Fairly Odd Countdown Calendar
I don't own Fairly Odd Parents. Butch Hartman does.
Pairing: Ex-friendship Gary x Timmy.
Prompt: Family
…
Gary remembered Christmas time with the Turners.
Timmy always woke him up, practically the crack of dawn, to help him wake up his parents. Gary would always be assigned to Timmy's father, but whatever he did never worked and Timmy would be forced to wake him up himself.
Then came the presents. Timmy always opened his first - a new baseball bat, a sled for riding down the snowy hills of Dimmsdale, a new Crimson Chin action figure. His parents would go next, then it was Gary's turn.
He remembered the looks on the adults' faces as he opened his 'presents'. Always giving their son that look of confusion and suspicion; like they had already begun to think he was crazy. But there was nothing wrong with a child having an imaginary friend, right?
Timmy would make him a present - a real present. A box wrapped in red wrapping paper and a gold ribbon, poorly put together with the clumsy fingers of a five-year-old and a role-and-a-half of tape. The gift was usually one of Timmy's old toys, that Gary had apparently wanted for a long time (or so Timmy said).
They watched Christmas movies (a chair would be saved for Gary), they ate Christmas dinner (Timmy made sure his mother placed a plate for Gary), they sang Christmas carols and played with their new toys and read Christmas stories together.
But then came the therapy and those Christmases were taken away. He had been locked away in the back of Timmy's head with all the rest of his childhood playthings.
Which, by the way, was totally not cool.
As Gary thought about this, sitting under an umbrella by the pool (it didn't seem to snow on Unwish Island), he heard footsteps and looked up.
One of the Timmys, put here for the simple amusement of the unwished creatures there, was smiling at him. Gary frowned as he stared at him, wanting to be left alone to his thoughts, but when the Timmy didn't go, he snapped, "What?"
"For you, sir." The Timmy said, holding out…
No. No way.
A box, wrapped in red wrapping paper with a gold ribbon and at least a role-and-a-half of tape. It was exactly identical to the ones Timmy used to make for him. He hadn't seen it in at least five years, maybe more.
He took it from the clone, but didn't unwrap it. Not yet. Gary looked at the clone, who smiled back, then he smirked, "Cool."
…
Author's note:
Here you are, 212musicfan, some Imaginary Gary.