Fic: Hard Times Don't Come (Suicide Kings, Brett/Avery, PG)
Title: Hard Times Don't Come
Fandom: Suicide Kings
Pairing: Brett/Avery
Rating: PG
Summary: Homecoming. Part of the Deadliest AUniverse created by duckduck and myself during our summer fangirl trip.
A/N: I wrote this for Michelle, because she had a bad day and texted me about it. Text me your bad day and I will write you cheer-up fic! Am I really that easy? Pretty much only for my girls. You know who you are. Tomorrow it's back to the fake titles game, honest.
The last time he saw Avery, his hair just brushed the edge of his collar. He hadn't shaved in a few days and Brett had teased him about the whole mountain man thing he had going, but the truth was that it looked good on him. And it's only been six weeks since he left, but his beard's filled in completely and his hair's just a little longer, and Brett can't help wondering what it would feel like against his skin.
Avery's cheeks are red from the cold outside, or maybe he's just sunburned from weeks spent being the grunt on a fishing boat. He looks way too skinny and completely exhausted, and if Brett had been thinking he would have made some food or something. Not that he'd known when to expect Avery to turn up; he'd hitched a ride from one of the guys at the dock to save a little money, and from the looks of it he walked the last mile or so from town. And Brett isn't sure how he'd made it that far, because he looks half dead. But he isn't; he's definitely alive, and that's all that matters.
"Jesus, Avery, you look like shit," Brett says, wishing as soon as he does that he'd kept his mouth shut for once and just wrapped his arms around his best friend. But the moment's gone and it's his own fault, so instead of grabbing Avery and holding on he reaches for the bag Avery's carrying over his shoulder.
"Just tired," Avery answers. "I didn't get much sleep on the way home."
He looks more like he hasn't slept since he left six weeks ago, but Brett doesn't point that out. Instead he steers Avery into the cabin and shuts the door, dropping his bag just inside. When he turns around again Avery's just standing there in the same place Brett left him, coat still on and a dazed expression on his face. He looks young and lost and no matter what he says, it's obvious this trip took a lot out of him.
Brett lets out an exasperated sigh and steps forward, reaching for Avery's hands and pulling off his gloves one at a time. When he's done he drops to his knees and starts on Avery's boots, thinking the whole time how weird it is that he's undressing Avery like he's some kind of doll, and how it's even weirder that Avery's not complaining about it. But he looks like he's about to fall over, and when his hands land on Brett's shoulders he tells himself it's just because Avery's exhausted.
That doesn't explain the way Avery's sort of petting him, hands sort of moving on Brett's shoulders like he's trying to make sure Brett's really there. Any other time he'd make a joke out of it, maybe accuse Avery of missing him.
Like it was something to be ashamed of.
Like Brett hadn't missed him right back.
But the real problem is that Brett doesn't want him to stop, and if he says something Avery might realize what he's doing. So he lets Avery keep touching while he gets his boots off, taking longer than he needs to strip Avery of damp wool socks. Then he stands up and slides off Avery's coat, hanging it by the door before he takes Avery by the shoulders and turns him toward the back of the cabin.
"Bed," Brett says, hands still on Avery's shoulder to steer him toward his room. And he hasn't been gone that long, but he lets Brett guide him anyway, like maybe he really did forget where the bedrooms were. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to stop touching either, not until there are no excuses left.
That moment comes way too soon, when they reach the door to Avery’s room and Brett stops at the threshold, arms crossed over his chest to watch Avery stumble toward the bed. Going inside is a bad idea, because Avery’s been gone way too long and he knows if he goes in there to help pull back his blankets and get Avery into bed he’s going to do something stupid. Like kiss him on the fucking forehead like he’s some little kid, or maybe just wrap his arms around Avery and hold onto him for the rest of the night.
He’s turning to go when Avery sits down hard on the edge of the bed and looks up at him. “Brett.”
“Yeah?” he says, voice gruff and he doesn’t really mean it, but he’s glad that at least it doesn’t crack or anything.
“It’s good to see you. I mean…”
“Yeah, I know. Get some sleep, Avery,” Brett says. Maybe it’s the closest they’re going to get to admitting that they missed each other, but that’s good enough for him. And he has a million questions about what it was like out there, who Avery spent his time with and what he told them about who he was coming home to. But that’s all going to have to wait until Avery gets some sleep, and Brett has a feeling he’ll be unconscious for awhile.
He closes the door as Avery collapses onto the pillows, not even bothering to pull off his jeans. Brett thinks about going back in there and undressing him, but he knows what a bad idea that is. Besides, it’s not going to kill him to sleep in his clothes; he’s probably slept in worse out on that floating death trap that passed for a crab boat, and the cheap mattress probably feels like luxury compared to wherever he’s been sleeping the past six weeks.
Which is all his own fault, Brett reminds himself as he heads for the front of the cabin. And he’s been so focused on when Avery finally comes home that he hasn’t thought much about what happens now, so he finds himself suddenly at a loss for what to do. Because all his plans for after included talking to Avery and yelling at Avery and mostly just looking at Avery, but Avery’s probably snoring already and Brett’s not going to go watch him sleep like some stalker.
When he catches himself considering it he rolls his eyes and pulls his coat on. He pauses by the front door to pull on his boots, then his hat and finally thick gloves. He tugs his collar up against the bitter cold and opens the front door, squinting into the sudden blast of wind and pushing the door shut as fast as he can. The wind’s pushing the snow up against the cabin in huge drifts, and Brett fights to keep his balance as he makes his way around the side of the building to the wood pile. He’d been on his way out to bring in more firewood when Avery showed up, shivering and exhausted from hauling his gear all the way from the main road. It was stupid, but Brett couldn’t even yell at him because it wasn’t like there was a phone out there he could have called from. Maybe he could have gotten his ride to drop him off in town, and maybe Brett will remember to lecture him about that when he doesn’t look half-dead.
But for now he’s just glad to have Avery home, safe and warm and mostly dry. He makes a list in his head as he gathers firewood of all the things he needs to pick up; coffee and milk and those chocolate things Avery likes so much. He’s already working on the menu for the night as he pushes his way through the snow back to the cabin, mentally running down a checklist of ingredients for a chili recipe he’s been working on. It’s not exactly perfect yet, but who knows what Avery’s been eating while he was out in the middle of the fucking ocean, so maybe he won’t care.
He’s trying to remember whether or not he’s still got a box of corn muffin mix to go with the chili when he reaches the cabin, shouldering the door open to find Avery standing in the middle of the living room, barefoot and shivering.
”What the fuck are you doing?” Brett asks, using his good side to push the door shut. He stumbles a little under the weight of the firewood, but when Avery starts moving toward him Brett shakes him off. “Forget it, you’ll get all wet. What are you doing up?”
And he’s not sure why he’s so angry, because a few minutes ago he would have given anything for Avery to stay awake and talk to him. But he still looks dead on his feet, and even under all that beard Brett can see how much weight he’s lost.
“I heard the door open,” Avery answers, wrapping his arms around himself to suppress a shiver. “I thought you left.”
“You’re an idiot,” Brett says, crossing the living room to drop the firewood next to the hearth before he peels off his gloves.
Avery’s watching him when he turns around again, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and it makes him look a little less like a corpse. “Where’d you get the hat?”
Brett frowns and reaches up to tug it off, shaking a few flakes of snow off the red and black checks. “In town. It’s not much to look at, but it keeps my ears covered.”
Avery’s smile turns up a notch or two, and Brett’s pretty sure he’s being laughed at. Which is just stupid, because it’s a hat, for fuck’s sake. They’re stuck in the middle of nowhere in the fucking tundra, and Avery’s laughing at his hat. Brett scowls and shoves it in the pocket of his coat, then he pulls his coat off and hangs it up before he starts on his boots.
“I like it,” Avery says a few seconds later, but Brett doesn’t look up. “Very rugged.”
”Fuck you,” Brett says, but there’s no anger behind it and he’s really losing it if he can’t even get pissed at Avery when he’s laughing at Brett. “I should have just let your ass freeze all night.”
“I mean it,” Avery says, but Brett doesn’t have to look up to know that he’s trying not to laugh. “It looks good on you.”
“You’re such a fucking girl.” Brett frowns down at his boots, lips pressed hard together to suppress the smile that’s threatening to form. And he didn’t even realize how quiet it had been until Avery got back, but now that he’s home Brett’s pretty sure he’s never letting Avery go anywhere again. He’s sure as hell not going back out on that boat with the rest of those crazy bastards, no matter how good the pay is.
When he finally ventures a glance up Avery’s watching him, a dopey grin plastered on his face and Brett knows the only reason he’s looking at him that way is because he’s too tired to stop himself. The problem is that it makes Brett want to cross the room and kiss the grin off his face, but if he does that Avery really will leave, and this time he won’t come back.
“Go back to bed, Avery,” he says instead, dropping his boots near the door and pulling on dry shoes. “And stay there for awhile this time.”
Avery’s still grinning at him like some kind of moron, but after a few seconds he nods and turns back toward his room. He pauses in the door that leads to the back of the cabin, dopey grin shifting into something softer as he leans against the doorframe to look at Brett. “It’s really good to be home.”
“Yeah,” Brett says once Avery disappears into his room for the second time. “It’s good to be home.”
Fandom: Suicide Kings
Pairing: Brett/Avery
Rating: PG
Summary: Homecoming. Part of the Deadliest AUniverse created by duckduck and myself during our summer fangirl trip.
A/N: I wrote this for Michelle, because she had a bad day and texted me about it. Text me your bad day and I will write you cheer-up fic! Am I really that easy? Pretty much only for my girls. You know who you are. Tomorrow it's back to the fake titles game, honest.
The last time he saw Avery, his hair just brushed the edge of his collar. He hadn't shaved in a few days and Brett had teased him about the whole mountain man thing he had going, but the truth was that it looked good on him. And it's only been six weeks since he left, but his beard's filled in completely and his hair's just a little longer, and Brett can't help wondering what it would feel like against his skin.
Avery's cheeks are red from the cold outside, or maybe he's just sunburned from weeks spent being the grunt on a fishing boat. He looks way too skinny and completely exhausted, and if Brett had been thinking he would have made some food or something. Not that he'd known when to expect Avery to turn up; he'd hitched a ride from one of the guys at the dock to save a little money, and from the looks of it he walked the last mile or so from town. And Brett isn't sure how he'd made it that far, because he looks half dead. But he isn't; he's definitely alive, and that's all that matters.
"Jesus, Avery, you look like shit," Brett says, wishing as soon as he does that he'd kept his mouth shut for once and just wrapped his arms around his best friend. But the moment's gone and it's his own fault, so instead of grabbing Avery and holding on he reaches for the bag Avery's carrying over his shoulder.
"Just tired," Avery answers. "I didn't get much sleep on the way home."
He looks more like he hasn't slept since he left six weeks ago, but Brett doesn't point that out. Instead he steers Avery into the cabin and shuts the door, dropping his bag just inside. When he turns around again Avery's just standing there in the same place Brett left him, coat still on and a dazed expression on his face. He looks young and lost and no matter what he says, it's obvious this trip took a lot out of him.
Brett lets out an exasperated sigh and steps forward, reaching for Avery's hands and pulling off his gloves one at a time. When he's done he drops to his knees and starts on Avery's boots, thinking the whole time how weird it is that he's undressing Avery like he's some kind of doll, and how it's even weirder that Avery's not complaining about it. But he looks like he's about to fall over, and when his hands land on Brett's shoulders he tells himself it's just because Avery's exhausted.
That doesn't explain the way Avery's sort of petting him, hands sort of moving on Brett's shoulders like he's trying to make sure Brett's really there. Any other time he'd make a joke out of it, maybe accuse Avery of missing him.
Like it was something to be ashamed of.
Like Brett hadn't missed him right back.
But the real problem is that Brett doesn't want him to stop, and if he says something Avery might realize what he's doing. So he lets Avery keep touching while he gets his boots off, taking longer than he needs to strip Avery of damp wool socks. Then he stands up and slides off Avery's coat, hanging it by the door before he takes Avery by the shoulders and turns him toward the back of the cabin.
"Bed," Brett says, hands still on Avery's shoulder to steer him toward his room. And he hasn't been gone that long, but he lets Brett guide him anyway, like maybe he really did forget where the bedrooms were. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to stop touching either, not until there are no excuses left.
That moment comes way too soon, when they reach the door to Avery’s room and Brett stops at the threshold, arms crossed over his chest to watch Avery stumble toward the bed. Going inside is a bad idea, because Avery’s been gone way too long and he knows if he goes in there to help pull back his blankets and get Avery into bed he’s going to do something stupid. Like kiss him on the fucking forehead like he’s some little kid, or maybe just wrap his arms around Avery and hold onto him for the rest of the night.
He’s turning to go when Avery sits down hard on the edge of the bed and looks up at him. “Brett.”
“Yeah?” he says, voice gruff and he doesn’t really mean it, but he’s glad that at least it doesn’t crack or anything.
“It’s good to see you. I mean…”
“Yeah, I know. Get some sleep, Avery,” Brett says. Maybe it’s the closest they’re going to get to admitting that they missed each other, but that’s good enough for him. And he has a million questions about what it was like out there, who Avery spent his time with and what he told them about who he was coming home to. But that’s all going to have to wait until Avery gets some sleep, and Brett has a feeling he’ll be unconscious for awhile.
He closes the door as Avery collapses onto the pillows, not even bothering to pull off his jeans. Brett thinks about going back in there and undressing him, but he knows what a bad idea that is. Besides, it’s not going to kill him to sleep in his clothes; he’s probably slept in worse out on that floating death trap that passed for a crab boat, and the cheap mattress probably feels like luxury compared to wherever he’s been sleeping the past six weeks.
Which is all his own fault, Brett reminds himself as he heads for the front of the cabin. And he’s been so focused on when Avery finally comes home that he hasn’t thought much about what happens now, so he finds himself suddenly at a loss for what to do. Because all his plans for after included talking to Avery and yelling at Avery and mostly just looking at Avery, but Avery’s probably snoring already and Brett’s not going to go watch him sleep like some stalker.
When he catches himself considering it he rolls his eyes and pulls his coat on. He pauses by the front door to pull on his boots, then his hat and finally thick gloves. He tugs his collar up against the bitter cold and opens the front door, squinting into the sudden blast of wind and pushing the door shut as fast as he can. The wind’s pushing the snow up against the cabin in huge drifts, and Brett fights to keep his balance as he makes his way around the side of the building to the wood pile. He’d been on his way out to bring in more firewood when Avery showed up, shivering and exhausted from hauling his gear all the way from the main road. It was stupid, but Brett couldn’t even yell at him because it wasn’t like there was a phone out there he could have called from. Maybe he could have gotten his ride to drop him off in town, and maybe Brett will remember to lecture him about that when he doesn’t look half-dead.
But for now he’s just glad to have Avery home, safe and warm and mostly dry. He makes a list in his head as he gathers firewood of all the things he needs to pick up; coffee and milk and those chocolate things Avery likes so much. He’s already working on the menu for the night as he pushes his way through the snow back to the cabin, mentally running down a checklist of ingredients for a chili recipe he’s been working on. It’s not exactly perfect yet, but who knows what Avery’s been eating while he was out in the middle of the fucking ocean, so maybe he won’t care.
He’s trying to remember whether or not he’s still got a box of corn muffin mix to go with the chili when he reaches the cabin, shouldering the door open to find Avery standing in the middle of the living room, barefoot and shivering.
”What the fuck are you doing?” Brett asks, using his good side to push the door shut. He stumbles a little under the weight of the firewood, but when Avery starts moving toward him Brett shakes him off. “Forget it, you’ll get all wet. What are you doing up?”
And he’s not sure why he’s so angry, because a few minutes ago he would have given anything for Avery to stay awake and talk to him. But he still looks dead on his feet, and even under all that beard Brett can see how much weight he’s lost.
“I heard the door open,” Avery answers, wrapping his arms around himself to suppress a shiver. “I thought you left.”
“You’re an idiot,” Brett says, crossing the living room to drop the firewood next to the hearth before he peels off his gloves.
Avery’s watching him when he turns around again, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and it makes him look a little less like a corpse. “Where’d you get the hat?”
Brett frowns and reaches up to tug it off, shaking a few flakes of snow off the red and black checks. “In town. It’s not much to look at, but it keeps my ears covered.”
Avery’s smile turns up a notch or two, and Brett’s pretty sure he’s being laughed at. Which is just stupid, because it’s a hat, for fuck’s sake. They’re stuck in the middle of nowhere in the fucking tundra, and Avery’s laughing at his hat. Brett scowls and shoves it in the pocket of his coat, then he pulls his coat off and hangs it up before he starts on his boots.
“I like it,” Avery says a few seconds later, but Brett doesn’t look up. “Very rugged.”
”Fuck you,” Brett says, but there’s no anger behind it and he’s really losing it if he can’t even get pissed at Avery when he’s laughing at Brett. “I should have just let your ass freeze all night.”
“I mean it,” Avery says, but Brett doesn’t have to look up to know that he’s trying not to laugh. “It looks good on you.”
“You’re such a fucking girl.” Brett frowns down at his boots, lips pressed hard together to suppress the smile that’s threatening to form. And he didn’t even realize how quiet it had been until Avery got back, but now that he’s home Brett’s pretty sure he’s never letting Avery go anywhere again. He’s sure as hell not going back out on that boat with the rest of those crazy bastards, no matter how good the pay is.
When he finally ventures a glance up Avery’s watching him, a dopey grin plastered on his face and Brett knows the only reason he’s looking at him that way is because he’s too tired to stop himself. The problem is that it makes Brett want to cross the room and kiss the grin off his face, but if he does that Avery really will leave, and this time he won’t come back.
“Go back to bed, Avery,” he says instead, dropping his boots near the door and pulling on dry shoes. “And stay there for awhile this time.”
Avery’s still grinning at him like some kind of moron, but after a few seconds he nods and turns back toward his room. He pauses in the door that leads to the back of the cabin, dopey grin shifting into something softer as he leans against the doorframe to look at Brett. “It’s really good to be home.”
“Yeah,” Brett says once Avery disappears into his room for the second time. “It’s good to be home.”