A/N: I'm baaack! Yes, I've finally decided to get off my ass and start writing again. It's an amazing feeling, really. And if you haven't noticed, this isn't our usual angst-ridden Chainshipping setting. Everyone, welcome to the brand-spanking new Insidious category! Taadaa! *jazz hands* And, if I read correctly, I'm the first person to write for Insidious! Eeep, it's so exciting! I can't wait to see what wonderful things people will come up with for this category. Anywhoo, I decided to do what any fangirl normally does and stretch aspects of the film until they are to her liking. But this time, I'm not talking about pairings, aha. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Insidious. Or Ghostbusters. Or Hot Pockets.
An Emergency
"Specs."
A voice, urgent and rushed, somehow manages to hit him through the curtains of sleep.
"Specs wake up."
He's being shaken now, gripped by the shoulders and slowly jolted into consciousness.
Please, five more minutes. Call the Ghostbusters, they'll do a better job…just let me sleep…
"Specs!"
He can no longer ignore the voice, its urgency has reached too high of a peak. So he reluctantly cracks his eyes open with a soft groan.
Tucker stands before him, leaning over the bed with both hands still on his shoulders. Specs lifts his own and pushes them away, rubbing his eyes once his counterpart has stepped back.
"Tuck," he sighs, and fumbles for the glasses that rest on his bedside table. His clumsy fingers finally grip their smooth plastic after much too long, and he hastily slips them on.
Specs feels his eyes widen instantly when he really takes the sight of Tucker in.
His partner stands in only a pair of boxers and an old, faded t-shirt. Specs squints against the sleep in his eyes and until he sees that it's an old Spectral Sightings shirt prototype, a design that the two had decided against. His rusty brown hair is in total disarray, several sections pointing this way and that. Specs knows that his partner has a habit of running his hand across his scalp religiously, but he's never seen it this messy. Tucker's rich facial hair, his only trademark, is in a very similar state to the hair on his head.
But it's not Tucker's unkept appearance that shocks Specs so much, although it does unnerve him. Audible breaths escape from his mouth, which hangs slightly open. His eyes are wide and almost empty. He looks…scared. It suddenly occurs to Specs that he's never seen his best friend like this. Afraid. Vulnerable.
He glances back at the bedside table, and all sympathy drains from his body as if someone has pulled a plug when he sees the time: 12:40 am. Specs groans.
"Tucker, why on earth are you waking me up at this time of night?"
Tucker blinks, and nervously licks his lips, once again reminding Specs of the fact that he's never seen this side of him. A small pang of affectionate pity hits him, and he ignores it. The standing man speaks:
"It's an emergency."
Oh no. Specs doesn't feel so tired anymore.
Shoving Tucker out of the way, Specs leaps out of his bed. He darts around the room at top speed, simultaneously searching for clothes to wear and his supplies. The entire time both his mind and his mouth are running at a mile a minute.
"Should we call Elise?" he splutters out as he tugs his white button-down shirt on. "I think she's still awake, she's usually done meditating by now that is unless this isn't that big of a job, where exactly did you get the call from Tuck, maybe we can do it without her tonight, good God where's my charcoal I can't draw properly without it-"
"Specs!" Tucker shouts.
The bespectacled man freezes once more, his sketchbook in one hand and a pair of pants in the other. Tucker meets his eyes, telepathically telling him to shut up and listen.
"The emergency is here. In the kitchen."
The leather-bound book slips from Specs' hand and hits the floor with a slap. He feels the color drain from his face, his heartbeat speed up slightly.
It's here. Paranormal activity is occurring here. He no longer feels determined, or useful. Only downright terrified. This isn't someone else's home, where he can put up a brave front and handle the situation as clinically as possible. This is where he lives, it's his sanctuary. If something happens here, he can't just apologize and drive off to safety. He'll have to give up, accept defeat, and admit that his job, the thing he is most passionate about, scares him on a daily basis. Another glance into Tucker's eyes tells him that they are both on the same page.
Specs relaxes from his tense stance, and swallows dumbly. He awkwardly fumbles with his pants until finally giving up and dropping them onto the bed. Meeting the wide eyes of Tucker, he nods slowly.
"Ah, l-let's go see it, then."
Tucker returns the nod. He exits the room, Specs close in tow.
Their tiny house is silent, aside from the occasional chirp from a cricket outside, and the muted padding of their bare feet.
Their journey through the hall ends much too quickly, and Specs finds himself in the dimly lit kitchen too soon for his liking. He glances anxiously around himself, almost spinning in his spot, searching for anything that might seem out of the ordinary. He takes it all in, the off-white countertops, the somewhat sticky floors, the shiny wooden cupboards. He jumps as the ice box rattles suddenly, and then inwardly scolds himself. Finally, Specs sighs and looks back at Tucker.
"Uh, Tuck, to be completely honest, I'm not sure what I'm looking for here. Are you just tricking me again or…?"
As Specs fades off, Tucker scowls (or at least it looks like a scowl through his thick beard) and trudges to the fridge in the corner. He opens the door to the freezer with a flourish, and, as if announcing the death of a legendary celebrity, states, "We…are out…of Hot Pockets."
Silence.
Specs remains still, almost hoping that Tucker is kidding, that there's actually a hoard of demons in the broom closet, that he was not just woken up over a lack of microwaveable pastries. But when the quiet goes from tense to overwhelming, he finally breathes.
"Excuse me?" is all he can manage.
The scared little kid in Tucker is showing now more than ever, and he yanks the smaller man over to his side.
"Look!" he says gruffly, pointing into the icy compartment. "They're all gone!"
Indeed, of the five boxes that practically dominate the small freezer, every one of them is empty.
"I was just in the garage, cataloging all of our recent shirt orders from the site, when I remembered that I hadn't eaten since lunch. So I came in here, expecting a nice ham and cheese at the very least, but then I opened the freezer and they were all gone."
Tucker looks at him anxiously, as if expecting him to quickly agree that this means the end is near. Specs steps back, still somewhat frozen in disbelief.
"So…you woke me up, because you're out of Pockets?" he asks.
Tucker nods his head jerkily, his expression clearly showing disappointment in Specs' reaction. Specs slides his glasses up, presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and digs them in, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.
"Tuck, you do realize that I thought there was an entity in here. A demon. Not an empty freezer."
Tucker pauses for a moment, then, "Well…yeah, course I do."
Specs drops his hands, now more than a little exasperated.
"Well why didn't you just say it in the first place?"
A brief rush of cold air hits them as Tucker snaps the freezer shut.
"I said it was an emergency. And it is. I'm out of Hot Pockets."
Sometimes, Specs is simply amazed at how incredibly intelligent and yet exceedingly dull his partner can be. The way Tucker thinks never really does make it to his mouth properly, unless it's something that he's serious about. In fact, not many things do make it to his mouth. He's never one for words, unless it's only him and Specs talking.
Specs clears his throat after pausing.
"Well, thanks for alerting me to this; even if it's pointless, seeing that you don't let me near the things. I'm going back to bed." He turns around, and is about to make his way back down the hall when Tucker calls out.
"Specs, wait!"
"What?" He doesn't even turn back around.
"Will you come with me to get some more?"
"What?" Okay, now he does.
"Come with me to get some more."
"It's nearly one in the morning, Tuck. I'm not even sure if there's a place open right now."
"There is. A market a few blocks from here. I've been there before."
"For what?"
"For Hot Pockets, of course," Tucker says, as if it's obvious. And it kind of is.
Specs thinks for a moment then questions, "Why do you need me to come with, then?"
"I need you to drive."
"Why?"
"I can't! I'm too hungry... Just please?"
Specs struggles to respond without saying anything that can't be blamed on his bad mood. Tucker holds his gaze, the little kid back in his eyes and now begging him silently. Knowing that he'll regret this in the morning, Specs resigns.
"Fine, I'll go. Just let me…just let me get some pants on…"
Tucker smiles gleefully, and says, "I'll be in the van."
Once Specs is dressed properly, he and Tucker embark on their journey.
And as they pull out of the market's parking lot, Specs driving and Tucker in the passenger seat, he suddenly realizes that he's not as irritated as he was earlier. Maybe it's the refreshingly cool air that hits his face through the open window. Or maybe it's the knowledge that if their roles were reversed, Tucker would do the same for him without a moment's thought. Because they're best friends. Partners, roommates, cohorts, counterparts.
Or maybe it's simply the image of Tucker sitting next to him, his hands folded protectively over a plastic bag filled with various boxed flavors of Hot Pockets. Specs reminds himself to tell Elise about this in the morning.
But of course, the very tired ghosthunter slowly forgets all this as he stumbles back into the house, blearily reminds Tucker to take the old boxes out of the freezer before putting in the new ones, and then collapses on his bed without even removing his glasses.
In the morning, however, he discovers that Tucker had done it for him before going to bed himself.
Fin.
To clear up any confusion on Tucker's mentioning of the garage: In an "interview" for Spectral Sightings, Angus…I mean, Tucker says that he lives in Leigh's…gah, I mean, Specs' garage. Mmhmm. And also, a little trivia: Did anyone know that Angus is actually younger than Leigh? I sure didn't. I'd just assumed that he was older, or around the same age, 'cause he's so tall, and Leigh is such a little guy…ah, forget it. (Madi. XD)