another cookie, this one shaped like an ugly Christmas sweater, albeit not decorated. “So where are York and Connie today?”

“York's out with his boyfriend, he won't be back till this evening. Connie is-” She breaks off; they can hear angry Spanish yelling coming from down the hall, and then the door bursts open and Connie storms in, arguing loudly with her phone. Tex gestures toward her. “-Connie is here.”

Connie finishes arguing and hangs up furiously, glancing up when she hears Tex speaking. “Estoy tan enojado con mi madre en este momento, ¿Cómo se atrevía ella me trate así?”

Tex sighs. “Babe, you know I can't understand you when you talk that fast. Slow down. You're angry at your mom?”

Connie hesitates, then huffs. “Sorry. No- yeah, my mother is being a pain in the ass. Ooh, cookies! Hey guys.” She flops into the remaining chair with a huff and grabs a cookie; she still looks cross but her anger is already ebbing. “Christmas shopping?”

“Yeah, thought we'd stop by for lunch. Or cookies, I guess.”

“York's got leftover takeout in the fridge if you want something more substantial.” Tex leans her chair back. “So what's up with your mother? Still about your Christmas?”

“Yeah. I already told her we'd decided to have Christmas here instead of at home and- ugh, it doesn't matter. She can get over it.” She puffs her bangs out of her eyes and leans her own chair back. “So what's going on with you too? Heard you had family in town.”

Grif nods, mouth too full of cookies to speak, but Donut sets his down politely to answer. He tells them about Grammy and Gramps' visit so far, skimming over the conversation about Sarge and Dr. Grey getting married.

“I mean, we already suspected it wasn't going to be a thing,” Donut says. “Although I can't say I'm not disappointed. They're so good together.”

“Speak for yourself,” Grif says. “I like Dr. Grey, but I like her a lot better since I know she has somewhere to go home to that isn't the same as me. I'm not sure I could handle living in the same house as her.”

“Well I think it would be nice,” Donut protests. “And I love weddings, and Dr. Grey and Sarge are really good for each other, so I'm just going to keep hoping they change their mind.”

“And I'm going to keep hoping they don't. At least not as long as I'm living there. I could care less what they do once I graduate and move back to Hawaii.”

“That's still on the board, then?” Tex asks. “Because you always talked about that as something that Simmons was going to be a part of and... Well.”

“That's because I thought he was. But that's not the most important part- the part that matters is me going home.”

“So there's nothing to keep you here?”

“Noth- well-” He breaks off, and considers. For one moment, he thinks of telling him that there is something that would keep him in Blood Gulch, but he changes his mind. It's none of their business. “Nope, nothing.”

By the time they leave a little later, Tex has gone back to baking while Connie tells them embarrassing things about York and his new boyfriend. Tex goes to grab their gift bags while they get their coats back on; there are two, one big one for the whole family and one little one just for Kai. Grif pouts.

“Why does she get her own gift bag and I don't?”

“Because we like her. We like you, but not enough to give you your own bag.”

“Cold.” He tries to open the bag enough to rummage for more cookies, but Tex smacks his hand. “Ow! Hey, these are ours now.”

“If you try to get into them without sharing I'm taking them back.”

“Mean.” He huffs and follows Donut, shifting the bags so he can wave at them as he heads off.

*

Grif calls South up on Skype that night, grinning when she finally answers. “Hey!” he says, setting his cookies aside (what Tex doesn't know won't rip his arm off). “How's the skiing?”

“Pretty good.” He studies her movements while she gets comfortable, noting that she looks happy, relaxed, tired but in a good way, like after a workout. “Met up with one of my lodge buddies when I got here, we've been skiing together all day. He has a nice ass, so if I stay behind him on the slopes I get to admire it on the way down.” She grins and mimes a perfectly-shaped ass; Grif laughs.

“Gonna fuck him?”

“Nah.” She waves that away. “He's not really my type. I just like to look.”

Grif snorts. “Your type? So far that's been me, Church, and Wash. I'm not really seeing anything consistent enough to count as a type.”

“Meh.” She shrugs. “He's just on the small side, and I like my men more substantial. Case in point-” She gestures at him, gets another laugh.

They fall to talking about skiing, South describing the various slopes at the lodge, while Grif sits back and listens. There's something content about listening to South talk about something she enjoys- and he's been startled all day by how much he's missed her since she left. He wasn't expecting to reach her, but he's glad he did- it's nice just being able to talk to her.

She's miming some dangerous stunt she pulled off earlier when a stocky guy in ski gear comes up behind her.

“Hey, South, ready to go?”

“What? Oh, right.” She stops mid-sentence and grins. “I nearly forgot. Hey Tiger, come here and meet my friend. Tiger, this is Grif; Grif, Tiger. We're going out to a lodge party, Grif, I'll talk to you later, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Have fun.”

“See ya.”

She hangs up, leaving Grif to lean back in his chair and stare up at the ceiling. Finally, he takes a deep breath and lets out a long sigh.

“Fuck,” he says, quietly, and then louder, stronger. “Fuck.”

*

Tiger hands South her jacket while she closes up her computer. “So, that the guy you told me about?”

“Yep.”

“Right. So, I'm trying not to take that rejection personally, but having seen him...”

“Don't be a douchebag.” She grabs her jacket and heads out ahead of him. “You're just not my type.”

He glances at the computer one last time before following, shaking his head. “Suddenly I'm taking that as a compliment.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Carolina's favorite thing about December is that her father is actually in brighter spirits for a change. She comes down to breakfast one morning to find him humming, even, and pads over to give him a good morning kiss to the forehead before turning to make her own breakfast, pleased because he seems to be in such a good mood.

“Do you have any plans for today, Carolina?” he asks, glancing up from his breakfast.

“Nothing in particular.” She rummages around for a bowl, pulling up on tiptoes to reach the cabinet. “I thought I might call Maine to go for a run later, but if you had something in mind I can change it.”

“I was thinking of driving out to the lake for a bit of ice skating,” he says. “Just you and me, we haven't been ice skating together in awhile.”

“We didn't really have time last winter,” she agrees. “I'd like that. But what about the boys?”

“They have plans today, but it doesn't matter. I wanted to spend time with just you for a bit.”

Time when her father is in a good mood is rare; spending time with him alone in these moods is even rarer. Carolina isn't able to stop the smile spreading across her face at the thought of ice skating with him, just the two of them. She grabs her cereal and sits at the counter beside him. “What time should we leave?”

“How about noon? We'll stop for lunch on the way.”

Lunch and ice skating. Today is going to be great.

*

Church's plans with Jimmy are mostly meeting Grif and Donut at the shooting ranges; nothing spectacular, but there's not much to do in Blood Gulch and none of them have been to the ranges in awhile. (Though, strictly speaking, Grif and Donut have a private range in their backyard, in the form of a row of cans, bottles, and cones out behind the barn. Sarge is really the only one who ever uses it, though.)

Church hasn't gotten to introduce Jimmy to Grif or Donut yet; he's hoping they react a bit more warmly to him than Carolina and Tucker did. He supposes it doesn't really matter much, but he'd like his friends to like each other. Or at least to understand why he likes Jimmy so much. Grif and Donut haven't made it yet, but Wash is there, concentration etched in his face while he fires off shot after shot. He looks miserable; Church decides to leave him alone and selects a set of targets at the other end of the range.

They've already gotten a round in when the others arrive, Jimmy making a passable performance, managing to land in the vicinity of the bullseye and even sending one shot through it. Church, on the other hand-

“Fuck. Sun was in my eyes!” he says, ignoring the fact that it's a cloudy, overcast day. “Dammit- wind resistance. Okay, now that's just bullshit- I swear someone is fucking with the sights on this thing when I'm not looking.”

“Face it Church,” Grif says, when he and Donut reach them. “You just suck.”

“I'd like to see you do any better,” Church says, scowling. Grif shrugs.

“That's not a very high bar to clear, but okay.” He takes the rifle from Church and reloads before shouldering it, firing off several rounds in quick succession. He doesn't land any on the bullseye, but one comes close, and all but one round actually hits the target, more than can be said for Church. “There you go. I did better.”

Church grumbles and takes the rifle back. He reloads and shoulders it, ready for another round, but Donut interrupts him.

“Your stance is all wrong,” he says. “Here, let me show you-” He reaches over and shifts Church's arms, nudges his foot over a bit. “There. Adjust for the kickback, and try it now.”

Church scowls at him, but does as he says, and then lets out a whoop when the shot grazes the edge of the target. “Did you see that? You all saw that, right? I got it!”

“See? I told you, your stance was just wrong.”

“Oh, man, that was so cool! The way it just- hit!”

“Congratulations,” Grif says drily. “You can now do what the rest of us have been doing for ages.”

“Well it's important to me, asshole.”

*

There are some others at the lake skating as well, including Caboose, who wobbles along beside them for a little while, chattering happily. Dad doesn't say much, leaving Carolina to talk to him, but he does grace him with an almost-smile when he starts talking about Freckles; after awhile, Caboose goes off to play with his sisters, leaving Carolina alone with her father again.

Dad offers his hand and Carolina takes it with a smile, the two scraping circles and zigzags in the ice together until Dad complains of being old and out of breath, and takes a seat on a bench on the bank to watch as Carolina blatantly and unashamedly shows off for him, managing complicated maneuvers and hoping he's impressed. She feels like a little girl again, pushing herself in the hopes that this time he's watching and this time he'll approve.

By the time she gets tired and skates back to the shore, she's being overrun by Caboose's youngest sisters, squealing their delight at her skill and dragging her over to where their mothers are handing out cocoa. They offer her a cup for both her and her father, and she makes her way over to his seat, sidestepping excited children and doing her best to shoo them away as gently as possible. Dad accepts the cocoa with a polite wave at Mrs. Caboose, before turning his full attention back to his daughter.

“You've improved by miles since the last time we were here,” he says, taking a careful sip and wincing when it burns his tongue.

Coming from him, it's high praise- she practically glows with pride over the compliment, sipping delightedly at her cocoa while she explains to him the work she'd put into a particularly difficult stunt and he actually listens for once. She feels warm and happy inside, and the only downer to this is that she knows it won't last, and by New Year's things will have drifted back to normal.

*

“So Donut, when did you learn to shoot?” Wash asked, when they all stop and break for lunch. Donut doesn't respond; Wash snaps his fingers and waves his hand in front of him to get his attention. “Donut?”

“What?” Donut looks around at him. “Sorry, I wasn't- um, I wasn't paying attention. Did you say something?”

“I asked where you learned to shoot. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, just spaced out for a minute there. My dad taught me. Wanted me to have a manlier skillset than sewing and cooking.”

“Cooking is more useful than shooting,” Grif says. Donut shrugs.

“We used to go hunting a lot. It was kind of fun being involved with my food from the beginning to the end.”

“I can understand that," Wash says. "My mom and I used to go hunting sometimes when I was younger- we stopped, though. I was too busy and Mom lost interest.” Wash thinks for a moment. “Aaaalso I got chased up a tree by a wild boar once and hunting kind of lost its appeal to me a bit.”

Church snorts. “What is it with you and trees?”

“I don't know. But I'm really glad there aren't any cliffs near Blood Gulch, despite what the name would suggest. I feel like as bad as my luck with trees is, my luck with cliffs would be worse.”

*

Dad and Carolina haven't made it back by the time Church and Jimmy get home. They head up to Church's room to chill for awhile.

“Your friends seem nice,” Jimmy says. “And they didn't say anything about you smiling like your other friends did.”

“Yeah, well.” Church half-shrugs. “Donut's too nice, Grif doesn't care enough, and Wash is the most unobservant guy I know.”

“I guess.” Jimmy is silent for a moment, the only sound his phone as he texts his girlfriend back in Sidewinder. After awhile, he looks up. “Hey, Leonard?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you happy in Blood Gulch?”

“Well I mean.” Church hesitates, and rolls over onto his back to stare at the ceiling in thought. “Honestly? ..I'm not really sure.”

*

Sarge isn't home when Grif and Donut get back. Grammy tells them that he and Gramps were arguing again, that he stormed off after and hasn't come back yet. Then she sighs and asks Donut if he'd like to cook dinner together, because she has a recipe she wants to teach him, and when she turns away murmurs something about hoping he gets back soon, she doesn't like him being out while he's angry.

“He's probably at Dr. Grey's,” Donut says, following her into the kitchen while Grif heads upstairs for his evening nap. “I wouldn't worry too much.”

Grammy purses her lips a little. “I'm not- well, I am worried... and I'm sure Dr. Grey is- well-” She shakes her head. “Never mind. I'm sure it will all work out. I just don't like when they fight, that's all. I want my boys to love each other again.”

Donut considers this. “I mean, I guess that's fair. But really, just because they fight doesn't mean they don't love each other. Honestly, I think that's why they fight. They're like Grif and Sarge, you know? They fight because they love each other. If they didn't, the things the other said and did wouldn't matter.”

“Do they fight often?”

“Well...” Donut tilts his head. “Not... really? Sarge has been trying to do better since their talk last spring, and Grif doesn't talk about the things that bother him, he just bottles them up. But when it does get too much and he does lash out, things can get pretty awful. Usually I take Kai for a walk or something when that happens- something to get us away from the yelling and let them hash things out on their own. Then for a few days they don't speak to one another and after that, things get back to normal. I don't know if they actually talk or let it die, but that's how it goes.”

Grammy laughs weakly. “Sounds like Verm and Red. The apple really doesn't fall far, does it?” She sighs. “But they managed to go twenty years without talking, so I'm not sure if that's reassuring or not.” She sighs again. “I wish they'd get along again, for both their sakes. And for mine! I miss my boy, you know, and I want to get to know you kids better. I want to be a part of your lives.”

“I'd like you to be a part of our lives, too!” Donut says cheerily. “You're heaps nicer than my real grandmother. And you don't think it's weird that I like to cook.”

“Well, what's weird about it? Cooking is an art form, it's creativity at its most delicious. Now.” She winks. “I was going to teach you how to make my special chicken pie. It was always Red's favorite, I thought if I made it for dinner it might cheer him up.”

Donut grins. “I'm sure he'll love it.”

*

Sarge doesn't make it home in time for dinner, but when Grif goes downstairs to get a drink in the middle of the night he's there, hunched over the counter with a bottle of beer half-drunk in front of him. Grif raises an eyebrow and leans on the counter across from him.

“Everything okay?”

“Course it's okay. Why wouldn't it be?”

“Because you don't usually drink in the house.” He grabs a Yoo-hoo out of the fridge and climbs into the seat. “Sarge, can I ask you what happened between you and Gramps? I mean... he doesn't seem that bad. Why do you two fight so much?”

Sarge is silent for a long time, picking irritably at the label on his drink while he stares out the window. Grif is thinking of repeating his question when Sarge finally turns back to him.

“I was never good enough for him,” he says. “No, that's not right...” He considers again. “He was always.. giving me 'advice'. Not like, for regular things, but for little things. For everything. Anything I did, he always had some instruction for me, sometimes even telling me to do something while I was in the middle of doing it. Sometimes it felt like he couldn't speak to me at all unless he was telling me to do something, or how to do something, or why how I was doing something wasn't the right way to do it.”

Grif just snorts. “Wonder what that's like,” he mutters. Sarge lets out a short, bitter laugh.

“I try to get you to do things on your own, you just don't listen.”

Grif makes an irritated noise at that, but lets it go. There's enough arguing going on right now, they don't need to rehash a tired discussion on top of it. Sarge takes a swig of his beer and presses on.

“It was bad enough when I was a boy, but when I became a man it seemed to get worse. No choice I made was the right one. He was against me enlisting, he was against me buying this house, he didn't want me to study engineering, and Jenna-” He breaks off, takes another drink. There's a tightness to his eyes that Grif rarely sees. “That was an ongoing argument from the day I brought her home.”

Grif frowns. “Wait, who is...?”

“That was the catalyst, really,” he says, ignoring Grif's confusion. “You don't stand in a man's house and insult his wife in front of him. That was it for me- I'd had enough of his criticism and his standards and... all of it. So I threw him out. Told him not to come back until he'd learned some manners.” He downs the last of his beer and stands with a shrug. “And then I didn't speak to him for twenty years. I'm going to bed. Night.”

He shoves his hands down into his pockets and heads upstairs, leaving Grif to finish his Yoo-hoo alone in the dim light. Grif folds his arms and rests his head on them thoughtfully. So Sarge was married? The picture he found flashes through his mind, still on his desk where he left it after emptying his pockets. So that's who she was. That would explain-

Grif suddenly sits up, fast enough he almost knocks his Yoo-hoo over in shock. “What the shit?”

*

Probably the most annoying thing about England, as far as Tucker is concerned, is that their visit isn't actually going poorly. Reggie's family, if a bit stuffy, are all very polite and welcoming to him, and Cousin Shane has been careful to make sure he gets included in their fun. And earlier today Cappy took him out to look at lights, just like they always do at home. He'd almost say he's having fun, and that actually makes him feel worse. He's not supposed to be having fun.

He's sharing a room with Gary while they're here; currently, Gary is playing some game on his own bed, but when Tucker huffs irritably and rolls over, Gary takes his headphones off and looks over at him curiously.

“Tucker, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why didn't you want to come to England?”

Tucker thinks about how to explain for a long time, before rolling onto his side to eye the younger boy. “Okay, think of it like this. You miss your mom, right? I mean, you're having fun, but you still miss her? Kinda wish she could spend Christmas with you too?”

“Yes.”

“But you see your mom all the time. Two weeks on, two weeks off, and you guys get to spend time together in the off weeks sometimes too. Why do you miss her?”

Gary considers this. “Because I love her. And because Christmas is a time to be with family.”

“Exactly.” Tucker rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. “But this isn't my family. It's yours, and Reggie and Cappy. My family is in Iowa, behind bars, and I only get to see him once a month and then an extra visit right before Christmas.”

“Oh.” Gary stares down at his hands silently; Tucker pulls his covers up and rolls over to face the wall. “It really sucked having to tell my dad I wasn't gonna be able to make our Christmas visit because of this trip. That's all.”

*

The Hargroves have a joint family dinner a few days before Christmas, and they get invited on the grounds of being extended family now. Sarge explains to his parents who the Hargrove's are on the way over.

“You remember my friend Phyllis?”

Gramps considers this a moment, and, “The big girl, right? The one that used to pick you up when you were being annoying?”

Sarge just looks unimpressed, while the others laugh. “Oh ha ha. Not my fault I'm surrounded by giants- all right, all right. Anyway, it's her family. She's Sheila's mama.”

“Oh, I thought Sheila looked familiar!” Grammy smiles. “I should have realized, she really does take after her mother. Well that's a pleasant surprise, I always liked Phyllis. She was a sweet girl, and smart as a whip. Remember that computer you kids built? You and Phyllis and Leonard?”

“I remember.” He grins. “We based her on Phyllis. Leonard still has her, you know. She's gone through a lot of upgrades over the years but she's still the same FILLS we made in Leonard's basement all those years ago.”

Grif and Donut exchange a surprised look. “Sarge, you built FILLS?” Donut asks. “I thought that was just Dr. Church!”

“Nope.” He looks pleased with himself. “It was all three of us- oh, the upgrades were all Leonard, and I don't think any of my original handiwork still stands, but she's just as much my baby as Leonard and Phyllis's.”

Beside him, Gramps just grunts. “Time was you could think circles around that boy,” he says.

Sarge's good mood seems to evaporate instantly. “Who says I can't still? Just because we chose different paths doesn't mean the ability ain't still there- a little rusty, maybe...”

“At least he chose a path that got him somewhere, instead of running off to be a gun jockey overseas.”

The atmosphere in the car is tense now, uneasy, and Sarge just scowls. “That's Colonel Gun Jockey to you,” he spits. “And we're not having this conversation again.”

They fall silent after that, tension rolling off of everyone. Grif and Donut exchange a look, a silent conversation held over Kai's head.

“Wow, Sarge,” Grif says, after a quick nod. “I never would have guessed you were a nerd in high school.”

“Ha!” Some of the tension melts, at that- it's still there, but they're a little more at ease, now. Sarge catches Grif's eye in the rearview mirror and grins. “Don't let Ma's tales fool you- I was far more likely to stuff someone into a locker than get stuffed into one myself. Usually Leonard. He spent a lot of time in lockers back in the day.”

“That poor boy,” Grammy says. She shakes her head disapprovingly, but there's relief there too. “What did he ever do to deserve such treatment?”

“Eh, it was his own fault for being such a nerd.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Christmas, Hanukkah, and various other winter-based holidays come and go. In the Sergeant household, tension ebbs and flows between Sarge and his father, with Grif feeling torn between a growing fondness for his grandfather and an unexplainable loyalty to Sarge. As much as he likes Gramps, the phrase gun jockey keeps echoing in his head, over and over. It makes him prickle defensively- never mind that he's used the phrase himself a few times in the past. He doesn't understand it, and like most things he doesn't understand, he decides to just ignore it and hope it goes away.

*

Grif and South are skyping nightly now- sometimes their calls only last a few minutes, since South is often worn out after a day of skiing, but Grif doesn't mind. It's nice to get the chance to talk to her, even if for only a few minutes, before he goes to bed. It's better than nothing and he misses her, misses her so much it scares him.

Gramps comes into the kitchen and frowns at the look on Grif's face. “Is the turkey bad already?” he asks, lifting the lid on the bowl of turkey salad and sniffing it cautiously. Grif blinks, startled, and glances at the sandwich in his hand. He's been on the first bite of it for a good ten minutes now.

“No? It's fine.”

“Then something else must have you looking like you're about to throw up. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

On second thought... “Gramps, have you ever caught feelings for someone you weren't supposed to?”

“I can't say I have,” Gramps says. “But I take it that's what you've done. Who are they? And why aren't you supposed to have feelings for them?”

“Well, it's like...” Grif sighs. “South is like, my best friend. I mean, Simmons is my best friend but South is... South is something else. She's great! And I really like hanging out with her, and sometimes I just... stop what I'm doing to think about her. I talk to her on Skype every night before bed and right now she's out of town and I just miss her.”

“So what's the problem? She got someone else? Not into boys? Not into you?”

“No, none of that.” Grif ducks his head, a little embarrassed. “Actually, we've been friends with benefits since August. But...” He hesitates. How to explain South's deal, without revealing more about her than she'd be comfortable with a stranger knowing? “But she's... not really into relationships. You know, dating, having a bae, that kind of thing. She doesn't like being thought of as part of a set.”

A puzzled frown. “A set?”

“She has a twin brother.”

“Oh! She's one of those.” Gramps nods in understanding. “So you've got a girl who has been trying desperately to establish an individual identity, and you want to be her boyfriend more than anything.”

“No. I want to make her happy more than anything. I just wish there was a way to do that as her boyfriend.”

“I see.” Gramps thinks about the situation for a few minutes, while Grif finally gets around to taking more than one bite of his sandwich. “You know,” Gramps says after awhile. “You could always just talk to her. I mean... never know if you don't ask, right?”

*

Maine gets back from his trip upstate a few days before New Year's. He and Aiden come over the day after they get home; Carolina leaves Aiden in the library with Dad and drags Maine up to her room. Dad's December high is already starting ebb; she's hoping having Aiden around to entertain him might make it ebb slower but in the meantime, she has a boyfriend she hasn't gotten to see in a little under a week.

Making out on her couch is nice; Maine is big and solid and warm, and he purrs under her touch and kisses like he means it, but she wants more. She's been thinking about it all week, weighing the idea until she's ready to bring it up. She pulls away from his kisses and trails a hand down his front, stopping at his waistband to trace along the edge of it.

“You know,” she says, “I was thinking...”

“No.”

“What?”

He doesn't say anything this time, just takes her hand and moves it pointedly to his shoulder. She frowns, disappointed, but the message is clear: no sex.

“Oh.”

“Sorry.”

It's very disappointing, but she just shakes her head and gives him a reassuring kiss. “It's fine,” she murmurs. “Can we go back to making out now?”

A relieved smile. “Yes.”

Well, that's all right then. She lets him pull her back down into a fresh round of kisses, splaying her hand across his chest and making a point to keep her touch clear of his waist band this time.

*

Jimmy goes home to Sidewinder the next day. Church drives him up to the airport alone, noticeably less cheery than he's been lately. They don't part on a teary farewell, but Jimmy does pull Church into a hug before he boards, squeezing him tight and thumping his back once before he pulls away.

“I hope you figure yourself out, Leonard,” he says. “In the meantime you know how to reach me, and I'll definitely talk to my parents about visiting over Spring Break.” He chuffs Church's shoulder affectionately. “But either way, we'll still see each other again over the summer, okay?”

“Yeah.” Church nods, stuffs his hands down into his pockets. “Summer. It'll be nice to spend some time somewhere that isn't hot as balls.”

The announcement over the intercom calls for Jimmy's flight. He chuffs Church's shoulder again and picks up his carry on. “I'll say bye now, then,” he says. “See you around, Leonard.”

*

Tex drops by a few days before the New Year, holding up her hands to Kai to show that she's wearing the mittens Kai gave her for Christmas. Kai is delighted, and immediately pulls Tex inside to meet her grandparents. Gramps is nowhere to be found, but Grammy is in the living room with Grif and Sheila, and she willingly hands Dos back over to his mother so Kai can introduce Tex.

“Tex is my pit boss at the circuit,” Grif says, leaning over Sheila's shoulder to steal Dos, interrupting Kai's rambling, disjointed explanation of who Tex is.

“I'm also the one who's going to kick your ass if you don't start winning more often than you do,” she says. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, one second. Here you go buddy, go back to your mama now...” He hands Dos back to Sheila and grabs his coat off the rack, waving as he follows Tex out the door. Her bike is still parked in the driveway; he opens the shed so she can put it up and they pile into his jeep to head out.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he asks, once they're on the road and headed toward Valhalla. “I mean, I thought the whole reason the circuit was closed during the winter months was because it was too dangerous.”

“If you're taking the course at speed, yes, but you won't be going at speed. Besides, the weather hasn't been too icy lately and the snow tires on your jeep should be able to handle what little bit there is.”

“What's the point if I'm not going to at speed?” he asks. “I thought we were doing this so I could get some practice in before the season picks back up.”

“We are, but speed isn't the thing you need to practice, it's control.”

*

At the circuit, he parks the jeep at the starting line and the two sit there staring out at the course. The floodlights are on at the track, but without the crowd there, without the spectators and the crews and the sound of engines, the circuit seems eerie and dead and far too quiet. Grif feels a little spooked at the dim shadows being cast by the floodlights and the bright, full moon; they seem like the sort of shadows that held monsters when he was young. He shivers, involuntarily, and turns up the heater in the jeep.

“What's the point of this?” he asks, again, turning to Tex.

“How do you sleep on race nights?” she asks, instead of answering. At Grif's bewildered eyebrow raise, she turns to face him. “I'm being completely serious. How do you sleep? Uneasy, right? If at all?”

For a moment he considers lying, saying he sleeps fine, but she'd just kick his ass if he tried. He half-shrugs. “Yeah. So what?”

Again, she doesn't answer his question, instead changing the topic once more. “I used to race bikes, back in Nevada,” she says. “And then one day I hit a curve wrong and threw my bike off the road. Trashed it completely- it was beyond repair, and destroyed my leg in the process.” She pulls up her pant leg, at that, showing off the black-and-silver prosthesis that is her lower leg. He's seen it before, but never asked how she got it. Somehow he's not surprised to learn the truth.

“So... why are you telling me this?” he asks. She rolls her pant leg down and carries on.

“Because when I'd healed, when I'd gotten out of PT and learned to think of this thing as my leg now, I got back on my bike- well, a bike. I loved my bike, and I loved racing, and I was determined not to lose that over one accident, no matter what. But the first curve I got to, my vision started going and my hands started shaking and I'm honestly not sure how I managed to park my bike safely in the face of that. The point is, Grif, that I know what you're going through and I'm here to help.”

“Oh.” Grif looks away, almost ashamed. She reaches over to give his arm a comforting squeeze. He takes a deep breath. “Okay, so.. what do we do?”

“For now, we're just going to drive the course. No pressure, no race, nothing to win or lose. Just you and your machine and the track laid out before you. We'll decide where to go from there later. Think you can do that?”

“I-” He hesitates, and she catches his eye, holding his gaze steady. He takes another deep breath. “Yes.”

“Good.” She reaches over and punches his arm, just enough to sting. “And next time you have a problem like this, you come to me first, and we'll figure it out together. I'm your pit boss, dumbass. That's my job.”

*

Gramps corners Sarge in his workshop, two days before he and Grammy are set to return to California. Sarge is tinkering with a small motor he found, and when Gramps comes in, he sighs and sets it aside. “Something I can do for you?” he asks. Gramps grunts softly.

“Why are we still fighting, Red?”

“Because you can't stop criticizing every decision I make or have made and I'm not having it,” Sarge says. “And because you still don't understand why I cut ties in the first place.”

“Well maybe if you'd talk to me instead of just storming off-”

“Maybe if I thought you'd actually listen I might try.” Sarge grabs up the motor and his tools again and turns away. He refuses to be run out of his own workshop, but he doesn't want to listen to his father's bullheaded insistence on being right, either. Behind him, Gramps sighs.

“This visit was supposed to make things better for us,” he says. “I think we've only managed to dig up old hurts and make things worse.”

The motor thunks on the table, and Sarge spins his chair back around to face his father. “Do ya even know why I'm angry at ya? Do ya understand?”

Gramps waves a hand at that. “Harsh words spoken in anger, and clung to and stewed in for twenty years.”

“Harsh words that ya never apologized for,” Sarge corrects. “Harsh words you chose to go twenty years without speaking to your own son for rather than just take them back.”

“I shouldn't have had to. Maybe my words were harsh, but the spirit behind them-”

“We were grieving!” There's cold anger in Sarge's eyes now; he glares at his father, ready to throw him out again. “We were grieving a child we never got to hold and instead of leaving us be you still couldn't let up! You know how bad she was blaming herself already as it was? We didn't need you and your snide comments making things worse!” Sarge runs a hand through his hair, grunts irritably. He turns back to his work table, hunched over with a scowl. “And until you can understand that, I don't think we can be okay again. I'm sorry. That's just how it is.”

For a long time, Gramps is silent; Sarge doesn't turn to look when he finally does get up without a word and leave. Instead he keeps his gaze on his shaking hands, concentrates on calming his breathing.

“Should have known,” he mutters, sitting back and pulling his motor back to him. He fiddles with it absently for a minute, but it's lost its appeal to him now. He sets it down and leans back with a sigh, letting his eyes drift closed while memories of Jenna flutter through his mind instead.

*

It's always a downer to leave Gran and Papi's after Christmas comes and goes, but Simmons is glad to get home all the same. Much as he loves his grandparents, they can be overwhelming after awhile, and they tend to try packing a year's worth of interactions into two weeks, and he's exhausted by the time he leaves. Besides, he misses Grif and he misses North and he misses his friends.

They've barely pulled into the driveway when Grif wanders over, following Simmons into the house and up the stairs to sprawl on Simmons' bed while he unpacks his suitcase. They don't really say much; Simmons is tired and Grif appears to be napping. It doesn't really matter. Just being together again is enough.

“So how was your holiday?” Simmons asks, once his suitcase is unpacked and his things put away neatly. He leans over and pokes Grif until the other boy scoots over to make room, and stretches out beside him, feeling sleepy and content. It's nice being back in his own bed. “Have you gotten on okay with your grandparents?”

“They're all right,” Grif says sleepily. “Gramps is pretty cool. Grammy is comfortable. Want to come over to dinner tonight? You can meet them.”

“Hmm, maybe.” He yawns. “Think I'll take a nap before I do anything else.”

“No arguments here.” Grif stretches and goes limp, closing his eyes. Within moments, his breathing is already evening out in sleep. Simmons snorts. Only Grif could fall asleep so easily- Simmons shifts until his head is pillowed on Grif's shoulder, and closes his own eyes.

Best part about being home? Sharing a nap with his best friend.

*

Dad is watching videos when Church comes into his study later. He tenses immediately, wondering if it's going to be that time again, if he's crashed from his December high, but when he gets closer he sees Sarge and Cappy on the screen and relaxes. Dad never watches the videos that Allison's friends were in, not when he gets into his moods.

On the screen, Sarge has dad in a headlock while he rubs sand in his hair and Allison laughs behind the camera. Church winces, and sits in the spare seat beside the desk. Dad pauses the video to turn to him.

“Something I can do for you, Alpha?”

“No- not- not really.” Church fidgets. “Just- you know, wondering what you were doing...” He glances at the screen. “What are you doing?”

“Captain Flowers asked me to find a video clip for him. Unfortunately I'm not entirely sure which video the clip is in and that means I have to watch through them to search.” He side-eyes the screen with a wince. “...I did not have the most dignified high school experience.”

“Clearly.” Church leans back in his chair and fiddles with a pen from the desk, and when it becomes clear that he isn't going to say anything, dad goes back to watching his videos. Church watches for a lack of anything better to do, his movements becoming even more nervous until he finally clears his throat, slightly awkwardly. Dad pauses his current video and turns back to him.

“Yes?”

“Well- actually, I was kind of thinking- you know, just- just bouncing the idea around, but- I was thinking, what if I wanted to go live with- live with mom for awhile? I know I'm going up for the summer but- but what if- and I mean, it's still just a thought, but, you know, what if I stayed for awhile once the school year started? You know, just a thought.”

He falls silent, waiting for what dad has to say. Dad eyes him thoughtfully.

“It's up to you, Alpha, but if you're asking my opinion I'd prefer you stayed here. You want to leave so badly?”

“Well I mean, I don't particularly want to. I don't like the thought of leaving Carolina alone, and I'll miss my friends and it'll be a pain to have to train a whole new set of teachers, but... I don't know.” He shrugs. “I'm so much happier in Sidewinder. I feel less... heavy. In Blood Gulch it's like there's something weighing me down, you know?”

“As I said, the choice is yours. If you feel you would be better off in Sidewinder, I'll contact Viccy about making the necessary custody arrangements.” He frowns. “Though, I was under the impression that you hated your mother.”

“Oh, I do. She's a rotten bitch and she can burn for all I care. And if it was just down to deciding between you two, I'd pick you. But there's more to it than that. I just... really need to be better, and I can't do that here in Blood Gulch. Maybe I can be in Sidewinder, though. I don't know. It's just a thought.”

Dad sighs. “Very well. I'll speak with Viccy, then.”

“Great!” Church stands, and turns to leave, feeling a bit lighter than before.

And it's probably just a trick of the light that makes dad seem almost disappointed as he goes.

*

For the remaining days of Grammy and Gramps' visit, the tension between Sarge and his father has grown so thick that it's exhausting everyone. Sarge has taken to disappearing lately, presumably to Dr. Grey's house, rather than hang around and risk yet another argument. By the time it comes time for them to leave, everyone is ready for the visit to end, just for the relief of escaping that tension.

The morning they leave, everyone gathers around their car to say goodbye, passing around hugs and well-wishes. Grammy pulls Sarge into a hug, squeezing him tight. “We'll come visit again sometime in the summer,” she says. “I'm not going another twenty years without seeing you.”

“All right, all right,” Sarge grumbles, kissing her cheek and helping her into the car. He turns to find himself in front of his father; Gramps pulls him into a bone-crushing hug that leaves him wheezing.

“I'm not giving up on us,” he says. “Take care of yourself, son.”

Once they're gone, their little car disappearing around the bend in the road, the family head back inside slowly. Grif hangs back with Sarge, giving him a confused look. When they're the only ones left in the yard, he scuffs slightly awkwardly at the ground. “Hey Sarge? Can I ask something?”

“Sure.”

“Umm... do I have any siblings? I mean, other than...” He trails off, and gestures toward the house. Sarge follows his gesture, something unreadable passing across his face.

“None whatsoever,” he says, letting out a small sigh and heading inside as well.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

South gets home two days before school picks back up for the new semester; Grif drives over the morning after she gets back, just after breakfast. They end up sprawled in her armchair together, limbs tangled up while he plays with her hair. She's still tired from her trip, and from the drive home, and Grif isn't the sort to say no to just relaxing, not where South is concerned. Normally she gets restless too easily, and keeping up with her is exhausting.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” he asks, absently unwinding one of her long braids. She twitches a little, pulling her hair out of his hands and sitting back to undo her other braid, too. He wonders if that means he should stop playing with her hair or if it's an invitation to carry on; when he reaches, hesitantly, to do the latter, she makes a content noise and lays back down. “South?”

“Hmm? Oh right.” She sits back up, pulling her hair back behind her. “Nothing, really. Just was thinking, you know, prom is coming up this spring, right? Kinda lame, but you and me, maybe not so lame?”

“Never figured you for the prom sort.” He sits up as well. “Would have thought it was too much frou-frou for your tastes.”

“Yeah, that's why I said lame,” she says, snorting. “But I know Mama is going to be a pain if I decide not to go, so I can at least make sure I'm going with someone I can have fun with. So what about it? You game, or am I breaking out the puppy-dog eyes on Carolina?”

He laughs. “I'll go, if only to save Carolina from that experience.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” She pokes him, but he just laughs again and loops his arms around her waist, dragging her close so he can nuzzle against her shoulder. “Grif!”

“It means nothing.” He kisses her shoulder, pulls away when she keeps poking him. “You are a woman of many talents, South,” he says. “That just.. isn't one of them. Hey!” He squawks when she smacks him with a cushion. “Rude. It's not my fault you can't do puppy-eyes! Ow! Okay, that one actually hurt.”

“Baby.” She sets the pillow aside, though, and leans in to press a kiss to his arm, right where she'd smacked him. “So that's a yes, then? We're down for prom?”

“Sure. I'll have to get a suit, but.” He shrugs. “I know where to rent one.”

“You don't already have one?”

“No. Sarge says it's a good idea for a man to own at least one suit, but it would be pointless right now, the way I keep growing. Says we'll look into once my stature settles down.”

“That's a good point.” She sits back, framing him in the square of her fingers thoughtfully. “You'll have to get it right before prom, who knows how much bigger you'll be between now and then.”

“Well Gramps is like, six-foot-five, I think,” he says. “And I'm only just over six feet, now. So if he's anything to go by, I've probably got awhile before I stop growing. Not to mention that I keep expanding outward, too.”

“Good.” She pokes his belly, and pats it softly. “I like you squishy. Makes for more comfortable naps.”

“I knew it,” he says. “You only like me for my body.”

“Damn straight.” She lifts his shirt up, exposing his gut, and leans down to press a chaste kiss just above his navel. “Sexy.”

He doesn't say anything to that- though a hundred possible quips present themselves, the atmosphere between them feels charged now, like they should be holding their breath, and all of them fall short. She sits up and looks at him, meeting his eyes and for a long moment they just stare at each other, and then she leans in to kiss him, long and slow.

“I missed you,” she murmurs, when they part, and he tangles the fingers of one hand in her hair while she pushes him against the back of the armchair and dives in for another kiss, needy, desperate. “God I want you so bad right now,” she says, when they part again. “Please?”

He nods, words failing him completely, and takes her free hand in his own, lacing their fingers together and pulling her close, into another kiss, charged and intense and full of how much he wants her back.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Cappy takes Tucker up to the state pen to see his dad the day after their flight gets back in. He hangs around in the back of the room, close enough to satisfy the guards but far enough away that he can't hear their conversation unless they raise their voices. He always does that, and Tucker is grateful: he likes getting the chance to chat with his dad in private, without worrying about Cappy overhearing. Not that he has any secrets, of course, but the privacy is appreciated anyway.

“Hey, Pop,” Tucker says, feeling brighter than he has been lately. “How was Christmas? Get anything good?”

His dad just shrugs. “All right. We had turkey and cranberry sauce. The shitty canned stuff but it tasted like heaven after our usual fare. What about you, Vern? How was England?”

“England was fine. Reggie's family was nice and it rained most of the time. Cappy and I went into London to do the tourist thing a bit. I sent you a postcard, it should get here soon.”

He half-shrugs as if to say that's all, and they fall silent. Quentin stares down at his hands, tracing a scar on his hand, acquired in a fight somewhere along the lines. After a while, he looks up; Tucker is surprised by how pained he looks. “Vern... listen... I don't want you coming to see me anymore,” he finally says. “I mean, I like your visits and all but...” He trails off, glances over at Cappy. “You've got better things going on now. Can't go putting your life on hold just cause of me.”

“Don't be stupid, Pop. I love visiting you.” Tucker stares down at his own hands. “Is this cause I couldn't make our Christmas visit? I tried to get Cappy to let me stay-”

“I know. I told him not to.”

“What?”

“Oh come on. It's another country! A chance to see more of the world than just this little spit of land.” He's back to tracing his scar now, a nervous habit. “I want you to have opportunities like that, I want you to have that life that I couldn't give you. I want you to go out and do things.”

“But- didn't you want me to visit at Christmas? You said you always looked forward to it..”

“Course I do. I always look forward to your visits. I love seeing you and hearing about all the stuff you got going on. But this ain't about me, and what I want.” He glances down. “Maybe if I'd tried living that sooner we wouldn't be talking to each other through a plexiglass wall once a month.”

“But I like being able to visit you. Come on, Pop. Don't do this.”

“Take care of yourself, Vern,” Quentin says. “I don't expect to see you in here again, got it?”

“But Pop-” Tucker breaks off at a hand on his shoulder. It's Cappy.

“You're getting loud, and I can't help but overhear,” he says. “Tucker, can I talk to Quentin alone for a moment?”

“Yeah... maybe you can talk some sense into him.” He shoves the chair aside and storms over to sit beside the guard, who gives him a sympathetic grimace.

“What do you want, Cap?” Quentin says, eying up Cappy. There's something eerie about the set in Cappy's eyes, something that's always unsettled him.

“Quentin, you know I've always sworn to keep out of your relationship with Tucker, and I stand by that,” he says. “But I think you're making a big mistake, and I think you should reconsider.” He glances over at Tucker. “You're not the only one who looks forward to these visits, you know.”

“He's young, he'll bounce back.” Quentin leans back in his chair. “If you keep trying to bring him in, I'll have him removed from my visitor's list entirely. I won't have my boy holding himself back from anything for my sake. Understood?”

They stare each other down for a long moment, and Cappy finally nods. “Very well. We'll stay away, for now. Hopefully in time you'll reconsider.”

“Doubt it.” He stands up. “Tell Tucker I said bye.”

He leaves, then, before Cappy can respond. Cappy goes back over to Tucker.

“This is bullshit,” Tucker says, scuffing irritably at the ground. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.” Cappy throws an arm around Tucker's shoulder and hugs him close as they head out. “I'm sorry, Tucker.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugs. “At least one of you is.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

The new semester picks up eventually, with everyone relieved to be back to their usual routine after the holidays. Schedule-wise, elective classes are swapped around for the new semester; South, Tucker, Wash, and Caboose find themselves in Career Management, while Grif, Carolina, and Donut all end up in Home Ec and Church and Simmons both wind up in Art History. Other than that, little else changes, and it takes only a week for the doldrums of the new semester to settle back into place.

*

Toward the end of January, word is posted in the Career Management classroom that the students will begin their Apprenticeships soon, with a list of faculty and staff who have volunteered to mentor students for the semester. Tucker eyes the list, pleased to note that Cappy is on it. If he can manage to score Cappy's class for his apprenticeship, he'll be set- Cappy'll be sure to give him top marks just for the effort, so that'll be an easy grade.

“So what do you think?” South asks, sliding into her seat behind him. “Never mind, I know you- you're gonna try for Cappy, right? I'm sure nepotism is alive and well, should be an easy grade for you, anyway.”

“Yeah, having a parent work in the school does make things go a lot smoother,” Tucker says. “What about you? Anyone you're hoping for?”

“I don't know. I'm hoping for something in the office, it's mostly just running errands and there's a lot of downtime. And it'll be better than getting one of the custodians.”

“They're all on the list,” Tucker says. “Every one of them is going to have a student trailing after them to clean up vomit for them.”

“Can you blame them? If I was a janitor, I'd get an apprentice straight away. Who wants to stick their hand in a toilet for a living? Hey guys. What about you?” she adds, as Wash and Caboose take the seats across from them.

“I'm hoping for one of the lower grade teachers, like first or second,” Wash says. “I'm okay with working with small children and there'll be more work to keep me busy than the higher grades.”

“I don't really care as long as it's with someone nice,” Caboose says. “I don't want someone who will be mean.”

“I'm not sure if any of the staff here are really mean,” Wash assures him.

“I don't know,” Tucker says. “There's some pretty rude people on staff in this school. Most of them are pretty okay, but some of them... well, they're less okay.”

“True. But given Caboose hangs around with people like you, I don't think his definition of 'mean' is the same as everyone else's.”

“Bitch please. I'm nice. Right, Boose?”

“Eh.” Caboose wobbles his hand a little. “You can be nice when you really, really want to.”

Wash gives Tucker a triumphant look, but Tucker just huffs a stray braid out of his face and turns away with a grumble. He stays that way for the remaining time before class begins, not even looking at them again while he pouts. At the head of the room, their teacher is putting the list of names on the projector.

“You're going to be drawing names,” she says. “It's the fairest way I can think of to assign apprentices. Whoever's name you draw will be your mentor for the rest of the semester, and your performance as their apprentice will affect your final grade for the class.”

It takes awhile for her to get around the room. Tucker crosses his fingers when she gets to him; he's heard a few names mentioned but he doesn't think anyone has managed to draw Cappy, which means he must still be in there. He takes a deep breath and reaches into the bowl, rummaging around until his hand closes on a slip of paper that feels promising. The teacher moves on to South as soon as he pulls his hand away; he pays little attention as he unfolds the paper to look at the name.

“Phil Stasney, Maintenance Staff,” he reads, and groans. “Man, I can't believe this.”

“Sucks to be you,” South says. She holds up her own paper, triumphant. 'Vanessa Kimball, 5^th Grade', it reads. Tucker groans again. “Lucky. Kimball is great

“Yeah. Wouldn't have minded working in the office, but I can stand to work with a class full of ten year olds. They're not quite old enough to be cocky little shits and they're old enough to be able to blow their own nose.”

Across the aisle, Caboose is smiling at his own paper. Tucker leans over to look and lets out his loudest groan yet. 'Captain Flowers, 7^th Grade'. South just laughs. “Man, Tuck, you are just having the most rotten luck today, aren't you?”

“You don't have to enjoy it so much.”

“And yet, I do anyway.” She reaches over and grabs Wash's paper away. “Donald Doyle, Office. Tch. Lucky. Doyle is a pushover, he'll let you do whatever you want, I bet. Ah well. At least I'm not apprenticing for a janitor.”

“Don't rub it in,” Tucker says, letting his head thunk down on the table with a groan.

*

Grif was expecting Home Ec to be a much easier class than it is- he knows how to cook, more or less, and Donut is in his group to pick up his slack, and Carolina is in his group and she tends not to delegate well, and on top of that, there's the chance to eat all the delicious things they cook.

He hadn't realized that Home Ec is a lot more than just cooking- they won't even be starting on the cooking segment till later in the semester. Right now they're working on sewing, which is pretty annoying. Grif doesn't think he'll ever need to know how to sew, regardless of what Miss Home Ec insists otherwise.

“Didn't you say you were going to be a house husband?” Carolina says, pursing her lips as she tries (and repeatedly fails) to get her needle threaded. “These are the sorts of things that come with the territory of homemakers. What if your kid pops a button? You need to be able to sew it back on.”

She's right, of course. And he hates that she's right, so rather than admit it he just grumbles and turns his attention to his needle and thread. “What about you?” he says. “No way you'll ever need to know this. You need a button sewn you'll have a housekeeper to do it for you.”

“Maybe. Ha!” She holds her needle up triumphantly to show that she's finally gotten the thread through, then makes a disgruntled noise when the thread slides back out. “Oh, come on.”

“You guys are making this way harder than it actually is,” Donut says. He's already three buttons into his own shirt, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration. They both shoot him irritated looks. “Do you want me to help?”

“I'm fine,” Carolina says, irritated. She huffs and goes back to trying to thread her needle; Donut just shrugs and grabs another button from the box.

Grif, however, shoves his own needle and thread over to Donut. “I'm sure I can sew a button okay, if I can actually get the needle threaded. But that's impossible.”

Donut just shakes his head, amused, and eyes the needle. He sucks on the end of the thread and squints, then pushes the thread through on the first try. He loops it off and hands it to Grif with a smile. “And into the hole it goes! There you go, Grif. Do you want me to show you how to do the buttons, too?”

“No. How hard can it be? You pull it through the holes enough times and tie it off.”

“Okay.” Donut looks amused. “If you change your mind, I'm right here.”

Their teacher is making the rounds. She leans over their table, peering over Donut's shoulder at his shirt. “That's very good, Franklin,” she says, ignoring the way he winces at the use of his given name. She gives his shoulder a squeeze of approval. “When you've finished, why don't you go and help some of your classmates who are still struggling?”

“Yes ma'am.” Donut grabs for his fifth and final button, while the teacher turns her attention to Grif and Carolina. Her approving look disappears, to be replaced by a frown. “Don't be afraid to ask for help, you two,” she says. “There's no shame in needing it.”

“We're fine,” Carolina grits out. She's finally gotten her needle threaded; she's now working on her first button, and wincing each time she stabs herself. Her face is as red as her hair, and she's refusing to look at anyone else. Meanwhile, Grif is managing little better: he's not stabbing himself as often, but his stitches are just as sloppy.

“As you say,” the teacher says, turning to another table.

Donut ties off his last button and looks at their work with a slight grimace. “I can help you,” he says. “It's okay to ask. You're here to learn. There's no shame in not already knowing. Oh.” He frowns at the glare Carolina is shooting him, and stands. “I'm going to go see if there's anyone else willing to ask for help, then.”

After he wanders off, Grif looks up at Carolina, who is still red-faced, and frowns.

“Okay, I just don't care enough,” Grif says. “What's your excuse? Thought you were big on getting good grades.”

“I don't need help,” she says, wincing and sucking on the end of her thumb when she stabs it, again. “I'll figure it out on my own. It'll be easy once I get the hang of it. I don't need help. Ow, son of a bitch...”

“Maybe you should get a thimble,” Grif says, turning back to his buttons.

Carolina just looks down at her thumb, red and pock-marked, and sighs. It's going to be a long unit.

*

Simmons lets out a squawk of protest when Church swipes his paper at the beginning of class, but does nothing to stop the other boy from looking through it. Church hums thoughtfully while he skims through the pages. Once he's done, he hands it back, shaking his head in disapproval.

“This is three pages longer than it was supposed to be,” he says. “And what's with the folder? And the visual aids? Literally none of that was necessary.”

“I'm trying to get as much extra credit as I can,” he says. “I need to make up for my awful test scores. At least I have a teacher who's willing to let me do extra credit to make up the difference. Besides, it was an interesting subject, and there's a lot of information on it. I couldn't have presented it within the constraints anyway.”

“Tch. I'm the genius here, how am I still surrounded by people who are bigger nerds than me?”

Simmons makes an irritated noise. “I just like being thorough,” he says.

“Right. Because you're a nerd. Was that supposed to be an argument? Oh and speaking of arguments,” he adds. “What were you and North arguing about this morning?”

“We weren't arguing.” He frowns. “We were just... you know, having an animated discussion.”

“Yeah, looked pretty animated. You're not gonna break up, are you?”

“What? No! It was just one argument. I mean discussion. What do you care, anyway?”

“Cause I've got money riding on you guys still being together by Valentine's Day and I don't need to lose that action.”

Simmons looks appalled. “What?! You've been betting on my relationship?”

“Not just me. It's a pretty big pool. By the way, you're welcome for the vote of confidence. There are a looot of people annoyed that you guys made it to the end of September.”

“What- that's- I-” He opens and closes his mouth several times, trying to land on words. He finally manages to squeak out a strained, “What the hell?!”

Church raises an eyebrow at him. “What? People have got to do something around here. Actually, a lot of people had bets that you and Grif would be back together by Christmas, but then he and South started dating and...” He trails off, and shrugs. Simmons shakes his head.

“South and Grif aren't dating.”

This earns him a snort. “Please. They say they're not dating, but, come on, dude. How long have you known South?”

“All my life.”

“And have you ever seen her this relaxed? Like, ever?”

“Um...” Now that he thinks of it, he doesn't think he has. Maybe when they were kids, but... the thought makes something curl uncomfortably in his gut. “Well, as far as Grif says, they're not dating, and I don't think he'd lie about something like that. Not to me, anyway. Maybe to everyone else, but not me.”

“Oh, they're dating.” Church takes both their papers and passes them to the front as the teacher starts taking them up, turning back to face the front as he does. “Maybe they haven't noticed yet, but they're definitely dating.”

*

Simmons takes his usual seat beside North in last period, giving his hand a quick squeeze in greeting. North smiles at him.

“Am I forgiven, then?” he asks.

“Yes. It was a stupid thing to argue about. I don't feel like being mad at you right now.”

“Right now, huh?” North cracks a grin at that. “What about later on?”

“If you do something to annoy me I'll change my mind then.” He hesitates, and then adds, “Did you know there are people betting on how long until we break up?”

“Yes. Did you not?”

He shakes his head. “How did you know?”

“South told me. By the way, she's got money riding on us making it to the Ides of March, so try not to get too mad at me before then. I don't want to have to live with how mad she'll be if she loses that much money because of me.” He cracks another grin at that, but it falters when he sees how upset Simmons seems. “You okay?”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I told you, I thought you knew. Most of your friends have bets in the pool, I figured they'd have mentioned it.”

“You didn't think to check?”

“I didn't think it mattered. Does it?”

“Of course it matters! People are betting about my relationship! Our relationship!” He lets go of North's hand with a huff. “I changed my mind. I'm mad at you again.” He turns away, grabbing his bag and jumping to a different seat before North can respond. He hears North sigh, but still doesn't look over, instead turning his attention to copying the notes on the board while he waits for class to begin.

*

After school, Caboose persuades Wash to go with him while he walks Freckles, through much begging and sad eyes and promises to keep Freckles on his leash so that Wash doesn't end up in a tree (again). Wash relents, eventually, because it will make Caboose happy and there's something about making Caboose happy that's addictive. In any case, it's nice to go on a walk that isn't meant as training for some sport or other once in awhile.

Freckles is on the porch when they get there, curled up on a blanket in front of the space heater, but when he sees Caboose he barks happily and bounds over, pouncing on his delighted master. Anyone else would go down in an instant under Freckles' excited tackle, but Caboose just picks him up fully and cradles him like the baby Caboose is convinced he is, while Freckles licks his face.

“Looks like he missed you,” Wash says. Caboose nods between licks.

“Yes! I have not been able to visit for a few days because there is no one to drive me over. I have missed you too, Freckles,” he adds, and plants a happy kiss to Freckles' head before setting him down. “I wish I did not have to leave you here. Do you think maybe if I took Freckles' home, Mama would change her mind about letting me keep him?”

“No harm in trying.” Wash hands Caboose Freckles' leash so they can get on with their walk. “Is that the only reason you wanted me to come with you today? So I could give you a ride?”

“No. I could have asked Santa for a ride if that was it. I wanted you to come with me because we are friends.”

Wash decides to ignore the mention of Santa- Caboose has mentioned getting him to do things a few times since Christmas, and Wash doesn't have the heart to tell him that it doesn't quite work like that. Instead he gives Caboose a small smile.

“Right, we're friends.”

They head out through the back field, to the little footpaths that wind across the land, beyond the pink ribbon that marks the edge of Sarge's property. Freckles is delighted by the walk, frequently running to the end of his leash and whining until Caboose catches up to him.

The sun is dipping down close to the horizon by the time they eventually make it back to the house. Sarge pokes his head out the back door as they approach, and waves.

“You boys come in for some cocoa before you head out,” he says. “Come warm up, your ma's will all kill me if I let you catch cold on my watch.”

They leave Freckles in the utility room with their jackets and follow Sarge into the kitchen, where the smell of food is filling up the room, making it feel cosy and warm. Dr. Grey is sitting at the table with a mug of her own; she gives them a cheery wave when they come in. Sarge hands them cups and gestures for them to make themselves at home while he goes back to making dinner.

“Hello, boys~” Dr. Grey chirps. “Did you have a good walk? Did you see anything interesting?”

“We saw a bunny,” Caboose says. “It was cute. Freckles tried to chase it, but it ran past the end of his leash and he couldn't catch it.” He takes the bag of mini-marshmallows Dr. Grey hands him, dropping them in one by one and making a small plopping sound as each one lands. “I am going to ask Mama again if I can take Freckles home with me,” he adds. “I'm sure if I keep asking she will say yes one day.”

“If it helps, tell her we finally got him housebroken,” Sarge says, from the stove. “And he's had all of his shots and he's great around small kids. Well, he's great around Dos. Well, he doesn't growl at Dos anymore. Well...” He trails off. “On second thought, leave the kids part out.”

“Probably best to leave out the part where he arbitrarily dislikes people in general,” Wash says. “I still don't know what I did to offend him but I'm pretty sure he's trying to kill me.”

“Oh, no, he would never do that,” Caboose says. “He is just playing!” He pouts and pokes at his marshmallows. “But I wish he didn't live so far away so I could see him more often,” he goes on. “Like when I couldn't get a ride to come see him for days. I'm sure he missed you.”

“If your mom holds firm on her no, you can always bring him to live at my house,” Dr. Grey says. “I don't mind, and I would get less lonely having him around at night.”

“If you get lonely at night-” Sarge begins, but Dr. Grey just waggles a finger at him in silent admonishment, earning a small pout. Dr. Grey smiles back at the boys.

“I live in the same part of town you do, so you could just walk to my house to see Freckles whenever you wanted to.”

Caboose just beams at her. “Really? You would watch Freckles for me? Oh, but, what about...” He glances over at Sarge. “Won't you get sad if he goes away?”

“Probably,” Sarge says. “But keeping him here was never meant to be permanent anyway. It'll be fine.”

“Oh boy!” Caboose grins, and gulps down half of his cocoa in his excitement.. “I will get to see Freckles so much more now!”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

The mall in Valhalla is shitty, with half the stores standing empty and dark and with only one restaurant in the food court, a Chinese buffet that does okay noodles and better dumplings and not-good-at-all chicken. The only store worth visiting at all is the adult toy store, and Grif isn't allowed in that one because he's under eighteen.

“I mean, it's not like they care enough to check your id at the door,” South says, when she suggests going in. “And if you want to buy anything I'll pay for it for you in case they do then.”

Grif just gives her a flat look. “South, I'm here looking for a birthday present for Lopez,” he says. “I'm not going to get that in a sex shop.”

“I bet you could find something for him that would make Sheila thank you,” South says. “But why are we here to do your gift shopping? Why not go to Spiral, at least the mall there actually has stores in it.”

“Because I'm meeting Crunchbite here for lunch later.” He heads into an auto-parts store. Lopez likes cars, there's gotta be something there. South trails after him, eying a bright purple steering wheel cover with interest. “Figured I'd just come early and do my shopping while I waited. Kill two birds with one stone?”

“Crunchbite...” South frowns, tries to place the name. “One of your racing buddies, right?”

“Yeah, for Heretic. She sent me a text yesterday, asked if I wanted to meet her for lunch. Said she wanted to talk to me about something.”

South looks up from the steering wheel cover, startled. “What? Grif, why did you bring me on your date with you? That's so rude.”

“Wh- It's not a date.”

“You get a text from a girl who says she wants to talk to you? Even if it's not a date initially, she's hoping it will be.”

“That's crazy,” Grif scoffs. “Why would Crunchbite want to date me? I mean...” He gestures at himself. “I'm not exactly a catch, here.”

The look she shoots him could curdle milk. She turns her nose up. “I'm going to do you a favor and not take that as a personal insult to my tastes. If it's not a date, then what do you think she wants to talk to you about?”

“I don't know. Racing? And you dated Church, you aren't exactly known for having standards.”

“I'm never going to live that one down, am I? Twenty years from now, oh, remember that time you dated Church?” Her mood seems to have soured; she heads to the register to pay for her wheel cover, Grif trailing behind her and looking around for something for Lopez. Nothing really catches his eye, though. He shoves his hands into his pockets and follows her out the store to the next one to try there.

*

“I really liked Church,” South says, at the food court an hour later. She hasn't said much to him in that time, and he was starting to wonder if she was mad at him. She picks irritably at a sticker on the table. “I know we were a train wreck waiting to happen, but I still would have liked to put that off for awhile. I don't need people to keep reminding me what a mistake I made in dating him.”

“Church is an asshole,” Grif says, shrugging. “That's just how he is. I don't think you made a mistake dating him- I mean, I still question your tastes, but that's just because it's Church. And if he made you happy, that's what matters, right? Even if it fell apart, you were happy at the time. That's got to count for something.”

“Not everyone gets to make up and be buddy buddy with their ex,” she says. “Some of us get stomped on and then get our good memories tainted by the bad ones. Sure I had fun while it lasted, but then my boyfriend cheated on me and never bothered to apologize and now all the good things I associate with our time together leave a bad taste in my mouth.” She looks away, glaring at the wall. “So no, that isn't all that matters.”

Grif looks away too, squirming a little inside. He's never really thought about it, but he knows he's extremely lucky- as soon as he and Simmons talked to each other again, it was like nothing had ever happened, and they were right back to being best friends again. Things hadn't changed. They were still Grif and Simmons, just minus the kissing. But South didn't get to have that, and he'd never thought about that, either.

*

Crunchbite arrives only a few minutes late. South grabs her coat and shopping bag off the table and stands once she approaches. “I'll see you later, Grif. Enjoy your- well, enjoy yourself,” she finishes, with a glance at Crunchbite.

Crunchbite honks cheerily in greeting and takes the seat across from him, and for a long moment the silence between them is awkward. It occurs to Grif that whatever she wants to talk to him about he won't even be able to understand, since she barely speaks English and he doesn't speak any- whatever language the Heretics speak. That their speech is punctuated by near-constant honking and blarghing doesn't help the language barrier at all.

She does start talking eventually, and he's only able to understand about one word in five. However, in the middle of all the garbled English and the honking, he's able to catch a few words that he recognizes: 'date', 'set up', and 'Tucker'. That last one comes up a lot, actually, and after the fifth or sixth time understanding dawns.

“Ohhhhh,” he says. “You want me to set you up with Tucker!” An affirmative honk. “And you don't want to date me?” Another affirmative. He looks relieved. “Oh thank god.” She honks, offended. He backpedals hastily. “I mean, not that- you know, I just don't like you like that and I didn't want to hurt your feelings when I turned you down.” She just looks indignant. He decides to change the subject rather than try explaining himself. “So, you want me to put in a good word for you with Tucker? I can do that. I mean, no promises, and Tucker's an asshole, but I can definitely tell him to give you a call.”

She doesn't have to say anything; he wide smile speaks volumes.

*

Their lunch after that is pretty easy-going; Crunchbite tells Grif a long-winded story that he doesn't understand but is able to follow well enough to react correctly at her pauses. He hopes Tucker lets her down gently. He doesn't feel like dealing with the Heretics if she gets her heart broken over all of this.

South is waiting for him at his jeep when he and Crunchbite finally part ways; Flynt and Rookie are there talking to her.

“Sorry to take so long,” he says. “She wants me to set her up with Tucker. So you were wrong. Hey guys.”

Flynt waves. “Hi, Grif. How goes the off season?”

“Pretty good, actually. Tex has me training on the course. Once the season picks back up, I'll be winning races left and right.”

Rookie cracks a grin at that. “We'll believe that when we see it. Come on, Flynt, we've got an interview to get to. We need a new third,” he explains, to Grif. “Jacques moved back to France over the break.” He tugs on Flynt's sleeve, half-dragging him toward the mall. Flynt waves and lets himself be led away, while South and Grif pile into the jeep.

“Have you been waiting here this whole time?”

“Yes. You're my ride.”

“Sorry. I figured you'd call your brother or something.”

“He's got a date today.” She stares down at her phone; she looks like she has something on his mind, and he wonders if he should ask, but before he can decide she looks up. “So it wasn't a date?”

“I told you it wasn't. She wants me to set her up with Tucker.”

She snorts. “And you said I had bad taste.”

“There's no accounting for some people.” He side-eyes her. “Hey, are you okay? You seem kind of.. off. Is it still the Church thing?”

“What? No. I mean, yeah, I'm still annoyed by that, but- no, it's nothing like that.” She fiddles with her phone. “I just- don't really want you dating anyone, that's all,” she finally says, almost a mumble.

Grif turns his full attention to the road, trying to ignore the way his heart is pounding. Is this it? Is this the conversation? He tightens his grip on the wheel. “You- you don't?”

“Well, no.” She slides down in her seat, still intent on her phone. “I'm being selfish, but if you start dating someone I lose what we have. And I don't... want that.”

Oh. He takes a deep breath. “You- you know, there's an answer to that.” He twiddles his thumbs a little. “I mean... you could date me.”

She looks over at him, then away, to stare at the window. Her cheeks are red. “I don't want a boyfriend right now,” she says quietly. He sighs.

“Yeah, I know. It was just a thought.”

They don't say anything else the rest of the way home. He drops her off at her house with a quiet goodbye; at home, he flops out on the couch for a nap, and tries to take solace in the fact that even if she doesn't want to date him, she at least doesn't want him dating anyone else. Which he supposes is better than nothing, and the best he's going to get.

*

Normally, Tucker visits his dad on the last Saturday of the month, but now he can't and so he ends up spending the afternoon at the park with Caboose and Donut, who are trying to train Freckles to do tricks so they can enter him in some dog show or other in February. He slouches down on a bench and watches them, trying not to think bitter thoughts about his dad and failing utterly.

“Maybe we should call it a day, Caboose,” Donut says, after awhile. They come back over to the bench to sit down beside Tucker, Freckles hopping up to lay with his head in Caboose's lap. “We taught him shake, anyway. That's something.”

“Yes. He is very good at shake.” Caboose beams in reflected pride and scratches Freckles' ears in praise. “It is a start.”

Tucker is starting to get restless. He sits up straight. “Hey, you guys feel like going to the movies tonight?”

“I would,” Donut says happily, but Caboose shakes his head.

“I can't,” he says. “My boyfriend is taking me to a nice dinner in Spiral.”

Two sets of eyes are suddenly locked on him. “You have a boyfriend?” Tucker asks, startled. “Since when?”

“Since- um-” He pauses, stares at his fingers for a minute. “...Since the beginning of December,” he finally says. “However long ago that was.”

“That's a while,” Donut says. “Nearly two months. Why didn't you say anything?”

“Nobody asked.” He shrugs. “It never came up.”

Tucker huffs; he ignores the way his stomach is twisting around itself. “Well- enjoy your date, then. Looks like it's just me and you, Donut.”

*

Donut and Caboose leave later to take Freckles back to Dr. Grey's, while Tucker swings back to his own house for a quick shower, since Freckles decided to drool on him while they were relaxing. He meets up with Donut at the theatre a little while before it opens, so they can decide on a movie. There are three screens at the theatre in Blood Gulch, two of them playing the same thing, some movie based off of some book, and the third playing a kids' movie about a talking mouse. They pick a later showing of the book movie and head off to the diner across the road to eat while they wait.

“So what's this about Caboose having a boyfriend?” Tucker asks. “Do you know anything about him?”

“I asked when we were dropping off Freckles,” Donut says. “Apparently they met over the break and have been going out since. I'm a little hurt he didn't tell me, actually,” Donut admits. “We're supposed to be best friends. Why wouldn't he tell me?”

“I guess.” Tucker taps one fry irritably on the table. Donut raises he eyebrow at him.

“What's up? Is it your dad, or... something else?”

“I don't know. Maybe?” Tucker huffs. “I guess I just... kind of always assumed we'd get back together. Eventually. Figured it was just a matter of time.”

“And now he's moved on and you don't have that option?” Donut gives him a sympathetic look. “I'm sorry. I wish things had worked out for you guys, you were really cute together.”

“Well.. it's my own stupid fault.”

“I know.” Donut gives him a small smile. “But I wasn't going to remind you this time.”

“Thanks.” Tucker throws his napkins onto his tray with his half-finished meal. “You ready to go? I think our movie is starting soon.”

“Yeah.” Donut throws an arm around him while they head back across the street tot he theatre. “Maybe the continuing adventures of Cliff Hanger will cheer you up.”

“I don't know. We already know how the movie's going to end- Cliff Hanger, hanging from a cliff. That's how the movies always end.”

“Yeah, but the middle is always different. Besides, if he gets off the cliff permanently, the movies end.”

“What a loss to cinema that would be,” Tucker says drily. “I mean, it's not bad if you want to kill a couple hours and, okay, the action sequences are pretty cool, just... you know. He could at least end up on a different cliff for once.”

“Maybe this time he will.”

*

The movie ends with Cliff Hanger still hanging from the same cliff he always is. However, like Donut said, the middle bit was different, with a lot of explosions and a lengthy chase scene between getting off the cliff and returning to the same cliff. The plot isn't particularly compelling but the action is at least entertaining, and Tucker is in a somewhat better mood when they finally do leave the theatre.

“See, that wasn't so bad,” Donut says.

They're sat in the bed of Tucker's pickup (ancient, battered, and held together with spit, a prayer, and duct tape, but his, or at least it will be when it's paid for), eating leftover popcorn and watching the traffic pass by the theatre. They're bundled up tight against the cold, sitting close enough their shoulders are brushing- well, close enough that Tucker's shoulder is brushing against Donut's arm. By all rights they should be sitting in the cab instead, as cold as it is, but the heater is broken so it doesn't really matter.

“I shouldn't be so mad at him,” Tucker says, after a long silence. “I mean, he thinks he's looking out for me, right? Not wanting me to come see him?”

“Well, from what you've said, it sounds like he's doing it because he loves you, yeah.”

“Yeah, but it's such bullshit,” Tucker says, throwing popcorn irritably at the hole in the tailgate. “It's one day a month. It's not like I'm dropping everything to come see him every five minutes. And I like our visits.” He hangs his head. “He's my pop. He might have been shitty at it but... I don't know, he tried, anyway. He didn't have to. He could have walked off like mom did.”

“I wouldn't consider 'sticking around' to be the epitome of good parenting,” Donut says, joining him in throwing popcorn at the tailgate. “Though I suppose it's a matter of perspective, really. My parents kicked me out. What do I know?”

“Yeah. Though I mean, to be fair to mom... she was sixteen when I was born. Like.. that's Carolina's age, right? I can't really fault a girl Carolina's age for not wanting to stick around and be a mom, even if it sucks for me.” He leans his head back to rest on the back window of the cab of his truck and closes his eyes. “I mean... I can't be sure I wouldn't do the exact same thing, in her shoes.”

*

Tucker invites Donut to sleep over after the movie; he's feeling a bit lonely, and Donut is a very present person. It's easy to feel less lonely with Donut there. Donut calls Sarge and gets the green light on a sleepover, and they head off to Tucker's house. Cappy and Reggie are on the couch when they come in; Tucker double-checks it's okay for Donut to stay over (it is) and says his goodnights before the pair head down the hall to Tucker's room.

“It's probably for the best,” Donut says, once they've gotten ready for bed. “Otherwise either you'd have to take me home or Grif would have to come pick me up, and both of those are a hassle.”

“Gonna get a car of your own soon?”

Donut laughs. “I can't afford it. But Grif is planning to get one with his race winnings soon- that's why he's trying so hard to win a course, so he can afford a cheap one. Then I can start using the jeep and I won't have to rely on you guys anymore.”

“Why not get a job? You, I mean, I know Grif isn't going to work if he doesn't have to. But why not? We could go job hunting together, I've got to start earning back the money Cappy dropped on my truck anyway.”

“Any prospects?”

“A friend of Reggie's is hiring at his shop. Reggie said he'd try to get me a position there, if I wanted. Other than that, I figure I'll just head out after school one day and see what's available.” He grabs a few blankets out of his closet and tosses them to Donut. “I mean, how hard could it be to find a part-time job?”

“I've never tried,” Donut says. “I wouldn't know. But I suppose if it comes down to it, there's plenty of farms around here that could always use an extra hand, and that's something I know how to do.”

Tucker grimaces. “I really hope it doesn't come down to that. No offense, but I really don't want to do any farm work. I'm a city boy. I wouldn't know how to work on a farm. I mean... can you imagine me pitching hay or whatever it is you do on farms?”

Donut giggles. “You really are a city boy. But sure, I'll go job hunting with you.”

“Cool, we can head out some time next week.” He wraps his blanket around himself and sits down beside Donut, sliding sideways until he's leaned on Donut's side. He sighs. “Hey Donut?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for hanging around today.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

When South gets home, she showers and changes into her pajamas and then goes to North's bed instead of her own. She curls up into a cocoon of his blankets, staring at the wall, and she's still like that an hour later when North gets home. He doesn't say anything, but by the time he's finished showering and getting ready for bed himself, she's uncocooned herself and is sitting in the middle of his bed, hugging her knees to her chest and glaring moodily over them.

He sits down beside her, and wraps an arm around her shoulders, coaxing her over to lean against him. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. She's silent for a long time; he says nothing, doesn't move, waiting for her signal over what to do next. Finally she shrugs.

“Grif said today that I should date him,” she says. She finally twists enough to look at him, snuffling over until she's pressed into his side, seeking comfort from his presence. “I turned him down.”

There's another long silence at that. When North speaks again, he sounds baffled. “...why?”

“Because there are already enough people who think of me as North's sister,” she says. “I don't want to get stuck as Grif's girlfriend, too. No offense,” she adds, when his hold on her shoulders shifts slightly.

He's silent again, but he shifts to pet her hair slightly all the same; it's a thoughtful silence. “South...” he says, after a long time. “I hate to break it to you, but... everyone already thinks of you as Grif's girlfriend.”

“What?”

“Literally no one believes you when you say you aren't dating. There are even bets about when you'll actually start admitting it.”

“I repeat,” she says. “What?”

This earns her a laugh, and she pulls out of his embrace to huff at him. He raises one barely-visible eyebrow at her. “Do I need to remind you of the amount of money you stand to lose if Simmons and I break up before the Ides of March?”

She considers this for a moment. “..okay, fair point. Do people really not believe us?”

“There are a few who do, but even those are all convinced that you're just so far in denial you're shaking hands with Cleopatra.” He opens his arms to invite her back into his embrace, but when she stays where she is he drops them. “Listen, goose, I'm not going to tell you what to do... mostly because I know it's pointless... but if dating Grif would make you happy, why not just do it? People already think of you as his girlfriend whether you do or don't, and this route just makes you both miserable.”

“You think he's miserable?”

“You really don't pay attention, do you?” He cracks a small smile at that. “He's pretty smitten with you. If you turned him down to date, then, yeah, safe bet that he's probably miserable.” He nods toward his blankets, still half-cocoon shaped. “And I know you are, too, or you wouldn't be here.”

“Well.” She pauses, at that. She hadn't actually figured Grif was that invested in them, if she was honest. But the ride home had been pretty quiet. Without a word, she grabs his blankets and cocoons herself in them again, rolling over to face away from her brother. “Feelings are stupid and I hate them,” she finally says. “I'm sleeping in here tonight.”

“Okay.” He rubs her shoulder, once, in reassurance, and stands to move over to his closet. “I know I've got spare blankets in here somewhere...”

*

North's words are in her head all weekend, and are still there Monday when she sees Grif in homeroom. He doesn't say much to her beyond his usual sleepy good morning, but he waits for her when the bell rings and walks to weights with her, so she supposes he's not upset with her. She watches him surreptitiously while they walk, and then while they warm up, but he doesn't seem as miserable as North believes. A bit unhappy perhaps but... then again, she thinks, this is Grif. It takes a lot to get a strong reaction from him, especially this early in the morning.

It comes crashing down on her halfway through her first set, thankfully only metaphorically. She returns the weights to the rack and stares up at him, watching her carefully like a good partner. He leans over so he can see her more clearly, concern etched on his face. She doesn't blame him- while Grif is prone to giving up in the middle of a set (she yells at him about it a lot), South hadn't even finished her first, and she usually has to be told that she's done enough for one go.

“Everything okay?”

She just carries on staring up at him, still reeling a bit from her moment of clarity. She gives him a small smile. “Still think we should date?” she asks.

He just looks baffled. “I mean... yeah, sure. Why?”

She tilts her head to one side, considering. “All right.”

“All right?”

“Yeah. All right.”

“Oh.” His face splits into a wide, tired smile. “All right.”

“All right?” They look over to find Carolina and Maine watching them. Carolina looks baffled, though Maine at least looks pleased. “That's it? After five months of dancing around each other, and all you can say is all right?”

They exchange a look. Grif shrugs and they turn back to her. “What else is there to say?”

Carolina just shakes her head and goes back to her set. “Honestly. Out fifty dollars and I don't even get a good show.”

They ignore her grumbling and turn their attention back to one another. South reaches over for Grif's hand and gives it a squeeze. “So you really wanna date me, huh?”

He rolls his eyes. “South, you are probably the coolest person I know. Of course I wanna date you.”

He grins down at her, but they don't get any farther than that because Coach DuFresne ambles by on his rounds. “Back to work, you two,” he says, only a hint of a scold in his voice. They catch each other's eyes once more, and South lays back down to return to her set. “Sorry, Coach. Won't happen again.”

She feels giddy, when she goes back to the weights, light and easy. She feels like she could probably press through a hundred sets if she tried. What's to stop her? Gravity? She feels like she could make gravity her bitch today. Gravity has nothing on her, today.

*

“So what made you change your mind?” Carolina asks, in the showers at the end of class. South shrugs.

“Believe it or not, it was North who talked me into it,” she says. Carolina looks surprised; South shrugs again. “I only turned him down the first time because- well, you know. I don't want everyone to think of me as- well- you know.”

“I know.” They shut the water off and hurry to towel off and change. “I'm surprised North is the one that got through to you, at that.”

“He told me everyone already thinks of me as Grif's girlfriend. So I figured I had two options. I could put an end to everything we already are, cut ties, and carry on like it never happened.”

“Doesn't sound like a pleasant option.”

“I thought about it, though.” She pauses to pull her shirt on. When she pulls her head through the collar, she can see Carolina grimacing. She nods. “Yeah, that's about how I felt. I couldn't do it. Grif is just- way too much fun. I'd be an idiot to give that up.”

“That doesn't usually stop you.”

“Shut up.” They sit down to pull their shoes on, South pulling on her bootlaces until they're almost tight enough to cut off her circulation. “Anyway, the other option said that if everyone was already going to think of me as his girlfriend, I might as well get the perks of that.”

“Honestly though, what perks of dating were you not already getting?” They grab their bags and head out, leaning on the door to wait for Maine and Grif to join them. “You're already sleeping together, and you have about twelve dates a week. What else is there?”

She breaks off as the boys join them, and the four head back up from the gym to the main building together. Carolina doesn't say anything else, leaving South to watch her in shock as they climb the hill rather than go all the way over to the steps. At the top of the hill, South stops to wait for Grif to make it all the way up, staring as the reality of their- whatever they were- comes crashing onto her for the second time that morning. By the time Grif finally catches up, her shoulders are sagging from bewilderment.

“Son of a bitch,” she says, quietly. “We were already dating.”

*

Despite her annoying revelations, South is in high spirits when she gets to her Careers class later. Today is the first day of their apprenticeships, so they're only in class long enough for Teacher to call role before they're given their assignment passes and sent off to their mentors for the duration of the class period.

South isn't really sure what to expect from Kimball, really. She's met the woman once, in passing, when she'd been sent on an errand to the office. It wasn't the best first impression- she was arguing with Doyle- but having met Doyle, South has trouble holding that against her. In any case, Tucker knows her pretty well- she's friends with his stepfather, apparently- and speaks fairly highly of her, so she hopes he's right and her first impression was an exception, not the rule.

The kids are reading out loud from some book or other when South gets to the classroom. Kimball leaves them to it to come over and speak to her, then stops them at the end of the current passage so she can introduce South.

“South is going to be helping us out on Mondays and Thursdays during Literature,” Kimball says. One little girl at the back of the room raises her hand. “Yes?”

“Are you Mr. North's sister?” she asks. She's practically vibrating in her seat. South glances at Kimball.

“North was our helper last semester,” she says. South sighs.

“Of course he was,” she mutters. “Yes, he's my twin brother.”

There's a lot of murmuring from the class, now, and a boy off at the edge raises his hand next. “Can you really dead lift three hundred pounds?” he asks, without Kimball getting a chance to call on him. South gives him a stunned look.

“...more, actually. What-?”

There's more murmuring from the class, louder this time, and a girl at the front doesn't even bother raising her hand before asking, “Are you really a kung fu master?”

“I mean, I'm a student of White Crane Style, but...” She trails off and gives Kimball a helpless look, because the questions are coming in too fast and too loud, now, for her to keep track of them. “How do they know all this?”

“I told you, your brother was our helper last semester.” She raises her voice. “All right, class, that's enough. You'll have plenty of chances to talk to Miss South in the coming weeks.”

She leaves them answering a worksheet about their reading assignment and leads South over to her desk. She looks amused, and even more so at South's bewildered state. “Lyra was having a bit of self esteem trouble,” Kimball says. “North told her not to worry about it so much, because she was just like you at that age and that you were the coolest person he knew, so that must mean she's cool too. The kids demanded proof and he told them all about you. They seem pretty excited to get the chance to know you personally.”

She hands South a stack of worksheets to sort through, leaving her to it while she makes her rounds to help her students with their work. South stares down at the stack of worksheets in her hand, still a little stunned, but pleased all the same. So North thinks she's the coolest person he knows, huh? Well, she would definitely have to tease him about that later.

*

Elsewhere in the building, Tucker is having a less pleasing time on his first day of apprenticeship. The custodian he's following- a man named Phil, who he only knows vaguely as Stasney's father- doesn't seem to happy about having an apprentice, which only begs the question of why he'd agreed to have on in the first place.

“Being maintenance staff doesn't really pay that well,” he says, when Tucker does in fact ask. “We get a bonus for being mentors. I'm a single parent. I need all the help I can get.”

“I thought Stas- Stanley already graduated,” Tucker asks. “What does being a single parent have to do with it?”

“I have two kids, kid,” he says. “Randy's still around, even if Stanley isn't. Anyway, the point is, this isn't ideal for either of us but we have to make it work so just mind your manners and do what you're told.”

Tucker huffs. “I know how to behave,” he says. “And I can do what I'm told just fine.”

“Good. Then we'll be fine.” He gestures for the supply closet they've been talking near. “Come on, then. I have rounds to make.”

*

Tucker is full of complaints after school, while he waits in the break area with his friends who are waiting on their rides. The others listen patiently for a little while, before finally telling him to shut up.

“Seriously,” Church says. “None of us is in a mood to listen to your whining.”

“Well excuse me for thinking my friends were gonna listen to me when I'm having a problem,” he says. “Who are we waiting for, anyway?” he adds, looking around. He and Church and Carolina all have their own way, and Wash is riding with him. “Just Caboose?”

They all glance over at Caboose, who looks up from his phone with a neutral look. “My boyfriend is picking me up,” he says, which answers Tucker's next question, of why they're waiting with Caboose- Wash he could understand, but not the others. Caboose goes back to his phone. “He will be here in a few minutes.”

“I still don't know how you managed to date someone for nearly two months without telling us,” Wash says. “I know you say we didn't ask but.. that still doesn't explain why you wouldn't bring it up. I mean, especially you, of all people.”

“I did.” He looks up. “He is here. You can meet him, if you want.”

A battered station wagon has pulled up in the parking lot; a boy about Church's height, with long hair pulled into a loose bun and the scruffy beginnings of a full beard, gets out. Tucker eyes him suspiciously, frowning at the way Caboose is beaming at him, frowning harder when Caboose takes his hand and leads him over to them.

“My friends want to meet you,” Caboose says. “These are my friends!” He gestures at them in an all-encompassing arc of his arm, and then turns it to his boyfriend instead. He beams. “And this... is Santa.”

They stare. Wash breathes out an “Oh,” and touches his forehead like something suddenly makes sense. Church and Tucker exchange a look.

“So... Santa,” Church says, derision dripping from his voice. “Is that just a Caboose thing, or did your parents really, really hate you?”

“It's Cory,” Santa says. He has a deep, rich voice- Caboose has always liked deep voices. Tucker remembers him being mesmerized by an opera singer Cappy had played for them once, his voice so deep it had reverberated in their chests.“But I like being called Santa.”

“He was Santa when we met,” Caboose says, still grinning. “Now he is not, but he is still Santa for me.”

There's something about the way he says that- something in the way his eyes dance- that Tucker feels like he should interject a bow-chika-bow-wow to, but he resists the urge. Doing so would imply things about Caboose and his new boyfriend that Tucker would rather not think of them doing, especially not the way some of his fantasies have been turning lately.

Actually, come to that, he's sick of this guy already. He glances at his phone, pretending to check the time, and picks up his backpack. “I should head out,” he says. “Wash, you still riding with me? See you guys later.” He heads off to his truck, not bothering to make sure Wash is following (he catches him up pretty quickly anyway). He feels like he's been punched in the gut- repeatedly.

In the truck, he punches the seat and then rests his head against the wheel with a groan. Wash frowns. “You okay?”

“Why do they have to look so cute together?” he asks. “Why did he have to be so handsome and have such a nice deep voice? Why does he have to be so right for Caboose?” He considers punching the seat again, but resists- the upholstery is pretty threadbare; he's not entirely sure he wouldn't put his hand through it. “He's probably not going to do anything stupid to fuck them up and they'll stay together forever.”

Wash looks amused. “Don't you think you're jumping to conclusions? You haven't even spent five minutes with him.”

Tucker just leans moodily on his steering wheel. He's had a lousy day; he isn't in the mood for Wash, of all people, to tease him. “So I'm taking you home, right?”

Wash gets the hint, and doesn't say anything else the rest of the way home.

*

South comes into North's room when she gets home that night (after an evening spent actually talking with Grif, once they no longer had an audience), and drops herself rather heavily onto him. He grunts, but doesn't ask about her good mood- he's heard the talk around school today. Instead he rolls over and lets her sprawl out on top of him, weighing him down comfortably.

“A lot of people lost a lot of money today,” he says, amusement lacing his voice.

“What about you?”

“Nah. I'm not stupid enough to put money on your moods.”

“Good.” She pauses, humming happily. “By the way, who did win the pot, anyway?”

“Wash.”

“Wash?” She raises her head to stare at him. “Seriously? Our Wash? Washpot? David 'I can't even tell when my best friend has a crush on me' Washington? That Wash?”

“Apparently he picked a random date.”

South is quiet for a while, then 'hrmphs'. “Well, good for him. At least it wasn't someone too annoying.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

January comes to a close in the following days, pulling in February behind it. South is surprised to learn that very little changes now that she's dating Grif. She suspects this is an extension of the fact that they were already dating in all but name, but she had assumed that at least some things would change. But things are the same as they always were. It is both comforting and unsettling, leaving her to question everything she knew, or thought she knew.

There is one thing that changes, though- they are now no longer allowed in Grif's room alone with the door closed. Sarge's rule, and Simmons informs her this rule was in effect when he was dating Grif, too.

“It's a dumb rule,” Grif says. “I mean, he doesn't mind you sleeping over or us sleeping in the same bed with the door closed, but we can't have any privacy if everyone is up and about.”

It is a dumb rule, and frustrating as well, when she wants nothing more than to fool around but can't because someone else in his family might walk by any moment. All the same, she much prefers it to being at her own house. They may have privacy for the most part, but there is always the chance of Grif running into her parents, who have become rather cooler toward him since they started dating.

“My parents are stupid,” she says irritably, when Grif comments that he suspects they don't like him. “They won't be outright rude because Sarge is too important and they don't want to alienate him, but they don't think it's a good match so they'll try to passive aggressively drive you away. Don't let them get to you. I don't care if they don't approve.”

Grif doesn't bother asking why they don't approve- he can think of a few things he is that would probably put them off. So he doesn't say anything when most of their time together they end up at his house at the end of the night, or when sleepovers with him far outweigh sleepovers with her. He can't complain, really- his bed is softer and far more comfortable than South's, anyway.

“Church was a good match,” South says, after explaining her parents' social ambitions. “Probably the only thing I ever did right as far as they're concerned. I could have married into the most important family in Blood Gulch, if we'd stuck it out. I don't know when I've disappointed them more than when I told them we'd broken up.”

She sounds bitter. Grif bumps his shoulder against hers comfortingly. “Your parents are assholes. Want to go be disgusting and sappy in the den just to spite them?”

She does. She likes doing that- forcing her parents to face the reality of her relationship, pushing them out of their comfort zone with the knowledge that Grif- who they disapprove of for a variety of reasons- isn't going anywhere.

*

Tucker's mood gets steadily worse as February progresses. He can't find a job- everywhere he goes requires experience, but he doesn't have any experience to offer. And Reggie's friend already hired someone else, before he even got there to ask. The only consolation was that Reggie had been just as annoyed as he was.

His apprenticeship is going poorly. Phil seems to take great delight in making him do the worst gruntwork, probably in response to a few derogatory remarks he made about janitors and being a janitor, but he's annoyed enough to feign innocence and indignation when talking of the mistreatment he's getting at the man's hands.

What's more, Caboose and Sa- Cory- are doing very well. Tucker's original assessment of how good they look together was an accurate one; the pair just make a very cute couple. It curls Tucker's gut every time he seems them together, holding hands or trading little kisses and soft words. He saw Caboose playing with Cory's beard once, leaning their foreheads together while he scraped his nails gently through the short bristles, and Tucker'd felt like he was going to throw up. It's not fair.

His dad still won't see him. This is the main source of Tucker's worsening mood, really. He misses his dad, misses their visits and getting the chance to talk to him. Pop, he suspects, would join him in his indignation over Caboose's new relationship, and Phil's mistreatment, where Cappy reminds him that he and Caboose are no longer together and that Phil works hard and is under a lot of stress and that Tucker should try to be more understanding of both of them. (He's right, of course, but Tucker doesn't want that. He wants commiseration and solidarity and someone to vindicate his feelings.)

Cappy has been up twice to try persuading him to receive Tucker as a visitor again. He continues to remain stubborn, even going so far as to threaten once more to have them removed from his visitor's list entirely if Cappy doesn't back off. Tucker, meanwhile, is left wondering if Pop really did send him away out of misguided love or if that was just an excuse to get rid of him.

And, on top of all that, Grif is pestering Tucker about setting him up with one of his racing friends.

“Dude, I am not interested in your weird friend,” Tucker says. He doesn't know which of the Heretics Crunchbite is, but he can remember the group as a whole- a trio of siblings, all tall and broad with long fingers and unsettlingly sharp teeth. Though Tucker isn't the sort to encourage Stasney with his talk of conspiracies, he has to admit that he can at least see where the boy is coming from, with his insistence that the Heretics are aliens.

“You don't have to actually go out with her,” Grif says. “Just call the number and turn her down yourself. That way she knows I kept my promise.”

“I wouldn't even know how to talk to her. She doesn't speak English.”

“She understands it, though. Just tell her you're not interested. I mean, I already told her you probably wouldn't be so it's not like she'll be surprised. She just needs to hear it from you.”

Honestly, at this point Tucker is only turning him down on principle- he doesn't want to date this girl, and Grif is being so insistent, and so he's digging his heels in rather than just call and tell her so like Grif says. If he were to tell Cappy, Cappy would probably tell him he was being hard-headed, and tell him to consider how he'd feel in Crunchbite's place. (Pop would probably tell him to give the girl a chance, because pretty girls don't throw themselves at you every day, bud, come on, what's wrong with you?)

By March, Tucker just wants to get away from everyone. He says as much to Church.

“I'm driving up to the cabin to check on things this weekend,” Church says. “You can come with me. Just hang out, you know, away from everyone and everything. There won't be anyone there but me, and I'll be too busy making sure everything is sorted to bother you. How about it?”

It sounds like heaven, if he's honest. “Sounds good,” Tucker says. “I'll ask Cappy if I can go. Yeah, it does sound good- a little while off away from everything will probably help me out a lot.”

“Always does me,” Church says, and then goes quiet for the rest of the evening. Tucker frowns. He gets the feeling there's something Church isn't telling him. It makes his mood fall flat again- he has a bad vibe about it, whatever it is.

*

Dad has one of his moods again, in mid-February. Church comes down the day before his birthday to find his dad watching one of his videos- thankfully not the leaving video- and sighs. Of course it would be right before his birthday. Of course. He has Carolina to help him this time, though, the siblings taking it in shifts to keep an eye on their father; Church misses three days of school but he doesn't care. It's not like he's in any danger of falling behind anyway.

When he goes back to school, he tells everyone he caught that bug that's been going around, and they believe him because he looks tired and weary. Carolina fares little better, but he won't let her miss school. He doesn't tell her what to do very often- she wouldn't listen anyway- but this is one area he won't let up on. He's not letting her miss the short reprieve that school offers just because their dad is in a mood.

His friends drag him off to celebrate his birthday the next weekend. His birthday was never an option for celebration anyway, really, not since he had to go and be born on Valentine's Day. They were all too busy being sappy and stupid to pay any attention to him anyway. (Only Tucker hadn't had plans, and he'd scowled harder than Church when he'd said that. Church had decided to say nothing, a thousand smart-ass remarks dying on his tongue when he'd realized just how much his friend was hurting over this Caboose thing.)

Tucker's mood is actually giving Church's a run for its money, lately- and Church, despite dad's mood in the middle of the month, is in better spirits than usual. Though his anger still simmers just below the surface, it's become a bit easier to hold it in, and channel it later, taking an old golf club out to the back yard and whacking golf balls out into the expansive field that is their estate. He's not aiming at anything in particular- which is good, because he couldn't hit it anyway. It's just satisfying to hear the whack of the club against the ball and to watch it fly through the air to plunk onto the grass.

Aiden's idea, really, and his improving spirits are down to Aiden's help, he knows. He'll never admit it, but it's starting to work, a bit. He suspects the knowledge that he has Sidewinder- and Jimmy and Delta and Sigma and Theta- waiting for him at the end of the school year helps too. When things are rough or pressuring, it helps to know that there is respite on its way.

He feels bad for Tucker, though. It seems like the universe is conspiring against him to make things as irritating as possible. After about the hundredth conversation about how bad a time he's having, Church just wants to do something to help him. He remembers the cabin his grandparents own, a few hours upstate, and figures a day or two up there might do Tucker some good. They haven't sent anyone up to check on the place since last September, when the cold weather was starting to set in, so he offers to take Tucker up with him to make sure there's no harm from the winter storms and is glad to see Tucker seems relieved at the idea.

“Why are you volunteering to check on the cabin?” Carolina asks, when he gets the green light from dad. “And why are you taking Tucker with you?”

Church just shrugs. “Why not? Better than hanging around this place all weekend. Do I need a reason?”

“I guess not.” She eyes him suspiciously, though, so he makes an offhand comment about wanting some time with his best friend, is that so wrong, and then storms off before she can respond.

*

It's the first year Simmons has ever done anything special for Valentine's day. He'd never dated anyone before Grif, and the only Valentine's day they'd spent together had been spent driving to Valhalla with Church for his birthday. Between that and Grif not being particularly romantically inclined, Valentine's day had been a bit of a letdown overall. But now he's with North, and North is always doing little romantic things, so Simmons isn't all the surprised when North makes plans for them to spend the night up in Spiral, eating dinner at a fancy restaurant and then spending the night in a hotel room instead of going home.

He has to admit, the prospect of being with his boyfriend without worrying about one of their parents, or South, walking in on them is heaven in itself- especially since no one in either household understands about knocking. (South even seems to take great delight in barging in on them. He's pretty sure she's doing it on purpose. No one has timing that good accidentally.)

He thinks it might even be a chance to do something besides the mutual handjobs they normally do. Simmons had rather hoped to get past his hangups about what he thinks of as “proper” sex before this, but every time they try, he starts panicking and they have to stop. He's really getting tired of that; even if he doesn't enjoy it, he wants to know for sure one way or another.

At least North is understanding. “I'm certainly willing to give it another go,” he says, when Simmons tells him he wants to try again. “But promise you won't shut me out if it goes wrong again, okay? I'm not going to pressure you into anything you don't want to do but you need to talk to me and tell me what's going on so I can do what I need to for you.”

Simmons stares down at his hands. “I'm not shutting you out on purpose,” he mumbles. “I just don't know how to explain it.”

North nudges his chin up and kisses him gently. “It's fine. I just need to know what you need, that's all. Okay?”

“Okay.” Simmons nods, accepts the kisses. He's sure that this time they'll make it happen.

*

They don't make it happen.

Honestly, at this point he shouldn't he surprised, but he does wish they'd gotten a little farther than they did. But they were making out nice as you please and he was ready, psyching himself up, and then North had set the lube and condom on the bed beside them and he'd had a panic attack at the very idea.

North spends the evening helping him calm down, and when he is finally calm there's no talk of resuming action. The mood has been officially killed. North does give him a massage, though, which is nice, and leaves him feeling more relaxed and blissed out that sex ever has. When North curls around him so they can sleep, he feels content and sated.

He kind of wishes sex was this nice.

*

Donut doesn't, in general, mind being single, but when Valentine's day comes and it looks like all of his friends are paired up, it gets a little lonely. Of everyone, it seems like only Wash is still single too. (Well, and Church and Tucker, but Tucker is still pining over Caboose and Church has never liked Valentine's day that much, since it falls on his birthday.) So he figures him and Wash as the only single ones.

“I'm not single,” Wash says, when Donut says this to him. At Donut's baffled look, he frowns. “What?”

“Since when are you not single?”

“Donut, I haven't been single in ages. Have you not been paying attention?”

He walks away after that, obviously annoyed, leaving Donut to wonder just how much he keeps missing. How could Wash have been dating someone without him noticing? Bad enough Caboose did the same thing, but now Wash too? Is he really so unobservant of his friends' lives?

And now he's back to being alone for Valentine's day, too.

“You can spend it with me,” Felix says, when Donut laments to him. “I am disgustingly single this year. Last year I had a really cute boyfriend, but I had to leave him behind when we left Canada. It's a shame, really. So what about it? Want to have a nice dinner and then make out for awhile? Doesn't have to be romantic. Just something to make us forget how pathetic and alone we are.”

“I wouldn't say we're pathetic,” Donut says. “And I don't mind being single the rest of the time- I mean, I wouldn't mind dating someone, except the person I'm interested in doesn't seem into me, so I can live with being single for awhile.”

“Oooh, you like someone?” Felix is suddenly all ears. “Come on, tell me. I won't tell a soul, I swear it. Cross my heart.”

Donut just laughs. “I believe you, but no way. It's a secret.”

“Awww, come onnnn.” He pouts, makes puppy eyes at Donut. “If I guess, will you tell me then? I bet I can guess. Is it Wash?”

This gets him another laugh. “I'd be down if he asked, but no, it's not Wash. And I'm not going to tell you.”

“I think we'd all be down if Wash asked. I know completely straight guys who would be down if Wash asked. Okay, it's not Wash, so... Caboose? Tucker? Ooooh, what about Carolina?”

Donut frowns. “You do remember I'm gay, right?”

“Maybe she's your exception. Good reason to keep it secret, right?”

“It's not Carolina.”

“I notice you didn't say no to Tucker or Caboose, though. Is it one of them? Is it Caboose? You guys are really close. What about Tucker? He talks about you all the time, you know. Says you're good when he needs someone to talk to. No?” He pouts again. “It's not like I'm going to do anything with this information, you know. I just want to know. I don't like not knowing things.”

“Well you're just going to have to learn to live with the disappointment,” Donut says. “Because I'm not telling.”

“I'll tell you who I like.”

“That list encompasses most of the boys in school, and you don't exactly try to hide it.”

“I mean I'll tell you who I like special,” he clarifies. “You know, the guy I'm really wishing I could date. Not the rest of these losers.”

The temptation for good gossip is strong, and Donut nearly relents, but he holds firm. He doesn't want anyone to know who he likes.

“You suck,” Felix pouts. “So, we're on for Valentine's day, yes?”

Donut giggles. “You're such a charmer. Yes, we're on for Valentine's day.”

*

In early March the weather warms up enough that Tex feels safe putting the car around the track at speed, as long as they do it during the warmer afternoon rather than at night. They're not the only ones practicing, either, not now that the weather has thawed and with the circuit reopening at the end of the month. They run into the other teams often, now. When it's a team they're friendly with they have playful matches, races with no stakes beyond bragging rights, with no purpose beyond play. After nearly three months of training, Grif is almost relieved, though his favorite moments are still the times when they're the only ones there, and it's just him and Tex and his machine.

“Your time is improving,” Tex says, the last practice day they have before the circuit reopens. “So is your control. How do you feel out there?”

“It's gotten a lot easier to shake it off when it starts,” he says. “And honestly I've driven this course so many times at this point I could probably do it with my eyes closed.”

“Well do me a favor and keep them open. We don't know yet whether you'll be able to hold up in a pressure situation- though I believe you can do it. You've got a real talent- it's no wonder that rat tried to hobble you. You were starting to become a challenge, and he doesn't like those.” She punches his shoulder lightly. “Go home and get some rest. I'll see you Saturday.”

He nods and heads out, willing his stomach to untie from the knots it's in. He really doesn't want her faith in him to be unfounded, but he still has nightmares more nights than he doesn't and he isn't making as good time as he knows he'll need to when it comes to it.

But it's a matter of pride at this point, and Jimmy's cold laugh echoing in his head reminds him of why it's worth it.

So Jimmy thought he was a challenge, did he? Well, Grif would show him he wasn't wrong.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

The ride upstate is quiet, but it's not a tense, awkward silence, at least. They head out early Saturday morning- so early that the sun is still a deep red orb hanging low in the sky and there's a thick mist sitting heavy on the ground. When Church pulls up to the house, Tucker throws his overnight bag in the backseat and lets down his own seat and goes back to sleep as soon as they get on the road. He wakes up occasionally, but he isn't talkative when he does.

Not that Church objects. He has a lot on his mind, a lot he needs to think about, and it's nice not to have to worry about holding up a conversation at the same time.

His plans to stay in Sidewinder even when the summer is over have been solidified; mom is okay with keeping him around and his parents are looking into transferring his enrollment to the school in Sidewinder already. Jimmy was excited when he found out; Delta and Sigma graduate at the end of the year and he was worried he wouldn't have anyone to hang out with. (Not that he wouldn't, of course- Jimmy is a friendly guy and popular as well- but it'll be nice to have someone he's close to.)

But Church hasn't told any of his friends in Blood Gulch that he's leaving, and he thinks he ought to do that.

By the time they make it to the cabin, Church has made up his mind to tell Tucker while they're there. At least then they can have some privacy to talk, without worrying about anyone else coming over and butting in when Tucker inevitably starts yelling.

*

Tucker wakes up from his nap when the road turns too bumpy to sleep through. He sits up and watches the passing countryside as they drive. It's nice country out here- Iowa might not be much, but at least it's pretty- and the last of the morning mist hanging over everything sets a touch of melancholy over everything that reflects his mood of late.

He's heard of the cabin they're going to. Church has mentioned it a few times; Tucker knows it belongs to his grandparents and mostly is just for their use when they come back up to Iowa. Cappy says Dr. Church used to bring his friends up there sometimes, to get away, but Church says they've only done that once or twice since he was born, that mostly they only get up there to check on things come spring. Usually he just mumbles something about 'too much of her there' and changes the subject before Tucker can ask, but Tucker doesn't need to be a level-five friend to figure that one out.

Tucker was kind of expecting something extravagant- the Churches can certainly afford it- but the cabin, when they get there, seems pretty straightforward. There's a big den with a fireplace, a small kitchen, a dining room, and one bedroom upstairs. There's a small bathroom under the stairs, with a shower but no tub, and that's it. It's not elaborate or fancy or anything Tucker was expecting.

“I already called ahead and had them cut the electricity and water on,” Church says. “I've got to de-wint the water lines, I might as well do that first. The bedroom is upstairs if you want to finish your nap, or you can have a look around, but keep an eye out for the neighbor, teenagers use this place to make out and he might try to run you off.”

He heads off to the pump, then, and leaves Tucker to take their bags up to the bedroom.

The only furniture in the bedroom is a full-sized bed and a pair of night stands; there's a half-bath off one wall and a sliding glass door that leads onto a small balcony, and that's all of the upstairs. He throws their bags onto the bed and steps out onto the balcony, leaning on the railing and staring out at the view. It's amazing how quiet it is up here. Church is right, it seems like a good place to clear his head.

*

It's late in the afternoon before Church gets everything sorted out. Tucker spends most of that time to himself, alternating between wandering around the area and lounging on the balcony staring moodily out at the view. Despite the atmosphere, he's still in a sour mood, but it's gone from annoyed and cross to just plain depressing, without anything there to distract him.

Church joins him on the balcony when he's done, settling into one chair and propping his feet up on the railing.

“This place is pretty nice, but I can never stay more than a day or two when I come up,” he says. “Just too quiet. Gets into your head, you know?” He side eyes Tucker. “How you feeling?”

“Depressed.” Tucker slides down in his seat. “Man, coming up here was a bad idea, I don't have anything to distract me anymore.”

“Oh.” Church frowns. “I was hoping this would help- I wanted to- never mind.” He shakes his head. “Want to head into town to get some food? I know we've got sandwich stuff in the cooler but I feel like something hot.”

“I could go for a burger, yeah.”

*

Church doesn't say much the rest of the evening. He seems distracted, moody- not his usual crankiness, but as though there's something on his mind. Tucker wonders if he's that upset that his suggestion turned out to be a bad one or if there's more going on than he's letting on. It leaves Tucker wondering if he hasn't been paying enough attention, and that just adds one more thing to the list of problems, because if Church has a problem that he isn't complaining about to everyone within earshot it must be a bad one.

By the time the go to bed that night, there's a distinct air of melancholy over both of them. Tucker lays on his back staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought, while beside him Church curls on his side, his breathing not quite even enough to be asleep. After awhile, Tucker sits up and reaches over to nudge the other boy.

“Hey Church.”

“Yeah?”

“I can't sleep. You wanna fool around a little?”

There's a long silence, and Church rolls over and sits up to stare at him. “What?”

“Well I mean-” Tucker shrugs, a little awkwardly. “What's a little dick-touching between friends, right? I just want something to take my mind off of my problems. Doesn't have to mean anything.” He chews his lip, meeting Church's eyes in the dim light. “If you don't want to, that's fine.”

Church tilts his head a little, studying Tucker for a moment, and it's probably a trick of the light that makes him look so sad. He shrugs. Nods. “All right. Sure. Why not?”

*

Kai wanders into Grif's room while he's getting ready for the races, and sits down beside South to hang out with her while Grif is in the shower. She clearly has something on her mind, but South doesn't press, instead offering to braid her hair for her before she goes- Kai likes when South braids her hair, and South knows that she'll start talking before they're done.

Sure enough, South is only just done parting the thick curls when Kai fidgets a little like she has something to say.

“I think I have a problem,” she says. South ties off one length of hair and hangs it over her shoulder, and starts on the first braid.

“What's on your mind, buttercup?”

“Well... how do you know you like my brother? I mean, how did you know you wanted to date him?”

South considers this for a moment before answering. “Well, he's fun to be with, and he makes me happy. He's like my best friend.”

“But Donut is fun and makes you happy, and you say Carolina is your best friend, too,” Kai says. “So how do you know you like my brother special? Special enough to date, I mean.”

“Well for a kick-off, Carolina's been on my dtf list for ages,” she says. “But I guess it's cause Grif makes me feel a special kind of giddy inside, when we're together, that none of my other friends do.”

“So...” Kai frowns thoughtfully. “So, you knew right away when you wanted to date him? And it's not the kind of thing you couldn't miss?”

“Not exactly.” South finishes the first braid and ties it off, then starts on the second. “But this isn't about me and your brother, is it?”

Kai shakes her head; South sighs and restarts the braid. “We're having our first dance at school next month,” Kai says. South nods; she'd seen the posters when she was running an errand for Kimball.

“I remember my first dance. Are you looking forward to it?”

“Well... I was. But then O'Malley asked me to go with him, and Gary too, and I told them of course, cause they're my best friends and I kind of assumed that we were going together anyway. You know?”

South hums an affirmative. She suspects she knows where this is going. But she doesn't say anything, letting Kai get through the story herself.

“Anyway, they asked me separate and then they both found out and it turned out they meant to ask me like for a date, and they both got mad and told me I had to pick which one I wanted to go with. So now I have to figure out which one I like best and I don't know how to tell.”

“I see.” South finishes off the other braid and nudges her to turn around so they're facing each other. “Do you like either one of them? Like them special, I mean.”

“Not really.” She wrinkles her nose. “To be honest I'm kind of mad at them. They should have said they meant like a date!”

South smiles. “Then don't go with either of them. Tell them you won't be emotionally blackmailed, then find someone to go with who understands about friendship and go have a good time with them. If the boys don't like it, they can get wrecked, cause you don't need someone like that anyway.”

“But they're my best friends...”

“If they're worthy of that title, then turning them down for a date won't change that.”

“You think?”

South nods, and loops an arm around Kai's shoulders. “You're eleven, goose. You've got plenty of time to ruin your life over a boy later. Or a girl or non-binary other. Whatever rocks your starship, right?”

Kai gives this some thought, then finally nods. “Okay. I'll see if Randy wants to go with me. He's my backup best friend, and he only likes boys so I know he won't think it's a date.”

“There you go!” She pats Kai's head fondly. “And I'm sure your friends will understand when you talk to them. They seem like cool little beans.”

*

Tex wants them at the circuit early so they can get assigned a good pit, so they head out not long after that, meeting with the rest of the crew (plus York, who says he didn't feel like staying home tonight) a while before the gates are set to open. They're not the only ones, but soon enough Tex has their pit assignment and they're setting up. (They're glad of their tagalongs, now, because Tex ropes them both into helping and they get set up quicker than they would have if it was just the four of them.)

They're neighbors with Team Slipspace again this year; Flynt and Rookie introduce them to their new third man, a broad-shouldered, heavyset boy named Tank, who tends to space out in the middle of conversations but purportedly knows his way around an engine, so he's still useful. Their neighbors on the other side are Team Insurrection, though. They turn up while Grif is pacing, alternately psyching himself up and calming himself down for the rapidly approaching first race, and Grif gets his first look at Terrence since before the wreck last year.

He fared far, far worse than Grif did. He has burn scars across half his face, angry red-brown welts that pull at his skin and give him a perpetual smirk. Grif thinks, at first, that his eye socket is empty, but when he turns it catches the light and he realizes it's just a glass eye, the dim light of sundown glittering in its inky depths. He shudders involuntarily.

“Yikes,” York says, just behind him. “And I thought mine looked creepy. You think he's doing it on purpose?”

“Probably.” He tries to turn away, guilt and revulsion and a touch of aw twisting his gut. He knows, intellectually, that the injuries weren't his fault, but he feels bad about them all the same. If they'd been more careful after seeing Jimmy in the pit...

Insurrection's pit captain spots them, and nudges Terrence, pointing over. Terrence glances at them, then glares. Grif does turn away now, but he turns back almost immediately, fascinated and almost hypnotized by the other boy's eye. He barely realizes Terrence is approaching until the boy is there in front of him, glaring harder.

“Hi,” he says, not sure what else to say. Terrence sneers.

“You've got a lot of nerve,” he says. “Showing up here after what you did.”

Grif frowns. That guilt is a lot easier to live with, in the face of Terrence's accusing glare. “Not me, dude. Didn't they tell you? Our car was sabotaged. Even if it wasn't, it was an accident.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“This circuit has a history of sabotage,” York says, rejoining them. “And the guy who did it was sniffing around the car right before the race. So, yeah. Sabotage.” He glances at Grif. “Also, Grif was nearly killed in that wreck too. What makes you think he did it on purpose?”

“And yet, you're here, racing again.” His face takes on a shark-line grimace. “I don't get that chance,” he says. “I don't get to race again, and you are the one who took that away from me.” He jabs a finger in Grif's direction. “You'll pay for what you've done to me, Grif.”

He turns and stalks back over to his crew. Grif and York exchange a look.

“What the fuck is with this guy?” Grif asks. York shrugs.

*

“Don't let him worry you,” Tex says, when they tell her. “It's not your fault what happened, and there's nothing you can do the change it anyway.”

“I'm not worried.” Grif slides into the driver's seat; it's nearly time for the first drag. “I'm not convinced he won't resort to sabotage for revenge, though,” he adds. “So keep an eye on things around here, okay?”

“He won't be allowed in our pit,” Tex reassures him. “Not much he can do out there.”

“I'll keep an eye on him,” Stasney says. He glances over at the Insurrections. “Not hard. He's kinda cute.”

“Don't get distracted.” They step away from the car so Grif can pull out of the pit and up to the starting line. Tex gives Grif a thumbs up as he does, knocking against Stasney's head with her other hand.

Grif ignores them, choosing instead to focus on his breathing. It's just a drag, and he manages those easily. But it's his first race of the season, and he wants to win, to get them off to a good start.

*

He wins three drags, out of five. He punches the air in victory when he gets out after the first; Tex grips his shoulder with a grin and shoves him over to stand out of the way while she and Stasney give the car a once-over before they send him back out. He feels giddy, light-headed and full, like nothing can stop him. He paces the back of the pit, trying to hang onto that and not let the gnawing anxiety of everything that could go wrong on the course into its place.

Finally, finally, it comes time for the course. Grif pulls up to the line, taking long, deep breaths. He's run this course a hundred, a thousand times over the past three months. He could drive it with his eyes closed, isn't that what he said? He's even won a few of their friendly matches, and he can win now. He knows he can. Tonight is his night. It's been a year since his wreck. That's plenty of time to get over his lingering hangups and move on.

Smith- the Heretics' driver- catches his eye on the left and flashes him an encouraging thumbs' up. He grins back, exhilaration joining the adrenaline pumping through his veins. It's just like the friendly matches, right? The addition of stakes means nothing. It's just a race. He's got this.

The starting gun goes off, and he pulls out, catching an early lead and letting out a whooping laugh before turning his attention back to the race, one ear on his car and both eyes on the course. It's been a long time since racing has been this fun to him.

*

He ends up placing fourth of twelve, which he tells himself repeatedly isn't bad. It's the best place he's made since before his wreck, and bottom third is really good. It means that, as of now, only Rookie, Demo- the Insurrections' driver-, and Pounder McJones of the newly re-formed Harvest Kings are better drivers than him. Only those three, out of over two dozen drivers.

Still, it doesn't stop him resolving to do better next time- next time, he tells himself, he'll win.

“Rooks are just good drivers,” Rookie says, wandering into their pit after the race while Flynt and Tank work on the car- his tire started losing air at the final stretch, and they're looking for the hole so they can patch it. Rookie points over to Insurrection's pit. “Demo over there, their driver? He's my older brother. The Innies brought him in after Sharkface got hurt. By the way, he's pretty pissed at you.”

“Sharkface?” Grif raises a questioning eyebrow. Rookie nods.

“I mean... you've seen him? Also, he likes sharks. Like, obsessed with 'em. He's got a flaming shark tattooed up one arm, it's kinda cool.”

“Does he know the accident wasn't my fault?”

“I tried telling him. I mean, he knows that's why we got rid of XT. But Sharkface isn't good at listening. Besides, I think he's bitter that you got to race again and he doesn't. But I wouldn't worry if I were you. He's always had a flair for the dramatic, you should hear him playing Mud Mummy Invasion with my brother. 'As long as I have lives, yours are as good as gone!'.” Rookie cracks a smirk at Grif. “Like I said. Loser.”

Losing at Mud Mummy Invasion isn't the same as losing an eye and the ability to race, but Grif accepts Rookie's reassurances all the same. He still feels bad about what happened to Terrence (he can't bring himself to call him Sharkface), but he knows it wasn't his fault, and the boy's posturing and glares make it hard to dwell on without just getting annoyed. He supposes he should thank him.

“Can I be there when you do?” Rookie asks. “Because I like watching a good fight if I'm not expected to be a part of it.”

This gets a laugh out of Grif, who shoves the other boy back to his pit so he can get back to his crew.

Tex is counting out some money when Grif rejoins them. She passes him some of it. “Your earnings,” she says. “For the drags, and your cut of the bet I put on the course.”

“You bet on the course?”

“Yep. Figured there had to be a way to make money off of them even if you didn't win, so I put some money on you making bottom third. And since you did, that means I don't owe you an asskicking.”

“I've never been more glad of bottom third,” he says, counting the money. It looks like she put down a pretty sizable bet, too. “But next week I'm going to win. So you won't need to put down a bet.”

She punches his arm, grinning. “I'll believe that when I see it.”

*

Carolina is pretty used to her brother's tantrums, so she's not surprised when he gets home Sunday afternoon in a rage, slamming doors and stomping up to his room. She waits until she hears the tell-tale scrub of springs when he hurls himself onto his bed, and slips out and down the hall to his room. He's lying with his face buried in one pillow, one foot hanging down the side of the bed and one hand over the back of his head.

“Alpha?”

“Go away.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

He doesn't say anything. She gives him another moment. “Would you like me to bring you some Ovaltine?”

Another long silence, followed by a muffled, “Yes.”

“Okay.”

He's still lying facedown on his bed when she gets back with the Ovaltine, just like he likes it, so she leaves it sitting on his night stand and gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I'll be in my room if you need me.”

“Thanks.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Church is still in a foul mood Monday morning, his scowl back firmly in place. When he joins up with Donut between first and second period, the other boy grimaces at how upset he seems. He seems to brighten up all the same, though, giving Church his usual cheery geeting while they walk to class together.

“I take it you didn't have a really fun trip this weekend,” he says, sympathetic.

Church just makes an irritated noise. “We weren't going to have fun,” he says. “I spent most of the trip working. And Tucker spent most of it moping. Turned out not to be the best idea I've ever had.”

“Not the worst idea, though,” Donut says. “I mean, I'd say you guys banging was probably much worse.”

It takes Church a moment to realize that Donut is talking about last summer, but something in his face seems to telegraph that confusion pretty well because Donut stops dead in the middle of the hallway. He nearly gets run over by one of his classmates, and hurries to catch up to Church before they get separated too badly.

“Did you guys bang this weekend? Is that why you asked him up to the cabin? So you could bang?”

“No!” Church glares at him. “I thought I'd gotten over him ages ago, I just wanted to give him a chance to clear his head.” He kicks irritably at the floor and stops outside of his classroom. “It was his idea, I just... went with it.”

“Is that why you're so upset?”

“I'm not upset! I just...” He shrugs. “You know. Like I said. I thought I was over him. That's all.” Church sighs heavily. “I have to get to class, I'll see you later.”

“Yeah, see you.” Donut waves, and heads off to his own class, his good mood dissolved.

Of course Church still has feelings for Tucker. Of course he does.

*

Tucker is in an even worse mood than Church, when Felix sits down behind him in class later. Felix actually recoils at the glare Tucker shoots him, when he gives him his usual cheery greeting. Felix returns the glare with a frown of his own.

“Well someone looks like he had a terrible weekend. I take it things didn't go that well at the cabin?”

“It was too quiet,” Tucker says. “I couldn't distract myself and I just kept thinking about my dad and how angry I am at him and how much I miss him and I just- you know, I feel worse now, not better.” He folds his arms on his desk and hunches over on them. “And then I decided to take my mind off things by fooling around with Church only now I think he's mad at me and I don't know why. Everything is really shit right now.” He huffs. “At least it couldn't get any worse.”

Felix actually cringes away from him when he says that. “Um, Tucker-”

Tucker just sighs. “Yeah. I know.”

*

Church decides to hang out with Donut after school; the pair end up at the library, since Donut has a paper to write for history and needs to look through old newspapers for a topic. Church doesn't really do much to help, but he does flip through the papers while Donut does his research. Blood Gulch is a small town where very little happens, so most of the newspapers' content is puff pieces and human interest stuff.

“It would be a lot easier to write a paper about local history if there actually was some local history to write about,” Donut says, frowning down at his fourth paper. He sighs and flips the page, and then has to do a double-take, because he thought he saw Church's picture. On closer look, though, it turns out to be his dad, and on even closer look, he can see a young Sarge and Dr. Hargrove in the picture as well, all three grinning at the camera.

It's a little jarring. Dr. Hargrove's smile is the same as ever- a bit more impish, a bit less maternal, but still the same-, but he barely recognizes Sarge's lopsided, cocky grin, and he doesn't think he's ever seen Dr. Church smile at all.

“Local Teens Revolutionize AI Studies,” he reads. “That's pretty cool. Oh, this must be when they made FILLS!” He looks up; Church is eying the picture with a frown. “I'd say that counts as history, right?”

“A lot of AI developers use techniques pioneered by my dad's company,” Church agrees absently. “Can I see that?”

Donut passes the article over; Church skims it for a moment, thoughtful, then passes it back. “Do you think Sarge still has the information he used when they originally programmed FILLS?”

“I don't know. Maybe. Hey, I could ask Sarge for a first hand account of the article!” Donut brightens up. “I'm going to go make a photocopy of the article so I can use it for my paper.”

They head out after that, Donut chattering about how cool it is to have a f- to have a parent who changed history, while Church stares off into the middle distance, not paying much attention to him or much of anything else, either.

*

No one else is around when Church gets Donut home a little while later, so the pair head up to Donut's room to hang out for awhile. They sprawl out on Donut's bed to play Mud Mummy Invasion, shoulders touching while their knees knock together and their feet get tangled up after awhile. Church wins their first round- Donut the second two- and Church is startled when a pair of headlights flash over the window and he realizes the sun went down sometime while they were playing. He'd forgotten how relaxed he tends to be when he's hanging out with Donut, but Donut is good for that kind of thing.

Sarge pokes his head in the room a few minutes later to ask if Church is staying for dinner.

“Actually, I should probably head home, I've still got homework to do. Hey Sarge, you helped program FILLS, right?”

Sarge grunts an affirmative. “The original programming, yeah.”

“Do you still have that data stored somewhere?”

Sarge considers this for a minute. “Mmmm... maybe. If I do, it'll be in the attic somewhere. Why?”

“Just curious. I wanted to see FILLS'... I guess you could say baby pictures? You know, see what she was like when you first made her.”

“Fair enough. I'll have a look around this weekend, see if I can find 'em. Dinner's in five, you're welcome to stay if you want to.”

“Thanks, but I really should get going.” He swings his feet off the bed and hunts around for his shoes and bag for a moment before grabbing both and standing. “See you around, Donut. Let me know if you find those files, Sarge.”

Once he's gone, and once Sarge heads back downstairs to finish getting dinner on the table, Donut grabs his pillow and buries his face in it with a long, drawn out groan.

*

Tucker's mood doesn't get any better for the rest of the week, and by Friday morning there's a dark, angry look in his eyes, a heavy cloud hanging over him that leaves people reconsidering talking to him when they approach. His teachers, for the most part, leave him alone, and even Phil is subdued while they make the rounds. For some reason this consideration only serves to make him angrier, and by the time school lets out he's feeling jittery and on edge and ready to fight anyone. He snaps at everyone he talks to and when he isn't being snappish, he's just being downright cruel, skipping his usual jokes and going straight to flat-out insults.

“You seriously need to chill,” Grif says, when Tucker tries to start with him. “Are you still coming with us to the races tonight?”

Tucker is about to snap a refusal, but he bites it off and huffs. “Yeah. I said I would, didn't I? Wouldn't want to miss your big night in case you actually win for a change.”

It's hard to tell whether Grif is more surprised or hurt by his comment, but he doesn't react as either, just gives Tucker an unimpressed look. “If you don't want to come, you don't have to.”

“I said I'll be there.” He glares up at Grif, suddenly annoyed by how tall his friend is now, how small he is. “So I'll be there.”

“Fine.” They stop at Tucker's truck. Grif folds his arms while Tucker throws his bag into the bed and slides into the driver's seat. As he's leaving, Grif calls out a parting, “and leave the attitude at home!” before adjusting his own bag and heading to his jeep.

*

Tucker tries doing homework when he gets home, but he can't concentrate and he ends up pacing angrily in his room for awhile instead. At one point, Cappy knocks on his door and when he's called entry, he hovers in the doorway rather than come in outright. He's holding a glass of Ovaltine in one hand and has a hopeful look on his face.

“I was hoping this might make you feel better,” he says, but at the dark look Tucker sends him, his shoulders slump. He sets the glass on the dresser. “I am sorry, Tucker. If you want to talk, I'm here. Or would you prefer me to leave you alone?”

“Just go away,” Tucker says, not even looking at him. Cappy sighs.

“All right. You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

He leaves, then, and Tucker waits till he's gone to grab the glass from his dresser.

*

Tucker makes his way down to the pits during the course, wanting to be there if Grif manages to actually win. (A part of him is thinking maybe he should apologize for his words earlier, but the rest of his just says 'fuck that'.) Tex and Stasney are at the inner edge of the pit, watching the race, but Stasney glances over when Tucker joins them.

“Hey Tucker. How's it going?”

Tucker half shrugs, then turns his cold look to Stasney. “Could be better. Hey, Stasney, you know your dad is an asshole?”

Stasney just looks surprised. He frowns. “Oh yeah, he told me you were doing your career apprenticeship with him. He's not an asshole, you know. He's just under a lot of stress and your attitude ain't helping.”

“What stress? He's a janitor. It's not rocket science, a teenager could do. Case in point,” he adds, gesturing to himself. “Maybe if he had a proper career he'd know what a stressful job was.”

“Least my daddy actually has a career,” Stasney say, frown deepening. “So we don't have to be a burden on the taxpayers.”

There's a long silence. Tucker's ears are buzzing. “The fuck you say about my pop?”

“I said,” Stasney says, drawing his words out and sneering, “at least my daddy ain't no jailbird with no future.”

There's another pause, and Tucker's fist collides with the side of Stasney's jaw with a very satisfying crack. He's not aware of anything else after that, except a deep and consuming need to make Stasney hurt as much as he is. The next thing he knows there's a rough grip on the back of his neck and Tex is pulling them apart; he's aware of an ache in his side and a ringing in his ears, and Stasney's nose is pouring blood, and Tex is shouting and angry.

“-the hell are you two doing?” she's saying, when he's finally able to calm down enough to hear her. “Stasney, go to the medic station to get that nose seen about. Tucker, if you can't behave yourself you can get the hell out of my pit.” She shoves him toward the stands pointedly, ignoring him when he storms off, not even caring enough to pay attention to the race anymore.

*

Grif comes in second, pulling in a breath behind McJones. He kicks the tire irritably when he gets out in the pit, but he feels good all the same. He managed to keep his focus tonight- it was only down to skill that let McJones beat him, skill and a bit of luck. And that's something he can do something about.

Tex is the only other person in the pit when he looks around. He frowns. “Where's Stasney?”

“He's with the medics. He and Tucker got into a fight and he had an awful nosebleed.”

“Tucker?” He looks around, but he can't see his friend anywhere. “What were they fighting about?”

“I don't know. I heard something about Stasney's dad but I wasn't paying attention until the fists started flying.”

Grif looks around again, then pulls out his phone and shoots off a text to Tucker asking where he is. The only reply he gets is 'prkng lot'; he returns his phone to his pocket. “I'm going to go check on him,” he says. “Make sure he's okay.”

“Do that,” Tex says, turning to the car. “And hey, by the way- well done on second. Tomorrow you'll win, right?”

“Hell yeah.” He can't stop the grin that appears at that, but it fades when he turns and heads off toward the parking lot, looking for Tucker.

He finds him, eventually, sat in the bed of his truck with his knees drawn up, his arms folded over them with his head resting in them, staring moodily out at the dark fields surrounding the circuit. Grif leans on the edge of the truck.

“Hey. Mind if I join you?”

Tucker doesn't say anything, just shrugs. Grif hauls himself over the side of the truck and sits beside him.

“Everything okay? Tex said you and Stasney were fighting and you've been kind of moody all-”

“My dad died.”

“Oh.”

There's a long silence. Grif stares awkwardly out at the fields, not sure what to say. Beside him, Tucker shifts his position and leans his head back against the cab

“Cappy told me this morning. There was a riot in the prison- cause that's what happens in prison, and he didn't survive.” Tucker is quiet again, and Grif follows his lead. He isn't really sure what Tucker needs right now. “I just- I don't know, man,” Tucker says, after awhile. “Stasney called him a jailbird and I guess I just snapped. Like, I know he was a piece of shit and sorry excuse for a human being, but he was still my pop, you know?”

“No, I get it.” Grif nods. “I mean, my mom wasn't exactly a pillar of the community, but that doesn't really matter, right?”

“Yeah.” Tucker buries his head in his hands, staring down at the rusty flooring of his truck bed. “I just- last time I saw him was the New Year. And I've been so angry at him since then. And now he's gone and- what am I supposed to do? It's not supposed to happen like this, it's supposed to- we were supposed to make up, he was supposed to let me start visiting again and everything was supposed to be okay. He wasn't supposed to get killed.”

Grif isn't really sure what else to say, but Tucker doesn't seem to need him to say anything. Instead he leans against Grif's arm and falls silent; Grif lets him. After a long time, he sits up. “I probably shouldn't have punched Stasney,” he says. Grif snorts, waves his hand as though shooing the idea away.

“Nah, Stasney's a prick, he probably deserved it for something.”

“True.” A pause. “So uh. D'you win your race?”

“Second place. Maybe tomorrow night.”

“I'm sorry for what I said earlier,” he says, a touch awkward. “I think I was just trying to pick a fight.”

Another handwave. “Not like it would have done you any good, picking a fight with me. Too much work.”

“Yeah, that was pretty dumb wasn't it.” Tucker makes a sound almost like a laugh, but it falls off quickly, and he sighs. “I miss my pop.”

“I know.”

*

When Church calls Tucker the next morning, it's with every intention of telling him that he's leaving, but when Tucker tells him about his dad Church sighs and changes his mind. That's the last thing Tucker needs right now- and it's not like there won't be time later, right? Instead he invites himself over to Tucker's house and the two spend the day playing Pokemon Adamantium and Pokemon Vibranium in Tucker's room, not saying much in the meantime.

“The funeral is on Monday,” Tucker says, at one point. “Do you- think maybe you could come with me? I mean- you don't have to but- I'm just not sure I can do this alone.”

“Nah, it's not trouble. I can skip school so you can have someone there to hold your hand during.”

Tucker frowns, and kicks his knee. “Don't be a dick, dude, I'm grieving here.” He manages a small smile, though, which doesn't last. “Hey, whatever I did to piss you off last weekend, I'm sorry, okay? I know I've been mood y lately-”

“Piss me off?” Church scoffs. “I was just annoyed that my big plan to cheer you up didn't work, that's all. What would I be pissed about?”

“You sure?”

“Of course.” Church switches subjects hastily, grabbing the first topic he can think of. “So any thought about prom coming up next month? I don't know if you ever said you were going with anyone.”

Tucker gives him an odd look, but shrugs. “I'm going with Felix, figured we'd hang out and have a good time. What about you?”

“Well-” Church hesitates. In all honesty, he was hoping he and Tucker could do exactly that. He shrugs. “I mean- I don't know. I'll probably get one of our back-up friends to go, Donut or Wash or something, you know? Since you and Grif and Simmons all have dates.”

“I don't have a date, I have a buddy,” Tucker says. “But yeah, one of those guys'd probably be happy enough. Ask Donut, he's more fun than Wash.”

“True. But Wash makes prettier arm candy and I don't have to look up to talk to him.”

Tucker tilts his head to consider this. “..okay, that's fair. Why is everyone in that family so tall?”

“I don't know. Maybe there's something in the water.”

“Maybe.” Tucker shrugs. “Or maybe whoever's in charge of these things just thinks it's really funny to surround Sarge with really tall people.”

“Also a possibility.”

*

Church calls Donut later to talk to him about prom, and almost changes his mind by how delighted the other boy sounds at the invitation. Still, Donut is a sophomore and wouldn't be allowed to go otherwise, and he is the only one of their friends likely to actually get enthused by the idea- the rest of them find the idea of prom lame, and are only going because they can have fun together.

“We can go up to Spiral this weekend to see about tuxes,” Church says. “Sunday good for you?”

“We're having guests over for Sunday dinner, but we can head up afterward, yeah. You can come, if you want. Sarge won't mind and then we can leave right after lunch and I won't have to do the dishes.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Grif is in high spirits when he leaves for the races that night; not long after he's gone, Sarge reaches over to tweak one of Kai's pigtails to get her attention.

“What do you say, Princess, feel like driving up to Valhalla tonight and watching your brother race?”

Kai's face lights up in delight at the suggestion. “Really? Can we?”

Sarge chuckles, and nods. “Yes. Figure it's about time I actually watched one of his races, it's been a year now. Thought you might be interested in seeing him too.”

“Yeah!” She looks excited, so he sends her up to her room to get dressed with another chuckle before turning to Donut.

“What about you,” he says. “Feel like joining us?”

Donut sinks a little lower in his chair, subconsciously making himself a bit smaller. “No thank you,” he says quietly. “Anyway it'll be nice to have the house to myself for a couple of hours.”

“Suit yourself.” Sarge gives Donut's shoulder a squeeze and heads upstairs to dress as well.

*

Grif pulls into the pit after his first drag in high spirits. Tonight feels like a night where everything is going right, it feels like his night, he feels good. He's going to win tonight, he can feel it in his bones and deep in the pit of him. Tex sees the look on his face and punches his shoulder with a grin.

“Tonight's the night, then?”

“Tex, I can't believe how good I feel right now. I can't lose! Oh man, I just... I'm gonna go take a walk, I'm feeling too on edge. Want anything from concessions while I'm there? What about you, Stas?”

Stasney glances up at him, still a little grumpy from last night. He looks ridiculous with his face full bruises, but he nods at the offer of food. They both pass money and concession orders over to Grif, along with stern instructions from Tex to make it back before his next drag.

“You can't win if you aren't racing,” she says. “And I don't want my nachos getting soggy, either.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves that away as inconsequential, and heads off to the concessions, feeling high and giddy.

*

South and Carolina are in the stands tonight, only half paying attention to the races going on down at the track. They're not that interested, in all honesty- Grif's are the only ones they're invested in, and he doesn't run in all of them.

They're discussing whether they want to go to the concession stand or not when Carolina spots Sarge and Kai. She gets their attention and waves them over; Kai looks delighted to see both of them and drags Sarge over to join them with a grin.

“It took us longer than we thought it would to get in,” Sarge says. “Have we missed anything?”

“Grif won his first drag, but he won't be in another one until the first rounds are done,” South says. “He'll be against Harvest in the next round, they're currently the highest ranked but I feel really good about Grif's chances tonight. McJones is just good at getting lucky, that's all. He's got nothing on Grif as far as real talent is concerned.”

“What about this... course he's always on about?”

“The obstacle course will be at the end of the night. It's kind of the finisher for the night, the thing everyone is really here to see. There's the course track down there- you can see where it disappears into the woods, it covers a lot of ground. And over there-” South points over at the last bend before it crosses the line. “-is where Grif had his wreck.”

“He's gonna win tonight,” Kai says. “I just know it.”

South tugs on her pigtail with a grin. “I feel you, goose. Tonight's the night.” She glances up at Sarge. “If you want, we can head down to the pit during the course and be there when he gets in after. Tex never minds letting us hang out as long as we don't get in the way.”

“I think I'll stay up here,” Sarge says, a touch awkward. “Don't want to intrude...”

“Suit yourself.”

*

Grif ends up at the concessions a lot longer than he intended: the line is just so long, and then when he gets his hotdogs and moves over to the condiment stand to fix them he has to take the ketchup bottle back up for a refill. He finishes fixing his hotdogs quickly and grabs up the drinks so he can hurry back to pit before they get watery. He has no doubts that Tex would kick his ass if he brought her a watery drink.

She makes a face when she takes her first drink, wrinkling her nose and giving him a look. “Is this diet?” she asks. “It tastes weird.”

“I told them regular,” he says. “You didn't mix yours up with Stasney's, did you?”

“Mine is bright orange,” Stasney says, popping the lid off his to show them. “Maybe they messed up the order.”

“They were pretty busy,” Grif agrees. “We don't really have time to go complain before the race, though. You can have mine if you want, I'll go up for a fresh one after the drag.”

Tex takes another long drink, then wrinkles her nose again and nods. “Right, agreed, this is disgusting.” She pours it out and grabs Grif's, gesturing toward the car as she does. “We've already gone over everything, you're good to go when they call you up.”

*

Terrence tries to wander into their pit while Grif is eating his hot dogs, but Stasney stops him, making it clear he's not allowed. They end up getting into a conversation instead; from what Grif can hear of it, it sounds like it goes from aliens to sharks to shark aliens to alien sharks. He snorts. It sounds like Stasney's found someone just as obsessive as he is to talk to.

He doesn't like the way Terrence keeps looking over at him, so it's a relief when his next call is done and he can go. He flips Terrence off and slides into the car to head out.

He wins that drag, but loses the next one later, which seems to please Terrence. Grif doesn't like that Terrence is hanging around distracting Stasney, but when he tells Tex this she says she's keeping an eye on things and tells him to just focus on the upcoming course. She looks a little distracted herself, if he's honest, though.

“You okay, Tex?”

“I'm fine,” she says, with a grimace. “Just stomach cramps. One day I'll learn my lesson about concession fare..”

“Those nachos can be brutal,” he agrees. “Sure you're gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. I'll make a bathroom run once the course starts. Stasney can hold down the fort alone if he can stop flirting long enough.”

She gives Stasney a pointed stare. He pouts. “It's not my fault he's cute and interesting all at once.”

“You have no sense of loyalty. Did you at least remember you're supposed to be keeping an eye on him? Because he threatened Grif? Or did you forget that part?”

“Aww, I don't think he'll really try anything. He's just sore about not being able to race, that's all. But he seems friendly enough.”

Tex sighs, and pinches the bridge of her nose. “That's it, I'm getting Connie back on the crew. I need someone around who can actually keep their head.”

She shakes her head, glances at her watch. “It's nearly call time. Better get ready. And Grif? I'm expecting to take that pot home tonight.”

“It's as good as yours.” He half salutes lazily, and slides into the driver's seat with a grin.

*

Kai wiggles impatiently in her seat while the racers are lining up for the course, and joins with the crowd in cheering at the off. Once the cluster of cars has rounded the bend into the woods, Carolina and South stand up to head to the pits to wait for Grif there. South offers her hand to Kai, who takes it excitedly, swinging it in delight while the girls make their way down the stands to the pits.

“Sure you don't want to come?” Carolina asks Sarge, just before joining them. He shakes his head.

“I'll stay up here. Like I said, I don't want to intrude.”

“I'm sure he'll be glad to know you're watching, anyway,” Carolina says, turning to follow South and Kai.

*

In the pit, there's just Stasney, Tex's headset over one ear and both eyes on the board. He greets them when they appear, waving them over to the bench in the corner without looking away.

“Tex is in the bathroom,” he says. “She'll be back in a bit. Grif's doing well, he's running with Harvest in the lead but can't manage to hold ahead. McJones is really good at what he does and he knows Grif is gunning for him.”

“My brother can beat him,” Kai says, full of confidence. “He's the best. Tex says so, and if Tex says so she must be right.”

Stasney glances over at her, then reaches up to flip the headset off. “I don't disagree that Grif can win,” he says. “But he's being too careful. He's holding back- he takes curves too slow and hesitates at ditches. Every obstacle they come to he loses the lead. If he could let go, he could keep it.” He flips the headset back on. “But that's just imo. No, Grif, I'm talking to our guests. You've got visitors. Just focus on the race. No, Tex isn't back yet.”

*

In the car, Grif chances the time to switch his headset off. Having a constant link back to the pit is handy, but he needs to concentrate and he can't do that with Stasney chattering in his ear. He wishes Tex would come back; she's normally quiet except for updates about the other racers.

The final curve is always the hardest, and taking it tight is next to impossible, but if he can slingshot around it he can get a lead on McJones.

Last time he tried to take this curve tight, he wrecked- he can already hear the echoes of the crash in the back of his mind, and he pushes those away. It wasn't the curve that wrecked him, it was sabotage, and they've been careful.

“This is your night, Grif,” he murmurs to himself. “Don't blow this. You can do it. You will do it.”

The curve is looming. His foot tries to ease off the gas instinctively, to slow down enough to take the curve wide, but he pushes past that and speeds up instead. The car fights him- gravity is working against them- but he manages to keep the car straight and then there's a clear stretch- he can see McJones close by, trying to get past, but Grif isn't giving him this lead- the finish line is just there, just a breath away, and then they're over it-

Did he win?

It's hard to tell; McJones was so close and his ears are ringing too much to hear what the announcers are saying. He reaches a shaking hand up to switch his headset back on- there's a burst of static and then Stasney shouting in his ear, so he switches it back off. The names are already up on the board, so he takes a long, deep, steadying breath and looks.

1^st Place: Dexter Grif/Blood Gulch Crew
2^nd Place: Pounder McJones/Harvest Kings
3^rd Place...

“Oh.” Grif smiles, laughs softly. Leans back and closes his eyes. “Finally.”

*

When Grif makes it back to the pit, he barely climbs out of the car when he finds himself with an armful of his sister. He laughs at the realization that she was there to see his win, and swings her around with delight. “I didn't know you were here,” he says. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Sarge wanted to come see you race,” she says. “So we did. But he's up in the stands, he didn't want to come to the pit. But I did! And I got to see you win!”

“Yeah you did!” He laughs again, and looks around for his crew. “Where's Tex? Did she make it back in time to see me win?”

“Still in the bathroom.” Stasney looks around, too, looking for her return, but rather than Tex, it's a young woman they don't know who enters their pit barely a moment later. Grif vaguely recognizes her from the medics' station; he joins Stasney to speak with her.

Tex is being taken to the hospital, she tells them. Apparently she'd stopped by the medics to get something for a stomachache and fainted away while she was there. The medics had loaded her into their ambulance and taken her on to the hospital, and sent their runner along to tell her crew. Grif and Stasney exchange a worried look over the news.

“I'll take care of the admin here,” Grif says. “Tex'll kick my ass if I don't get her money after all the trouble we went through to win it. You go on and take the car back to the garage.”

“What about Tex's bike? She'll kick our ass if we leave it here, too.”

“Do we have her keys?” South asks. “I can take it home for her if someone will come along and give me a ride home.”

“They should be in her bag...” Grif finds said bag in the footlocker in their pit, her bike keys clipped onto the strap. He tosses them to South. “I'll come pick you up from the apartment after I sort things out here. Do you mind if we stop by and checking on her on the way home?”

With that sorted, South and Carolina take Kai's hands to take her back to Sarge, while Grif heads up to the offices to sort out their winnings for the night. He can't help feeling dejected; after everything they went through to get him his win, and Tex had to go and get sent to the hospital when he did. It puts a whole downer on his win, and he hates that.

“I just hope she's okay. Hey, Pillman, hey Song,” he adds, joining with the other pit bosses outside the office. Pillman gives him a curious look.

“What are you doing here? Where's Tex?”

“Hospital.”

“She okay? What happened?”

“She fainted and the medics sent her on to the hospital. No idea what that's about, though.”

Song honks a query, the only word coming through clearly being 'poison'. Pillman snorts.

“Nah. It was probably the nachos, those things are brutal. Besides, when would anyone get the chance to poison Tex? She's careful about who she lets into her pit and knows better than to leave her food and drink unattended anyway. Right, Grif? ...Grif?”

Grif had gone quiet at his words. He shakes his head, trying to dispel the ringing in his ears. “What? Sorry, I wasn't... so what happens here? I just go in and they give me the money?”

“Gotta have id and your crew badge, and sign a paper, but yeah, that's pretty much it. They'll give you a check but you can go ahead and cash it with them if you want, a lot of bosses do that so they can go ahead and split their winnings around their crew.”

“Right, so- I'll um... I'll just do that.” He hurries in through the door, trying to ignore the dawning realization of his mistake as he does.

He'd left their drinks when he refilled the ketchup. Tex's drink had tasted funny. He and Tex had the same drink order, and there were two people here who would be happy to take him out of the race.

He waits until he's got their money and is well away from the office to slip around a corner and let his head fall against the wall. If Tex is poisoned, it'll be his fault.

*

Something about Grif's guilt when he makes it back to the pit must show on his face, but the others seem to mistake his expression for worry because they all hurry to assure him that Tex will be fine.

“She wasn't feeling well and she pushed herself to be here and made herself worse,” Stasney says. “You know how stubborn Tex is. But she's a tough nut, she'll bounce back quick.”

Grif glares, but doesn't dispute this. Instead he hands Stasney the car keys and sends him on, before grabbing Tex's bag and looping an arm around South's shoulders while they head to the parking lot. She leans into him while they walk, and he's glad of that quiet reassurance, and that she isn't plying him with platitudes. He's sure Tex will be okay, but being told that constantly is only making him feel like she won't.

“I'll have to be extra careful getting this home for her,” South says, instead, twirling Tex's keychain on one finger. “She'll destroy me if I let anything happen to her baby.”

*

They drop Tex's bike off at her apartment and fill York and Connie in on what's going on, then head around to the hospital to check on Tex before they go home. It's past visiting hours when they get there, but they're at least able to have a word with her doctor, who assures them that she's fine, that she's not in any kind of danger, that she'll be back on her feet in no time.

It's better than nothing, and they leave at least knowing that Tex is okay, which is better than nothing.

Grif is exhausted by the time they get back to Blood Gulch, so he drops South off at her house without much fanfare before going home. Sarge is sitting up in the kitchen when he gets home; Grif moves over to sit across from him and pillows his head in his arms. Sarge gives him a small grunt in greeting.

“How is she?”

“Her doctor told us she's gonna be fine,” he says. “He seemed pretty cheery at the thought so I figure he's not too worried. I'll go back and see her again during visiting hours, talk to her then.”

“I'm sure she'll be glad of the visit.” Sarge hums thoughtfully. “And I bet she'll be real proud of how you stepped up and took care of everything when she got knocked down. I know I am.” He stands and gives Grif's shoulder a squeeze before heading upstairs, leaving Grif with a feeling of dread in his stomach and a bad taste in the back of his throat.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Grif and South go up to the hospital again during visiting hours Sunday afternoon.

“We need Tex's room number,” Grif says to the receptionist. She eyes him over the top of her glasses.

“Last name?”

“Uh...” He blanks. What is Tex's last name?

“Beth Mayers,” South says, leaning on the counter and shooting Grif a glare. “Middle initial is A.”

The receptionist pulls the number and sends them up; Grif rubs the back of his neck sheepishly while South shakes her head.

“Since when is Tex's name Beth?” he asks, once they're in the elevator. South snorts.

“Since birth, I would imagine. She's your boss. How do you not know this?”

“She's always just been Tex. I never needed to know any other name for her.”

“Dumbass.” She shakes her head again and knocks on the door; when Tex calls them entry they're both relieved to see that she looks okay- weak, drained, but otherwise okay. South quickly claims the one chair in the room with a grin. “Grif didn't know your name wasn't Tex,” she says, gleefully. “He didn't even know your last name.”

“How could you not know my last name?” Tex asks. “I mean, I can give a pass for not knowing my first name, but you've met my parents. My name is the same as theirs.”

“I've met them twice,” he says. “It's not like I've got their name burned into my brain. Anyway, I bet you don't know what my name is, besides Grif.”

“Your first name is Dexter and your middle name is Uluwehi,” she says. “I had to fill out forms to register you as our racer, remember? Anyway, I'm not speaking to you right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because you landed me in the hospital!” She folds her arms, and gives him an expectant look. “What have you got to say for yourself?”

The ringing is back in his ears. He takes an involuntary step back- how could she know? Reasoning? Since he was the only other one to handle her food? Is she just blaming him because she figures he's the easiest target? Or does she- somehow- actually know? He shakes his head.

“How did I...?”

“The nachos. You got me the jalapeno kind, I'm allergic to jalapenos. I told you to get me plain.”

“...oh.” Was that all? “I didn't know. They were really busy- they must have gotten the order wrong. Are you sure that's what was wrong?”

“What else would it be?”

“Nothing.” He rubs his neck sheepishly. “Nothing, just being paranoid, I guess. I won!” he adds, trying to change the subject. “I've got our winnings right here, figured I'd let you sort out distribution.”

“It's about time,” Tex says, taking the check he hands her. There's a proud smile underneath her sarcasm, though, and a pleased air when she catches his eye over the check. “I was starting to think I'd have to find a new driver.”

“You find someone who drives as good as me I'll hand them the keys myself.”

“Slow down there, cowboy,” Tex says, waggling a finger at him. “You're not irreplaceable- I'm sure I could find someone just as good with half the headaches if I tried.”

“You'd miss me.”

*

Grif and South stay through the afternoon, playing Go Fish with a deck of cards in Tex's bag until she kicks them out, citing exhaustion. In the elevator, South slides her hand into his and leans against him with a sigh.

“I have to pick out a prom dress soon,” she says, weary at the very thought. “If I don't Mama will get involved and... I don't want Mama getting involved. She'll stick me in taffeta or... something.” She shudders. Grif gives her hand a squeeze.

“We can go do a bit of window shopping,” he suggests. “I don't have any plans for today. And we should probably get my suit soon, too, we've got, what, three weeks left?”

“Three, yeah.” The elevator dings; she tugs him out toward the parking lot. “Come on, let's go do something fun instead. I'll bring Carolina shopping with me next weekend, that way I'll have time to persuade Daddy to give me a nice fat budget.”

“Something fun...” He considers this, then grins. “Haven't been to the roller rink in awhile.”

*

Elsewhere in the city, Church is leaned over a chair groaning while Donut talks color and fit and material and a thousand other things he doesn't understand with his tailor.

(“You have a personal tailor?” Donut had asked, when Church told him where they were going for their tuxes.

Church had just scoffed. “Of course I have a personal tailor, our family has an image to maintain even if none of us actually care about it. Besides, fitted clothes just look better.”

“I know that, why do you think I adjust all of my clothes? I just didn't realize you actually had someone who was paid to just make your clothes for you.”

“Well, yeah, I have a tailor. His name is Guy. He's French. ...You'll probably like him.”)

He'd been right. Church had told Guy they needed “Prom tuxes or some shit like that”, and when Guy had sighed and said he'd figure something out, in a tone that suggested that it was only the Church family's significant fortune that made him put up with this sort of thing, Donut had jumped in with a question about which cuts were in right now, and an hour and a half later, they're still talking.

Church has no idea what they're talking about, but he does know this is the longest time he's been in Guy's shop without getting up on the stool. He drapes his arms over the back of the chair and sinks down a little further. He's already regretting asking Donut to go to prom with him, and it's only been two days.

(He can't help the thought that if he'd asked Tucker, they could have been in and out in no time- Tucker wouldn't have cared about what cut or material or... whatever their tuxes were made with, either.)

“Hey Church, what color should we go for?” Donut asks, dragging Church out of his regrets. He glances up.

“Hmm? Oh, I don't know. Whatever color you want, it doesn't matter.” He drifts off again, barely registering Guy's suggestion of a “lightish blood-orange, perhaps?” and Donut's enthusiastic response.

*

On Monday, Cappy picks Church up early in the morning to go to Tucker's dad's funeral. The state pen is up in Armonia, a three hour drive from Blood Gulch, and the funeral is going to be late in the morning, since the funeral parlor has another funeral later that day. (“A funeral for someone more important,” Tucker had said. “One with more than just half a dozen mourners at best.”)

“I didn't know prisoners got funerals,” Church says, on the way up. Tucker glances at him, then bundles further into his hoodie and turns away. He looks like a wreck, like he hasn't slept in ages, and the bruises on his cheek aren't helping.

“It depends on the next of kin,” Cappy says, from the front seat. “If they don't claim the body, the prisoner is buried with no ceremony in the prison cemetery. Quentin's next of kin decided to have a funeral, so a funeral there is.”

“I thought Tucker was his next of kin,” Church says. He looks over to Tucker, who just bundles up more and shifts further away; up front, Cappy just murmurs a soft 'no' and goes back to driving.

Church is getting the feeling that he's missed something important, some vital bit of information about his best friend that he should already know. Tucker isn't saying, though, and he doubts that Cappy will tell him while Tucker is sitting right there. He chews his lip thoughtfully, and turns to his phone instead, though there's not really anyone to talk to since all of their friends are in class right now. He ends up playing Mathlibs instead, trying to ignore the tense, overbearing atmosphere in the car.

*

There are less than a dozen people at the funeral, counting them, though three of them are guards for the inmates who had apparently been allowed to attend. Apart from them are an older couple, who sit to one side and refuse to look at anyone else, and a young, tired looking woman who spends the entire, short service alternating between staring at her lap and staring at Tucker when she doesn't think he's looking.

Of them all, only the two inmates are believably in mourning- Church suspects that the others are just going through the motions. Church wonders who the others are, wonders why Tucker refuses to look at them.

“They're Quentin's parents,” Cappy whispers to him, after the service, while the two inmates speak with Tucker. “They threw him out when Tucker was born, and refused to have anything else to do with him. But since Tucker is underage they're still listed as his next of kin.”

“Does Tucker know?”

“He didn't before Friday. I didn't either. But apparently they refused custody of him when Quentin was locked up- Tucker doesn't really want to talk about it.” He rubs tiredly at his eyes. “I'm glad you're here. He really needs a friend right now.”

*

The two inmates beckon Tucker over to have a word; he glances at the guards, who nod their permission, and moves over.

“I'm Chad, and this is Del,” the taller one says. “We're buds of Quentin's. You're Vern, right?”

Tucker nods. “Pop was the only one who calls me that, though.”

“Q talked about you a lot,” Del says. “Used to go on about you all the time. He was writing you a letter when he went- never got to send it to you, don't think he ever meant to, but we thought you ought to have it.” He takes a folded paper out of his pocket and passes it to Tucker with another glance at the guards. “Anyway, we have to go now. Just wanted to make sure you got this.”

“Thanks..” Tucker glances down at the letter, tucks it into his pocket without opening it. “I um. I should get back too...”

He turns away, a little uncomfortable; the two inmates are already being led away by their guards.

Tucker's barely made it a few steps when he's intercepted by the young woman. He doesn't recognize her, but his dad had enough girlfriends and friends-with-benefits and 'business associates' before he was locked up that all tended to blend together to his young son. He's mostly surprised any of them would have bothered showing up at his funeral.

“You're Lavernius, aren't you?” she asks, peering close at him. “Quentin's son?”

“Yeah.” He backs away a little; her gaze is unnerving him. “Who are you?”

“I'm- I'm an old friend of Quentin's.” She glances back at Cappy and Church. “Is that- your family?”

“My foster dad,” he says. “And a friend. Why?”

“Just wondering. Takes good care of you, does he?”

“Pretty good.” He shrugs. “What-”

“Just making sure Quentin's boy is being taken of.” She smiles, makes an aborted motion like she means to reach for him, and instead clutches her hands in front of her. “You know, happy and well-adjusted.”

“Oh.”

A pause. “Are you?”

“I guess?” He takes another step back. “I uh. I have to go now.”

He hurries over to Church and Cappy, huddling into his hoodie again. “Can we go?” he asks. “Before someone else decides to talk to me?”

“Of course.” Cappy wraps an arm around his shoulders and gives him a squeeze as the three head off to the car.

*

Over the next couple weeks, Tucker slowly fades back into a more recognizable version of himself. Though not entirely back to normal, he at least starts laughing more easily again, and doesn't glare at anyone else for being happy either. The letter Chad and Del gave him is sitting unopened on his desk, though; a part of him is still angry at his father, and not willing the read what is probably a heartfelt explanation of why he chose to cut his son out of his life.

He and Felix drive into Spiral the next weekend to get their prom tuxes; they arrange to rent the first ones they find that fit and don't care that their tuxes don't even come close to matching.

“It's not like we're going as a couple anyway,” Felix points out later. “We're just going together, and I fully intend to leave with someone pretty on my arm.” He pauses. “No offense.”

“None taken, I don't want to be your arm candy anyway.”

“It's too bad Wash turned me down. He's really the only boy in this school pretty enough to be worth my time. Who's this mysterious boyfriend of his, anyway? And how can Wash think he's better-looking than me? I mean...” He gestures at himself. “Is that even possible? I'm already too good looking as it is.”

Tucker just laughs. He's glad, for once, that Felix is so self-centered- unlike the other, he doesn't keep tiptoeing around Tucker, trying to cheer him up or not remind him why he needs cheering up in the first place. Tucker is tired of getting treated with kid gloves, but it would figure when he needs his friends' assholery the most, they all decide they're going to be nice. Even Church, of all people, who could normally be trusted to be a grade-a jackass who makes everything about himself.

Felix can still make him laugh, though. That's something.

*

Donut goes with Caboose and Santa to walk Freckles a few days before prom; he's trying not to let his excited chatter overload the conversation but they don't seem to mind listening, or at least they don't act bored. They walk a little ahead of him, hands clasped between them. Donut wishes the sidewalk were wider, but there's not enough room for them the walk three abreast and he supposes it makes sense for him to be the one to get third wheeled, even if it does suck.

By the time they make it back to Dr. Grey's to drop Freckles off, though, he's not sorry to see Santa go, since the other boy has work and can't stay. He kisses Caboose goodbye, and Donut doesn't miss the fact that Caboose grabs his ass while they kiss (though, the boy does have a good ass- in Caboose's place, Donut would probably grab it too). Donut turns away, a little embarrassed, then turns back to wave at Santa before he and Caboose head inside to get Freckles fed and watered before they go.

“You and Santa seem to be getting on,” Donut says. Caboose just beams at him.

“Yes. He is very nice! And he is very good at giving kisses and he is soft and nice to hug and he gives good head and his voice is very rumbly. I like him very much.”

“Well that's good.” Donut is used to comments like that; he ignores it. “I'm glad you have someone to make you happy.”

“Yes.” Caboose's smile falters. “Donut? Do you want to kiss Church?”

Caboose is more perceptive than anyone gives him credit for. Donut nods, blushing furiously. Caboose sighs.

“I am sorry to hear that,” he says. “Church is not very nice, even to the people he likes.”

“He's nicer than you think,” Donut says, frowning. “I know he doesn't show it well- but he really is, and he's doing better. He seems to be trying, anyway. That's worth something.”

“He is mean,” Caboose insists. “You can do better.”

“Maybe. But Church is the one I want to kiss right now. Can't really do anything about that.”

Caboose just sighs. “I wish you would want to kiss someone else. Like Tucker!” He brightens up. “If you were kissing Tucker, then he would be too busy kissing you to be angry at Santa, and you would be too busy kissing him to want to kiss Church! Tucker is a good kisser. Are you sure you don't want to kiss him instead?”

Donut laughs. “It doesn't work like that, Caboose. It'll be fine, okay? I'll just ride my crush out. Besides, I don't think Tucker would be interested in kissing me. Especially right now.”

“Okay.” Caboose still looks dubious, but they're approaching his house and before he can make another argument there are little girls climbing on both of them. He drops the discussion, opting instead to try listening to all five girls chattering at once. There's no way he's taking it all in, but he manages to nod at all the right times, anyway, and the girls are pleased.

(“I don't have to remember anything they tell me,” he'd explained to Donut once. “I just have to listen to them when they do.”)

*

Sometimes Grif thinks that between them, Blood Gulch and Valhalla have enough business to make a full town. It's a pain in the ass to have to drive all the way there whenever he needs something he can't get in Blood Gulch, but it's better than going all the way to Spiral, and at least there are a lot of backroads between the two towns where he can unload on the gas.

Anyway, the florist in Valhalla is fairly cheap, so he can get a corsage for South without having to break the bank like he would in Spiral.

He doesn't, at first, register the girl when he sees her. But something about her makes him double take, and then look again when he realizes why. “Rookie?” Rookie it is, with a skirt and cleavage, walking with a woman who is unmistakably his mother. Grif looks stunned. “What are you-?”

“Grif!” Rookie looks panicked; his voice is higher than usual, much tighter. He grabs Grif's arm. “What's that, Grif? You want to talk to me alone, in private, waaaay over there? In private? Sure!”

He tugs on Grif's arm, pulling him away, out of earshot of his mother. Grif follows him into the shop he's led into, a little baffled.

“Sorry,” Rookie says, twisting his hands nervously, glancing through the window at his mother. “I didn't want you saying anything, cause- cause-” He sighs. “...my parents don't know I'm a boy,” he mutters.

It takes Grif a minute. Admittedly, it shouldn't have. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Rookie isn't looking at him, staring off to one side. He's so different like this- he seems as small as his body for a change, nothing like the cocky, self-assured jackass Grif is used to. “Listen, I- You'll keep quiet, won't you? Most of my buds at the circuit don't know, they never met- they only know Sebastian. Please, I want to keep it that way. Please don't say anything.”

“Relax, dude.” Grif clouts him on the shoulder. “I'm not gonna rat you out- I'm not about that. Come on, dude, we're bros. Have a little faith in me.”

“Serious?”

“Yeah, dude.”

He sighs, like he's letting off an enormous weight, and then almost immediately looks pained. “Bros... you mean that? Serious?”

“Course.”

“Oh lord...”

He looks upset. Grif frowns. “Everything okay?”

“What? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm just- you know, relieved. I had a small panic when you saw me, thought you were gonna out me right there. Hey, uh, wanna meet my mom? She's always asking to meet my racing buddies but I told them I wanted the circuit to be my space, you know?”

“Sure, I'll say hi.” He follows Rookie over to his mom. “So can I call you Rookie in front of her, or something else?”

“Rookie's fine, they know it's my nickname. It's Sebastian they don't know about- hey mom!” He breaks off as they rejoin his mother. “This is Grif, he's a driver down at the circuit. He just wanted my opinion on-” He glances at the shop they were talking in. It's a bath and body shop. “...lotions.

“I have very dry skin,” Grif agrees.

He only stays to chat with Mrs. Rook for a few minutes, long enough to satisfy that she's met one of Rookie's racing friends, before taking off. Rookie looks incredibly uncomfortable with Grif there, which Grif supposes is fair enough, though the surprised way Rookie said 'bros' is echoing in his head and he suspects there's more there than he's aware of.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

In April, their Home Ec class starts their cooking unit. Grif is practically salivating at the very prospect when they come into class on the first day, and Donut looks cheery and excited too. He loves cooking, and getting to cook at school and be graded for it is a dream come true for him. Carolina listens to him chatter to Grif about recipes with a small smile tugging at her lips.

Grif finally gets tired of listening and holds up a hand to shut Donut up. “Seriously, Donut,” he says. “You're making me hungry.”

“You're always hungry,” Carolina points out. Grif shrugs.

“Doesn't mean I want to sit here listening to Donut go on about food. You don't have to live with him, Carolina, I know exactly how good he is and that's not helping.”

“I'm just glad we're getting onto an area that I'm actually good at again,” Donut says cheerily. “That money management unit was brutal!”

“Don't remind me,” Carolina mutters, resting her head on one fist and looking away irritably. She had done terribly at money management, always assuming there was more in her fake budget than there was, and always going for the more expensive, higher quality imaginary products for everything.

Donut, prone to declaring things necessities that weren't, had fared little better. Grif, by stark contrast, had proved surprisingly competent, managing with every fake budget to not only provide everything needed for his imaginary family, but to have just a little left over to put by and occasionally indulge in treats for his imaginary children and partner.

(“How did you get so good at this?” they had asked, after yet another budget worksheet that only Grif had passed. Grif had shrugged.

“I did most of the grocery shopping for mom toward the end,” he'd said, not looking up from his paper. “We didn't have a lot and I had to make sure Kai got all the things she needed. You learn pretty quick to manage your money when you've got a five year old crying because there's not enough to eat in the house and she's hungry.”

They had gone quiet at that. People always go quiet when Grif talks about how he'd lived before his mother died.)

“I'm glad we're doing all our cooking in groups,” Grif says. “Donut, my grade is counting on you, okay? So is Carolina's if she wants to actually pass this class.”

“Hey!” Carolina glares at him, then sighs, and leans her head on the table. “Yeah. You're not wrong.” She raises her head. “At least cooking is something I do know how to do, anyway. Dad used to cook with us a lot, until-” She breaks off. She'd been about to say 'until he got worse', but she doesn't really feel like explaining what 'worse' means. “It doesn't matter. I know how to cook, is the point.”

“Great. Then my grade is counting on both of you.”

“You're not a bad cook, though,” Donut says. “As long as what you're cooking doesn't require a lot of attention to detail, anyway. And you make a great grilled cheese.”

“I make bomb-ass grilled cheese, but I don't think the unit is going to be based on how well I can grill a cheese.”

Donut sighs, and nods, fighting down an amused smile. “I'll be sure not to let you down, then,” he teases. “But if we do get graded on a grilled cheese, Carolina and I will be counting on you.”

“Well that's a bad idea.”

*

Carolina invites Donut over after school. He seems pleased enough about the invite, since she doesn't usually bother spending time with just him, but they've got homework to do and she says she wants to talk to him about something.

“It's a bit personal,” she says, once they're alone. “You don't have to answer if you don't want to.”

“Well, ask me anyway, and we'll see.”

“It's just...” She takes a deep breath. This is embarrassing. “When you and Maine were dating, did you two ever... you know, do anything sexual?”

There's a pause, and then a look of understanding dawns on Donut's face. “Ohhhh,” he says. “No, we didn't. Also, this is something you really need to talk to Maine about. It's not my place.”

“I've tried. You know how Maine is. He only breaks out the full sentences for Wash. Which...” She trails off, and gets a sympathetic look for her troubles.

“Which it's hard not to take personally,” Donut finishes for her. “I know. But you still need to talk to him.”

“I know.” She sighs. “At least I know it's not just me.”

“It's not just you,” Donut reassures her. “It's a Maine thing, and yes, I know it's frustrating. But it's not you, and it's not personal.”

*

Simmons shows up at Grif's door a few hours before prom, garment bag in one hand, hair still slightly damp from his shower and the scent of body wash and aftershave clinging to him.

“I didn't want to walk down here in my tux,” he explains, heading up to Grif's room to change.

They agreed, a few days ago when it occurred to them that they really ought to coordinate a bit, that they would all meet up at the Dakota's, since South had sighed long and deep and said 'Mama will want pictures,' and since Grif could bring Donut and Simmons and save Church and North a drive out into the country (and since North would have to drive back home anyway once he did pick Simmons up- 'Mama will want pictures,' he'd said, his sigh echoing his twin's). And as Donut will be with them anyway, Church can just meet them there.

“I forgot how good you look dressed up,” Grif says, when he gets Simmons to help him with his tie. Simmons snorts.

“I told you, anyone can look good in a fitted suit.” He finishes the tie and takes a step back, and gives Grif an amused smile. “We match,” he says, gesturing between them. Grif glances down at his tux- the trim is the same light violet as South's dress, which provides a nice complement to the deeper purple of Simmons' own tux. Grif cocks a grin at him.

“That's what we get for dating twins,” he says.

“We managed to coordinate ourselves better than if we'd actually been going together.”

“That's because we had someone else doing it for us. Ready to go?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Hey Donut!” Grif steps through the shared bathroom and taps on Donut's door. “Time to go!”

“Coming!” Donut joins them in Grif's room, checking himself in the mirror one last time. He looks much sharper than Grif and Simmons, a mark of his tailored tux, and so much more comfortable in his than they are as well. “It's too bad there aren't many formal events around here,” he says, pouting a little. “I won't get much wear out of this before I outgrow it.”

“At the rate you're going, that'll be a month from now anyway,” Grif says. He grabs South's corsage and his keys off the desk, and beckons for them to come on. “Anyway, let's go. I can't wait to see how Church looks, if his tux matches yours.”

*

Church is scowling harder than usual when they arrive at the Dakota's house. It's not hard to guess why- the soft, pastel pink that looks so right on Donut feels out of place on Church- far too cheerful and happy for someone like him.

“I hate you,” he says, as soon as Donut approaches. Donut just grins.

“You look great, Church!”

“Why did you get me a pink tux?”

“It's lightish blood orange and it looks good on you.”

“It's pink, and I hate you.”

Grif leaves them to their bickering and heads inside with Simmons, where South and North are waiting with their parents in the den. Grif notices North just long enough to notice that his tux matches Simmons', before his eyes land on South and he grins without even realizing it. He's never actually seen South dressed to the nines, but it's worth it all the same.

He offers the corsage to her with a smile. “I know you hate dressing up like this, but you still look really great.”

“If I'm going to do it, I'm going to do it right,” she says. “Anyway, you look good too.”

“He does clean up well, doesn't he?” Mrs. Dakota says, joining them. She eyes Grif up and down critically.

“I think he's handsome,” South says, a tightness to her smile and voice that only ever comes out when she speaks to her mother. “Can you take your pictures now? So we can go? We don't want to be late.”

“Of course. Boys... if you'll come over here, I think the fireplace would make a good backdrop...”

*

Tucker, meanwhile, is in his own living room, sighing internally while Cappy poses him for his own pictures. Behind him, Reggie has his arms crossed and an amused smile tugging at his mustache; Tucker decides that any good feelings he had been developing for Reggie are out the window and it's only his love for Cappy that keeps him smiling and posing. Finally, Cappy decides he has enough photos and shoos Tucker out the door to go pick up Felix, because surely Felix's parents will want to take pictures as well.

(Privately, Tucker thinks that- having met both Mrs. O'Malley and Felix- this won't happen, but he doesn't mention it to Cappy in case that means he decides to take more pictures.)

Cappy takes one last picture of him on the way to his truck, looking for all the world as though he's leaving forever instead of just going to a formal party for the evening.

Felix is waiting for him outside when he gets there; he calls to his parents that he's going and climbs into the truck without any fanfare. Tucker gives a sigh of relief and smiles in greeting. Felix frowns.

“What, didn't you bring me any flowers?”

“You said this wasn't a date. You were pretty adamant about it, in fact.”

“So? That doesn't mean you couldn't have brought me flowers.” He looks Tucker over. “Hmm. You'll do.”

“Bitch I better!” He gives Felix and indignant look, then realizes the other boy is probably joking. He rolls his eyes. “Anyway, Cappy must have filled up about three camera chips taking pictures.”

“My stepdad took a few pictures, but he didn't get that into it. Mom might have wanted more, but she's working late today. No idea what that's about- I wonder what they're working on?”

“Some kind of AI to run tanks,” Tucker says. “Church was complaining to me about it, his dad has barely been home since they started development on it.”

“A smart tank? Sounds boring.”

“I guess if you're the guy who doesn't have to drive a tank into battle now it'd be more exciting.”

“True.” Felix leans back and props his feet on the dash. “Maybe tonight won't be lame,” he says. “I mean, I look amazing, and I'll get to hang out with my friends and do a little dancing, enjoy a bit of punch that absolutely won't be spiked, no way.” He grins. “And maybe I'll find someone pretty to go home with, hmm? Shame Donut's taken, he's a good kisser.”

Tucker laughs. “Donut's not taken, dude. And Church'll probably thank you for taking him off his hands before the night's over with, if I know both of them.”

Felix looks surprised. “Not taken? Well, I'll be sure to keep that in mind. I'm sure Church would rather go home with you than Donut, anyway.” He smiles. “His loss. ...no offense.”

Tucker huffs. “Just let me know before you ditch me.”

*

It takes South all of ten minutes to get bored of the prom experience, once they actually get there. She slips out of her heels and into a pair of soft slippers from her purse, and lets out a long sigh. “This is so exciting,” she says, monotone. “I'm so glad I came. What an experience. I'll remember this for the rest of my life.”

Grif snorts, and holds out a hand. “Come dance with me,” he says. “Dr. Grey showed me a simple waltz, I might as well use it.”

“All right. Someone will have spiked the punch by the time we're done, anyway.”

“Do we know who's on that now that York's gone?”

“I think I heard Zach Miller's got it,” she says. “Can you see him anywhere?”

“Umm...” He looks around; after a moment, he spots Zach Miller talking to some girls near the back wall. “He looks like he's making his way to the punch bowl slowly,” he says. “Let's give him a song or two.”

*

Tucker and Felix meet up with Church and Donut when they get into the gym. Tucker doesn't bother fighting back a laugh at the sight of his friend in a soft, pastel pink tux; Church just scowls at him.

“That's the last time I let Donut have any say in what I wear,” he says. “You guys are late, what took you so long?”

“Cappy wanted pictures.” Tucker sighs. “Have we missed anything? Anyone spiked the punch yet?”

“Miller's working on it, but he's taking his own sweet time. Grif and Simmons are out there with their dates.” He waves toward the dancing couples absently. “Donut's trying to get me to dance with him.”

“I only asked if you would like to,” Donut protests. “You make it sound like I'm pestering you.”

“I don't dance.”

“Okay. Then we won't dance.”

Tucker snorts. “I'll dance with you,” he says. “If Church doesn't mind- I actually like dancing.”

“Why would I mind?”

“There you go.” Tucker holds out his hand; Donut takes it and the two move into the throng. “By the way, Felix was talking about getting you to go home with him tonight,” he says, once they're out of earshot. “Just letting you know, in case he starts hitting on you. He says you can be a bit oblivious to his flirting.”

Donut smiles. “I'm not oblivious. I'm just ignoring him.”

“Not interested?”

“I love myself too much.”

This actually gets a giggle out of Tucker. “Felix isn't that bad. Kind of a prick... and a tool... but he's fun. And he means well.”

“He's not really my type.”

*

Once Tucker and Donut are out of earshot, Felix sidles up to Church and throws an arm around his shoulder. “Sooo...” he says. “What would you say to a datewap? I give you Tucker and go home with Donut? I mean, I'm surprised you didn't just come together, but I guess friends with benefits going to prom together would feel a but too much like a date. Right?”

Church frowns, and wriggles out of Felix's grip. “Tucker and I aren't friends with benefits,” he says. “Haven't been for years.”

“No?” Felix looks surprised. “Well- I must have misunderstood, then,” he says. “I was sure he told me you guys like to bang when you're bored. And there was that trip you took last month...”

“He told you about that?”

“Was he not supposed to?”

“Well-” He hesitates. It wasn't exactly a secret, but it still feels weird that Tucker would talk about it to Felix. “-I mean, it's not a problem, I'm just surprised, that's all.”

“Why? When I get laid, I like the world to know. Seems like the most natural thing, to brag about it.”

Church's scowl is deepening. He shakes his head, trying to dispel some of his irritation. “Look- it doesn't matter, okay? If Donut wants to go home with you that's his business, I won't stop him.”

*

Tucker glances over at Felix and Church, and frowns. “Looks like Felix is annoying Church,” he says. “Want to go run interference?”

He and Donut make their way back to their dates; Tucker grabs Felix's hand. “Come on, dance with me,” he says, pulling Felix onto the dance floor before the other boy can protest. Church watches them go with his scowl still in place, and turns back to Donut.

“Hey Donut, are you into Felix?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that? No, I'm not.”

“What about Tucker?”

“No. We're just friends.”

“Anyone?”

“Why all the questions?”

“Because I want to find somewhere private to fool around but if you're trying to get with someone else I don't want to interfere and fuck it up.”

It's probably the least romantic proposition to make out that Donut has ever been given- and this after some of Felix's offers- but he can't deny that it's exactly what he was hoping for when Church invited him to prom in the first place. Still, he's hesitant to just take it without a second thought. He glances over at Tucker and Felix, trying to coordinate a simple two-step.

“What about Tucker?” he asks. “I know you're-

“Fuck Tucker.”

“...yes, that. You do that.”

“No, I mean-” Church rubs at his temples irritably. “I'm tired of this- this game we play, where I catch feelings and then he's not interested and I sit around pining and being miserable when I could be finding someone else and I-” He breaks off. “Look, I know I could stand to be a lot more romantic and you probably don't want to be a rebound and- never mind, forget I said anything. It doesn't matter.”

“Hey Church?”

“What?”

“Do you think you could stop answering for me before I have a chance to respond?” He smiles. “If you want to find somewhere private to fool around, I don't mind. I like kissing too, you know.”

“Oh.”

*

“So what is Church so annoyed by?” Tucker asks, once he gets Felix onto the dance floor.

Felix shrugs. “Who knows? I asked him if he minded if I went home with Donut, and now he's annoyed. Hmm.” He glances over at them. “Think he might be more into Donut than he was letting on?”

Tucker laughs. “Church and Donut? No way.”

“If you say so.” He swaps their steps into a two-step that really isn't suited for the music in question. Toward the end of the song he stops, and nods toward the back of the room, where Church and Donut are heading hand-in-hand to the door. “Well now. Looks like I was right.”

“What?” Tucker twists around, looks surprised. “Wow. Church and Donut? Really?”

“Looks that way.” Felix sighs. “And looks like I'm out a prospect.” He lets out a very put-upon sigh. “Oh well. Other fish in the sea, I guess.” He pauses, and grins suggestively. “Say, Tucker...”

“Dude, you have got to think of better ways to offer than that.”

“So is that a yes or a no?”

“...you know what, why not? I haven't gotten any in awhile. Sure.”

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Grif gets two dances with South before they head to the punchbowl, which Miller is strolling away from a little too casually.

“Should probably go ahead and get some,” Grif says. “Miller doesn't have any of York's subtlety, they'll catch on quick if he keeps acting like that.”

“There's a sentence I never thought I'd here,” South says, grinning. “Not as subtle as York- what a low bar. Do you think maybe he tripped over it?”

Grif snorts, and pours them both cups. “So how is this dance any different than any other school dance?” he asks. “I mean, apart from the fancy clothes.”

“Higher expectations. Supposedly it'll be a memory for us to carry with us for the rest of our lives- though personally, I'd rather just find somewhere casual to eat and chill with my friends.”

“At least I get to dance with you,” he says. He takes a sip of the punch, and coughs. “Does Miller even know what subtle means? Dear god in heaven. What did he even put in this stuff?”

“Wuss.” South takes her own sip, and to her credit manages to hold off a minute before coughing. “Oh lord. What did he do, upend a bottle of rubbing alcohol?”

There's a pause, and then they both down their entire glass in one quick gulp. It burns going down, but they're both thinking the same thing- that they're going to need it to get through the rest of the night.

*

They don't stay at the punchbowl much longer, not wanting to be around once the chaperones inevitably start sniffing around it. Instead they disappear out the door into the break area, which is lit up and decorated, with a few tables set up, a few groups scattered around, laughing and talking in low voices. They head to a table in the back, taking seats side by side so they can hold hands under the table while they sit.

“So can I ask you something?” Grif asks. South hums an absent affirmative. “If your mom hadn't made such a big deal about prom, would you have still wanted to come?”

“I don't know.” South rests her head thoughtfully in her free hand. “It seems like it might be kind of fun, I mean, hanging out, dancing, eventually finding somewhere private we can make out... I don't even mind the formal wear, you know?” She shrugs. “But Mama kept making such a big deal out of everything, like it was this thing that I couldn't miss and if I did miss it I'd regret it the rest of my life. And she kept on, kept needling and all, and so in the end it just left this bad taste in my mouth and I don't even care to be here.”

“Yeah, I can get that. So...” He rubs his thumb in absent circles on her hand. “So, if you don't want to be here, and I honestly don't care one way or another, why don't we take off? Find somewhere we'd both rather be?”

There's a long silence. “...that's a good question.” She stands, pulls him up with her. “Let's get out of here.”

*

They don't go far, ending up at the swings on the fifth grade playground, swaying slowly in all directions while they talk. At some point, Grif holds a hand out and South takes it, so they end up pulling each other along while swing. It's kind of nice, they can just hear the music coming from the gym and with the sky clear, it's far nicer than being inside, trying to force a smile while they pretend to have fun.

“Hey, Grif.”

“Yeah?”

South is silent for a minute. She gives his hand a squeeze. “Never mind. I figured it out.”

*

Simmons is probably the only one of his friends actually having fun, though he'd be having more fun if any of his friends were actually here to have fun with him. Still, at least North is a good dancer, and an attentive date. And he hasn't said anything about them sneaking off, which is kind of a relief. It's kind of expected of them at prom, he knows, but honestly he just wants to have a nice evening with his boyfriend, one that doesn't involve ruining his suit.

“Looks like the teachers are replacing the punch,” North says, nodding toward the table. “Too bad for Zach, he used up the whole bottle on the first one. He can't spike the new bowl.”

“The teachers were prepared. Did he think they wouldn't realize?”

“He's new to this. York always made sure to have enough to last the night. But then, York knew what he was doing.”

“Not a sentence I ever thought I'd hear. Want to get some fresh punch? And step outside for a bit?”

“Getting tired?” He winks, and tugs Simmons toward the punch bowl. “I could use a break, yeah.”

*

Tucker is starting to understand Donut's remark about loving himself too much to be with Felix. It's true, Felix is attractive, and when Tucker is being attentive to him, he moans prettily and arches into Tucker's touch. He is not, however, good with reciprocating this; he doesn't take any of Tucker's cues or signals. He's too rough or not rough enough, he bites just a touch too hard to be sexy, and when Tucker finally stops him to point this out, he sulks and pouts and grumps until Tucker almost feels bad for him.

Almost. He's got some unpleasant bruises coming in already and his dick lost interest in the proceedings ages ago. Hard to feel guilty in the face of that.

“Dude, you are really bad at this,” Tucker says. “No wonder Donut said he didn't want another go.”

Felix just pouts harder at that. “What would Donut know?” he says. “He made me keep my hands above the waist the whole time we were making out. Left me hanging and everything.”

“Well if you were this bad with him, I can't really blame him.” Tucker opens the door of the closet they're in- gives a silent thank you to Phil for never locking his supply cupboards- and checks for any passing chaperones before coming out, followed by a still-sulking Felix. “Well, this has been a learning experience,” he says, cheerily. “I learned that you suck at sex, and so did you. Congratulations.”

“Man, you suck.”

“You're projecting.” He heads to the bathroom to clean up, while Felix hurries after him.

“Well... how am I supposed to get better if I don't have anyone to practice on?”

“Figure it out. Try paying more attention to your partner, for a start.” Felix slips up behind him at the sink and wraps his arms around Tucker's waist. Tucker elbows him away. “Cut that out. I'm not interested anymore.”

“Rude.”

*

Church and Donut are having a much better time of things out in the parking lot, in the back of Church's car. It's probably the first time Church has ever been grateful for his scorpion, because the back seat is huge and has plenty of room for fooling around- even as long-legged as Donut is, they've still got space to not be scrunched up uncomfortably tight.

Speaking of things that are uncomfortably tight, Church sits back to pull his jacket off. He's not sorry to be rid of the hideous thing, and he ignores the squeak of protest from Donut when he drops it unceremoniously onto the front seat. Donut is already folding his own jacket carefully, but Church could care less whether he gets wrinkles or not. Not like he intends to wear it again anyway.

They're back to kissing in a moment anyway, their suits driven from their minds. Donut is good at kissing- and he responds to Church's attentions perfectly. Before Church knows it, his hands are on Donut's waistband and Donut is grinding up against him, making needy noises in the back of his throat. Church pauses with his hands on Donut's waist button.

“Can I..?”

“God, yes.”

*

South's hair is falling out of the elaborate arrangement of curls and braids her mother had it put in for the night. She makes a disgruntled noise and starts unwinding the braids herself, passing the pins to Grif to stick in his picket. She shakes it out when she's done, letting it fall down her back in a pile of waves and curls, shining faintly in the moonlight.

“I'll be glad when I graduate and I can cut all of this off,” she says, running her hands through it a few times. “The only downside of failing ninth grade- I've got to wait a whole nother year.”

“Why not just get it cut now?”

“My parents won't let me.” She shrugs, and subconsciously adopts a straighter posture, the one she always uses when talking about her parents. “It's not becoming of a young lady of my standing to have short hair.”

“That doesn't make sense.”

“Yeah, well. Tell that to my parents.”

“I mean, Carolina has short hair. So does Sheila. Aren't you all like, the same standing or whatever?”

“No, not really- Carolina and Sheila are both sitting on fortunes. They can do what they like. But my family has to maintain appearances, so they don't forget we're not worthy to rub elbows with them.”

This sounds like the biggest pile of bullshit Grif has ever heard. He's known both families for years, that kind of snobbery is beyond them.

“Have your parents ever actually met... any of these people? I mean, Hargrove is a snob, but even he's eaten at the house without turning his nose up. And we have Dr. Church over regularly. And we're about as low-class as you can get.”

“I don't know. It's.. complicated.” She hugs her knees to her chest- doesn't fall out of the swing; Grif is impressed- and stares at the ground for a long time. “My parents are ambitious,” she finally says. “But they don't mean any harm by it, not really. Mama says she wants better for North and me than they can give us, that she wants us to move up in the world. And Daddy is a rags-to-riches success and he wants to give us more than he can on his own. They don't mean any harm...”

“But harm is what they're causing,” Grif adds. “You deserve better.”

“We don't always get what we deserve, Grif.”

“True. If we did Church would be getting punched a lot more often than he does.”

“Exactly.” She lets her feet fall back to the ground and pushes off, swinging a little higher than they've been so far. “And it doesn't matter, okay? In a little over a year I'll graduate and I can leave and they won't matter anymore. I just have to make it till then.”

*

There are worse times to figure out the guy you're with is a virgin than when you're literally in the middle of getting ready to fuck, but Church is having trouble thinking of any of them just now.

“How could you not tell me something like that?!” he demands.

“You didn't ask!”

“That should have been the first thing you said! 'Hey Church by the way just so you know I've not actually done this before!' Seriously, three seconds and you could have saved us both some trouble.”

“Well I didn't think it'd matter! Does it really?”

“Does it- of course it matters! If you don't know what you're doing I've got to be more careful to make up for that!” He folds his arms and huffs, scowling in Donut's general direction. “At very least I could have made sure it was good for you.”

“First times aren't mean to be good. They're meant to be awful and then you get them out of the way so you can get onto figuring out what is good. Right?”

“I mean..” Church hesitates. “You're not wrong, but that doesn't mean it has to be bad. You should at least enjoy it.”

“Did you enjoy your first time?”

Church shoots him a glare. “It was awful and hurt like hell. All I'll say is this- never skimp on the lube. Never, ever skimp on the lube. Ever.”

This actually gets him a giggle. “I know that much. I mean, I've seen porn-”

“Yeah, porn is not a good teacher. Turns out there's a lot they leave out. I don't get it though. You and Maine were together for like, six months. You didn't bang any time in all of that?”

“I wanted to, but Maine doesn't like sex. So no sex for Donut.” He shrugs. “It didn't matter. We were happy while we lasted.”

“Whoah.” Church scowls, and makes a disgruntled noise before huffing again. “You still should have told me.”

“I honestly didn't think it'd matter so much.”

“Well.. it does.”

Donut eyes him thoughtfully for a moment, then gives him a small, knowing smile. “Then I'm sorry I didn't tell you.”

Church just makes a small, assenting noise. “Do you wanna get dressed and go back in?”

Donut nods. “Yes. I want to see who gets prom monarch.”

*

Prom ends, and everyone leaves. Donut and Church head out to find Grif's jeep to wait, only to discover that he and South have already gone.

“Aww, man,” Church grumbles. “I so didn't feel like driving out to the middle of nowhere tonight. No offense.”

“None taken. If we can find North and Simmons, I can get a ride home with them.”

He looks around for North's car, while Church takes out his phone to try texting them. He doesn't get a response from Grif or South, but Simmons eventually sends him a text informing him that they're already out of town, on their way up to Spiral, and they really should have said something sooner. Church grumbles and pockets his phone.

“Man. I really hate driving in the country at night.” He sighs. “You wanna just crash at my place tonight? I can take you home in the morning. Or Carolina can. Whoever.”

“Sure. I like sleepovers.” He laughs and follows Church to his car. “We can have a pillow fight and paint each other's nails.”

He's too busy laughing at his own joke to notice the way Church hesitates before murmuring something sarcastic in response.

*

Donut didn't bring a change of clothes and he's too bulky to fit anything of Church's; instead he strips down to his shorts and sprawls out on the sofabed while Church tosses a some spare sheets and blankets at him. Church sits on the end of his own bed, watching him make the bed up with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Hey Donut,” he says. “Do you really think the first time isn't that big a deal?”

“I'm surprised you do,” Donut replies. “You're so cynical normally, I would have thought you'd think that it was moot.” He smiles knowingly. “You've got a romantic streak.”

“Tell anyone and I'll kill you.” Church flops back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I don't know. I'm cynical because that's what I know. You can say things should be this or that all you want to, but at the end of the day, that's not how they are. And they won't get any better and they won't get any worse- so there's no point in being romantic about things.”

Donut finishes getting his bed made and sits down, watching Church across the room. After awhile, he flops back as well. “I'm not sure I agree,” he says. “I mean, when I was a kid, I used to wonder what it'd be like to have a dad who actually loved me- you know, unconditionally. I used to think 'this isn't how a father should be'. You could call that romantic, but it helped me deal, and now not only do I have a father who actually does love me unconditionally, I have brothers and sisters and even a baby nephew. And if it hadn't been for that- you know, thinking things could get better- they never would have had a chance to. So I don't think being a romantic is a bad thing.”

“Then why not care about your first time having sex?”

“Because I know it's going to be a lot more fun once I know what I'm doing and I want to go ahead and get that first time out of the way. Honestly I would have already but my only options were Maine, who didn't want to, and Felix, who... is Felix.” He closes his eyes. “And you, but that didn't go well.”

“True.” Church falls silent, then Donut hears the creak of his bed and suddenly Church is sitting beside him. “You know...” he says. “There's nothing to say we can't try this again. Just cause the mood was killed before... I mean...”

Donut opens his eyes and grins up at Church. He holds out a hand; Church takes it. “I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping you'd say that.”

*

Donut, it turns out, is a very heavy sleeper, in the quite literal sense of the word. Church is crushed under him when his phone wakes him up next morning; he manages to wiggle one arm free to grab it and holds it close to his face to squint at it (he has no idea where his glasses ended up). The text is from Tucker, is very lewd and suggestive, and ends by telling him to tell Donut hi, accompanied by a winky smiley face. Church groans and buries his face in his pillow. Donut is snoring in his ear and he doesn't even want to know how Tucker knows what happened.

He pokes Donut until the other boy rolls over, and wriggles up against him, nesting into his side. He'll deny it, later, when they both wake up properly, but right now he just makes himself comfortable and goes back to sleep.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Church wakes up first the next morning, pulling on a pair of shorts and stumbling sleepily down the hall to Carolina's room. She's in the shower after her morning run; she throws on a robe and scowls at him while she drips on the carpet and he explains his situation. After a minute, she snorts and disappears into her room, returning a moment later with a t-shirt and sweats left behind by Maine at some point. Church takes them and tries not to think too hard about what they might be doing there.

By the time he gets back to his room with the clothes, Donut is sat on the end of his bed, looking rumpled and sleepy and- dare he admit it?- cute, with his usually neat hair sticking out every which way and the blankets curled up in his lap. Church tosses the clothes at him and heads over to his closet to find something he can wear.

“Hey Donut,” he says, once he steps back out. “You said Maine isn't into sex, right? Or was that just with you?”

“In general, as far as I know. Why?”

“Hm.” Church scowls. “Well suddenly I feel better about him dating my sister.”

“Sexist.”

“I'm not sexist! I'm just looking out for her. I don't want her getting hurt. Maine's a big dude.”

“He's not much bigger than me, and unlike you, Carolina can actually lift that much weight.”

“I wasn't talking about-” He gestures at his body. “I meant- you know-” He gestures vaguely downwards. Donut wrinkles his brow in confusion, then bursts out laughing. Church scowls. “What's so funny?”

“Nothing. Are these for me?” Donut looks down at the clothes in his hand. “Oh, these are Maine's.”

“Yeah, figured they were about the only things in the house that would fit you. I'm gonna get a shower.”

He turns and fumes into the bathroom, wondering what could be so funny but not willing to push when he's not even fully awake yet.

*

Donut sits giggling to himself while Church storms out, then gets up to do his morning stretches once he hears the shower switch on. Church's room is enormous, so Donut has plenty of space to stretch out on the floor properly. He takes his time; he's still stretching when Church gets out of the shower. Donut tilts his head back to look at him and immediately looks away, a little embarrassed. Church's skin is still steaming from the shower, his hair hangs damp down his back, and without his glasses on, the brilliant green of his eyes stands out a mile. Donut clears his throat and turns back his stretches, trying to drive the image out of his mind. It's one thing to be clearly into the other while they're fooling around, quite another to ogle him in a vacuum.

Church ignores him, moving over to his dresser while Donut grabs the borrowed clothes and hurries into the bathroom for his own shower. Once he's in the bathroom, Donut leans back against the door with a sigh. Sleeping with Church was supposed to make his crush easier to deal with, not harder.

*

Spring Break comes after prom, for the entire district. A few days in Grif gets a text from Flynt inviting him to join them for a trip downstate to visit a car show with them. He gets the green light from Sarge and sends off a yes. Moments later, he gets another text from Flynt, telling him to invite Donut as well.

I know he doesn't want to go to the circuit, but we really miss him and we really would like to see him again.

i men i can ask

Please do.

Donut is initially reluctant to say yes, but at Grif's reassurance that they'll be going in opposite the direction of Valhalla, he's a bit easier to persuade.

“I do miss the guys,” he says. “I've hated not seeing them but I just can't got back to Valhalla yet. There's too many people there I'd really rather not run into, and my parents are at the top of that list.”

“Well lucky for you the show is in Armonia, and that's in the opposite direction of Valhalla to Blood Gulch. Pretty low odds of running into your folks there. Or your rat of an ex.”

“True.” He smiles. “All right, tell Flynt I'll go. It will be good to see everyone again.”

*

Carolina is getting back from a run when she gets a text from South.

Need to punch things. Up for spar?

Carolina frowns at the text. It's not exactly an unusual text to get, but it usually comes alongside South being upset about something and always tends to end in bruises. South punches hard, and even moreso when she's upset. Still, Carolina can take a beating and she's not going to leave her friend hanging, so she texts South an affirmative and heads out to the gym rather than up to the shower where she'd been headed.

South gets there a few minutes later, and she's fuming already. Carolina tosses her gear to her with a sigh. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” She pauses as she's putting in her mouth guard. “I want to punch things.”

*

They go for awhile, until both girls are panting heavily and South's punches have gone from brutal and overpowering to tighter and more focused. It's pretty clear she's furious about something, but the longer they spar, the more her temper calms to something more manageable. When they finally do stop, heading panting to the little shower stalls at the back of the gym, she's in a much more agreeable state.

“Mama developed the pictures she took of us all before prom,” South says, after they've showered and grabbed drinks and a snack and headed up to Carolina's room to rest. “And they came out really good and I was kind of enjoying looking at them. And then Mama got to this really nice picture of me and Grif, and she says-” She breaks off with a scowl, and adopts a voice similar to her mother's. “'He cleans up all right for a farm boy, doesn't he'. Farm boy,” she spits.

Carolina frowns, and takes her time answering. There's definitely more here than a comment from South's mother. “I mean... Grif is a farm boy. He even says so himself.”

“So is Simmons,” South points out. “And my parents fawn over him. Mama says he's handsome.” Her face falls. “And the best Grif gets is that he 'cleans up all right'.” She sighs. “I'm just so tired of not being good enough. Even when I was dating your brother- my parents thought he was a catch, you know? And all I got were comments about how I needed to be more ladylike so I didn't drive him away. And they never said anything against North breaking up with York, even though he was a catch too.”

Carolina doesn't have much to say to that. She can't quite relate- for all that she struggles for her father's attention, she can't deny that she gets it far more easily than her brother does. She holds her cookie packet out wordlessly; South takes one, but doesn't eat it. She's still upset, and if Carolina doesn't tread carefully, she'll just work herself up again.

“It really sucks being the spare, Carolina.” She pushes to her feet and starts pacing, scowling deeper and deeper as she works herself up again. “I try. I do what I can to be what they want me to be, and I pretend to be a proper lady like they want, but I just can't bury myself the way North does. I always mess it up and oh look, here's another reminder about the one they didn't want.” She stops pacing. “That's how it is with twins, you know. There's always one that was unplanned. The extra.”

She goes back to pacing, reaching up to run her hair irritably through her hair and making an annoyed sound when her fingers get caught at her braids. She stops pacing again.

“Do you have any scissors?”

“In the dresser, why?”

“Because I'm done trying to be the person they want me to be.”

She rummages through the dresser for the scissors, and looks satisfied when she sees they're heavy duty. “I'm going to be who I want to be- and I'm starting with this ,” she says, and starts hacking off one of her braids with a vengeful scowl. When it comes free, she tosses it unceremoniously into the trash can and starts on the other. Once both are gone, she turns to Carolina with a triumphant look. “I don't care if short hair is unladylike. I never asked to be a lady anyway.”

*

After South has cooled down more, and combed her hair out, she stands staring at herself in the mirror for a long time. Her hair is a ragged bob now, hanging uneven around her face, but it's short and light, and she can already tell the difference in how it feels. She runs her fingers through it once more and turns to Carolina.

“Who cuts your hair? Does he take short notice appointments or do you have to plan for ages ahead of time?”

“Jacques LeFrench,” Carolina says. “Normally you would, but if I ask he can probably squeeze you into one of his emergency appointments.”

“Call him. Please. I want this the way I want it before Mama sees it and drags me somewhere that will 'fix' it.”

“Sure. Hold on.”

She steps out to make her call, while South sits down and leans back in the chair with a grin. She feels freer, freer than she's felt in ages. There's something reassuring about deciding to live for herself and give up seeking her parents approval.

She puts her feet up on the dresser while she waits, and her eye catches on her tattoo, peeking out from under her shorts. A new determined smile spreads on her face and she grabs her phone. She has a call of her own to make.

*

Grif is double checking his duffle and waiting for Flynt and the others when South calls. “I need you to design me another tattoo,” she says, as soon as he picks up. He frowns.

“Hello to you too. What did you have in mind?”

“Hi.” There's something in her voice, something he hasn't heard in awhile, and it brings a smile to his face to hear it. He grabs a pen and paper from his desk. “I want a bird,” she says. “Wings spread like it's flying. It's going on my upper back, so make sure it's big.”

“What kind of bird did you want?” he asks. He's already scribbling an idea beside his notes- he can see it in his head, or at least the shape of it. “I know you like connors or whatever those things Maine keeps are.”

“Conures,” she corrects. “And they're nice, but no. I want something big and ugly and inelegant. Something that can't be mistaken for ladylike.”

She spits the word so forcefully that he almost feels it through the phone. So that's what this is about, then. “Buzzards and vultures are the least ladylike birds I can think of. Except maybe those dumb parrot things from that documentary we watched, but those can't fly.”

“Vultures are pretty cool. Have you ever seen a bearded vulture?”

“Those terrifying things that eat bones?”

“Yeah.”

“I'll see what I can do, then. I've got a long car ride to Google bearded vultures for ideas.”

There's a pause. “What time are you guys leaving?”

“As soon as the guys get here to pick us up. We'll be tomorrow getting home so I won't be able to start on your design till then. How soon do you want it?”

“Soon. Within a couple weeks, soon. And I'm going to pay you.”

“You know you don't have to-”

“I know. I'm going to anyway. It's important,” she adds, when he makes a noise of protest.

“All right, if you're going to twist my arm over it.” He glances out the window. “I think that's the guys. I'll talk to you later, okay?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow. Enjoy your trip.”

*

Donut spends a bit of time pacing after he finishes packing his overnight bag. Packing had been fun, at least, but now that his bag is sitting by the door waiting he finds himself nervous. He hasn't seen Flynt or Rookie in almost two years, and he doesn't remember the last time he saw Rookie's brother.

Before he knows it, Grif is knocking on his door to tell him the guys are here- not that he needed it; he saw them pull up. He takes a deep breath and grabs his bag, then heads downstairs to see them.

They're in the backyard with Grif, and when they spot him their faces split into wide grins. Flynt and Rookie head over to him.

“Frankie!” Flynt says, grabbing his hand excitedly. “Good lord, you've put on some inches, haven't you? I feel I need a stepladder to reach you.”

Donut rubs his neck sheepishly. “Well- I guess I have had a couple of growth spurts.”

“Growth spurts? You've damn near doubled in size! Is there something in the water here in Blood Gulch?”

“Remind me to introduce you to my friend Caboose sometime,” Donut says, laughing. “But we always knew I'd be tall, because my parents... are...” He trails off, frowning. He doesn't like talking about his parents, even in such a casual way- especially in such a casual way. Flynt catches the look in his eye and claps him lightly on the arm.

“Your parents suck ass,” he says. He gives Donut a reassuring smile “But you've made out all right for yourself, haven't you? This isn't a bad place you've found and by what Grif has told us you've got a proper family now. Much nicer one. Even Grif.” He jabs his thumb over at Grif, currently arguing with Demo over shotgun rights.

“Look man,” Demo says. “It's my car and I say who gets to ride where. Just sit in the back with Flynt and Donut, Rookie already called shotgun.”

“That's not fair, you picked him up first! Besides, there's not enough room for all three of us back there. Unless you want to turn Flynt into a pancake. Rookie's small. I'm not.”

There's a long pause as both brothers size Grif up, and Demo sighs. “He's right. Dammit. Sorry, bro, you'll have to sit in the back.”

“Dude!” Rookie huffs. “Man. Oh well. It'll give me a chance to catch up with Donut. I guess.” He pouts and goes to grab his bag from the front seat, while Flynt and Donut exchange a look.

“Not much has changed, I guess,” Donut says. “You want window or middle?”

“Middle's fine. We can swap out later on.”

*

Jacques is able to take South on later in the evening, after closing- a favor to Carolina, supposedly his best client.

“He says that about all of his clients,” Carolina says, when South raises an eyebrow at that. “But he is good at what he does and he doesn't try to talk me out of what I want, so he'll be good for you.”

South gets a surprise when they get there, too, and she meets Jacques. “Didn't you used to run for Slipspace?” she asks. “I'd know that dumb mustache anywhere.”

“Ah, yes, Monsieur Grif's young lady,” he says. His 'dumb mustache' twitches a little in annoyance. “Oui, I was a member of Team Slipspace- briefly, as a favor to Flynt. But they have Le Tank now, and I am no longer needed.” His eyes flicker to her hair, hanging ragged. He winces. “A shame to have cut away such beautiful hair,” He says. “But, I can make it look good. Come.”

He spins on his heel and leads them into the back room without another word. South snickers once he's out of earshot. “Could he be any more French?” she whispers. Carolina laughs softly.

“His husband Guy is even worse- he's our tailor. He's worth it, though. Come on.”

In the back room, Jacques plunks South into the chair and spends a long time staring at her from several angles. “Well, Mademoiselle? How shall we repair this damage?”

“I want the back and sides shaved,” she says. “And the top cut short- about-” She mimes the length. “Short enough that it can't be combed down to cover the undercut and hide it.”

He nods knowingly. “I can do zis easily. But first, a wash. Do you have a preference in shampoo scents?”

South considers this. “I like coconut.”

“Coconut it is, then. Just lean back, and Jacques will take care of you.”

“I'm trusting you,” she says, and does as he says.

*

It's a long time before Jacques finally declares South finished. He holds a mirror up, lets her examine herself at all angles. Even with as much as he cut off, her top cut still manages to be thick and fluffy, and she's surprised to find it has a bit of a curl to it that she'd never known was there. Not much, but it gives a touch of texture to her hair. She touches it curiously.

“Since when is my hair curly?”

“I would guess the sheer length of it was weighing it down,” Jacques says. “It happens. You look lovely, Mademoiselle. Did I not tell you that Jacques does good work?”

“I shouldn't have doubted you,” she concedes. She turns back to the mirror to look herself over again, a smile tugging at her lips. For probably the first time in her life, she feels like her reflection actually belongs to her.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Grif spends the car ride researching bearded vultures on his phone while Donut chatters with Flynt and Rookie in the back seat. Demo glances over at one point, eying the images curiously.

“Those are some pretty wicked looking birds,” he says. Grif hums an absent affirmative.

“South wants me to design a tattoo of one for her,” Grif says. “I'm looking for ideas.”

This gets Demo's interest. “You design tattoos? You any good?”

“I designed Tex's. And the flower on my hip.” He bookmarks a promising site, and looks over at Demo. “Why?”

“Sharkface has been looking for someone to design a new one for him. Would you be interested?”

Grif gives him a confused look. “Sharkface? But he hates me.”

“Nah. Well... yeah.” Demo taps the side of his face. “It's not his fault. He's bitter, see? Reckons he's lost his good looks along with his depth perception and his ability to race. And he can't do anything about XT cause no one knows where that fucker's hiding. But you- you're right there, every week, racing when he can't. Easy place to shift his ire. And Terrence is a man of much ire.”

“He said he was going to get revenge for what I did.”

“...yeah, that sounds like him. It'll probably be something lame. I don't know if you've noticed or not, but he's kind of a loser.”

“Isn't he your best friend?”

“Doesn't make him less of a loser.”

“...okay, true. If he's interested in commissioning me, tell him to go ahead. I don't come cheap, though.”

“How much did you charge Tex?”

“Not as much as I'll charge him. I gave her the friends, bosses, and people who can kick my ass discount. She and South are the only ones eligible for that discount,” he adds. “Well, and Carolina if she ever wants one.”

“I'll tell him, then. Do you have a sample of your work anywhere? We've all seen Tex's tat but I mean other than that.”

“Not really.” He frowns. “I never thought of it.”

“You should. Get a portfolio together or something, how do you expect to get more commissions if you can't show off your work to anyone interested?”

“Well I-” He breaks off. He'd never actually expected to get any commissions at all- but this will make seven designs, counting his own, and his third paying one. He makes a mental note to look into how to make an art portfolio after he gets home. “-I'll see what I can get him.”

*

South is in bright spirits when she gets home. She hums happily while she mixes a glass of Ovaltine, considering how she's going to handle her parents reactions to her new hair cut. They won't be happy, she knows this- and there'll likely be consequences to face, especially as she has no intention of showing any sort of remorse. She makes a mental note to check on her secret savings account when she gets upstairs- if her parents decide to cut off her allowance in retaliation, she doesn't want to find herself broke. She has more plans to change who she is and she's going to need that money to do so.

She's still thinking of other potential punishments and ways around them- they could take her keys, but she rarely does her own driving anyway, what with the motion sickness, so that's all right- when she hears the garage door opening and her mother pulling in. She takes a deep breath and finishes off her Ovaltine in one long gulp. Time to face the music.

It takes Mama a minute after coming in and setting down her bag to notice her daughter's hair, and when she does she just stares for a long moment, stunned. Finally her eyes narrow.

“Bismarck South Dakota what the hell have you done with your hair?” she demands.

South sighs. She knows she's in trouble when her first name comes into things. She switches to a grin almost immediately, though, forcing it to stay in place despite her nerves. She turns her head to one side and the other to show off her new cut. “You like it? I got it cut. Looks rad, right? And so much more manageable than it was, just a bit of mousse in the morning to give it body and away we go. I'll have to get it buzzed back down in a couple weeks, though, Jacques says undercuts grow out really quickly, but I don't mind. I might just learn to do it myself to save the trouble of getting a hairdresser.”

Mama stares at her through this, eyes flicking from the undercut to the overcut to the lavender tips before she strides over and takes South's chin in one hand, turning her head so she can look at the cut closely. South remains defiant, pulling away after a moment and giving her mother a hard look.

“I don't see any way to repair the damage here,” Mama says. “We'll just have to wait for it to grow out and hope it does quickly.”

“No way,” South says. “I'm keeping it. I like it.”

“Don't be stupid, of course you're not keeping it. It's not becoming, makes you look like a hooligan.”

“Hmm, I was going for punk rebel, but I guess hooligan will have to do.” She gives her mother a smug look, as defiant as she can muster. Mama just glares; South frowns. “It's my hair, I can do whatever I want to with it.”

“It might be your hair but it's attached to our name. Everything you do is a reflection of us- and this-” She scowls at the cut. “- is a very poor reflection.”

“Says you.”

“Exactly.” Mama points at the stairs. “Room. Now. We'll talk about this more when your father gets home.”

“Not like it's going to change anything,” South says. She gives her mother a satisfied smirk and flounces upstairs, trying to calm the slight tremor of her hands. One down, one to go. And if she can get her father onto her side- something that will depend heavily on how she reacts- then he'll talk Mama around.

But either way, she's not backing down. Not now. Not ever.

*

Sometimes Church goes with Tucker while he goes job hunting. He's checked almost everywhere in town that would be likely to hire a teenager, but everywhere is either not hiring, or hires someone else. It's getting frustrating and he's almost desperate enough to see if there are any farms that need an extra hand over the summer.

Almost.

“Who knew getting a job would be this hard?” Tucker asks, after the fifth place that still isn't hiring.

Church shrugs. “I don't know. I've never even thought of it. Don't really need a job.”

Tucker snorts. “Oh right. Rich motherfucker.”

“Hey, there's gotta be some perks to make up for my asshole dad. Besides, it's pretty clear I'm expected to go on to work for Mother of Invention once I graduate. One of us has to, and Carolina doesn't have the head for programming that I do.”

“I'm surprised you're that okay with not getting a say in your own future.”

“Well I mean.” Church shrugs. “It's not like I haven't had time to get used to the idea. In fact-” He hesitates. He'd been about to explain that this is one of the main reasons he's leaving, but he still hasn't said anything Tucker about leaving in the first place and he doesn't feel like explaining that right now. Instead he points at the diner. “Have you tried there?”

“Only a hundred times.” Tucker sighs. “But there's no harm in trying again.

*

It's nice seeing his pals again. Donut spends the three hour car ride down to Armonia catching both of them up on all of his friends in Blood Gulch, getting caught up on everything that's happened with his friends in Valhalla since he left. Flynt does most of the talking, while Rookie stares out the window and only occasionally interjects. This is strange to Donut, who remembers Rookie being rather chatty, but when they stop for gas he asks Flynt and Flynt says Rookie's been quiet lately in general.

“I think it's home stuff,” Flynt says quietly. “He keeps saying 'one more year, one more year' but if I'm honest I don't think he's going to make it. He can't keep it up, something's going to give. He's out to a lot more people than he intended to be right now, what with the races, and sooner or later it's going to get back to his parents. I just hope it goes better for him than it did for you.”

Donut frowns. He knows Mr. and Mrs. Rook from childhood, and they're like his parents in a lot of ways- supportive, so long as their children stick to a given path, strict and overbearing should they stray. He wouldn't be surprised if they did react in much the same way as Donut's dad, to learning the truth about their 'daughter'.

“But what do I know?” Flynt adds, in the face of Donut's silence. “My mum is lovely, I don't have any sort of comparison to draw from on the shitty parents front.” He leans back. “I wish he would talk to me. But he's been shutting me out lately, ever since we got Tank. And I don't know what to make of that- does he not like Tank? Or is there something else and the timing is a coincidence? I just don't know.”

“Have you tried talking to him?” He frowns. “I think I remember Tank... really stocky boy, tends to space out a lot?”

“That's Tank. He's a good mate, I don't know why Rookie wouldn't like him but you know how Rookie is.”

“What about how Rookie is?” Rookie says, rejoining them. “Talking about me?”

“Just saying how picky you are about people,” Flynt says, scooting over. “You don't like many of them.”

“If someone wants to be worth my time, they're gonna have to work for it,” Rookie says firmly. “Otherwise who gives a crap.”

“At least we make the cut,” Grif says, amused, as he and Demo rejoin them as well. Demo snorts.

“I wouldn't brag about that. My brother has some really weird standards. Anyway, I hope you guys emptied your bladders while we were stopped, because I'm not stopping again until we're at the show. Are we good? Good.”

*

The sun is setting when South hears her dad's car pulling up. She finishes wedging a duffel of extra clothes and other over night necessities into the tree outside her window- just in case she needs to get away for the night- and heads downstairs. At the bottom step, she stops to catch her resolve. Daddy is easier to deal with than Mama, she just has to work him, and if she can get him on her side he'll talk Mama around- eventually.

She can hear her parents talking in the kitchen as she approaches.

“-till you see what your daughter did with her hair,” Mama says.

“Did she color it again?” Daddy sounds tired- a plus, he'll be less likely to let the conversation draw out if he's had a long day. “Just give it a few weeks and it'll fade like last time.”

“Oh no,” Mama says. “This is going to take much longer to fix than those awful streaks. South! Get down here!”

South takes that as her cue and pushes the door open. “Yes, Mama? Hi, Daddy. Did you have a good day at work?”

He takes a good look at her and sighs, burying his face in his hand. “Good lord, girl, what have you done?”

“You like it?” South grins and sweeps her hand over it. “I got tired of it being long so I cut it. Well, I got Jacques to cut it. By the way, he says that how thick my hair is is probably why I tend to get headaches when the weather turns hot.”

He sighs again, and rests his chin in his palm. “I don't suppose there's any way to fix it, is there? No, we'll just have to wait till it grows out, I suppose. At least you waited till after prom and class photos. You won't have to worry about it being preserved forever.”

“Well, until senior photos next year. I'll have the length right then, but I've got time to experiment in the meantime. Think I want about another inch on the end...”

She trails off, forcing her face back into her defiant stare while he watches her. He snorts. “You say that like you think you'll be keeping this look.”

“That's because I am.” She squares her shoulders. “It's my hair. I'll do what I like with it. And if you keep trying to stop me, I'll just go back to Jacques and shave it all off.”

This gets her a surprised look from Daddy, a stern look from Mama. She holds her ground, reminds herself that there's nothing they can do to her that she hasn't already prepared for.

*

They get to the show around lunchtime, and spend the afternoon wandering the floor. They run into more of their friends from the circuit throughout the day, stopping to chat with some and exchanging only the bare niceties with others. At one point they run into Smith and one of the Joneses, hand in hand at one of the displays; at another, they pass by Song arguing with Pounder McJones. They don't stop and chat with the latter, none of them willing to get on Song's bad side. They've all seen Pounder after a fight with the much bigger Song, and Pounder swears he's a biter.

Overall, it turns out to be a pretty fun day, something all of them can agree on once they check into their motel room late that evening. Grif is tired, and barely paying attention to the argument Demo and Rookie are having while Demo gets the room opened for them. He catches something about 'already way more than eight hours', and Rookie kicking the bed irritably on his way past to the bathroom. Grif gives Demo a quizzical look, but Demo just shakes his head.

“Personal stuff,” he says. “Don't worry about it.”

He's spent enough time around the Rook brothers to know better than push, even if he did care enough. Instead he sprawls on his back on the bed Donut has claimed for them both, and checks his phone. He's got a missed text from South, warning him that she's going to be going dark for a few days, since her parents are taking her phone, but not to worry. He frowns. What's she in trouble over now?

Donut flops down beside him while he's checking the rest of his missed texts. “I had fun today,” Donut says. “Even if I don't know anything about any of the cars we saw,” he adds. “That lightish red one was nice, though.”

Grif groans and drops a pillow over his face. “I can't believe someone would ruin a perfectly good Veyron with that paint job,” he says, slightly muffled. “Can you believe it?”

“Better question is what is a Veyron doing in Iowa,” Flynt says. “They're some of the most expensive cars in the world.”

“Oh, that was just for the exhibition,” Grif says, waving one hand absently, not moving the pillow off his face. “I went to one of these with mom when I was a kid and there was a Koeniggsegg there. Prettiest car I've ever seen. Man. I'd love to put one of those around a circuit.”

“I've heard those things are hell to control,” Demo says. “But you're right, it'd be worth it.”

Beside him, Donut laughs. “Aaand, we're back to conversations I don't understand,” he says.

“Then let's get out of here and leave these losers to their car talk,” Rookie says, as he comes out of the bathroom from his shower. “I don't get to visit a city this size very often, I want to have a look around Armonia before we head home. What do you say, Donut? Up for a night out? It'll be like old times, except our parents aren't here to tell us we need a chaperone.”

Donut rolls off of the bed. “To be fair, we were only twelve, and you were a known trouble-maker.”

“Hey!” Rookie throws something at him- Grif hears it 'thwumph!' and fall. “I am not a trouble-maker, I'm a trouble-finder. There's a difference.”

“All I know is, I got in trouble a lot because of you.”

*

Tucker and Church end up back at Church's house after an evening of rejection. Tucker throws himself down on the couch with a groan.

“Too bad I'm not old enough to be a kept man. You know, find someone rich to marry and just spend my life in the lap of luxury. You okay, dude?” Tucker stops. Church had made a 'glurk' sound and started choking at Tucker's words; Tucker sits up and pounds him on back until he stops. “Swallow something wrong? Bow chika bow wow.”

“I'm fine,” Church says, scowling. “Just- yeah, swallowed wrong. Ow. That hurts a little.”

Tucker drops back onto the couch while Church goes to grab a glass of water. “Hey, your dad's not hiring at MOI, is he?”

“Not unless you've got years of experience in software programming,” Church says, once he gets back. He sits down and stretches his legs out in front of him. “They might be hiring in maintenance, though. You could do that. You've got training.”

“I am not going to be a janitor. Bad enough I have to do it for that stupid apprenticeship.” He huffs, and lapses into silence, checking his phone rather than go on yet another tangent about how much he hates his apprenticeship and Phil and janitors in general. “Oh, hey, I've got a message on Basebook.”

“Anything interesting?”

“It's Basebook, dude. I don't even know why someone would bother messaging me there, I'm never on it.” He pauses while he pulls the message up, and then nearly drops his phone in surprise.

Church raises an eyebrow at him. “What's up?”

Tucker is just staring at his phone though, like he's worried if he takes his eyes off of it it will vanish. “It's from my mom,” he finally says.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

It doesn't take long before Donut and Rookie are ready to head back out. Rookie spends a few minutes in front of the mirror before they do, grumbling to himself while he tries to adjust his clothes to hide his figure. Finally he shoots his brother an annoyed glare before grabbing Donut's arm and pulling him out the door and into the night. Demo ignores his glare and just waves, calling after them to have fun and be careful. Rookie just flips him off as he leaves.

“Not often I get into a city this big,” Rookie says, once they're alone. “Even Spiral isn't a proper big city, we just call it that because it's big compared to what we're used to.”

“What do you want to do?” Donut asks. “Did you have anything specific in mind?”

“I don't know. I just wanted to get away from Flynt, if I'm honest. He's been kinda weird around me lately, I can't figure it out.”

“He's your best friend, though. Grif says he's never seen one of you without the other.”

Rookie waves that away. “It's all right at the circuit,” he says. “At the circuit I'm Sebastian and we're Team Slipspace and it's us and everything feels normal. But the rest of the time-” He gestures at himself. “He'll barely look at me if I'm not wearing my binder. I don't get it. He's never been like this before.”

This isn't what Donut'd had in mind when he'd decided it'd be nice to see his friends again- being dropped into the middle of drama that both seem to think is one-sided. He sighs. On the other hand, sorting out the drama of his friends seemed to be his thing back in Valhalla. He really shouldn't be surprised at all, now he thinks of it.

“Let's go shopping,” he suggests. “I remember it used to make you feel better before.”

“I do like buying things,” Rookie says. “I think we passed a mall somewhere back that way, on our way here.”

They track down a bus stop near the motel, and after a little bit of confusion figure out how to get to the mall they're going to, just in time for the bus to arrive. There's more confusion once they're on the bus, but eventually they're able to understand how the bus works, and slide into the nearest available seats with relief.

Rookie is more talkative now that they're away from the others, much closer to the Rookie Donut knew before, though there's a bit more defiance in his tone than Donut remembers, something in his voice that dares anyone to act against him.

He talks about racing, mostly. Or rather, he talks about the circuit. He's not into racing the way Grif is- when Grif talks about racing, he stumbles over his sentences and waves his hands around, trying to capture a feeling that he doesn't have words for. For Grif, racing is an extension of himself: Grif would race even if there were no stakes, no glory, no prizes. Grif would race if there was no track, and he'd race the wind if he had no one else. But for Rookie, racing is a means to an end- a path to glory and fortune, and a means to escape an otherwise dissatisfying life. They do have one thing in common- for both of them, the circuit is where they found themselves.

Donut can sympathize with Rookie's feelings. It's the same reason he likes the stage so much.

*

“What does it say?” Church asks, while Tucker reads the message. Tucker just carries on reading and pacing and ignoring him, until he finally flops back down beside him. “Well?”

“She says she wants to meet me,” Tucker says. “Just to talk.”

“You going to take her up on it?”

“I don't know. Maybe. I need to think about it. What do you think?”

“Well if it were me I'd tell her to get fucked,” Church says. “That's what I told mom when she turned up.”

“But you still visit her over the summer, though,” Tucker points out.

“Only cause I like to see my friends in Sidewinder. She still dumped you,” he adds, not wanting to spend any more time talking about Sidewinder than he needs to. “Couldn't even stick around to see if you would be any good.”

“She was sixteen, Church. It's not the same as with your mom. She was in her thirties when you were born- hell, she was old enough to be my mom's mom.”

“Then what's the problem? Why don't you want to see her?”

“Because it's been seventeen years and- I don't know what I'd say to her. And why is she trying to see me now?”

“I don't know. Why don't you reply and ask her?”

“Because that might seem like committing.” Tucker makes an irritated noise and punches one of the couch cushions. “This sucks.”

*

Shopping definitely improves Rookie's mood- spending money has always cheered him up, and by the time they leave the mall a couple hours later, he's in much brighter spirits. They stop for a quick bite before they head back, and then make their way back to the bus stop. Donut is exhausted, Rookie even moreso. It is perhaps for this reason they grab the wrong bus, and don't realize they're at the wrong motel until they're off the bus and it's gone.

“...well this sucks,” Rookie says, looking up at the blinking no-vacancy sign on the motel. “When does the next bus run?”

“Um...” Donut checks the sign, and his face falls. “Tomorrow.”

“What?”

“That was the last bus for the evening.” He sits down on the bench with a groan. “Next one doesn't run until morning.”

“How are we supposed to get back to our motel then?”

“Let's just call your brother to come pick us up,” Donut suggests, but Rookie just shakes his head.

“No way. He already thinks I can't take care of myself- this would just prove him right.” He huffs. “We'll just get a taxi or something.”

“I've never ridden in a taxi before,” Donut says. Rookie chews his lip thoughtfully.

“Neither have I,” he admits. “But it can't be that hard to figure out. We just gotta pay attention to the turns to make sure the driver doesn't swindle us. They do that to run up the meter.”

There're no taxis passing by where they're waiting, so they head back toward the main roads in hopes of better luck. A clatter behind them startles Rookie closer to Donut; after a nervous glance behind him he takes Donut's arm and drapes it over his shoulder. At Donut's inquisitive look, he half-shrugs and stares at the ground in embarrassment.

“I'm just- look, I get nervous, okay? And if you tell anyone, I will kill you.”

He shoots Donut a warning glare, but Donut just nods. “It's okay, Rookie. Everyone gets scared.”

“Not everyone,” Rookie mutters, staring back at the ground while they walk.

*

South is slouched on the couch when North comes home. Their mother is pacing irritably, their father seated in his armchair with his arms folded, watching his daughter with a grumpy look. North looks from parent to parent, and then to his sister, a knowing look spreading across his face as he sees her.

South catches his eye, trying to send him a silent plea to stay out of this. It's her problem; she'll deal with it herself, without his interference. He either understands and ignores her, or doesn't understand at all, because he reaches over and ruffles her now-short hair fondly.

“Hey, sis,” he says. “Digging the new hair cut. It's very you.”

“It looks awful,” Mama says, ceasing her pacing to glare at her son. “Worse than those horrible streaks. It's not becoming.”

“Oh I dunno,” North says lightly. “I think it's very pretty.” He turns to South. “Who did you get to do it?”

South glares up at him for a moment, then says, “Jacques LeFrench. Carolina put me onto him,” she adds. “He's the best.”

Daddy shifts, moving one hand to stroke his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose Carolina is the one who put you up to this...?” he prompts.

He's giving her an out, and they all know it. Carolina is a proper young lady, if South says Carolina put her up to the idea her parents will spin it so that it was some mean joke while also not admitting that Carolina isn't perfect or appropriate company. They're good at that sort of thing, her parents. Managing to be snobs while not outright snubbing their betters.

But South isn't going to let them have an excuse. She gives him a shakily defiant look. “No. It was my idea. I just asked Carolina to help me with getting an appointment.”

Behind her, she can hear North sigh and bury his face in his hands. Mama resumes pacing.

“You realize you're grounded, right? At least until the end of the school year, maybe longer.” South snorts; Mama glares. “This isn't funny, young lady. You deliberately disobeyed us- we told you not to cut your hair, or did you think we didn't mean it? We expect better out of you- do you even understand what a poor reflection this is on us? Or do you only care about yourself?”

Now South is on her feet; North puts a hand on her shoulder, trying to stave off the storm he can see coming, but South just shrugs him off. She's not shaking nervously anymore, in fact, she's almost vibrating in anger. Her fists are clenched at her side, white-knuckled and trembling.

“You know what's a poor reflection ?” she spits. “That you care more about some imaginary status than the happiness of your own kids. You're a joke , you know that? Those people you try so hard to impress? They can't stand you.”

“Don't talk to your mother like that,” Daddy says. “She doesn't-”

“I'll talk to her however I like,” South snaps back. “I'm done.”

She storms out and up the stairs, punching the wall as she goes by. Her eyes flash in satisfaction when her fist goes through the plaster; she'll worry about her bruised knuckles later. For now she storms into her room and slams the door hard behind her. She leans against it, straining her ears, and she can hear talking downstairs, her parents' angry tones mixed with her brother's soothing ones.

Figures North would get involved, she thinks. He just can't let her take care of herself, can he?

*

Church turned his attention back to his phone ages ago, ignoring the way Tucker is continuing to pace, muttering a debate to himself. One the one hand (Tucker argues), it would be nice to meet his mom. It'd be nice to at least know the woman who'd left him behind. Yes but on the other hand (he protests), she's had plenty of chances to step back into his life so why now ? Why wait seventeen years?

In the end (he points out), the question to as himself is does he want to see her?

And deep down, in a place he'll get to eventually, he knows the answer is yes.

*

Grif falls asleep not long after Donut and Rookie take off, sprawled out in the lumpy motel bed, snoring softly. Flynt and Demo are still awake, talking in low voices not to wake him up, when the boys eventually make it back. He snorts and wakes up when the bed dips suddenly with Donut's weight, blinking sleepily at the other with a yawn.

“Have fun?” he asks. He glances over at Rookie, looking exceedingly grumpy while he rummages in his bag for his pajamas. “I guess not...”

“The cab driver took us the long way around,” Donut says lightly. “And we left one of our bags in the cab. But aside from that, yes, we had fun. We went shopping! I got you this,” he adds, handing Grif a book from one of his shopping bags. “I know you've been a bit homesick lately so I thought you might like it.”

Grif takes the book and looks at it. It's a photography book, full of photos of Hawaii, from the standard fair of picturesque beaches and volcanoes to cultural photos of traditions to just... every day things, people going about their daily lives in absolutely stunningly captured images. Grif flips through it nonchalantly, feeling that tightening in his chest that he always feels when he thinks of home, and gives Donut a shrug.

“Thanks,” he says, in a way that implies he's only mildly interested- but Donut doesn't miss that when he puts it away in his duffel, he puts it very carefully under his sketchbook.

“I got some nice stationary too,” Donut chatters on, while Grif lays back and pulls the covers back up. “And some glittery dinosaur stickers. And some new pens!”

He carries on, giving a detailed list of his purchases while Grif tunes him out with all the practice of an expert. At the next bed over, Rookie slides in beside his brother, opposite Flynt, and pokes Demo repeatedly until he scoots over with a grumble.

“Next time we go on a trip like this we're getting two rooms,” Demo says, when Flynt complains that he's pushing him off the other side. “Or at least one room with enough beds. Or one with bigger beds,” he adds, as he's squished between the other two.

“I'd offer to swap beds, but Grif takes up most of the other ones and Donut isn't exactly a toothpick either,” Rookie says. In his sleep, Grif reaches one hand out from under the covers to flip him off.

“Let's just get some sleep,” Demo says, sighing. “I want to get an early start on the drive home tomorrow.”

A lot more wiggling and complaining and shifting later, and the three boys manage to get at least somewhat comfortable, or at least enough to settle down and fall asleep.

*

South is at her desk when her father knocks, a book about interesting places to visit in the US open in her lap. The book is well-worn from much use; there are grubby fingerprints on every page, most of the corners are bent or folded to some degree, there are stains from various colored beverages, the cover is warped somewhat from being left outside overnight, and there are no less than seventeen colorful space-themed book marks stuffed into its folds (the bookmarks were a gift from Carolina two or three birthdays ago. She has a whole box of them, and most of them are stuffed into similar books- South has lots of books about interesting places to visit while visiting much bigger interesting places).

When Daddy walks in, South carefully picks up what she thinks of as her 'main' bookmark and sets it in place to mark her page, then sets her book aside and turns on him a look that, had she had a mirror handy, would have reminded her enough of her mother to give her chills, a look that says 'whatever version of reality you are about to hand me will be promptly overwritten by one I find much more agreeable', and as it is, it certainly unnerves her father, who has been on the receiving end of this look from his wife many times in the entire nearly eighteen years they've been together.

“Your mother and I have been talking,” he says, a sentence which in South's history rarely ends well. “We think perhaps we may have overreacted to your decision to have your hair cut. We understand that a young lady your age feels a very strong need to... assert her autonomy.” He frowns, and when South opens her mouth to protest he holds up a hand. “Sweetheart, please, let us have this. It is normal for a young lady of your age to assert her autonomy. We understand. That said, you are still grounded, both for going against our wishes and for the way you spoke to your mother down stairs. We'll be returning your phone when Spring Break is over, and you will get your keys back once the school year has ended- a month, give or take, I believe.”

He stops, and South continues to give him that impassive stare, the one that says she is assessing his offered reality. After awhile, she inclines her head in assent, and turns back to her book, quite clearly dismissing him. He stands in the door for a long time, not saying a word, frown etched on his face.

“Your mother works very hard,” he says, finally. “She wants what's best for you kids. You know that.”

“What's best for us isn't to be treated like accessories,” South says, not looking up. “Was there anything else you wanted?”

This earns her a cold glare, and then the door snaps firmly shut as he turns on his heel and leaves. Once he's gone, South lets out a breath she hadn't been aware of holding and sets her book down with shaking hands. Her ears are burning and she rubs at them, willing herself to calm. That's why she was reading her Interesting Places book, right? To calm down?

In any case, she'd gotten off lighter than she'd expected. Grounded for a month might be irritating, but it could be worse. The only downside will be having to give up her runs with Carolina, her sleepovers with Grif, and her visits with Connie and Tex. She laces her fingers behind her head and leans back to stare at her ceiling, staring at the many glittery stickers left over from her childhood.

“That's a lot of downsides, though,” she says to the empty room. She's going to miss all of that.

*

“Fuck it,” Tucker finally says. Church pauses his video and looks expectantly at his friend. Tucker folds his arms. “I'm going to see her,” he says. “I want to know what she's like. Maybe I'll hate her, maybe I won't, but at least then I'll know. That's gotta count for something.”

“Congratulations,” Church says, going back to his video.

Tucker grumbles, then drops heavily down beside him. “Hey,” he says, nudging Church. “Wanna fool around a bit?”

The question- a fairly innocent one- has the hair standing up on the back of Church's head and his ears ringing faintly. He shakes his head, letting his hair fall forward a bit, and manages a careless 'nah' that sounds far less trembly than he feels when he says it. Tucker pouts up at him from his flopped out position.

“Aw, but I'm horny. Why not?”

Because I only just started getting over you and I'm never going to get any farther if I keep sleeping with you, he thinks.

“Well I- kinda...” He hesitates, looking for an excuse, and grabs the first one that presents itself. “I was thinking- you know, I might try it on with.. with Donut.” He swallows hard, hoping Tucker takes his hesitation as embarrassment. He must, because his reaction is surprised.

“Donut? Seriously?”

“Well- yeah. I mean, we had fun last weekend and-” He clears his throat pointedly. “You know, a lot of fun. Anyway I don't think it'll work if I go ask him out after we've been banging. He's a romantic guy, you know that. He'll take it the wrong way.”

“Oh.” Tucker sits up straight, putting several inches of space between them. He looks confused, like something's not adding up in his head but at the same time he isn't quite sure how to pursue it. “All right. Well good luck, man.”

“Thanks. Think I'll give him a call once he gets back from his trip.”

He returns to his video once more, trying to will away the ringing in his ears. He'll have to call Donut up later and tell him what happened, in case Tucker asked how things went. And then he'll work on coming up with a better excuse before summer, because Tucker isn't going to buy that he's planning to pursue someone a second time.

*

o/o

Chapter Text

o/o

*

Grif doesn't often get calls from North, in part because he tends to not answer them- like now, when he gets a call during lunch the next day and hits ignore. Barely a minute later he gets a text from him that says 'pick up your phone motherfucker its me -S'. He hastily hits redial and waits while South takes her time answering.

“I told you I got my phone taken away,” she says. “Lucky for me my parents are too stupid to realize if they take my phone I'll just use my brother's.”

She sounds very pleased with herself, not just smug but proud, and he wonders once more what happened.

“How was your trip?” she says, before he can ask.

“Pretty good. There was a Koeniggsegg there and we ran into Smith and one of the Joneses holding hands- you were right, they're a thing.”

“Told you.” And there's the smug, making the difference even more palpable.

“So, are you going to tell me why you're grounded?”

“The usual,” she says casually. “Disobedience, defiance, attitude, backtalking... not being the good little accessory my socially ambitious mother wants her children to be.”

No, there's more to it than that- he can tell from her tone. South is a terrible liar; she puts the same expressiveness into her voice that she does her body, and it's impossible for her to turn off. But he can also tell that she isn't going to tell him until she's ready, so he sighs and sets it aside to wait.

“I guess that means I can't come over today? If you're grounded, I mean.”

“Oh, I dunno,” she says, a smirk in her voice. “My parents aren't home to tell me otherwise.”

“Good. I'll head over after lunch.”

“See you then.”

*

Donut is writing a letter to Grammy on his new stationary when he gets a call from Church. He answers with his usual chipper greeting and can hear a tired sigh on the other end of the line. He ignores it. Church always sounds like that when he calls Donut.

“What's up?” Donut asks, grabbing a pencil and doodling a bunny onto the corner of his letter while he listens.

“I told Tucker I wasn't going to sleep with him because I was planning to ask you out,” Church says. Donut's grip tightens on his pencil; his mouth feels very dry all of a sudden, but Church doesn't give him a chance to respond before adding, “So when he asks tell him I did and you turned me down.”

“Ah. Right.” Donut prides himself that he keeps the tremor out of his voice, but it still makes it to his hand, giving the bunny a pair of very wobbly ears. “Anything else I should know about?”

“Um, I told him about last weekend. Sorry. No details, though.”

“It's fine, he would have guessed anyway.” Tucker has a bit of a sixth sense about these things. Donut erases the bunny's ears and tries to draw them a bit more smoothly this time. “You um. You wanna hang out later?”

“Can't, I've got plans with Tucker. Maybe tomorrow or something.”

“Yeah, tomorrow.” They hang up soon after, and Donut pulls his letter to him again. He stares down at his cheery paragraphs, telling Grammy all about prom and his trip and Grif taking on another tattoo commission and Kai starring in the church's upcoming Easter play on Sunday, and sniffles a little. He's not crying- he refuses to cry for something as silly as a boy not liking him- but... well, he feels like crying. Which, in a way, is just as bad.

After a moment, he pulls himself together and picks his pen back up so he can add a new section to his letter.

Grammy, it reads, have you ever found yourself smitten with someone who doesn't care for you back?

Just writing it makes him feel a little better. Grammy will understand. He shifts in his seat and starts writing, pouring out the whole story. Even if Grammy doesn't give him any usable advice, it feels better for having told someone. Especially as Grammy has no way of accidentally letting the truth spill to Church, the way the rest of his friends do.

*

Tucker has made arrangements to meet his mom at the diner later that afternoon, and he'd begged and begged until Church had agreed to go with him, at least to start with.

“I just don't know if I can face her alone,” he says, pacing nervously near their table while he waits. Church, by sharp contrast, is leant back in his chair playing with his phone.

In fact what he's doing on his phone is looking up Maya Rogers on Basebook, but he isn't going to tell Tucker that because based on what he's found so far, he doesn't think Tucker would be too pleased and he refuses to be the one to tell him that. Maya can be her own messenger; if Tucker's going to hate anyone, it's going to be her.

Tucker tries sitting down, but he's fidgeting too much so he gets up and goes to the bathroom to splash some water on his face and calm his nerves, leaving Church to hold their table. He's still alone a few minutes later when Maya arrives, a small boy trailing behind her, clinging tight to his hand. She spots Church and he waves her over, folding his arms and scowling when she approaches.

“Classy,” he says. He gestures to the kid. “Not even gonna wait to drop the bomb on him, then?”

“I couldn't find anyone to watch him,” she says. She looks him over. “You were at the funeral.”

“Yeah, my best friend lost his dad so I went with him for moral support.” There's a jab in his words. The look on her face makes it clear she caught it; she frowns. “Where's Vern?”

“Tucker-” He stresses the name. “-is in the bathroom. He'll be out in a minute. Before he gets here- look lady, I'm not getting involved in this, it's Tucker's thing, he's gotta do it himself, right? But don't you dare hurt him, got it? He's been through enough. If you're here to hurt him, just turn around and leave right now.” His scowl deepens, but Maya just raises an eyebrow at him.