To celebrate three years since I started writing it, this is the fanfic "Deciduous" as it was originally posted on ff dot net, with elements that got it pulled down removed (namely, the list at the end). Hope you all enjoy it, and consider this my return to the Road series!
Deciduous
Acepilot
AN - The Road series movie-length special. This will probably be the only time I ever write a multi-chapter Road series fic, but don't quote me on that. Anyway, it started as a bit of a nutty idea that got bashed into the form of a fanfiction across much of 2005. I started work on this in February and am only just finishing it. I know I had a few chapters posted before, but they've been re-edited and stuff, after they got taken down in the June purge. Please review!
Disclaimer - the characters in this fic are property of KlaskyCsupo, except the kids, James' classmates, Sophie, Amanda and James himself, who are mine.
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As my father's son, uncle's nephew and grandfather's grandson, I, James Stewart Pickles, like to think that the reason whatever it is the teacher is saying is incomprehensible is because my mind is moving at a million miles an hour, so focused on problems beyond my age - inventing new pieces of marvelous technology, thinking up incomprehensible storylines, and solving math problems that would make most people dizzy.
Of course, as my mother's son and my other uncle's nephew, I, James Stewart Pickles have to face the fact that the reason whatever it is my teacher is saying is incomprehensible is because I'm bored to the point of exhaustion.
History has never much been my block of chocolate - I'm more a hands-on kind of bloke, always looking to create something, or work something out. And history allows me to do neither, so I generally enjoy the opportunity for a nap.
"Isn't that right, James?"
Mostly.
I poke my head up. "Yessir?"
Max raises a greying eyebrow at me. "No, sir. It was completely wrong."
"From your point of view," I argue, sitting fully in my seat and reaching behind my head to crack my knuckles and stretch. My back gives a satisfying click.
"So the Nazi's didn't control Northern France in 1942?"
I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth. This is why daydreaming in History is the pastime of the humiliated.
"Well, not necessarily. Some would argue that the Nazi regime in France was corrupted by the relentless threat of Vichy France rebelling, thus the sovereign nation in the south was really in control."
Max smirks and shakes his head. "Nice try James, but sorry."
I shrug and kick back in my seat. Max sighs and returns behind his desk. "Alright, year 12s. The end is nigh. So do you know what we're going to do?"
"Party?" Alex offers from two rows over.
Max flashes him a toothy grin. "Strike one, Mr. Johnson. No, we're going back to the beginning." He begins handing out papers. I pick mine up and look at it idly. "Our own beginnings. Family tree assignment, ladies and gentlemen."
"This is sixth grade work!" I object loudly, dropping the flimsy back onto the desk.
"Yes, but you didn't do it in sixth grade. And the number of relatives you have that did this assignment should make it a piece of cake for you, Mr. Pickles."
Relatives.
Oh, nuts.
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Uncle Phil once offered me the sage advice that there is one perfect woman for every man, and what makes her perfect is that she is the only person on the face of the earth that, no matter how many times you messed up, or upset her, or forgot to put the garbage out, would always forgive you.
Aunt Kimmi offered, "Don't count on it," as she walked past.
I'm rooting for Uncle Phil on this one. Not because he's my blood relation, or because he's a guy and I have to respect the ultimate code of guyhood, but rather because I need him to be right and Kim to be wrong.
"What the hell do you keep looking over there for?" Alex asks as we walk through the depressing heat toward the bus stop.
I could just say "Nothing," but that would be lying. Because I'm looking over there to try and keep tabs on my latest little difficulty in life.
A difficulty that measures in at about five-foot-seven and wears her short black hair just under her ears (except on sport days, when she braids it), with brown eyes I could sink in and a sabre-edged wit with the attitude to match.
Who hates me.
"Nothing," I tell him, averting my gaze and trudging onwards.
Alexander catches sight of her in the distance. "Dude, I don't understand you."
"Wait a minute." I stop in my tracks and turn to face my best friend. "You don't understand something?"
"Don't be a smartass," Alexander suggests, before quickly catching himself with a - "Oops, too late."
I whack him over the back of the head with my hand and fling my bag down on the ground next to the picnic table. There's a nice group today - Matt's not here, though. Bummer. I could have used with a cheap win. "I object that statement. I've been attending American education institutions for thirteen years and my rear end is yet to get any more intelligent."
"The stuff they teach is designed to make your butt smart. 'Cause it sure doesn't work on the head."
"Are we going to exchange toilet humour all day?" Luke asks over the picnic table.
"'Cause that'd be good, y'know." Jessica offers, before Luke glares at her.
I slide the cards out of my pocket and dig in my bag for my box of currency. "Alright, alright. The game is five-card draw, nothing wild, nothing blind. It's straight up."
"What's the values today?" Alexander asks, sitting next to me and drawing out his own betting materials.
"Strawberries and cream are five, mints are two and milk bottles one," Luke calls.
"Snakes?" Alexander asks, digging through his party mix.
"Illegal tender," I inform him, cutting the deck.
"Damn," he mutters, pulling out a milk bottle and the tray. "Ante up."
A few hands later and swimming in mints, I gaze over at Jessica who isn't good enough to disguise the fact that she's quietly sweating. "What have you got, Jess?" I'm pretty confident she can't top my pair of tens - but the flop had two clubs backed up by another on the turn...if she's even got one club, she has eleven shots at the pot. And it's a pretty impressive pot - Alexander put at least forty on the table in mints and strawberries before folding his possible straight on the turn.
"Nothing I'm showing you," Jess declares after some deliberation, throwing another strawberry and cream onto the already slightly unstable mountain. "I call."
Luke shakes his head and grins. Burns one. Flips one.
The ten of clubs.
My heart sinks, and Jessica, for a moment, seems to think she's won. It must have shown on my face. No surprise. Like my mother, I wear my emotions on my sleeve.
"Twenty," Jess throws in, dropping ten mints into the middle.
"Call," I risk. For twenty, I can't not.
"Two pair," she declares, laying a couple of eights down on the table, and drawing the two tens in the middle toward her.
I grin disbelievingly at my cards before smirking at her. "Not so fast," I order her, grabbing her hands and pulling the two tens back toward me. "Three tens and a lady."
She glares at me as I pick up the tray and dump its contents into my already bulging tupperware. "Here, Alex," I withdraw the ten mints Jess closed with, "freshen your breath."
Now he's glaring at me.
Through his veil of discontent, Alex shuffles and cuts. "Three card Hugo."
"Sounds good," Luke decides, throwing a milk bottle into the middle.
I follow suit. "Glad you think so."
"So what about this family tree project?" Jess asks as she antes. "What a drag."
"Nah, sounds fun," Luke offers, having a quick look at his first card.
"You're just Mr. Positive this afternoon," Alex growls, placing the deck next to him.
"Well it does," Luke reaffirms, and sticks his tongue out at the dealer.
I let out a chuckle. "You'd think so, wouldn't you."
"Not my fault you're related to half of the Western Seaboard," Luke tells me, throwing back a card.
I look at my mismatched cards. Two of spades, six of clubs. Three of diamonds.
I sigh and throw back the two and six. Long shot if I ever saw one. "It's not that bad. It's just...really wierd. My family three would get so tied up in knots that the best solution would be to take to it with a really good pair of scissors."
"Did you just say three?" Jess asks over her cards.
Bugger, I did.
"Your Freudian slip is showing," Alex mutters, sliding me my first card. "Costs you to buy the next."
"I know the rules," I remind him, picking up my replacement.
The three of hearts.
"How does a family tree get tied up in knots?" Luke queries, retrieving his replacement from the picnic equipment.
"When your step-somethings are all each other's step-something-elses," I tell him. "It's all very, very strange." I throw a clutch of milk bottles into the middle. "I'll open for five."
"See five raise five," Luke bets. "Well, I get it easy. Mum, Dad are only children of only children and I'm an only child."
"Shut up," I mutter, downhearted.
"Max is right, though," Jess offers. "Call the ten. You've got so many resources to draw from that it'll be a piece of cake. Just kind of make a best-of thingy."
"Yeah, easy as pie. I fold."
"I think he'll pick up that it's not my own work," I point out. "See the five, raise another ten."
"He's sitting on a pair for my money," Jess observes.
"It can't be all that strong," Luke hedged. "Call."
"Ditto and buy," Jess joins in. Gee, this is swell. Up against two. Odds of two out of forty, provided none of the other hands hold a three.
Never earned lollies by sitting on the sideline. "Call and buy. Showdown, lady and...Luke."
Luke gives me a brief glare and lays down a trio of nines. "I can feel the cavities already."
Alexander flips over Jess' last card. "Pair of tens," she calls dejectedly.
"Whatchya got, movie boy?" Luke asks, peering at me over a mound of sugary treats.
"Pair of threes," I lay down the cards.
"Stiff odds there," Alexander declares.
He flips the card.
"What!?"
I grin at Luke as I reach over the exposed three of spades and pull the lollies toward me.
The victory doesn't last. "Chalkie!" Luke excitedly mutters.
Jessica's eyes go wide, but the cards and betting tray disappear in a flash. I never even saw Alex and Luke move. They're getting good at this.
I hear the footsteps come up behind me, and I wait with bated breath.
"After school study group?" asks a familiar voice.
I don't know whether to sigh in relief or not. "Uh...yeah."
Steel-capped boots click along the pavement toward the table and I feel the presence of the man behind me. I can almost hear him smirking. "What are we studying?" He moves around the table, slowly, deliberately.
"History," Jess tells him, pulling her book out from under the table. Quick thinker, that one.
"Sure, yeah. History," Luke agrees, digging in his bag. "Y'know, Nazis, France, the Pacific theatre, England -"
"Odds?"
Alexander shakes his head, smiling. Luke grins sheepishly until Jess fixes him with a glare.
"Well, yeah. Like what are the odds that Hitler killed himself?" I offer.
"The odds would be one in forty, Mr. Pickles." He pauses behind Alexander and plucks the dealer's dead hand from the front pocket of his bag, flipping it over. "Mr. Johnson here had the three of clubs."
"You do pretty well for an English teacher," I deadpan.
"But of course," he says, in that impossibly smarmy way of his. "Don't forget who taught you this game." He pulls up the spare seat and reaches into one of the pockets of his impossibly old, but still durable coat and withdraws a fresh, unopened bag of milk bottles. "Now is someone going to deal me in, or what?"
I shake my head at the sight. "What would Aunt Kimmi say? Her husband, the English teacher, gambling with his students."
Uncle Phil grins cockily at me. "She'd tell me to bring home plenty of strawberries and cream. She always did have a sweet tooth."
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Authors note - Three-card-Hugo is named after the game Hugo's House Of Horror's by David P. Grey, in which the number 333 crops up as various interesting tidbits - it's the code to a safe, the combination on the lock of a back shed, it's the order you have to give the monster thingy...three threes is the highest hand, two threes is the lowest pair.
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