Title: When I Build Something, It Stays Built
Fandom: Corner Gas
Genre: General
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Pairings: None
Comments: I really wanted to write something about Hank and Brent, and what better than a good ol' fic from when they were kids, right? So cute! So I just picked something at random and it turned out to be the building of the treehouse. Hurrah.
The sun beat down upon the barley fields, its rays scorching the earth from its perch high in the open Saskatchewan heavens, not a cloud in the sky. In the middle of one such field by the road, something that vaguely resembled either a tree or a bush stood, crooked and bare save for a few leaves here and there.
"Hank, pass me that hammer would ya?" a pudgy young boy sat amongst its knobbly branches, holding a plank of wood across them and reaching to his friend who stood looking up at him from the grass.
Hank held up two hammers, one with a wooden handle, and the other with a rubber grip, "Which one?"
"It doesn't matter, just give me one!"
"But Brent, they're different! The rubber one's got—"
"Just give me a tool, ya tool!"
Hank scowled and handed the rubber gripped hammer to Brent, whom then started to hammer away at the wood furiously, often missing the nails and pounding upon the plank by mistake. Hank looked down at his shoes and shuffled his feet in the long grass.
"Hey, my shoe's got a hole in it," the boy said, sitting on the ground to inspect the damage.
"Wha?" Brent ceased hammering.
"I said my shoe's got a hole!"
Brent said nothing, shooting Hank an exasperated look before returning to the wood plank.
"Hey Brent, why can't I help?" Hank asked, grabbing the second hammer and making his way to the trunk of the tree-bush and beginning to climb up it.
"Because! I'd like this tree house to last more than five minutes!"
Hank made a choking sound, "What? I'm awesome at fixing stuff! Watch!" he said, and with intense determination, he hammered at the nails violently, but accurately. Brent tried to stop him, saying he was going to ruin everything, grabbing at his arm but Hank brushed him away, hammering more carefully so he wouldn't accidentally hit his other hand, or Brent's.
"Fine, you do it! I'm gonna get a snack," Brent huffed, trying to climb out of the tree carefully. Despite his efforts, his pant leg caught on one of the branches of the tree-bush, and he fell gracelessly to the dry grasses below with a thud.
Hank stopped hammering and bit back a laugh, "H-hey! You ok?"
"I ripped my T-shirt!" Brent growled, grasping at the sleeve of his oversized Kung-Fu Johnny T-shirt, scowling, "Thank a lot, Hank!"
"Wha? How's it my fault?"
Brent stormed off, grumbling to himself as he marched towards his family's house, while a bewildered Hank sat alone in the tree-bush.
The next day, Brent came back to the tree house to find the floor fully constructed, with a rope ladder hanging from the floor to the ground. He climbed up it, the rope sturdy and strong, and sat on the floor. There he found a note scribbled on a piece of paper and tacked to the wood, he picked it up and read:
Dear Brent.
Sorry you fell. I got a rope ladder so we dont' have to clime the tree.
- Hank
PS It wasnt' my fault.
Brent smiled. Later that day, Hank came by and when the sun finally disappeared behind the flat horizon, there were two more walls standing. Three sunsets after that, the tree house was standing proudly by the roadside.
It never fell.