A/N: I am having trouble accessing my reviews...being back on my restricted AOL account, yanno, the damn thing has all these blocks on my screenname. I can't get my reviews for this or "Unforgiven," and I can't read Tai, Soli, and Sele's fics! I'm sorry, I really am!
So I'll be changing my profile email to "fangir1bynum83r5@yahoo.com" and reactivating the Review Alert. A big thank-you goes out to geometrygal for helping me out of the horrible reviewless situation I was in. (I said I was a review-whore, did I not?)
****
"Might as Well, Part Eleven"
["Don't just stand there, say nice things to me/ I've been cheated, I've been wronged/ And you, you don't know me/ I can't change/ I won't do anything at all
I wanna push you around/ Well, I will, well, I will/ I wanna push you down/ Well, I will, well, I will/ I wanna take you for granted, I wanna take you for granted/ Well, I will."
--from "Push" by Matchbox Twenty]
The rest of the week was fairly rocky. Dwayne, manipulated by Julie, helped her spread hateful lies about Fulton and Dean. Because of these half-truths and rumors, the Bash Brothers were getting into violent altercations, resulting in a month of weekend detentions. Coach Orion officially kicked Julie off the JV team, recommending her for Varsity. The alumni were suspicious, and Dean Buckley came to Friday practice clearly upset. He pulled Orion aside and warned him that an investigation into Julie Gaffney's removal from junior varsity would be under way on Monday.
"Great," Charlie grumbled after Friday's practice, "Campus police breathing down our necks."
"I'm sorry, you guys," Fulton said, looking dejected. Connie patted him on the back.
"It's not your fault, or Dean's. Julie was the one who raised the big fuss about everything."
"And Dwayne," Goldberg pointed out darkly. Every pair of eyes in the room turned to the Texan, of whom only his feet were visible, since now he changed in one of the toilet stalls like Connie did--and Julie had done. Though it was true that the Catlady had done most of the talking, Dwayne was still willingly segregating himself from the rest of team because of the Bash Brothers' sexual orientation. He didn't even eat at the same lunch table anymore, and while some found this to be an improvement, it was bad for the team to be divided, even one player against the others, on such an important issue.
"Are you going to be in detention all weekend?" Kenny asked. Dean looked at the Little Bash Brother like he was crazy.
"You kidding? Fulton and I have plans, man. And staring at a blackboard in silence for five hours isn't one of them." A pair of Greyhound bus tickets were produced from Fulton's jacket pocket for the benefit of the team. Fulton looked preoccupied, however, and he didn't explain them further.
Charlie looked troubled. "We have a game on Sunday; you're gonna be back by then, right?"
"Naah, we're going to Louisiana to visit Fulton's folks for a week." Dean said straightfacedly.
Charlie hurled a puck at Dean's head and snapped, "You better be joking, or Windsor is gonna cream us."
"Oh, very inspiring, Charlie. Thanks." Goldberg spoke up, his words dripping sarcasm. Charlie looked embarrassed and apologized,
"I didn't mean it /that/ way. But we've all seen Windsor's team."
"On average, they're bigger, faster, stronger, and they have more facial hair." Averman deadpanned. "Kinda like a whole team of Bashes."
"Yeah, we need your awesome mastery of the fine art of ass-kicking, for entertainment if nothing else." Adam said, smiling. "Because Russ trying to teach Ken how to talk trash is just not funny anymore."
"Your mama," Kenny retorted half-heartedly. Everyone laughed at that, but it was cut short by Dwayne's emergence from the bathroom stall and the hasty exit that followed. Luis stood up and offered,
"I can try to talk to him. He /is/ my roommate and all..."
"Thanks, Luis." Fulton said softly.
Luis grabbed his coat and walked to the door. He put a hand on the doorknob and looked over his shoulder, saying uneasily, "I may not like certain things about you guys, man, but you're still good friends. You don't deserve to be treated like this." Then he pulled the door open and walked out.
****
Dean was watching with interest the endeavors of a woman on the other side of the bus; the lady was pushing forty-five at least, with hair too vibrantly blonde to be natural, and she was determinedly applying the ninth layer of fire-engine-red lipstick to her thin lips and an area of the skin around her mouth in an effort to make her lips look fuller. Her eyes, traced with black liner and turquoise makeup, looked terribly sticky from both lack of sleep and too much mascara that clumped her false eyelashes together. She twisted her lipstick down and popped the cap back on it, adjusting her bosom in the black lace bra that Dean could see the very edge of poking out of her red dress--the same shade of red as her lipstick.
"Dean, stop staring at the transvestite."
"What?" Dean twisted around to look at Fulton, who was in the seat behind him since the two of them couldn't comfortably sit in the same narrow seat. Fulton nodded over to the 'woman' in question.
"She...or he, if you want to get technical, is a transvestite. I've seen her getting ready on this busline before." Fulton leaned back, crossed his arms, and looked rather smug. "Calls herself Scarlett, but his real name is--"
"Rhett Butler?" Dean suggested.
Fulton raised an eyebrow. "No. Brad." He jabbed at Dean's arm lightly with two fingers. His dark eyes were unreadable as he murmured, "That would be unbearably cliché." He tried to poke Dean again.
Dean captured Fulton's hand and threatened, "Do it again and I'll beat you up."
"You'll try, you mean." Fulton looked out the window at the blur of scenery. Making no move to release his hand from Dean's hold, he whispered without conviction, "I could knock you right into next week..."
"You okay, bro?" Dean asked with concern, moving to kneel on the seat so that he could lean closer to his boyfriend. Fulton mumbled that it was nothing in an unconvincing way. "Are you sure? You look all...spacey and out of it. Fulton? Hello, Earth to Fulton..." Dean snapped his fingers in front of Fulton's still-averted face.
"What?" Fulton said sharply, turning to glare at Dean.
"You're not even listening. Something's the matter, Fulton, what is it?"
"Just thinking." He sighed heavily, his expression softening. "About...all kinds of shit. Stuff that happened in Stillwater, my parents..." A dark look, one of tightly restrained fury and pain, momentarily took hold of his face, passing away as Fulton shook his head in defeat. "It was so...I don't know how to describe it, but it fucked me up bad, Dean."
"I love you," Dean said in reply, impulsively pressing his lips to Fulton's knuckles. "Fucked-up past and all, honey."
Fulton looked as though he might cry, but he controlled the emotion and whispered, "Thank you."
They stayed like that for a long time, just looking at each other in a comfortable and companionable quiet. Then Fulton sighed and rested his head on the top of Dean's seatback. Dean stroked Fulton's hair, marveling, as he always did, at how soft and fine the black strands felt against his fingers. He smiled slightly as he traced Fulton's features, set so placid and almost innocent, contrasting mightily with his stormy eyes.
"I love you, too." Fulton whispered suddenly, giving Dean's hand a squeeze. A loud sniffle broke the dream-like quality, and Fulton raised his head to see Scarlett dabbing at her eyes, crumpled tissue coming away with black marks. He and Dean exchanged a glance.
"That's so sweet," Scarlett said in a soft, affected sort of voice. "So sweet..."
****
Dean had wanted to ask where they were going, but Fulton merely grabbed his forearm and dragged him away from the bus stop, and something in his eyes forbade any questions. It wasn't until they approached the cemetary that Dean finally burst out with,
"Would this friend of yours be, by any chance, dead, Fulton?"
"Yes." Fulton answered simply. "Come on."
The gates were open, and Fulton released Dean as they entered. He walked faster now, looking neither left nor right, but straight ahead, as though some external force was compelling him forward, as though this pilgrimage was not of his own will. Dean followed at his side, trying to catch Fulton's eye, trying to read an expression that he couldn't see fully.
They were now in a section of the cemetary that looked ill-maintained. The grass was trimmed around the plots, but withered flowers rotted in stagnant water contained in the holders, and weeds were so prevalent in places that they obscured the names on the grave markers. Obviously, no one cared much to tend to the final resting places of these souls.
Fulton got on his knees without a word in front of one grave overgrown with grass and clover. He ripped the little plants up almost viciously, throwing them aside without heed as to where they would land. Dean, hovering over Fulton's shoulder, read the name on the marker aloud. "Haley Jessica Shale, 1978-1992."
Fulton nodded. "She was my friend."
"She died in '92." Dean knelt beside Fulton, who was motionless in his contemplation, and said softly, "Wasn't that the year that...the Ducks were formed?"
"Yes." Fulton whispered hollowly. "She was here when I came. I'm not originally from Stillwater...my latest set of foster parents just live here." He looked down, at his hands, at the metal marker with its raised letters so harshly and sparsely noting both birth and death without comment, and he said in the softest of voices, "She and Jay were my first friends."
Dean put an arm around Fulton's shoulders. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asked encouragingly. Fulton gazed at him, his eyes black in the dim sunlight, and answered that yes, he did.
But he didn't say a thing, not right away. And then, he began to talk and found that he couldn't stop. "My mom was from Louisiana, like I told you. And my dad, he was shipping stuff to Baton Rouge on a regular basis. They got married and he took her up to Minnesota to live with him. We got a property a little ways up the St. Croix from Stillwater, and that's where they lived and that's where I lived, too, for a while.
"Mom was a speed addict before she ever met my dad...so she found herself a dealer up here, guy by the name of Taylor. She managed to clean up once they found out she was pregnant, but she told me later that I'd have to be an only child 'cause she could never go clean again. By the time I was five, she was using heroin, too. My dad hated her for it, she was costing him so much money after all, money that he'd rather spend on his friends Jack Daniels and Jim Beam, you know what I mean?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah, yeah I do."
"And he blamed me for it. Remember, she didn't start shooting smack until I was born. He'd beat her, and if I tried to stop him or if he was mad enough or even if he was just bored, he'd beat me, too. It was worse if he'd been out drinking, sometimes. Eventually, he started throwing me into this linen closet we had when he hit my mom, or after he was done with me." A deep shudder passed through Fulton, but he was unaware of it. Dean hugged him tightly, and Fulton petted his boyfriend's arm absentmindedly. "I was eight when my teachers found out, and then Child Protective Services took me away.
"I was a holy terror, Dean. Nobody could put up with me for more than six months. For a year and a half, I moved around Minnesota with a backpack of clothes and a hockey stick, just this violent, mean-tempered, ugly little kid that nobody wanted."
"Well," Dean interrupted, gently turning Fulton's head to face him. "You're still kinda violent now, but you're also a beautiful, quiet, evil genius and /I/ want you." He cradled Fulton's face between his palms, moving his thumb to wipe away the single tear that slipped past Fulton's defenses and down his pale cheek. He brushed his lips against Fulton's and urged, "Tell me more, Fulton."
"I...I..." Fulton fumbled wordlessly for a few moments, and then he said vehemently, "Later, I swear."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure. I promised Haley that I'd visit, because she said her parents wouldn't. And she was right, of course." Fulton stood up and his lips curved into a strange half-smile. "She was always right."
****
"I grew up in a trailer park, did you know that?" Dean asked. They were sitting in a Dennys restaurant, eating a lunch that was, of course, huge. Fulton shook his head and took a sip of his coke. Dean grinned. "Yeah, it was a real shock when I went to visit my cousins in the suburbs as a kid. I had no idea that there were houses actually built into the ground."
"You gave off a trailer-trash vibe when you showed up, but I didn't want to say anything. I was too pissed to talk to you." Fulton said. "I hated your guts, man."
"You weren't exactly on my list of people to be friendly to either, Fult."
"Realized your mistake soon enough, though, so I forgive you." Fulton smiled haughtily, and Dean kicked him under the table. "Ow! Dude, that fucking hurt!"
"Serves you right." Dean said brightly. Fulton leered at him suggestively,
"Just wait until I get you home, then you'll get what /you/ deserve."
~~To be continued...~~
A/N: I'm so dirty...I'm gonna MAKE this thing earn its R rating, believe you me.
So I'll be changing my profile email to "fangir1bynum83r5@yahoo.com" and reactivating the Review Alert. A big thank-you goes out to geometrygal for helping me out of the horrible reviewless situation I was in. (I said I was a review-whore, did I not?)
****
"Might as Well, Part Eleven"
["Don't just stand there, say nice things to me/ I've been cheated, I've been wronged/ And you, you don't know me/ I can't change/ I won't do anything at all
I wanna push you around/ Well, I will, well, I will/ I wanna push you down/ Well, I will, well, I will/ I wanna take you for granted, I wanna take you for granted/ Well, I will."
--from "Push" by Matchbox Twenty]
The rest of the week was fairly rocky. Dwayne, manipulated by Julie, helped her spread hateful lies about Fulton and Dean. Because of these half-truths and rumors, the Bash Brothers were getting into violent altercations, resulting in a month of weekend detentions. Coach Orion officially kicked Julie off the JV team, recommending her for Varsity. The alumni were suspicious, and Dean Buckley came to Friday practice clearly upset. He pulled Orion aside and warned him that an investigation into Julie Gaffney's removal from junior varsity would be under way on Monday.
"Great," Charlie grumbled after Friday's practice, "Campus police breathing down our necks."
"I'm sorry, you guys," Fulton said, looking dejected. Connie patted him on the back.
"It's not your fault, or Dean's. Julie was the one who raised the big fuss about everything."
"And Dwayne," Goldberg pointed out darkly. Every pair of eyes in the room turned to the Texan, of whom only his feet were visible, since now he changed in one of the toilet stalls like Connie did--and Julie had done. Though it was true that the Catlady had done most of the talking, Dwayne was still willingly segregating himself from the rest of team because of the Bash Brothers' sexual orientation. He didn't even eat at the same lunch table anymore, and while some found this to be an improvement, it was bad for the team to be divided, even one player against the others, on such an important issue.
"Are you going to be in detention all weekend?" Kenny asked. Dean looked at the Little Bash Brother like he was crazy.
"You kidding? Fulton and I have plans, man. And staring at a blackboard in silence for five hours isn't one of them." A pair of Greyhound bus tickets were produced from Fulton's jacket pocket for the benefit of the team. Fulton looked preoccupied, however, and he didn't explain them further.
Charlie looked troubled. "We have a game on Sunday; you're gonna be back by then, right?"
"Naah, we're going to Louisiana to visit Fulton's folks for a week." Dean said straightfacedly.
Charlie hurled a puck at Dean's head and snapped, "You better be joking, or Windsor is gonna cream us."
"Oh, very inspiring, Charlie. Thanks." Goldberg spoke up, his words dripping sarcasm. Charlie looked embarrassed and apologized,
"I didn't mean it /that/ way. But we've all seen Windsor's team."
"On average, they're bigger, faster, stronger, and they have more facial hair." Averman deadpanned. "Kinda like a whole team of Bashes."
"Yeah, we need your awesome mastery of the fine art of ass-kicking, for entertainment if nothing else." Adam said, smiling. "Because Russ trying to teach Ken how to talk trash is just not funny anymore."
"Your mama," Kenny retorted half-heartedly. Everyone laughed at that, but it was cut short by Dwayne's emergence from the bathroom stall and the hasty exit that followed. Luis stood up and offered,
"I can try to talk to him. He /is/ my roommate and all..."
"Thanks, Luis." Fulton said softly.
Luis grabbed his coat and walked to the door. He put a hand on the doorknob and looked over his shoulder, saying uneasily, "I may not like certain things about you guys, man, but you're still good friends. You don't deserve to be treated like this." Then he pulled the door open and walked out.
****
Dean was watching with interest the endeavors of a woman on the other side of the bus; the lady was pushing forty-five at least, with hair too vibrantly blonde to be natural, and she was determinedly applying the ninth layer of fire-engine-red lipstick to her thin lips and an area of the skin around her mouth in an effort to make her lips look fuller. Her eyes, traced with black liner and turquoise makeup, looked terribly sticky from both lack of sleep and too much mascara that clumped her false eyelashes together. She twisted her lipstick down and popped the cap back on it, adjusting her bosom in the black lace bra that Dean could see the very edge of poking out of her red dress--the same shade of red as her lipstick.
"Dean, stop staring at the transvestite."
"What?" Dean twisted around to look at Fulton, who was in the seat behind him since the two of them couldn't comfortably sit in the same narrow seat. Fulton nodded over to the 'woman' in question.
"She...or he, if you want to get technical, is a transvestite. I've seen her getting ready on this busline before." Fulton leaned back, crossed his arms, and looked rather smug. "Calls herself Scarlett, but his real name is--"
"Rhett Butler?" Dean suggested.
Fulton raised an eyebrow. "No. Brad." He jabbed at Dean's arm lightly with two fingers. His dark eyes were unreadable as he murmured, "That would be unbearably cliché." He tried to poke Dean again.
Dean captured Fulton's hand and threatened, "Do it again and I'll beat you up."
"You'll try, you mean." Fulton looked out the window at the blur of scenery. Making no move to release his hand from Dean's hold, he whispered without conviction, "I could knock you right into next week..."
"You okay, bro?" Dean asked with concern, moving to kneel on the seat so that he could lean closer to his boyfriend. Fulton mumbled that it was nothing in an unconvincing way. "Are you sure? You look all...spacey and out of it. Fulton? Hello, Earth to Fulton..." Dean snapped his fingers in front of Fulton's still-averted face.
"What?" Fulton said sharply, turning to glare at Dean.
"You're not even listening. Something's the matter, Fulton, what is it?"
"Just thinking." He sighed heavily, his expression softening. "About...all kinds of shit. Stuff that happened in Stillwater, my parents..." A dark look, one of tightly restrained fury and pain, momentarily took hold of his face, passing away as Fulton shook his head in defeat. "It was so...I don't know how to describe it, but it fucked me up bad, Dean."
"I love you," Dean said in reply, impulsively pressing his lips to Fulton's knuckles. "Fucked-up past and all, honey."
Fulton looked as though he might cry, but he controlled the emotion and whispered, "Thank you."
They stayed like that for a long time, just looking at each other in a comfortable and companionable quiet. Then Fulton sighed and rested his head on the top of Dean's seatback. Dean stroked Fulton's hair, marveling, as he always did, at how soft and fine the black strands felt against his fingers. He smiled slightly as he traced Fulton's features, set so placid and almost innocent, contrasting mightily with his stormy eyes.
"I love you, too." Fulton whispered suddenly, giving Dean's hand a squeeze. A loud sniffle broke the dream-like quality, and Fulton raised his head to see Scarlett dabbing at her eyes, crumpled tissue coming away with black marks. He and Dean exchanged a glance.
"That's so sweet," Scarlett said in a soft, affected sort of voice. "So sweet..."
****
Dean had wanted to ask where they were going, but Fulton merely grabbed his forearm and dragged him away from the bus stop, and something in his eyes forbade any questions. It wasn't until they approached the cemetary that Dean finally burst out with,
"Would this friend of yours be, by any chance, dead, Fulton?"
"Yes." Fulton answered simply. "Come on."
The gates were open, and Fulton released Dean as they entered. He walked faster now, looking neither left nor right, but straight ahead, as though some external force was compelling him forward, as though this pilgrimage was not of his own will. Dean followed at his side, trying to catch Fulton's eye, trying to read an expression that he couldn't see fully.
They were now in a section of the cemetary that looked ill-maintained. The grass was trimmed around the plots, but withered flowers rotted in stagnant water contained in the holders, and weeds were so prevalent in places that they obscured the names on the grave markers. Obviously, no one cared much to tend to the final resting places of these souls.
Fulton got on his knees without a word in front of one grave overgrown with grass and clover. He ripped the little plants up almost viciously, throwing them aside without heed as to where they would land. Dean, hovering over Fulton's shoulder, read the name on the marker aloud. "Haley Jessica Shale, 1978-1992."
Fulton nodded. "She was my friend."
"She died in '92." Dean knelt beside Fulton, who was motionless in his contemplation, and said softly, "Wasn't that the year that...the Ducks were formed?"
"Yes." Fulton whispered hollowly. "She was here when I came. I'm not originally from Stillwater...my latest set of foster parents just live here." He looked down, at his hands, at the metal marker with its raised letters so harshly and sparsely noting both birth and death without comment, and he said in the softest of voices, "She and Jay were my first friends."
Dean put an arm around Fulton's shoulders. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asked encouragingly. Fulton gazed at him, his eyes black in the dim sunlight, and answered that yes, he did.
But he didn't say a thing, not right away. And then, he began to talk and found that he couldn't stop. "My mom was from Louisiana, like I told you. And my dad, he was shipping stuff to Baton Rouge on a regular basis. They got married and he took her up to Minnesota to live with him. We got a property a little ways up the St. Croix from Stillwater, and that's where they lived and that's where I lived, too, for a while.
"Mom was a speed addict before she ever met my dad...so she found herself a dealer up here, guy by the name of Taylor. She managed to clean up once they found out she was pregnant, but she told me later that I'd have to be an only child 'cause she could never go clean again. By the time I was five, she was using heroin, too. My dad hated her for it, she was costing him so much money after all, money that he'd rather spend on his friends Jack Daniels and Jim Beam, you know what I mean?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah, yeah I do."
"And he blamed me for it. Remember, she didn't start shooting smack until I was born. He'd beat her, and if I tried to stop him or if he was mad enough or even if he was just bored, he'd beat me, too. It was worse if he'd been out drinking, sometimes. Eventually, he started throwing me into this linen closet we had when he hit my mom, or after he was done with me." A deep shudder passed through Fulton, but he was unaware of it. Dean hugged him tightly, and Fulton petted his boyfriend's arm absentmindedly. "I was eight when my teachers found out, and then Child Protective Services took me away.
"I was a holy terror, Dean. Nobody could put up with me for more than six months. For a year and a half, I moved around Minnesota with a backpack of clothes and a hockey stick, just this violent, mean-tempered, ugly little kid that nobody wanted."
"Well," Dean interrupted, gently turning Fulton's head to face him. "You're still kinda violent now, but you're also a beautiful, quiet, evil genius and /I/ want you." He cradled Fulton's face between his palms, moving his thumb to wipe away the single tear that slipped past Fulton's defenses and down his pale cheek. He brushed his lips against Fulton's and urged, "Tell me more, Fulton."
"I...I..." Fulton fumbled wordlessly for a few moments, and then he said vehemently, "Later, I swear."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure. I promised Haley that I'd visit, because she said her parents wouldn't. And she was right, of course." Fulton stood up and his lips curved into a strange half-smile. "She was always right."
****
"I grew up in a trailer park, did you know that?" Dean asked. They were sitting in a Dennys restaurant, eating a lunch that was, of course, huge. Fulton shook his head and took a sip of his coke. Dean grinned. "Yeah, it was a real shock when I went to visit my cousins in the suburbs as a kid. I had no idea that there were houses actually built into the ground."
"You gave off a trailer-trash vibe when you showed up, but I didn't want to say anything. I was too pissed to talk to you." Fulton said. "I hated your guts, man."
"You weren't exactly on my list of people to be friendly to either, Fult."
"Realized your mistake soon enough, though, so I forgive you." Fulton smiled haughtily, and Dean kicked him under the table. "Ow! Dude, that fucking hurt!"
"Serves you right." Dean said brightly. Fulton leered at him suggestively,
"Just wait until I get you home, then you'll get what /you/ deserve."
~~To be continued...~~
A/N: I'm so dirty...I'm gonna MAKE this thing earn its R rating, believe you me.
