A/N: Bwee! You guys rock my socks, I love you all. For all the Jesse-fans out there (I know you exist!), he makes a cameo in this chapter. I know, I love the Power of the Fanauthoress far too much.
P.S. Katie, ya might want to take steps to improve your cardiac health, since you seem to be having violent, fanfic-induced heart attacks. ^_^ Only trying to watch out for my number one fan and my number one favorite MD authoress.
****
"Might as Well, Part Six"
["Where do bad folks when they die?/ They don't go to heaven where the angels fly/ They go to a lake of fire and fry/ See'em again 'till the 4th of July/
People cry and people moan/ They look for a dry place to call their home/ They try to find some place to rest their bones/ While the angels and devils try to make their own."
--from "Lake of Fire" by The Meat Puppets, performed by Kurt Cobain on the 'Unplugged in New York' album]
An annoyingly loud buzzing shook Dean from his slumber for the second time, he grumbled an obscenity and reached over to hit the off button, hearing a soft crunch as his fist came in contact with the plastic. 'There goes another alarm clock,' he thought with a faint snicker.
Dean's eyes flew open as he heard a loud yawn, suddenly reminded of Fulton's presence in his bed. What he saw was Fulton was staring at him with wide eyes, his entire face flushed with mortification. Dean blinked. "Uh, good morning?"
"What am I doing in your bed?" Fulton whispered softly, avoiding his friend's amused gaze.
"I woke up last night and you were here. I /tried/ to see if you wanted to get into your own bed, but you were so sleepy, I didn't want to push the issue. Besides," Dean's eyes sparkled mischieviously, "You were warm."
Fulton blushed even redder as he was reminded of the asinine things he'd said. "Um," he tried to get up and found that Dean had an arm wound around his waist, "Dean, um, can you let me go?"
"Oh, sorry." He released Fulton and used that hand to prop himself up. Unfortunately, he accidentally put his hand on Fulton's thigh, causing the other boy to shy away abruptly and for them both to tumble off the bed in a flurry of blankets and bodies. "Shit," Dean muttered, "sorry again."
Fulton looked petrified. He managed to stammer, "I...I...I'm so-sorry."
"Nah, it's okay." Dean flashed his friend a gorgeous smile and rolled off of him, beginning to work on distangling himself from the blankets. Fulton sat up and prayed that his heart was not pounding as hard as he thought it was. Scooting backwards, he nearly fainted when Dean admitted, "It was kinda cute, actually."
'Oh, God, does he know? Has he realized?' Fulton thought in a panic. Aloud, he asked, "Wha...what?"
"You were all mussed up and kittenish, not like the big, tough bad-boy everybody likes to think you are." Dean laughed, "And now I have blackmail on you, bro."
Inwardly, Fulton sighed with relief; his secret was still safe. His face arranged itself in a scowl as he glared up at his roommate and threatened, "I still have those pictures, you know."
Dean grabbed his towel from the crumpled heap of old clothes on the floor. "You wouldn't!"
"Don't be surprised if you see a twelve-by-eighteen glossy with the words 'Portman in Tights!' above it on the team bulletin board..." Fulton warned him, a teasing smile on his face as he hoisted himself onto his own bed.
"You couldn't afford to get that photo blown up," Dean retorted, digging through a pile of junk for his bathroom supplies. "You're a poster-child for a welfare family, dude."
Fulton ignored the dig, knowing that Dean wasn't trying to be mean. He folded his arms and smirked. "Adam still owes me a favor..."
"Oh, fine. I'll be on my best behavior, then." Dean stood up, holding a shampoo bottle and bar of soap in a washcloth, the towel draped over one arm. He went out into the hall, turned around, and asked, "Hey, aren't you gonna take a shower?"
"I'll do it after practice. The huge amounts of sweating I do in the mornings now kinda negates the usefulness of a shower before practice."
"Dude, you're gonna reek by then."
"I know." Fulton said simply. "So will Averman."
****
"Hey, Les," Fulton said as they entered History, "Wanna skip out on Orion's torture session today?"
Averman practically glowed at the mere suggestion of it. "Fulton, anything's better than Hell-on-Ice-Skates. Any ideas where we should go?"
"We could go hang with Jesse," Fulton suggested as they took their seats in the back. Averman considered this.
"Haven't seen the Jess-man in ages. Sounds cool."
"Just don't say anything to the others. We might get caught." Fulton cautioned. Averman nodded
"Will the two chatterboxes in the back please pipe down so that I can begin the lesson?" Mr. Graves said loudly at the front of the room, effectively cutting off the discussion.
****
Averman ran after Fulton, Rollerblades slung over one shoulder and wallet dangling from a short silvery chain he held in his mouth. "Ful'on, wai' up!"
Fulton, who was holding his own Rollerblades and both of their hockey sticks, glanced back once but didn't slow his pace until they had reached the gates. Averman couldn't stop in time and ended up crashing into Fulton's broad back. Fulton turned and gave the skinny, bespectacled teen a hand getting back up. "We're not in a rush," he informed Averman, smiling slightly.
"We're not? So you want to take the chance that Blood-and-Guts Orion finds us skipping on him?"
"Okay, we're in a rush," Fulton conceded, watching with amusement as Averman hurriedly dusted himself off and clipped one end of the chain to his belt loop. "What /is/ that?" He asked, handing Averman his stick.
Averman took it. "A wallet chain."
"A wallet chain?" Fulton repeated, raising an eyebrow at Averman. He pushed open the gate and they both went through. Averman gave an exaggerated sigh.
"Okay, okay, it's actually the clip-part of a leash and a metal dog-collar, but it's the same thing!"
Fulton smiled to himself but said nothing further. As they turned onto the street that the Hall family lived on, he asked, "Whatever happened to that bandanna you used to wear?" [1]
"I still have it," Averman replied, and, true to his word, whipped said bandanna out of his left pocket. "But you and Portman kinda conquered the bandanna-wearing market on the Ducks. I figured that, since I'm definitely not an enforcer, I'm not gonna wear it anymore."
"Sorry about that," Fulton said, surprised. Averman shrugged,
"No problem. Hey, think I should give it to Kenny?"
There was silence for a few seconds as both boys considered this. Fulton turned and stared down at Averman, who was staring right back. Then, they both started cracking up. The image of the little Asian teen in a bandanna trying--without success--to talk trash was too hilarious for them to contemplate seriously.
"God, no," Fulton gasped finally, when the laughter had subsided to a few, well-spaced snickers.
Averman nodded, taking off his glasses and wiping away tears of mirth. "I agree."
"Hey!" A familiar voice shouted to them. A tall figure darted out from behind a ragged hedge and yelled, "My old Ducks!"
"Hey, Jesse," Fulton greeted. Averman just grinned goofily and waved. Jesse rolled his eyes.
"Man, same old Reed and Averman." Jesse smiled. He had changed, though, having become much taller and more muscular in the two years since they had seen him. A small hoop, probably plated with fake gold, dangled in each ear and he wore his hair in cornrows. [2] He flung an arm around Averman's shoulders and asked cheerfully, "So what brings you to Blue-Collar Avenue?"
"We're escaping an evil hockey coach who's trying to destroy our will to live." Averman answered just as cheerful, flicking one of the earrings.
Fulton asked, "Think we could get a game of street hockey going? Just for fun."
"You said the magic words, Bash Brother, the magic words!"
****
"Where the hell is he?" Dean asked the empty room, pacing nervously. He'd just gotten the third-degree from Coach Orion, who didn't know where Fulton was either. And Averman was missing, too. For some reason, Dean thought they were ditching practice together, and for some reason, that thought made him irrationally jealous.
'What am I thinking? Fulton's my best friend, just my friend. Why should I care if he's out having fun with Les...without me...alone with Les...dammit! I am not jealous of Averman!' Dean sat down heavily on the bed and tugged his dark, wavy hair in frustration. 'Okay, maybe I am. But is it just because he's hanging with my best friend, or...'
He sighed. 'Okay, let's test. Think of a girl...Molly Ringwald, from that "Sixteen Candles" flick?' A look of disgust flickered over his face. 'Bad example. She's too annoying. What was that other movie she was in...the one with that guy who looks like Coach Bombay...'
"Yeah, 'The Breakfast Club'!" Dean exclaimed aloud. 'Allison Reynolds...what's her real name, um...Ally Sheedy!'
He thought of Ally Sheedy, in all those dark clothes, and the heavy black eye-makeup, with the messy black hair. Yes, she was very pretty. And Dean had had a minor crush on her since watching the video at his aunt and uncle's house at age nine.
'Okay, I still think Ally Sheedy is sexy. But damn,' he groaned, hiding his face in his hands, 'she's like a female Fulton! That doesn't help me!
'Maybe I'm bi. I like girls, I like guys...no,' Dean shook his head, 'No, I don't. I like girls and my best friend!' The impulse to beat himself up was surfacing again. Aloud, he muttered, "Dean, you are some screwed-up bastard. Fulton's gonna freak...look what he did this morning."
'Well, I just won't say anything.' He told himself sternly.
That decision would soon reveal itself to be one of the big mistakes in his life.
~~Fortgefahren Werden...~~
[1] This was actually the big question on my mind while watching D2, other than 'I wonder if Fulton and this new Portman guy hook up?' and 'Why doesn't Guy speak more? Guy should have more lines.'
[2] Wheehee. Sexy Jesse. Don't worry, kids, I'll explain while this lovely hunk of hockey-playing charisma isn't at Eden Hall.
P.S. Katie, ya might want to take steps to improve your cardiac health, since you seem to be having violent, fanfic-induced heart attacks. ^_^ Only trying to watch out for my number one fan and my number one favorite MD authoress.
****
"Might as Well, Part Six"
["Where do bad folks when they die?/ They don't go to heaven where the angels fly/ They go to a lake of fire and fry/ See'em again 'till the 4th of July/
People cry and people moan/ They look for a dry place to call their home/ They try to find some place to rest their bones/ While the angels and devils try to make their own."
--from "Lake of Fire" by The Meat Puppets, performed by Kurt Cobain on the 'Unplugged in New York' album]
An annoyingly loud buzzing shook Dean from his slumber for the second time, he grumbled an obscenity and reached over to hit the off button, hearing a soft crunch as his fist came in contact with the plastic. 'There goes another alarm clock,' he thought with a faint snicker.
Dean's eyes flew open as he heard a loud yawn, suddenly reminded of Fulton's presence in his bed. What he saw was Fulton was staring at him with wide eyes, his entire face flushed with mortification. Dean blinked. "Uh, good morning?"
"What am I doing in your bed?" Fulton whispered softly, avoiding his friend's amused gaze.
"I woke up last night and you were here. I /tried/ to see if you wanted to get into your own bed, but you were so sleepy, I didn't want to push the issue. Besides," Dean's eyes sparkled mischieviously, "You were warm."
Fulton blushed even redder as he was reminded of the asinine things he'd said. "Um," he tried to get up and found that Dean had an arm wound around his waist, "Dean, um, can you let me go?"
"Oh, sorry." He released Fulton and used that hand to prop himself up. Unfortunately, he accidentally put his hand on Fulton's thigh, causing the other boy to shy away abruptly and for them both to tumble off the bed in a flurry of blankets and bodies. "Shit," Dean muttered, "sorry again."
Fulton looked petrified. He managed to stammer, "I...I...I'm so-sorry."
"Nah, it's okay." Dean flashed his friend a gorgeous smile and rolled off of him, beginning to work on distangling himself from the blankets. Fulton sat up and prayed that his heart was not pounding as hard as he thought it was. Scooting backwards, he nearly fainted when Dean admitted, "It was kinda cute, actually."
'Oh, God, does he know? Has he realized?' Fulton thought in a panic. Aloud, he asked, "Wha...what?"
"You were all mussed up and kittenish, not like the big, tough bad-boy everybody likes to think you are." Dean laughed, "And now I have blackmail on you, bro."
Inwardly, Fulton sighed with relief; his secret was still safe. His face arranged itself in a scowl as he glared up at his roommate and threatened, "I still have those pictures, you know."
Dean grabbed his towel from the crumpled heap of old clothes on the floor. "You wouldn't!"
"Don't be surprised if you see a twelve-by-eighteen glossy with the words 'Portman in Tights!' above it on the team bulletin board..." Fulton warned him, a teasing smile on his face as he hoisted himself onto his own bed.
"You couldn't afford to get that photo blown up," Dean retorted, digging through a pile of junk for his bathroom supplies. "You're a poster-child for a welfare family, dude."
Fulton ignored the dig, knowing that Dean wasn't trying to be mean. He folded his arms and smirked. "Adam still owes me a favor..."
"Oh, fine. I'll be on my best behavior, then." Dean stood up, holding a shampoo bottle and bar of soap in a washcloth, the towel draped over one arm. He went out into the hall, turned around, and asked, "Hey, aren't you gonna take a shower?"
"I'll do it after practice. The huge amounts of sweating I do in the mornings now kinda negates the usefulness of a shower before practice."
"Dude, you're gonna reek by then."
"I know." Fulton said simply. "So will Averman."
****
"Hey, Les," Fulton said as they entered History, "Wanna skip out on Orion's torture session today?"
Averman practically glowed at the mere suggestion of it. "Fulton, anything's better than Hell-on-Ice-Skates. Any ideas where we should go?"
"We could go hang with Jesse," Fulton suggested as they took their seats in the back. Averman considered this.
"Haven't seen the Jess-man in ages. Sounds cool."
"Just don't say anything to the others. We might get caught." Fulton cautioned. Averman nodded
"Will the two chatterboxes in the back please pipe down so that I can begin the lesson?" Mr. Graves said loudly at the front of the room, effectively cutting off the discussion.
****
Averman ran after Fulton, Rollerblades slung over one shoulder and wallet dangling from a short silvery chain he held in his mouth. "Ful'on, wai' up!"
Fulton, who was holding his own Rollerblades and both of their hockey sticks, glanced back once but didn't slow his pace until they had reached the gates. Averman couldn't stop in time and ended up crashing into Fulton's broad back. Fulton turned and gave the skinny, bespectacled teen a hand getting back up. "We're not in a rush," he informed Averman, smiling slightly.
"We're not? So you want to take the chance that Blood-and-Guts Orion finds us skipping on him?"
"Okay, we're in a rush," Fulton conceded, watching with amusement as Averman hurriedly dusted himself off and clipped one end of the chain to his belt loop. "What /is/ that?" He asked, handing Averman his stick.
Averman took it. "A wallet chain."
"A wallet chain?" Fulton repeated, raising an eyebrow at Averman. He pushed open the gate and they both went through. Averman gave an exaggerated sigh.
"Okay, okay, it's actually the clip-part of a leash and a metal dog-collar, but it's the same thing!"
Fulton smiled to himself but said nothing further. As they turned onto the street that the Hall family lived on, he asked, "Whatever happened to that bandanna you used to wear?" [1]
"I still have it," Averman replied, and, true to his word, whipped said bandanna out of his left pocket. "But you and Portman kinda conquered the bandanna-wearing market on the Ducks. I figured that, since I'm definitely not an enforcer, I'm not gonna wear it anymore."
"Sorry about that," Fulton said, surprised. Averman shrugged,
"No problem. Hey, think I should give it to Kenny?"
There was silence for a few seconds as both boys considered this. Fulton turned and stared down at Averman, who was staring right back. Then, they both started cracking up. The image of the little Asian teen in a bandanna trying--without success--to talk trash was too hilarious for them to contemplate seriously.
"God, no," Fulton gasped finally, when the laughter had subsided to a few, well-spaced snickers.
Averman nodded, taking off his glasses and wiping away tears of mirth. "I agree."
"Hey!" A familiar voice shouted to them. A tall figure darted out from behind a ragged hedge and yelled, "My old Ducks!"
"Hey, Jesse," Fulton greeted. Averman just grinned goofily and waved. Jesse rolled his eyes.
"Man, same old Reed and Averman." Jesse smiled. He had changed, though, having become much taller and more muscular in the two years since they had seen him. A small hoop, probably plated with fake gold, dangled in each ear and he wore his hair in cornrows. [2] He flung an arm around Averman's shoulders and asked cheerfully, "So what brings you to Blue-Collar Avenue?"
"We're escaping an evil hockey coach who's trying to destroy our will to live." Averman answered just as cheerful, flicking one of the earrings.
Fulton asked, "Think we could get a game of street hockey going? Just for fun."
"You said the magic words, Bash Brother, the magic words!"
****
"Where the hell is he?" Dean asked the empty room, pacing nervously. He'd just gotten the third-degree from Coach Orion, who didn't know where Fulton was either. And Averman was missing, too. For some reason, Dean thought they were ditching practice together, and for some reason, that thought made him irrationally jealous.
'What am I thinking? Fulton's my best friend, just my friend. Why should I care if he's out having fun with Les...without me...alone with Les...dammit! I am not jealous of Averman!' Dean sat down heavily on the bed and tugged his dark, wavy hair in frustration. 'Okay, maybe I am. But is it just because he's hanging with my best friend, or...'
He sighed. 'Okay, let's test. Think of a girl...Molly Ringwald, from that "Sixteen Candles" flick?' A look of disgust flickered over his face. 'Bad example. She's too annoying. What was that other movie she was in...the one with that guy who looks like Coach Bombay...'
"Yeah, 'The Breakfast Club'!" Dean exclaimed aloud. 'Allison Reynolds...what's her real name, um...Ally Sheedy!'
He thought of Ally Sheedy, in all those dark clothes, and the heavy black eye-makeup, with the messy black hair. Yes, she was very pretty. And Dean had had a minor crush on her since watching the video at his aunt and uncle's house at age nine.
'Okay, I still think Ally Sheedy is sexy. But damn,' he groaned, hiding his face in his hands, 'she's like a female Fulton! That doesn't help me!
'Maybe I'm bi. I like girls, I like guys...no,' Dean shook his head, 'No, I don't. I like girls and my best friend!' The impulse to beat himself up was surfacing again. Aloud, he muttered, "Dean, you are some screwed-up bastard. Fulton's gonna freak...look what he did this morning."
'Well, I just won't say anything.' He told himself sternly.
That decision would soon reveal itself to be one of the big mistakes in his life.
~~Fortgefahren Werden...~~
[1] This was actually the big question on my mind while watching D2, other than 'I wonder if Fulton and this new Portman guy hook up?' and 'Why doesn't Guy speak more? Guy should have more lines.'
[2] Wheehee. Sexy Jesse. Don't worry, kids, I'll explain while this lovely hunk of hockey-playing charisma isn't at Eden Hall.
