Disclaimer: The Hangover was not my doing, nor are the characters mine. *pout*
Includes pokes and winks towards THE HANGOVER Trilogy. And some mentions of (/spoilers for) "The Transformers" movies.

a/n: Sorry it took so long for an update, but finally here it is. I also found something to do with the Chastity belt so I'm pretty happy about that! :)

Story Warnings/(spoilers): Institutionalization, prescription drugs, mental illness, profanity, 'gun' use, crime, slight nudity, near-drowning

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The ... Hangover

The Sleepover: Part 2

Doug had agreed to the sleepover with Alan, and of course, so had Stu, but the Garner son couldn't help but feel sad and disappointed that Phil gave no response.

Then came Friday...

Blanca looked worn-out as she answered the door and Phil wondered if this was her usual state or only since her hands had been full on Alan's return. "Oh, Mr. Phil, Mr. Alan will be so happy! Come in, come in." She ushered him in. "I take those." She took the backpack from his shoulders and the sleeping bag tucked under his arm that he had recovered from the back of his closet. It was a fucking sleepover, right? "They're in the playroom."

"Playroom?" Phil muttered, and wondered what he was getting himself into as he followed Blanca's directions. He took his time, picking his way through the house, up the stairs and was reminded just how loaded the Garner family was.

Their voices reached him before he reached the... playroom.

"It's called Black Market Organ Pilfering." Alan's voice drifted to the hall, and Phil paused next to the cracked door curiously.

"W-What?" Stu questioned.

"Black Market—"

"No-no." Stu waved his hand. "I know what you said, but isn't this just a Operation's game?"

"Stu, look." Doug said kindly in a slightly strained voice. "The box lid says: Black Market Organ Pilfering..."

"What?" Stu sputtered. "But he—that's just black marker!"

"Where's your imagination, Stu?" Alan rolled his eyes dramatically. "Simple surgical operations, any old kid can do that—"

"No. You definitely have to have a PhD to do that—legally."

"Legally?" he snorted. "That just means less money."

"Alan, isn't there anything else we can play?" Doug reasoned.

"You guys are no fun!" Alan pouted. "I bet Phil would be into this."

"I'm totally game for illegal Black Market Organ Pilfering," Phil pushed the door open and leaned coolly against the doorjamb.

Alan gasped pleasantly, "Phil!"

"The one and only." Phil grinned.

Doug raised a brow and cross his arms over his chest from where he sat in a beanbag chair. "I thought you weren't coming."

Phil shrugged. "I was busy. You need to branch out your social ladder a little more—it's annoying having the pair of you tug on my sleeve every five minutes."

Stu scoffed. "See if we care so much next time."

He ignored them and turned to Alan. "So, what's the going rate for Black Market Organs these days?"

"High, Phil. High." And Alan pulled a large wad of cash from his pocket.

"Oh, I like this game even more now." Phil rubbed his hands together. "I call first slice."

Alan laughed as Phil sat opposite him at the 'operating table'.

"You know, I'm thinking about my future right now." Phil said, sprawled back at an impossible angle on one of the beanbag chairs that he had shoved Stu from and claimed for himself at the final end of Black Market Organ Pilfering, all said organ's pilfered, and found himself with his new wad of money (for which he was not giving back to Alan, no matter the stink eyes Doug and Stu gave him. He'd won it fair and square; had it been Monopoly Money they wouldn't have given a shit.) "My new aspiration."

"Really?" Stu asked warily, scenting some kind of trap at his friend's smug reflection. He was seriously irked, forced to the floor by a cheap attack.

"Yeah," Phil smirked, waving himself leisurely in a showy manner with his wad of cash, taunting. "I think I'm going to go to medical school—and then there'll be a real doctor in the group."

Stu gritted his teeth. "A Dentist is a real doctor!"

Phil simply murmured in continued thought, "Maybe I'll get into the Black Market business. If today's shown me anything, it's very lucrative."

"Maybe you can take up a hobby, too." Doug suggested.

Phil raised his head, blinking at his dark-haired friend in confusion. "What?"

"A hobby," he repeated in a friendly tone, though the glint in his usually same toned eyes were not as. "For when you're in prison... after you're arrested—for selling organs on the Black Market!"

Phil pouted, but tucked his wad into his pocket. "A guy can dream."

"Try something a little less jail worthy next time." Doug told him dryly. "Great first attempt, though."

Stu snickered into his hand and Phil shot him a glare. The spectacled teen pointedly turned his gaze away and found the red-haired teen where he was cuddle in the corner, in the legs of a large stuffed animal of a giraffe that eclipsed the corner of the room. "So, where're your parents?" Stu wondered. "I would've thought they'd be reluctant letting you out of their sights after they just got home."

"Tracy helped me convince them to take off." Alan answered, snuggled in the embrace of his giraffe. Sid had gotten him it when he was a little boy. They were elegant, pensive, and tall creatures; things that he always aspired to be since he was little and first saw them at the zoo. It was his safe space. "They're at the Yatch Club."

Phil rolled over on his beanbag and started to rifle through the literal toy chest next to him.

"And Tracy?"

"She promised to stay out of the way as long as I promised not to do anything... untoward." Alan snorted.

How long is that going to last? the same question went through both Doug and Stu's minds as they shared a look. They remember easily how just last week at the welcome home party, Alan had insisted on helping Sid with the barbeque and it ended up in the Jacuzzi. And now...

"Shit. Hey, is this what I think it is?" Phil exclaimed excitedly. He turned from the chest, standing, with a—

"Is that a gun?!" Stu demanded, back peddling.

Phil snorted and rolled his eyes. "It's not a real gun, idiot. It's a Nerf gun..." he inspected it, turning the plastic weapon round in his hands. It did look pretty realistic though, and it definitely had heft. "It's that new model,"

Alan craned from the arms of Jerry (that's what he called his giraffe), to see Phil. "Oh, no. That's real."

"What?" Phil startled at the statement, jerking around to the red-haired teen—And the gun dropped from his hands.

There was a loud bang, and Stu shrieked, clutching his arm and falling to the floor.

"Oh, my God!" Doug quickly went to him.

"Holy fuck!" Phil shouted, pale, looking at his felled friend—and the red.

"Stu, are you okay? Stu?" Doug demanded. He looked at the splattered red and knew something was off.

Stu whimpered, hand clutching the his arm, the red covering his sleeve. His racing heart too panicked, his mind too frazzled to realize...

"9-1-1..." Phil mumbled, in shock, fingers in his hair. "Ambulance..."

And Alan started laughing. "It's fine. It's alright." He clambered from Jerry's embrace as they all stared at him dumbly. "It's just a paintball gun, guys. See?" he picked up the fallen gun from the floor, and, at the table where he disingenuous shoved aside the abandoned board of Black Market Organ Pilfering, dismantled the gun with ease and precision. "Look." He showed them the discharged ammo, a red paintball pellet. "Your reactions were classic!"

"That's not funny, Alan!" Doug barked. Alan shrugged. "Stu? Stu." He shook his taller friend.

"I-I'm alive?" Stu questioned.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're alive." Stu breathed shakily as he finally released his shoulder and Doug helped him sit up. Doug pulled up the paint-stained sleeve and already a vivid, round bruise was forming on the pale flesh. "It's just a bruise. And paint."

Phil just sat heavily on the floor where he stood. He carded fingers through his disarrayed hair. "God, talk about scared straight. My heart is racing, I think I had a heart attack."

"You?" Stu huffed, his mouth twisted. "I was shot!"

"*Oh Dios mío." Blanca gasped a fast prayer in Spanish as she stood in the doorway upon the scene, hand over her rapidly beating heart.

There was a tap on the table beside him, and Phil glanced over to see a orange pill bottle there that wasn't before. He glanced at Alan, who nodded at it. He reached out with lightly trembling fingers and picked it up. Diazepam. He quickly screwed off the lid and tossed one back dry.

A little bit later, the four convened to the backyard. Alan sat in the grass, watching, Carlos panting away and laying between his legs. Doug stood next to Stu in the yard, and about ten-feet across from them stood Phil, who was pumping himself up.

"Alright. Let's go." Phil said. He was shirtless, because there was no way he was getting shit on his shirt. Sure, he knew it would hurt more without even the thin layer of material between his skin. But shit. "God help you, Price, if you miss my arm."

"I got it." Stu raised the paintball gun, taking a steadying breath. "Just hold still—" Phil shot him a nasty glare at that. It was decided, accident or not, Stu got to shoot Phil in return.

"What are you guys doing?" Tracy demanded, finally returning home to come upon this scene in the backyard. She'd thought that she could leave them for a few hours at least, especially with Doug there to even out everyone else's insanity—but there was her dear boyfriend, acting the referee.

Surprised, Stu jolted. The gun fired and he flinched.

"FUCK!" Phil screamed, paint splattered on his toned chest. He bent briefly, touching the sharp sting in his chest before he straightened. "Jesus, what the hell?"

"I-I'm sorry." Stu blurted, frantic as Phil charged towards him, furious. "She surprised me. I didn't—"

Phil grabbed the gun and turned it on the teen. Stu gave a high yelp and dove out of the way. The gun went off, missing it's intended target and hitting—

"Oh, my God, Tracy!" Doug bolted for the teen. Tracy stood stock-still on the porch, the bag held at her chest in her arms, covered in red paint. "Tracy?" he touched her shoulder.

Her brow twitched and then her gaze turned furious. "Hold this." She shoved the bag into her boyfriend's confused arms and stalked into the yard.

Phil eye's widened and he started to back away, but the girl was already upon him. She snatched the gun from his hands. He scrambled back. She fired.

"Aah!" Phil cried out. "Tracy! It was an accident!" he turned-tail and ran. He didn't care if it was humiliating—he wanted to live, damn it! "I was aiming for Stu!"

"Aim better next time!" she said. She didn't follow him, but instead levelled the gun—Alan wasn't the only Garner who knew his way around a paintball gun—tracking Phil as he zigged across the yard.

Stu was still cowering on the lawn. Doug watched from the deck, the soiled bag held to his chest. Alan hugged Carlos and watched with great entertainment; he knew having Phil here was going to be the awesomest!

Finally, she fired the second shot, nailing the playboy right in the ass; the hunter felling the fleeing prey. Phil yelped and tumbled, sprawling on the yard, groaning. He'd been shot—three times!

Satisfied, she lowered the gun and returned to the porch. Gun still in hand, she only paused briefly by Doug to retrieve the bag and went back into the house, leaving the other's to deal with the aftermath of the slaughter.

Doug quickly followed her. "I didn't know you could do that."

"Oh, that. And more."

"Hey," he said and she paused at his tone. He kissed her. "That is very sexy." She grinned.

After they had all cleaned up from their gun-'scepades, Tracy served them punishment by making them sit around the table for dinner, cartons of Chinese takeout scattered the expanse of the tabletop at Alan's insistence. Tracy would have thought the dexterity of constantly playing video games would have given the boys the nimbleness to handle chopsticks, but only her, Alan and Doug managed.

Of course, Phil made a jibe to Stu able not being able to handle dental tools if he couldn't even work chopsticks; and Stu fired back quickly with a glare that Phil's being a Black Market Organ thief was just as easily going down that drain. Tracy shot a questioning look at Doug beside her, but he just gave her a look that said she'd probably rather not know and don't worry about it.

She found it all quite peaceable, and was happy that Alan had found people who didn't seem to mind his weirdness—he needed this normalcy of just 'being with the guys' after three years in that place. Joking back and forth with each other... until Alan launched the first flick of chicken chow mien across the table at Phil and she released them with a stern "Alright," before a food fight could break out (one that she wouldn't, nor would she make Blanca clean up).

It was dark outside and definitely time for a movie marathon; Transformers!

("Are you sure, Alan?" Tracy questioned. "You know how upset they make you."

"Upset?" Phil muttered.

"Optimus Prime," was all she whispered. But Alan was firm in his choice.)

Sleeping bags were laid out, prime spots struggled over. Soda, popcorn, chips, candy, ice cream—it was a sugar and junk food addicts home shop. Tracy and Doug snuggled on the L-shaped couch, while Phil, Alan, and Stu sprawled on the floor...

And Megatron punched through and tore out Optimus' Allspark—

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuh!"

"What the hell?" Phil exclaimed, jumping.

"Oh, Alan!" Tracy left Doug on the couch and hugged her brother, trying to sooth him. He stared straight at the large television screen, his cry of anguish clashing with the screams of Sam Witwicky's.

"Is he all right?" Stu asked, open-mouth and staring wide-eyed.

"He's going to be alright, soon, I promise." She petted his messy red-hair. Finally, Alan's high-pitched wail of despair at the Autobots's leader's demise subsided and he was left sniffling at his sister's comfort. He nodded and they continued to watch the movie, Tracy went back and cuddled with Doug.

Then they were in the desert and the Decepticons were attacking the humans and Autobots... and Sam died for an intense moment...

Phil glanced aside at Alan, who let out a squeak of protest and was tense, but then he gasped in relief just as Sam did. Pretty soon the credits were rolling, and then the next movie was put in and the one after that, and there were a bunch of tense moment throughout—for which Alan was reactant for them all. The forth movie was inserted...

Stu was totally passed out, Tracy and Doug must've disappeared. Phil didn't ever remember seeing this one—no Sam Witwicky, but Mark Wahlberg—but when something particularly intense happened and he didn't hear a verbalized reaction from Alan, he pulled his eyes from the screen to see the sleeping bag next to him empty.

He cursed quietly. "Alan?" he hissed, but there was no way the teen would be able to hear him over the sick battle happening right now. He looked at Stu, sprawled out, mouth gaped and drool down his chin. He'd look for the older teen in a minute but first... he found a marker (grinning wickedly that it was permanent) and did a doodle real fast—on his unsuspecting friend's face. The geek should have known better: he who falls asleep first gets a dick drawn on their face— and a uni-brow and Hitler-stach just for added kicks, why not some Harry Potter glasses, too.

Sniggering, Phil capped the marker and left the movie to play, abandoning the den in search of his new buddy. He probably got lost for a minute in his dark surroundings, but he wouldn't admit that to anyone. He had no idea where the fuck Alan would go. His room? So he headed for the stairs, but his path was cut off by the yellow Lab bolting down the hall towards the back of the house, his nails clacking on the hardwood. Phil shrugged and followed the dog—since that welcome home party the previous week, it appeared that Alan and the 'clone' Carlos had made up.

His attention was drawn from the empty kitchen when Carlos disappeared through the open sliding glass doors that lead to the backyard. Carlos bolted into the yard and Phil stepped out onto the deck. Alan's voice floated to him even before he found the teen.

"...I know I shouldn't have called... I'm eighteen now! ... I looked it up. That makes me an adult... You won't get in trouble, I promise... I can to be smart sometimes... Ah, that sweet!... Can I come see you?... Oh, Okay... Night-night. Love you, too, Leslie."

Phil found Alan and his eyes widened. "What the fuck, Alan?" he exclaimed before he could stop himself. The red-haired teen was cast in light and alternating shadow from the lit pool—from where he stood perfectly perched on the edge of the diving board overhanging the pool.

"Aah!" Alan through the cell phone in his hand as far away from himself as he possibly could and it plunked a short distance away in the pool, sinking harmlessly to the bottom. He jerked towards Phil, who still stood on the deck and quite forgot exactly where he was. His foot slipped and he flailed briefly, before there was a large splash.

"Shit! Alan?" Phil jumped from the deck and to the side of the pool, watching worriedly at the writhing form under water, before he shot up, splashing, sputtering, and coughing. "Alan? Are you alright?"

But his questioned seemed to be answered, when Alan started to sink under again. Wasn't this kid supposed to be a swimmer? "Fuck. Alan!" Alan managed to pop to the surface again. "Swim! What the hell are you doing?" he ran to the other side of the pool, where Alan was closest, reaching, almost, able to grab him.

"To heavy!" Alan managed, and then he started to sink again. "I think I'm drowning, Phil!"

Cursing again, Phil jumped into the pool. He quickly swam the short distance in the deep end of the pool to Alan and grabbed his arm, kicking him to the surface. "Kick!" he barked at the older teen, dragging him as the red-head preformed a rather damaging doggy-paddle over to the ladder at the side of the pool.

Phil shoved Alan up the ladder first, before following. They both collapsed, soaking wet, at the side of the pool, catching their breaths.

"Aren't you a competition winning swimmer?" Phil demanded, his worry making him sound harsh. "Why the hell didn't you swim to the edge of the fucking pool?"

Alan flicked the dripping bangs from his eyes. "Clearly, I'm not wearing the proper swim-wear, Phil."

Phil blinked at him in confusion. "What?" he was wearing a pyjama set, what possibly could be dragging? He'd done just fine himself.

What Phil didn't know, was that Alan was still in his security phase, and the chastity belt was not something to trifle with. It was the real deal in its sexual preventative, fortified and weighty. Clearly, not made for swimming.

Alan stood and started for the deck. A moment later, Phil followed, shaking his head. "Alan, what the hell?" Phil exclaimed and quickly shielded his eyes as Alan just started to strip right then and there. "What are you doing?"

"My clothes are wet." Alan explained simply. "I've seen it on the Discovery Channel... you can catch hypothermia. So you take off your clothes and exchange body heat."

"Wha—Just go into fucking the house!"

Alan paused. "Huh."

After a moment of silence, Phil slowly uncovered his eyes to find a pair of wet pyjamas piled on the deck and a lot of pale skin standing in the doorway. He was opened mouth and clearly staring, despite how awkward and weird and whatever the fucking else it was, because what the fuck? Was that a—

"Carlos!" Alan snapped, and a moment later, Carlos ran onto the deck and pushed through Alan's bare legs. He cocked his head at his friend. "Phil, you coming?

"Yeah..." Phil blinked rapidly and made a point of keeping his gaze above Alan shoulders as he dazedly followed the naked—mostly?—teen—because what the fuck was his still wearing? Not that Phil wasn't thankful, because it covered Alan's junk and saved him from at least that scarring nightmare, but the rest was still just pretty out there. Phil might be in shock.

Phil started as Alan gave him some towels before disappearing up the stairs. Phil didn't even realized he'd stopped walking. There was a puddle of pool water at his feet. He managed to snapped out of it, clean up the mess, dry himself enough not to drip a trail through the house, grab his bag from the den, sequester into the half-bath down the hall, and change into some shorts and a tee that he was going to wear tomorrow.

By the time he was finished and went back to the den for lack of anything else better to do or be, Alan had already returned. He was dressed in a pair of stripped bottoms and a baggy shirt with a wolf howling. He lay on his sleeping bag, his feet kicked up in the air, hugging a bowl of half-eaten popcorn as he watched the (rewound) movie intently. Phil paused in the door, because did he imagine that entire thing? But the soggy clothes in his bag were proof that it did. He dropped his bag at the corner with Stu and Doug's and flopped down on his sleeping bag next to Alan. Alan glanced at him briefly, giving him a sweet grin before turning back to the movie.

Too many thoughts were going through Phil's mind for him to pay attention to the movie and hold any of the details in the story; despite how interested he had been before. Alan had been talking on a cell phone, obviously in secret, to someone named Leslie; his girlfriend? Definitely had to been older from the way things sounded. Did he meet her while he was at the hospital and that was why he was being so secretive?

Stu slept on obliviously. Finally, the credits rolled and Phil was too exhausted to even turn it off. Alan was just starting to snore beside him.

[tbc]

The ... Hangover

End Note: Told you I found something to do with the Chastity belt, yay! And as you all very well know, Chow's first name is Leslie. Let's see where this takes us, hm?

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