Title: Traded All My Empties In (Bought Myself A Future)
Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: Drama/Family/Humor/Romance
Ship: Tim/Julie
Rating: Explicit/NC-17 (This is a scrubbed up version, since FFnet doesn't allow explicit material; to find the mature version, find me on AO3 or LJ)
Notes: This was written as a oneshot, but it became so long that I had to break it up into pieces for easier reading. It's finished and I'll be posting regularly.
Word Count: 4,731
Summary: Tim Riggins is celebrating twenty-two years of sobriety; he reflects on his life, the ups and downs, and the family he never thought he'd get.

Traded All My Empties In (Bought Myself A Future)

i.

Tim sat on the porch, his feet stretched toward the craggy wood rail, a cool, early morning breeze rustling the wind-chimes he'd grown so used to over the years. The sun was just coming up, painting the Texas sky a golden, pink hue. He crossed his arms over his chest, his mug of coffee still steaming on the table next to him, just to the right of a well-used book, edges worn. Contemplation surrounded him as he stared out over his property, the field of green grass stretched out to the road ahead, a dirt driveway leading up to the house that he and Billy had added on to many times over the last twenty-two years. Hard to believe he was going on forty-three; that his life had turned out for the better, despite the many challenges he'd faced, and sometimes put in his own way. But here he was, happier than he'd ever thought he'd be, ever thought he deserved really.

Twenty-two years. He blew out a breath that faded into a surprised chuckle and reached for his coffee, letting the heat of the mug seep into his palm and warm his chilled fingers. He took a long drag and then rested it on his chest, leaning his head back to peer out over the yard. Same yard he'd mowed and weeded and taken care of since he and Billy built the house; the original, much smaller version anyway.

His eyes glanced over the black, four-door truck parked at the front, shiny and new and looking far from the broke down Chevy he'd spent much of his high school years hoping wouldn't die on him and fixing up on weekends with Billy or Street, just trying to keep it on the road a while longer. Dust and dirt had collected around the tires and lower half of his current truck and he briefly thought about bringing it into town and getting it washed up. It was game night and since his eldest son was on the team, they'd get a discount from the car wash, even if they didn't need it.

He half-smiled to himself. It honestly struck him sometimes, a surreal sort of contentment; he had a family. He had a sixteen year old son, a fullback who wore his father's old number, 33, even if it wasn't for the Panthers but instead the East Dillon Lions. Good kid, too. Took after his dad too much with girls, but thankfully didn't pick up too many of his worse habits, with school and drinking his face off every damn day. Jackson was smart, kept his grades up, had a good head on his shoulders; Tim sometimes joked that he was more like Jason Street than he was his old man. But damn if the kid didn't look just like him, especially when he was smirking or chatting up rally girls, much to his mother's displeasure.

The screen door banged, drawing his attention, and Tim leaned his head back, eyes searching before finally landing on a little blonde head of sleep mussed hair. "What're you doin' up this early, Lady Bug?" he drawled.

Samantha shook her head, jaw cracking as she yawned widely, shuffling her bare feet across the wood porch and moving over to lean against him. At eight years old, she was the cutest kid he'd ever seen, taking after her mom in that regard. She was gonna be a stunner when she was old enough for high school. He'd be scaring boys off far too soon to his thinking. He patted his leg and she smiled, climbing up into his lap; she was a tiny thing, all long arms and knobby knees. But balanced, oddly enough; probably because of the dance classes she'd been in since she could walk. She leaned back against his chest and stared out over the front yard with him, quiet in a way all of his other kids weren't. If she looked like her momma, she acted like her daddy; all quiet thinking, only saying something when she had something to say. Jackson was a talker; most of it hot air and cocky claims of being the best fullback in all of Dillon. Lilly, his eleven year old, was book smart, and boy did she love to tell him every damn thing she read that day.

"You excited for tonight, daddy?"

"Game's gonna be good," he told her, nodding. "Jacky's got it."

"He always does," Sam muttered. "But after..." She turned her head back to look at him. "Momma says it's a big one."

His lips quirked. "Your momma says that every year."

"She says you're gonna make a speech though..." She bit her lip, looking at him searchingly. "Are you?"

"Was plannin' on it..." he admitted. Her nose wrinkled and he laughed. "No jokes, Bug, I promise."

She nodded, satisfied.

They sat like that for a while, just watching the sun rise and listening as the rest of the house came alive.

"Mom! Jackson stole the dang shower again!" Lilly yelled, followed by a banging on the door. "You get the shower at six, jerk-face! Time's up!"

"It's game day, Lills. Le' me alone!" Jackson hollered back.

"Mo-oom!"

"Jackson, you got ten minutes! Lilly come help me make pancakes. We'll make blueberry, okay? You have plenty of time for a shower... And don't let me hear you saying 'dang' again!"

Tim grinned, listening to his wife mediate.

"You should go help 'em with breakfast, Sammy," he told his youngest, patting her side to get her moving.

She sighed, long and loud. "Jack and Lilly are just gonna fight all morning."

"S'what they do," Tim said with a shrug.

With a quick grin, Samantha rolled off his lap. "I bet momma gives me extra blueberries if I don't rile them up..."

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head as she walked inside, door squeaking and banging behind her; he really needed to oil it, he thought absently.

He finished off his coffee before joining them inside, mug hanging off his finger by the handle. Jackson was rubbing a towel over his wet hair, hanging a little too long over his eyes, as he ambled into the kitchen, yawning. Lilly glared at him before making her way toward the bathroom while he shrugged, reaching over and stealing a handful of blueberries before Sammy slapped his hand away with a spatula. She was up on one of the stools, a too-big apron tied around her as she helped her mom make pancake mix from scratch, flour in her hair.

"Ow! The hell, Sam!" Jackson complained, pulling his hand back, dropping a couple berries as he went. He frowned at her, popping a few in his mouth before circling around and taking a seat on a stool pulled up to the island.

"Sam, don't pick on your brother," her mother admonished, using another spatula to check the bottom of the pancakes.

"He's sensitive," Tim drawled, amused, reaching over to ruffle his son's hair before circling into the kitchen.

"She hits like a boy," Jackson muttered.

Sam grinned before sticking her tongue out at him. "You whine like a girl."

Tim chuckled before reaching for his wife, hands falling to her waist and squeezing as he ducked his head down and kissed her temple. She turned her head up and half-smiled at him, still looking tired. He rubbed his scratchy cheek against hers before resting his chin on her shoulder, just enjoying the peace for a while, nothing but the sizzling of the pan to interrupt.

Finally, as she flipped the pancakes onto a plate and poured another batch, he asked her, "How's it goin' over here?"

She leaned back into his chest and rolled her eyes. "Your kids are terrible; I think you should bring them all back and ask for a refund."

He laughed, deep into his chest. "Think the warranty already ran out on most of 'em... 'Cept maybe Sam, but she's quiet, might wanna keep her." His hands slid around and rubbed circles over her stomach soothingly. "Jackson's just nervous about the game."

"I'm a Riggins, I don't get nervous," his son refuted, obviously eavesdropping. "We're gonna win this game and every game after. Then we'll take State and repeat it all again next year and the year after that!"

"And then he'll go to college and play pro-ball and he'll get his name in the Hall of Fame and blah blah blah..." Lilly said as she rejoined them, light brown hair tied in two long braids.

"Look on the bright side, Lills, you'll get the shower," Jackson told her, smirking.

"Whatever," she muttered, taking a seat next to him and reaching for the jug of orange juice. "Mom, Tracy wanted to know if she could sit with us at the game."

Tim grinned as he watched Julie's nose wrinkle. "Uh... sure. But won't her parents want her to sit with them?" she wondered hopefully.

"Nope," she said, popping the 'p'. "She says it's embarrassing sitting with her parents 'cause they always get so excited when her brother plays."

"It's not going to be any different with us, Lilly. Your dad is the loudest one there..." Grinning, she tipped her head back to look at him. "It's like he saves up all his talking so he can yell every Friday."

He shrugged. "I let you do all the yelling in our life, Jules..." He winked. "I like to think I make you yell enough."

She pursed her lips at his innuendo and rolled her eyes as her two eldest kids groaned.

"Ew, stop," Lilly said, giving a shudder.

Tim smirked, looking back at them. "What? You think your parents are monks?" He raised an eyebrow. "How'd you think y'all got here?"

Samantha pushed up on her knees. "I know how babies are made," she shared excitedly.

Tim frowned. "You're eight."

"I think that just backfired on you." Julie grinned. "Sam, what do you know about babies?"

"Well... my teacher said one thing." She frowned. "But Joey in my class said another thing..."

"I think I know where this is goin'..." Tim stared at her. "And you should stay far, far away from Joey."

Julie laughed, flipping the pancakes over and shaking her head. "It's a little early to start protecting her from boys, don't you think?"

He gave her an incredulous look. "Julie, have you seen our daughters?" He shook his head. "Way too pretty for their own good."

Lilly frowned. "Is this gonna be a double-standard? 'Cause Jackson started dating at thirteen and I don't see why I can't."

Tim choked on air. "Dating?" He released his wife, crossing over to the island and resting his arms on it as he leaned down to face her better. "You're eleven years old, Lilly. Thirteen's a ways off."

"It's two years off, and so is dating." She crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. "Unless you're gonna be a hypocrite and tell me I can't date even though you talked mom into letting Jackson date that dumb rally girl."

"Wouldn't call it dating," Jackson muttered, lips quirking.

"Jackson Jason Riggins, you wanna rethink what you're saying?" Julie suggested, raising an eyebrow back at him.

"Uh, I just- I just meant we didn't really, uh... go out... It was more of a... couch relationship."

Turning, arms crossed over her chest, his mom waited for him to clarify.

He looked to his dad, who smirked back. Tim let him stumble over his explanation for a few seconds before he said, "It was mostly innocent, Jules. Jacky didn't live up to his dad's reputation that young."

"Yeah, well he better keep it that way," Julie said, staring at her son meaningfully before she turned back to the stove.

Jackson let out a sigh of relief before filling his mouth with blueberries so he wouldn't make anything worse.

Lilly grinned at him smugly.

"And you, little lady?" Tim stared at his eldest daughter. "We'll talk boys when you're thirteen... Not a day earlier."

She smiled, nodding.

"What about me?" Samantha looked up at him.

"Thirteen for you too, Bug."

Her nose wrinkled. "Boys smell anyway."

"That's right, they do," he agreed. "Never changes either."

Julie laughed before bringing over a large plate, stacked high with blueberry pancakes. "Sam, you wanna serve everybody out?"

She nodded eagerly, brandishing her spatula with pride.

Julie poured herself and Tim another mug of coffee before grabbing up a bowl of crispy bacon and adding it to the island, taking a seat by her husband as she went.

"Bacon?" Jackson exclaimed, happily grabbing up a handful. His brow furrowed as he stuffed his mouth full. "But you only cook up dead animal on special occasions."

"And tonight is one." Julie shrugged. "Between your game and your dad's meeting, I figured I could put up with a little bacon."

"Oh hey, yeah, I almost forgot." Jackson grabbed one of the paper towels and wiped his hands.

"It's gonna run a little late, with the game," Tim reminded. "You still comin' or you goin' to the after-party?"

"Nah, we got lots of victory parties to go to," he dismissed, shaking his head. "I'll be there."

Julie smiled at their son, looking pleased before she turned to her husband and looped her arm around his, squeezing his bicep. He covered her hand, thumb rubbing back and forth over her knuckles, while his free hand turned his fork onto its side to cut off a large chunk of pancake.

After breakfast, things started picking up the pace. Julie hopped in for a shower while Sam changed for school and Lilly and Jackson fought over the front seat. Tim put the dishes away in the dishwasher while Julie ran around, making sure she had everything, grabbing the lunches out of the fridge and rechecking her purse.

"Okay..." She blew out a sigh, her bangs rustling. "Jackson's gonna be with the team before the game. Lilly's gonna hang out with Tracy; she said she'd catch a ride with Tracy's parents and they'd meet us on the stands. Samantha-"

"Has dance practice, I know. I'll get her there on time," he assured, nodding.

"Okay. I'll be at the paper until four," she reminded. "Are you and Sam comin' back here or do you want to meet at the game too?"

"Think me and Sam'll grab something from the Alamo and meet you there. Sound good?"

She nodded. "Okay, great. I can get a little writing in before the game..."

"Book's comin' along? You power through that writer's block?" he wondered.

She grinned up at him. "Sometime around two last night, inspiration struck."

He nodded, smiling lopsidedly. "Explains why I woke up alone in the middle of the night."

She laughed. "Yeah, well, let's hope it was worth it and I don't fall asleep at work." She rolled her eyes. "Remind me again why I thought writing a book was a good idea?"

He shrugged. "'Cause you always wanted to and you waited long enough already."

"True..." She tipped her head back to stare up at him, reaching up to brush his hair back, tucking it behind his ears. "Hey, I know I'm gonna be saying it a lot tonight, and you're gonna hear it from a lot of people, but..." She shook her head, smiling gently. "I'm really proud of you, Tim." She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs. "Twenty-two years."

He cradled her head, fingers threaded in her hair. "You know it's twenty-one for us too, right?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "Our first date was three weeks later."

"Yeah, but it was twenty-one years ago today that you came along and turned my life upside down, Jules."

Her smile softened. "Your world wasn't the only one that changed."

"Mom! Jackson stole the front; it was his day yesterday!" Lilly yelled from outside.

Closing her eyes, Julie let out a long sigh. "You should'a built this house close enough for them to walk to school."

Chuckling, he bent to kiss her forehead. "They could still walk; it'll just take 'em longer."

Snorting, she stepped back, rubbing her hand down his chest. "I'll see you tonight, okay?" She tipped her chin up and he leaned down to kiss her goodbye.

"Have a good one," he said against her lips, kissing her twice more quickly.

"You too." She started for the door, carrying three lunches, her purse, and her work bag. "Sam?" she called out.

Samantha came running out of her room, skidding around the corner, her backpack dragging behind her from one hand. "Bye daddy," she yelled back at him.

"I'll see you after school, Bug. Don't beat up any more boys."

"No promises," she laughed back before ignoring the stairs and leaping off the porch to the ground below, kicking up a cloud of dust as she ran toward her mom's SUV and climbed up into the backseat, where her brother was sulking.

Tim looked around his empty house, the front door wide open, dishes put away. There was some more tidying up to do but, after he checked the clock, he figured it'd have to be done later. He grabbed his own lunch out of the fridge and dragged his boots on before walking outside, locking the house up behind him before he walked toward his truck.

The drive into town was easy and quiet aside from the low hum of the radio, crackling with energy over the game that night. He remembered how avidly he'd listen to it as a teenager, scowling when it suggested the Panthers didn't have a chance and grinning to himself when it praised their accomplishments. Now when they said Riggins, he knew it was his son they were talking about and most of it was positive. Unlike his dad, who they waffled back and forth on supporting, the town of Dillon knew Jackson Riggins was a good kid with real promise; he was destined for a life of football and nothing was gonna get in his way.

As he walked into Riggins Rigs, no longer a brother and brother outfit but his alone, he nodded at his mechanics, already hard at work. It had taken some doing and a lot of side jobs to keep afloat in the beginning, but while Billy had moved on to work with Coach Taylor, Tim had stayed on the straight and narrow and made something of the original car shop he and Billy had put together. They had some competition still around town, but for the most part, his name had become synonymous with good work.

Years ago, it wasn't that way. The Riggins name was only good when related to football; outside of that, they were the troubled Riggins boys, the kind who had daddies hiding their daughters while everybody else just looked down on them in general. Going to jail had only encouraged them at first, but Tim came out a better man, wanting to make something of himself. He was sick and tired of being a screw up, of living up to that old stigma on his name. He got his land and he built his house, but he needed something to keep him going and pay the bills.

Riggins Rigs was slow to start that second time around; he fixed a few cars, building up a small, loyal customer base, but it wasn't enough. He took construction jobs to help for a while, building and fixing houses while his own business found its footing. It'd be hard times, made worse by the fact that he was alone. Most of his friends had moved on, left Dillon, found greener pastures elsewhere. Billy had his own family to worry about and Tim got that; he left him to it when he could and helped out when it was needed. He'd been working his two jobs and balancing it just barely when he made the decision to go sober. At first he figured he'd be saving some serious money if he just cut beer out of the grocery list, but it was more than that. Nothing good ever came out of him drinking. He'd pissed away too many years of his life by boozing it up like his parents used to. More than that, he didn't like who he was when he drank, how little he cared. If he wanted to be better than what he'd been, he needed to change the worst of it.

It was a Monday morning when he woke up in a pool of his own vomit, his head pounding, regret flooding through him as his stomach twisted and turned, revolting as last night's alcohol binge sloshed inside him. The woman he'd picked up at the Landing Strip had already left, her number on his bedside table with a tacky kiss mark next to it.

It was a Tuesday morning when Tim gathered up his empties and got rid of them. He took the half-sack of beer out of his fridge and he drove out over to Billy's, leaving it in his brother's hands and telling him it was a belated congratulations on the game they'd won that Friday. He lasted one week before he started to feel off, started wondering what to do if he wasn't drinking. What was he supposed to drink while he watched ESPN or what did he order when he went out? He started feeling like he was different and he didn't know how to deal with it or how to explain it. And then Billy said something, "Why don't you find one of them meetings? You know, the anonymous ones? Where they talk about how they don't drink anymore and y'know, support each other in it or whatever..."

Dillon wasn't the biggest place around, so anonymity was pretty much non-existent, but Tim found an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting that ran out of a room in a church. He sat outside in his truck, just watching as people came and went, trying to talk himself into it but never actually getting out and joining them. It was three days before there was a knock on his window that made him jump.

A man, tall and on the heavy side, bald but bearded, raised an eyebrow at him. "You here for the meetin', boy?"

Tim squeezed the steering wheel and narrowed his eyes as he stared at the church.

"It's an hour long... You don't hafta talk 'less you want to... We got hot coffee and uncomfortable as shit chairs, but it'll save your life if you let it." He knocked his knuckles on the truck door. "You come in, sit at the back if you like, just take a listen and see what it does for ya..." He shook his head. "Can't guarantee you'll never touch another drop, but it's the first step in gettin' there."

"Yeah," Tim said, giving a short nod.

The man gave him a nod in return before walking off, fingers hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. He met up with a few others, shaking hands and clapping shoulders, before disappearing inside.

Tim took a deep breath, let it out shakily, and finally climbed out of his truck. He took a look around, feeling nervous, before finally making his way up the path and walking inside the building. Uncomfortable, he crossed his arms over his chest and took a seat in the back, his head ducked, hair falling into his eyes. He listened as the same man he met opened the meeting.

"Evenin' all, I'm John. See a lot of familiar faces out there, jus' wanna welcome ya back. And some unfamiliar too..." He looked directly at Tim. "Good on ya for comin', hope you stick around... Now, let's get down to business, huh?"

Apparently it was tradition that everyone give out their first name, and so it went around, person by person, with him mumbling "Tim" and avoiding eye contact. He listened, squirming in his chair as they read out the twelve steps and traditions, as they picked out two topics to discuss after their daily reading, and as a few people around the group expanded on alcoholism and how it was affecting their lives, how far they'd come in their sobriety or the setbacks they'd had or something that happened that day or week that was gnawing at them.

He listened to Phil as he talked about a dark time in his life when he was running his family into debt because he was spending so much money on alcohol and not bothering to pay bills, ignoring them as they piled up, hiding them from his wife. As Tonya talked about how her marriage fell apart because of her drinking; how she further spiralled afterwards, drinking worse and using her divorce as the reason to continue. As John lifted spirits with how he'd been nine years sober and every day he was thankful for how far he'd come and how thankful he was that his family stuck by and supported him.

It was overwhelming. All of their stories, good and bad, were swirling through his head, and all he could think about was his own dad, pissing away money on beer until it ran out and leaving the responsibility of raising him in Billy's hands. He thought of his mom and how she always had a glass in hand. And he thought of himself, drinking from a young age, finding comfort in a cold beer and the haze of numbed feelings. His knee bounced as he looked around at all their faces as the meeting closed and they gathered together to talk casually, catch up, ask after children and work or encourage each other in the 'one day at a time' mentality of just keeping it up and trying.

He got up from his seat, hands tucked in his jeans, and walked out the door. He wasn't sure if he would go back, wasn't sure if it was the place for him. He climbed into his truck and he drove around Dillon, trying to put it out of his head. But then he remembered how Tonya talked about finding that rock bottom; of how one day she woke up with nothing but a bottle of whiskey and divorce papers and she realized that her life was going to go one of two ways; down or up. She'd either drink it away or she'd get it together.

Tim went back the next night and the next. He found an afternoon meeting and a morning meeting and one day John told him that the best thing he could do for himself when he was just starting out was thirty meetings in thirty days. That it would be the foundation to his sobriety. John told he had to dedicate himself to it, especially on days when he didn't want to go, when he was angry or tired or when the idea of sitting around in a room with a bunch of basic strangers just wasn't appealing.

So he did. On days when he was bone tired, working on cars and building houses from sun up until sun down, he'd show up, still wearing his coveralls or his work boots and he would sit in the back, arms crossed over his chest, just listening. Just letting them do all the talking and letting it all sink in. The stories that he could relate to and the others that he couldn't quite grasp and the ones that reached beyond a few days or weeks or months of sobriety to years and years of never touching a drop. Sometimes he laughed, at those stories that spoke of the dumbass shit people did when they were drunk, things he knew he'd done in his time. And other times he felt his throat swell up when he could relate to the darker ones; of abandonment and botched dreams and insecurity. He got to know the people in his group, though it changed sometimes, with some coming and going. He got to know their faces and their histories and their lives.

He got to know himself, too. Learned things about himself he never gave much thought to, never picked apart to understand better. Truth was, those meetings saved his life. They were the beginning to everything.

And what an 'everything' it turned out to be…

[Next: ii.]