Hey, here's the one-shot I promised. I kind of cheated and put two scenes in here. The most popular suggestion was that we see Erin and Roger reunite after he gets out of hell, but there was also a recommendation for something Miles related. I liked that recommendation, so I did both. Enjoy!
"You're nuts," I say simply.
Wrong.
"Aw, c'mon!" Miles says, pouting. We sit side by side on the bench of the McAllistor's piano, our fingers still floating above the keys. "It'll be fun."
"He would destroy us," I reply simply. Of all people who should know that Roger is the wrong person to screw with, I'd expect his brother to know better than anybody. I mean, after fourteen years he must've been on the receiving end of Roger's wrath at least once! Does he enjoy pain? I ask him that, and he just laughs.
"I can handle Roger," he says, shrugging. Then he smirks and starts flexing. "Just check out these guns!" I laugh and shove his arms down.
"No offense, but I've seen Roger shirtless," I say. "Your argument is invalid." Miles ponders this for a moment, then tears off his shirt.
Is it odd that that seems perfectly normal to me now? Because it does. I look him over and whistle.
"Argument revalidated," I say. He grins.
"Now come on!" he says, grabbing my hand and yanking me up. "Roger's gonna be home from choir practice in a few minutes, so that leaves us very minimal time to replace his shaving cream with whipped cream and fill his shampoo with Kool Aid!" I pull my hand away and then raise my hands in defense.
"I admitted you have guns," I say. "But I'm having no part in your suicide." As if on cue, there's the sound of someone at the backdoor fumbling with their keys, and I've (unfortunately) been to their house often enough to know that Mr. and Mrs. McAllistor won't be home for a few hours. Miles glances at the door anxiously, then his face lights up in a grin.
"Plan B then," he says, and before I can react, he grabs me by the back of the head and pulls me into a very forceful kiss. If there's anything important to know about kissing Miles McAllistor, it's these facts:
1. He, apparently, is a big fan of Cheez-Its.
2. He ain't half bad at it.
3. He has braces.
And braces have a tendency to get caught on things.
When I hear the door finally swing open, I quickly try to pull away, but find myself springing back to him when there's a tug on my lip and the skin begins to tear. As I have never kissed a boy with braces, I had no idea that this could happen, but my lip has gotten caught on one of his brackets, and now it's bleeding all over his perfectly white, soon to be straight teeth. Well that'll take a whole lot more than tooth paste to get out. I don't have time to think about this, though, because at that moment Roger walks in and drops his keys. He looks from me to his brother in surprise, and I await some sarcastic remark about my taste in men, his brother's shirtlessness, or the fact that I'm bleeding. Instead, I hear:
"Seriously, will you just kiss anyone who isn't me?!"
Numero Dos
A lot can happen in a few centuries. Just, none of it happened to me. Not much goes on when you're dead. You watch your loved ones grow old and die, but once they're out of the picture, what do you do?
I spend a relatively large portion of my time with Ralph. After Roger, he was the first one to die. He was walking home from a bar one night when he got nailed by a drunk driver. He was only twenty two when it happened. Danny and I both went to greet him, and it was both a happy and entirely unpleasant reunion- after all, it wasn't as if we could celebrate the fact that he was dead. But I'd be lying if I told you it wasn't nice to have him around. To me, of course, he didn't look a day older or younger than fifteen years old, just as he had been when I last saw him in person. The former me, the one who wasn't dead yet, would've been pleased to know that we've dated on and off ever since, but it's mostly out of boredom by now. Even in heaven, I guess relationships aren't for everyone.
Today's the day though. I nearly forgot, embarrassingly enough. I mean, it wasn't as if I could find a calendar for the year 2367 that I could mark the date on. It was just by chance that I overheard someone mentioning that, down on earth, their grandkid was celebrating a birthday, which led to the question 'What's the date anyway?'
January 5, just in case you were wondering. That's the date. January 5, 2367. Or, if we're being sentimental here, the three hundred and fifty second anniversary of Roger's death. The day he'll be allowed out of hell and into heaven. After several hours of debating, I decide to go meet him.
To my unending delight, the hell gate nearest to where Roger died is Wrigley Field, home of the Chicago Cubs. Heh, I always knew the White Sox were superior, I think. Even after so much time, I care deeply about my sports teams. It almost pains me to step inside the empty stadium (where any self-respecting Sox fan would never set foot unless it was for a Sox vs. Cubs game), but I do it. It's empty, and it stays that way for a real long time. I'm not quite sure how long, because over the centuries my sense of time has become somewhat skewed. After a while, I'm just about to leave when the same frigid air and flash of blackness I remember from the day he died rears its ugly head, and when it's gone, Roger is standing there looking just as I remember him best: tall, lean, unfairly gorgeous, and shirtless. It's as if he never stepped off the island. His eyes are different though. He used to always seem so intense, but now there's a fear in those eyes. In my mind, I'd planned out a very eloquent speech about how the years had brought me to forgive him of his wrong-doings, but it's all gone when I meet his gaze.
"Damn, I thought I was leaving hell," he says as he glances around. He looks at me long and hard. "You real?" My eyebrows knit together.
"What do you mean? Of course I'm real!" I say. He steps over and pokes me between the eyebrows, then runs a finger along my cheek, where a scar used to be. I wonder briefly if he still sees it there.
"I guess you are," he says, shrugging. "Long time no see Shitbrains. You get lost and wind up here?" I'm stunned. Three and a half centuries, and I get a 'long time no see?' I shouldn't be surprised, but a small part of me is disappointed.
"For your information, I knew you were getting out today, so I came to see you," I say, putting my hands on my hips.
"Well pardon me," he says, smirking, and raising his hands defensively. "You've raised your standards in your decrepit old age." I scowl and he laughs. Then another surprise. Roger takes my hand, bows, and kisses it gently. "Is that more to your liking Your Highness?" I pull my hand away quickly.
"What kind of company were you keeping down there?" I ask. Another shrug.
"John Wilkes Booth was a pretty chill guy, there's a surprising number of Hiddlestoners, and Mark Twain," he says simply. I raise an eyebrow.
'What the hell was Mark Twain doing down there?" I ask. He chuckles at my inadvertent pun. "Oh shut up."
"It was a personal choice. You've gotta know the quote, didn't you have a history boner for that guy?" he asks.
"A literary boner," I correct. "And I'm a girl, so..."
"You're a chick? Never would've guessed," Roger says, grinning. I stick my tongue out, and his grin only widens. "I'm less pissed off than I would've imagined to see you Shitbrains." I glare and he corrects himself. "Erin."
"I could say the same for you," I say slowly. I decide to test the waters, see how much he's changed. "But then I'd be lying." He raises an eyebrow, gives me a dangerous look, and the next thing I know I'm pinned against the wall of ivy, my wrists above my head in one of his hands. Roger somehow managed to do this gently, though, and he doesn't make any move to hurt me. Instead, he gives me a quizzical look.
"You still into the golden retriever?" It takes me longer than it should to figure out who he means.
"Ralph?" I ask. He rolls his eyes and gives me a 'well obviously' sort of look. I shrug. "He is my casual make out buddy, which I assume you are going to take great offense to. But we're not like that." Roger ponders this for a moment, then smirks.
"Then you won't mind this," he says, and before I can say a thing he's kissing me. He releases my wrists and puts his hands on my waist to pull me into him, and for what might be only the second time, I let him. After a while, he pulls back, and his smirk has only widened. I sigh.
"I'm gonna have to get used to that, aren't I?" I ask resignedly. He gives me a sideways sort of smile, the kind that would seem a lot less mischievous if it weren't for the wicked incisors I'd nearly forgotten about.
"Indeed you are my dear dumbass," he replies, slinging an arm around my shoulder. I shove him away, but he just puts it back there again. I don't fight him a second time.
"C'mon, before the heavenly host assumes you've kidnapped me," I say. Roger smirks again.
"It could still be in the cards," he says. I give him an exasperated look, but I won't lie. It's great to have him around again.
I already did a long speech in which I said my goodbyes and ranted about how much I'll miss you all. I'd do another, but I really don't wanna spend another fifteen minutes crying like I did last time. This has been one hell of an emotional roller coaster for me. I really do love all of you and I miss you already. I can assure you I'll drop in every now and then to read some stories and see how all y'all are faring, but for the most part... this is goodbye. I'll leave you with some things I believe are important to know.
1. I've been lying to you all for a really long time. I ship Roger and Erin really hard. I have ever since chapter 6-ish of Teenagers. I'm sorry for the deception.
2. "No matter what anyone says, don't take anybody's fucking bullshit! Because, you're better than them, you're faster than them, and GODDAMMIT you're much better looking!" - Gerard Way
3. Love all, trust few, do wrong to none. (I try to live by this and I hope it means something to you guys too)
4. Look up anything said by Tom Hiddleston, and you can probably be pretty sure I back him wholeheartedly. So yeah.
For one last time-
Peace, Love, and Unicorn Hugs
~Hammsters
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...
Ah, fuck it. My real name's Erin. You can just call me that if you want.