Return to Waugh Acres

Post-Monster, AU from canon S4 ending – A little bit more of a light-hearted fic, delving deeper into the origin story of Eliot. Takes place in the present, but will likely involve some flashbacks/retellings of the past. Since we've only had very small bits of insight into Eliot's background, I wanted to explore that a little more. Members of the Waugh family are OCs.

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to rightful creators (Lev Grossman, SyFy, etc.)**

The whimsical tone of a text message notification woke Eliot from sleep. With a yawn, he rubbed sleep from his eyes and propped himself up, leaning sideways on his elbow. Beside him, Quentin was sprawled out on his stomach in the bed with the sheet draped around his waist, leaving his bare back exposed. Eliot reached across his partner to grab his phone off the night-stand on the other side of the bed. Quentin stirred, groaning softly as he turned his face toward Eliot.

"What time is it?" Quentin asked groggily.

"Just after seven," Eliot replied, turning his phone so Q could read the time.

"Whoever's texting you this early, tell them to fuck off," Quentin growled, smashing his face into the pillow.

"Mmkay," Eliot hummed with a laugh. He leaned over and placed a soft kiss between Q's shoulder blades. "Mm." He sighed, breathing in his boyfriend's smell. Eliot relaxed, laying his head on Quentin's back and relishing in his warmth. His eyes closed and he felt himself starting to drift back to sleep.

Q's back rattled as he mumbled something into the pillow.

Eliot laughed and lifted his head, allowing Quentin to do the same. "I didn't quite catch that, babe. Come again?"

Quentin pulled himself up, resting on his forearms, and repeated himself, understandably this time: "What was the text about?"

"Oh, I don't know. I forgot." His phone had dropped on the bed. He picked it up and then sat upright, scooting to lean his back against the headboard. After inputting the lock-code, Eliot opened up his messages and saw that the unread text was, astoundingly, from his mom. It read:

Hi, Hon. Family reunion scheduled for next week, kicking off Friday. At our place. Would be great to see you there – please, try to make it? Let me know. Love you.

"Well?" Quentin asked. He pulled himself up to sit next to Eliot, matching his seated position. "Eliot?" Q pressed after a moment of silence. He pushed his shoulder into his boyfriend's, drawing him from his thoughts.

"Huh? Oh, um, yeah." Eliot let the phone rest on his thigh and leaned his head back, a kind of wide-eyed look of numbness in his hazel eyes. "It's my mom. She, uh—heh," Eliot let out a dry laugh, searching for words. "She wants me to come to some family get-together this weekend."

Without speaking, Quentin grabbed the phone and read the text himself. He lowered the phone, then raised it to read it again, furrowing his brows as he did. Putting the phone back on the bedside table, Quentin turned slightly so he was facing Eliot.

"Soooooooo," he mused. "Are we going?"

Eliot almost cackled. "Fuck no."

Quentin shrunk back a bit. "Are you going?"

"You're funny," El replied dryly. He leaned his head back, craning his neck so he was staring up at the ceiling. "I have put too much distance between myself and that hick-town. I'm not about to backtrack now – to that place, or those people." Eliot tilted his head back down from the awkward position, gulping.

"That's one way to look at it," Quentin told him, a hint of caution in his tone.

"That's the only way," Eliot snapped, side-eyeing Q dubiously. Then he sighed. "Sorry, I don't mean to sound harsh, Q. It's just—I wanna move forward. Returning to Indiana and the farm and my," he grimaced slightly, "family is not the way to accomplish that. It's not worth it. There's nothing there for me."

After a minute, Quentin shrugged. "Okay." He scooted over, tossing an arm around Eliot's stomach. He hunkered down, laying his head on El's chest. Eliot slid down a bit and wrapped his arms around Q, squeezing. He leaned his forehead down to rest on Quentin's head and exhaled slowly.

"That was a very judgey-sounding 'okay,' Q," Eliot whispered after a moment.

"Well, now that you mention it. . ." Quentin pushed his way out of Eliot's embrace and sat back again, settling in the middle of the bed. With a deep breath, Quentin launched into one of his word-vomit rants: "It has been a while since you've seen your family. And you are a very different person now, so maybe they wouldn't have the same effect on you. And maybe they're different now, too, so maybe they'd, like, I don't know, appreciate you more? Plus, don't you kind of miss them? Like, at all? Or maybe they miss you. Or maybe you could just show them how much you've changed and prove a point. And I could come with you, for moral support. It'd be kinda cool for me to see where you grew up, and you could show me off – because you know I'm a total prize. And, just, isn't it worth, like, more than only two seconds of thought?"

When Q finally finished, Eliot paused a beat, letting him catch his breath, before asking, "Are you done?"

Quentin glanced up, thoughtfully. "Yup, that's it."

Eliot let out a breath and reached out to grab Quentin's hands. "Q, I appreciate your passion and concern. But I promise you, I have given this more than a few seconds of thought – as in, years."

Q chewed on the inside of his cheek. "You really. . ." he started softly, pausing and then starting over, "Do you hate them that much?"

"They're strangers, Q. I don't know them well enough to hate them." He leaned in, close to Quentin's face, looking deep into his brown eyes. "We're not going to this so-called family thing, and I have my reasons and that's it." He gave Quentin a quick peck on the lips and said, "'K?"

With a nod, Quentin returned the chaste kiss. Then he leaned for another kiss, lingering and letting it deepen. Eliot giggled, their lips still pressed together, before pulling away – to Quentin's audible disappointment.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Eliot whispered. He swiveled and jumped up, crossing the room to the bathroom. It disappointed Quentin even further to learn that at some point in the night Eliot had already put his shorts back on.

Running a hand through his messy bed-head, Q leaned over to grab his boxers off the floor where they had been haphazardly tossed the night before. He slipped them on and scoured the room for other discarded items of clothing – jeans here, a sock there, t-shirt on the lamp. . . his second sock seemed content to be MIA, so he decided to go sock-less and headed downstairs.

~!MAGIC!~!MAGIC!~!MAGIC!~

Bouncing off the last step, Quentin spun on his heel toward the kitchen. He wasted no time pouring himself a large bowl of sugary cereal and tore into it, still standing up.

Margo rounded the corner, preceded by heels clicking on the hardwood floor. "Hidey-ho!" she cheered, announcing her own entry, once she spotted Quentin.

"Mo-nin'," Q mumbled through a mouthful of cereal.

Margo grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. Quentin watched her take a long drink, and an idea came to mind. "Hey, Margo?"

"Mmhmm?" she asked, capping the bottle and swallowing hard.

"Have you ever met Eliot's family?"

With a snorting laugh, she said, "Hell, no. Eliot has barely met Eliot's family." Then she leaned on the counter and raised a curious eyebrow. "Why?"

Quentin shrugged, trying to play it cool. "His mom texted him this morning, about some family reunion thing that's coming up."

"And, what, he wants to go?"

"Well," Q hesitated. "He claims he doesn't, but. . ."

A knowing look crossed Margo's face. "But you do. Interesting."

Quentin's voice started and stopped a bit, searching for words. Finally, he settled on a response. Quietly, he asked, "Aren't you curious about everything that made Eliot. . . well, Eliot?" Then he added, "Plus, don't you think it might be, I don't know, like, cathartic for him to face his past? To show them and himself how far he's come?"

Margo placed her elbows on the counter and rested her chin in her hands, looking profoundly pensive. A minute ticked by and she seemed to be still weighing the options deeply. Quentin was bouncing from one foot to the other, feeling nervous under the woman's intense gaze. Finally, Q pulled a chair out and sat down, rapping on the counter with his fingers as he waited for Margo to respond.

"Okay," she finally said with a sigh. She stood up straight, palms flat on the kitchen island. "I'll do your dirty work for you, Coldwater. I'll convince El to go – as long as he takes all of us with him."

It took a few seconds for Quentin to register this information. "Wait. You want him to go? And you want us to go with him?"

"And I'm gonna make sure it happens, yeah. We done with the recap?"

"Why are you okay with this?"

"You're right, I do want to know what Eliot was like before he became Eliot. I also happen to agree with you that it might be therapeutic for him to go back there. Now," she finished off her water bottle and tossed it in the recyclable bin before turning back to Q and wiggling her finger at him, giving a quiet little tsk, tsk, tsk, as she did. "I admit, that was a smart move, coming to me. But I'm still the master manipulator, so just leave it all up to me."

Just then, Eliot descended the staircase and entered the kitchen. He sidled up next to Quentin, leaning over to kiss the top of his head.

"So, El," Margo began, not even bothering to hide the devious intent in her voice. "A little birdy told me that the Waugh family is meeting en masse next week and that you've been invited to join them?"

Eliot's soft-hearted gaze turned cold in an instant. His mouth puckered into a sour expression. "Is that bird named Quentin?" Then, turning toward Q with an icy stare, he added, "Formerly known as my boyfriend?"

Quentin let out an awkward chuckle, immensely uncomfortable.

"Oh, come, come, don't be cruel," Margo cooed. She maneuvered around the kitchen counter and approached Eliot, clasping hands together. "Now, you know—you damn well know that we must go to this thing."

"'We?'" Eliot asked, shock evident.

"Yassssss," Margo squealed. "Because," she suddenly became serious again, staring up into Eliot's eyes with an intensity that would make anyone shake. "you cannot run from your past forever, and I think it's high time you nutted up and went home to show those people exactly what they have missed out on. Besides, by bringing our rag-tag gang, we can show those fuckers what a real family looks like."

Quentin had to admit, Margo made a strong argument. It was mostly the same argument he had made in the bedroom, but it was far more eloquent and stern. Plus, it probably carried more weight coming from a strong, relatively terrifying woman in a power-suit, opposed to an anxiety-ridden naked man wearing only a sheet and mussed hair.

"Margo." Eliot stated firmly.

"Eliot." Margo replied through gritted teeth.

"Mar—"

"El. Stop. You're going. We're going. Everybody's going. It'll be fun, it'll be screwed up, and we'll make memories. So there."

Eliot opened his mouth to speak, but Margo stopped him by pressing a finger to his lips and shushing him. "I'm off to Fillory to make sure that Fen can handle her shit while I'm away for this little adventure. I'll get my boo-thang Josh, and we'll bounce right back." She wrapped her arms around Eliot's neck and forced him into a hug, then turned and gave Quentin's shoulder a squeeze as she backed up. "You guys tell the rest of the group, get everyone packed—including yourselves. Then we'll all be ready to go!" She gave the instructions cheerfully, clearly excited about the treasure trove of Eliot-related mysteries that Indiana would prove to hold.

Before either of them could respond, Margo made her exit to Fillory via a quick casting of an inter-dimensional portal. Then the apartment fell silent again, with everyone else apparently still asleep.

Once they were alone again, Eliot immediately turned to Quentin. "You think you're soooooo clever, don't you?"

Quentin smiled lightly. "Actually, yeah, I kinda do."

Eliot gave him a coy smile and leaned his face in. "Well," he whispered, "I hope you remember that feeling. Because it's what's gonna be keeping you company for the next week, while you're sleeping alone in Indiana."

Q matched Eliot's stare, daring him to crack. "You wouldn't," he finally said, calling his boyfriend's bluff.

"Wouldn't I?" Eliot asked, leaning back and placing a hand on his chest for dramatic effect. "Guess we'll find out, won't we?" He shrugged and pivoted, heading back toward the stairs. "Be a dear and give everybody the happy news about our little road-trip."

"Where are you going?" Quentin asked, starting to stand up.

"I'm gonna go take a shower, all by myself. Then, I'm gonna pack." He started up the first few steps. Then he leaned back down, peeking his head around the edge of the staircase wall, "Better start mentally preparing yourself for dealing with the entire Waugh clan. It's gonna be a shit-show." With that, El darted up the stairs.

Quentin dropped back down into the chair. While waiting for their friends to get up, he decided to finish his now-soggy cereal and tried to convince himself that Eliot wasn't really mad at him, or that he wouldn't stay mad. Instead, he turned his attention to thoughts of discovering more about the farm-boy version of Eliot – which was an exciting concept in itself. For once, Quentin really wasn't worried.

"Look out, Waughs of Indiana. We're comin' for you," he muttered to his spoonful of cereal.