FNL - Smashnstreet (PG-13)
1. This is why Petrellicest is a viable option. Thank you piratesdaughter. For those who may be on the fence, I recommend scribblinlenore who broke my 'cest cherry. Yeah, it's just as dirty as it sounds.
b. antheia made FNL icons! Oh, FNL, how I love you so! You've inspired me for the first time in months. Why does everybody else not love FNL, too? Finally, a fandom that's all fictional and not me harassing George to run for Senate. Oh, what's that? Other people are thinking it too? Oh, well then that's okay. *link from heidi8
Friday Night Lights
Smash Williams, Jason Street
Spoilers through 1.09 'Full Hearts'
Smashnstreet
He pauses outside Jason's hospital room, because it's been a while since he's done this. Not the hospital thing, but the visiting thing. Except this isn't even a hospital, it's like a care facility or something, but the point is that, yeah, it's been a real long time for them.
It's been three years, not enough football games, and a lifetime of people looking and wondering why the little black boy and the little while boy were playing together, since Jason Street and Brian "Smash" Williams hung out and talked shit.
Sometimes it is all about race.
Brian looks down at the cookies Sheila made for her bake sale that he "borrowed" and wonders if he's doing the right thing. If it's even his place to try to do the right thing by Jason. It's not like he and Street are tight these days, not really, but Street is his quarterback and Smash is his wide receiver. They used to be real tight.
They have a history.
The cookies are chocolate chip, his favorite -- their favorite -- and he even stopped and got a quart of milk at the store. Of course he paid for the milk, but the cookies, well you can't steal from your family. You can steal from your church though, and Brian shakes that off, because he'll pay'em back. Church is for charity, and Smash was in need.
He's got this.
When he's rich and famous and playing for the Cowboys, he'll pay'em back. He'll buy a whole new church for the congregation, because if he's done anything wrong, it's only to make something right down the line.
The Lord knows what's in Smash's heart. Intent has to count for something.
The orderly standing at the desk eyes him curiously, and Brian automatically stiffens a bit. You never know how people are until they open their mouths. "You here to see Street?" the guy asks, and Smash nods slowly.
The orderly is kinda big, with spiky hair and glasses, and he smiles at Brian. "You picked a great time, he's just back from therapy. He could probably use some company."
Smash nods again. The orderly is cool. "Yeah, I'm just --" Brian motions toward Street's room with his brown paper bag of cookies and milk.
The orderly nods, but then he's coming around the desk, and Smash steels himself for who knows what. He takes a slight step back, but the orderly's only offering his hand. "Phil, I'm Jason's physical therapist."
Smash shakes his hand. "Brian."
"You play ball with Street?"
Brian nods again. "Yeah, me and Street go way back."
It's not really something Smash's thought about, but Street's been in Brian's life since he arrived in Dillon. Hell, Street was the first guy to welcome Brian to the Pee Wee team in fifth grade, and yeah, things have changed and they're not as close as they were once upon a time, but maybe that’s okay.
Phil smiles. "That's good, that's real good. Jason could use his friends right now."
It's on the tip of his tongue to ask Phil why he thinks they're friends, but then he figures if they weren't still something like friends, Smash wouldn't be there in the first place. But again, you never know how people are until they say something.
Brian takes a step towards Jason's room. "I'm gonna go see Street, all right?"
Smash doesn't need anybody's permission, but it comes out like he's asking. Some things happen that way. "Oh, yeah," Phil says, "don't let me keep you."
Brian kind of waves him off and then walks into Street's room. It's beige and bland and there aren't any pictures or art or anything on the walls. It's nothing like the way Smash remembers Jason's room at the hospital that one time the team came by. There's not even a TV, and that's just wrong.
Jason's sitting in his bed playing with this green ball, his wheelchair on the floor beside him, and something in Smash's chest tightens a little bit.
"What's up, big man?" Brian says, hovering in the doorway a little uncertainly. It's not like he was invited or anything, he just felt like coming. For old time's sake.
There's a moment of uncertainty on Jason's face, Smash can see it, and then it's nothing but smiles and white teeth. "Smash?"
Brian's answering grin comes of its own accord. "In the flesh, money," he says, crossing the room to Street's bed.
They hug in that manly half-hug, half-wrestling way. Jason clapping him on the back, Smash kind of knocking Jason around with the brown paper bag in his hand.
When Brian steps back, Street's still grinning. "You came by to beat me up with a paper bag? Don't you know they have laws about that kinda thing now? No fucking with the cripple."
Brian laughs in spite of himself because Street's humor is so callous and straight-forward -- it's like a punch to the gut. A little shock to take away the nervousness. "Man, you ain't gotta tell me about fucking with no cripple, I heard what you did to your boy, Riggins."
Some of the amusement slips from Jason's face, and he purses his lips. "Yeah, well, you know."
Smash raises an eyebrow and drops the bag on Jason's bed to take off his jacket. "Nah, I really don't," he says, dropping his jacket on the foot of the bed "Why don't you enlighten me?"
It's Jason's turn to raise an eyebrow. "You just want me to talk about kicking his ass."
Brian shrugs. "Yeah, pretty much."
Jason's face goes blank and then he laughs again. "That's wrong, Smash. You know that's wrong."
There's a moment where Smash is standing there with Jason grinning at him, and it's like old times. Like when their middle school coach, Coach Butler, used to call 'em Smashnstreet because where there was one, you could probably find the other.
Except that time is long gone, so Smash snorts, looks around for a chair, and then when he doesn't find one, drops into Jason's wheelchair. "Fuck him," he says pointedly. "I didn't start it."
Jason opens his mouth to say something and then apparently thinks better of it. This has been going on for years: Riggins never liked Smash so Smash's never liked him. It's not like he was trying to move in on his territory or nothin'.
It's not like he started it.
Brian's mama says some people aren't gonna like you no matter what you do or what you say. Some people are just gonna be closed-minded that way.
Jason doesn't say anything, but Smash can see him thinking. Street's always been a thinker -- it's why he's a quarterback -- you can see his brain working when he looks at you. Jason's not stupid, he knows how this all went down.
Smash licks his lips and looks around the room. There's another bed, but no pictures. He nods his head absently, tapping his hand on the armrest and spitting a couple lyrics that are in his head. He turns back to Jason when he hears the rustling of the paper bag.
"Aw, Smash, you made me cookies. You shouldn't have!" Jason's talking with a mock female lisp, the bag clasped to his chest, and Smash chuckles.
"Please, Street, you ain't worth cookin' for." Smash leans forward in the wheelchair and almost falls on his face into the side of Jason's bed when the wheels roll out from underneath him.
"What the hell, Street, don't this thing come with brakes?" he grumbles, grabbing onto the rails of Jason's bed for dear life.
Jason's face goes deceptively innocent. "You must've taken 'em off or somethin'."
Brian narrows his eyes. "I know you just want me to be laid up too with a fucked up nose, but I'm too pretty for that."
"Smash, your face is already fucked up, it's too late for any doctors to help you with that."
Smash is on his feet, tryin' to grab the cookies away from Street. "Oh, you got jokes, is that it?"
"I always have jokes," Jason laughs, trying to hold he bag out of Brian's grasp. The bottle bumps against the wall, and they both grab at the bag so it doesn't slip and wind up on the floor.
Brian ends up perched on the side of the bed, opening the bottle of milk while Jason stuffs cookies in his face. "These're real good, man, did your mom make 'em? Your mom was always the best cook."
Smash smirks. "Yeah man, my mom can throw down in the kitchen."
Jason came to dinner at Smash's house a couple times when they were younger, after football practice and all, but Mrs. Street didn't like that so much, so Jason stopped coming around. That was fine because Brian needed friends who were more like him, his mother said. He didn't need to be hanging around with that Street boy, with his uppity mother anyhow.
Jason snorts around his cookie. "My mom can call for take out," he says mock-helpfully.
The one time Brian went to Jason's house they'd had frozen pizza, it'd been cold in the middle and burnt on top.
Brian shakes his head. "Mom didn't make these though," he said, "Sheila made 'em."
Jason makes a scoffing noise. "Little Sheila, with her three Barbies who were going to be the first Barbies to play for the Cowboys?"
"Those are Noannie's Barbies now," Brian says between sips of milk, "don't hate."
Jason holds up his hands. "How old's Sheila now, anyway?"
"She's in ninth grade."
Street furrows his brow. "She's at Dillon?"
"Yeah, man, she's a pain in my ass."
"I didn't know that," Jason says.
Neither one of them says the obvious: that Jason hasn't seen Sheila because he hasn't been looking.
There's another awkward moment, and then Street's pulling the milk away. "Don't you see me drinkin' here?" Smash protests.
"Cripple here," Jason parrots.
Brian scowls and lets go. "That cripple thing's getting real old, man."
"Who're you tellin'?" Jason holds the plastic container with his fists and some spills down the side of his jaw. Brian lets it go. Street can take care of himself.
When Jason's done, he puts the milk in his lap and wipes his face with the back of his hand like any other guy his age. No matter what they look like, they're all the same.
Smash cocks his head to the side. "So, did you really knock Riggins out?"
Jason smiles around a mouth full of cookie. "So did you really sleep with Tyra?" Crumbs fly everywhere, and Smash cracks up.
"Who told you about that?" Brian asks.
"Who do you think told me?" Jason mocks.
"Tyra?" There's only one other alternative, and Brian's not even trying to have this conversation go there.
Street smirks and Smash makes an incredulous noise. "Shit, I knew them rumors about Riggins beatin' on you were wrong. If I'd thought they were true I'd've choked him my damn self."
"Smash, I'm touched," Streets laughs, "but the question is, did your mama beat on you when she found you with Tyra?"
Smash makes a dismissive wave with his hand. Street's not buying it, so Brian confesses. "You know she nearly tore my ass up, messin' with some white girl."
Jason laughs so hard that the milk bottle almost falls out his lap, Brian rescues it just in time. "What the hell you doin', man? This cost $1.49! That's a dollar, forty-eight more than your ass is worth."
"I'm sorry, but you know, if you were gonna mess with anybody -- I mean Tyra?"
Brian just shrugs. "She was there."
"Yeah, well." Brian's heard about Riggins and Jason's girl too. That's some fucked up shit. He's not surprised though, Riggins was always too involved in Jason's business anyhow.
Brian raises an eyebrow. "What, you tellin' me you ain't never hit that?"
It's Jason's turn to raise an eyebrow and gesture to his legs. "With Tyra? When would I get the chance?"
Smash shrugs. "You never know."
Jason's brows knit together for moment. "You know, she was here a couple days ago, talkin' shit about Riggins -- we had some drinks."
Smash smiles and gestures with the bottle. "See, that's what I'm talkin' about -- you ain't even gotta do the work."
Street snorts. "Yeah, I'll get on that first thing tomorrow, Coach."
"Just 'cause your legs are broke, ain't got nothin' to do with your dick."
Jason raises an eyebrow. "So, if I run into Sheila in a couple years..."
"Aw, man, don't even go there. Tyra ain't your family, and if my mama caught you with Sheila, she'd kill you and her."
"Street, don't go messin' with people's sisters. I know you're all liberated from the cheerleader and shit, but damn." Smash turns sharply as a third voice joins their conversation and his head cranes down a bit to a scrappy white guy in a wheelchair with a shaved head.
Smash isn't immediately suspicious of everybody he meets, just most people. Still, he can totally take some cripple. The scrappy guy is driving a broke-down sort of wheelchair, it looks almost like he built it himself.
Brian raises an eyebrow when Street pats him on the shoulder. "Smash, this is Herc, Herc, this is Smash, my wide receiver."
The guy in the wheelchair, Herc, smirks at Smash. "Damn, Street, you move fast -- you dump your girlfriend and get a boyfriend? Shit, you gotta show me your technique."
"Oh, hell no!" Smash protests. "With his pasty ass? Are you crazy?! I don't even roll that way -- do you know who I am?"
Herc laughs. "Well, Street said your name was Smash. I'm thinking if you don't know that, the amnesiacs ward is on the other side of the building."
"Boy, you don't know who you're messin' with," Smash begins, jumping to his feet even though he can feel Jason tugging on the hem of his shirt.
Herc doesn't even roll his wheelchair back. "I'm just messin' with you," he says, holding up glove-covered hands in surrender. "I know don't nobody want Street's ass anyway -- rollin' or walkin'."
All of Brian's retorts fall away when he realizes Herc's just talking shit. "For a guy in a wheelchair, you got balls," he says impressed.
Herc nods knowingly. "You can't be sittin' in no chair and not stand up for yourself, man. Shit, people'll treat you like you ain't got a brain in your head if you don't tell 'em different."
Smash can definitely relate to that. "I hear that," he agrees. "So, you Street's roommate?"
Herc scoffs. "More like his nursemaid and his coach."
"Coach?"
"Yeah, Street, you ain't tell your man about Murderball?"
Smash blinks, and turns back to Street. "Murderball? You playin' some shit called Murderball? Didn't your ass already get messed up enough?"
Street grins. "Yeah, well, can't get much more messed up then, can I?"
Brian doesn't even know what to do with this news. Actually, yes he does. "I know you don't murder people for real, so what happens?"
"It's like football, but in a wheelchair," Jason says, his eyes lighting up the way they used to when he was in the huddle, about to call a huge play and have the team kick ass all over the place. Saracen's a nice kid, but he's not Street. He doesn't know Smash's strengths like Street does. Brian didn't come up with Matt Saracen, he came up with Jason Street.
"It ain't nothin' like no damn football, you don't have no feet involved," Herc corrects.
Jason rolls his eyes. "It's like basketball then," he corrects, "but in a wheelchair."
"Don't listen to the newbie," Herc interjects, "you just gotta see it for yourself. It ain't nothin' like that."
Smash thinks about it for a minute. He can go work-out and try not to think about how fucked up his entire season has become, or he can watch Street get his ass beat down. If Street hadn't gotten hurt, maybe neither one of them would be in this mess now.
"Y'all wanna show me right now?" Brian asks curiously
Jason raises an eyebrow. "Right now?"
"You got something else to do?"
"Lay on his ass and think about how he can't whack off over the cheerleader, probably," Herc snorts.
"Oh, snap," Brian laughs, "you gonna let him talk about you like that?"
"Hell, no," Street snaps, pushing Smash back a little, so he can lean over the side of the bed to grab at his wheelchair. "You're gonna be eating the floor when I get done with you, Herc," he grumbles.
"In your dreams, Street," Herc hollers, already halfway out the room.
Smash tries not to get in the way as Jason does his thing, swinging from his bed into his wheelchair with a practiced effort that tells Brian he's being doing this a lot. And then it hits him that Jason's going to be doing this forever.
All their thirteen year-old dreams about taking the Cowboys to the Super Bowl like Troy Aikman and Emmitt Smith aren't going to happen anymore -- everybody's got their own cross to bear, and sometimes it's not about race at all.
"You comin', Smash, or what?" Jason's in his wheelchair, brushing cookie crumbs from his face.
Brian shakes his head, and looks down at the half-drunk bottle of milk they've shared.
If someone had told him a year ago that he'd be back to hanging out with Jason Street, he'd have laughed in their faces.
"Yeah, I'm comin'," he says, standing aside to let Jason roll by. "I mean shit, I've been seein' you get your ass kicked for most of my life. Can't stop now, right?"
Jason scoffs. "Why don't you get in one of these chairs and then I can kick your ass too?"
Smash shrugs. "Maybe Phil can hook me up, you know, so I can see how the other half lives."
"It's nothing like what you expect."
"Yeah, it never is. C'mon, money, let's show your boy Herc how it's done."
Jason smirks. "Smashnstreet are at it again."
Smash pats Jason on the back as they leave his room. "Everybody best look out."
--end-
FNL betas by the fabulous antheia and ethrosdemon
b. antheia made FNL icons! Oh, FNL, how I love you so! You've inspired me for the first time in months. Why does everybody else not love FNL, too? Finally, a fandom that's all fictional and not me harassing George to run for Senate. Oh, what's that? Other people are thinking it too? Oh, well then that's okay. *link from heidi8
Friday Night Lights
Smash Williams, Jason Street
Spoilers through 1.09 'Full Hearts'
Smashnstreet
He pauses outside Jason's hospital room, because it's been a while since he's done this. Not the hospital thing, but the visiting thing. Except this isn't even a hospital, it's like a care facility or something, but the point is that, yeah, it's been a real long time for them.
It's been three years, not enough football games, and a lifetime of people looking and wondering why the little black boy and the little while boy were playing together, since Jason Street and Brian "Smash" Williams hung out and talked shit.
Sometimes it is all about race.
Brian looks down at the cookies Sheila made for her bake sale that he "borrowed" and wonders if he's doing the right thing. If it's even his place to try to do the right thing by Jason. It's not like he and Street are tight these days, not really, but Street is his quarterback and Smash is his wide receiver. They used to be real tight.
They have a history.
The cookies are chocolate chip, his favorite -- their favorite -- and he even stopped and got a quart of milk at the store. Of course he paid for the milk, but the cookies, well you can't steal from your family. You can steal from your church though, and Brian shakes that off, because he'll pay'em back. Church is for charity, and Smash was in need.
He's got this.
When he's rich and famous and playing for the Cowboys, he'll pay'em back. He'll buy a whole new church for the congregation, because if he's done anything wrong, it's only to make something right down the line.
The Lord knows what's in Smash's heart. Intent has to count for something.
The orderly standing at the desk eyes him curiously, and Brian automatically stiffens a bit. You never know how people are until they open their mouths. "You here to see Street?" the guy asks, and Smash nods slowly.
The orderly is kinda big, with spiky hair and glasses, and he smiles at Brian. "You picked a great time, he's just back from therapy. He could probably use some company."
Smash nods again. The orderly is cool. "Yeah, I'm just --" Brian motions toward Street's room with his brown paper bag of cookies and milk.
The orderly nods, but then he's coming around the desk, and Smash steels himself for who knows what. He takes a slight step back, but the orderly's only offering his hand. "Phil, I'm Jason's physical therapist."
Smash shakes his hand. "Brian."
"You play ball with Street?"
Brian nods again. "Yeah, me and Street go way back."
It's not really something Smash's thought about, but Street's been in Brian's life since he arrived in Dillon. Hell, Street was the first guy to welcome Brian to the Pee Wee team in fifth grade, and yeah, things have changed and they're not as close as they were once upon a time, but maybe that’s okay.
Phil smiles. "That's good, that's real good. Jason could use his friends right now."
It's on the tip of his tongue to ask Phil why he thinks they're friends, but then he figures if they weren't still something like friends, Smash wouldn't be there in the first place. But again, you never know how people are until they say something.
Brian takes a step towards Jason's room. "I'm gonna go see Street, all right?"
Smash doesn't need anybody's permission, but it comes out like he's asking. Some things happen that way. "Oh, yeah," Phil says, "don't let me keep you."
Brian kind of waves him off and then walks into Street's room. It's beige and bland and there aren't any pictures or art or anything on the walls. It's nothing like the way Smash remembers Jason's room at the hospital that one time the team came by. There's not even a TV, and that's just wrong.
Jason's sitting in his bed playing with this green ball, his wheelchair on the floor beside him, and something in Smash's chest tightens a little bit.
"What's up, big man?" Brian says, hovering in the doorway a little uncertainly. It's not like he was invited or anything, he just felt like coming. For old time's sake.
There's a moment of uncertainty on Jason's face, Smash can see it, and then it's nothing but smiles and white teeth. "Smash?"
Brian's answering grin comes of its own accord. "In the flesh, money," he says, crossing the room to Street's bed.
They hug in that manly half-hug, half-wrestling way. Jason clapping him on the back, Smash kind of knocking Jason around with the brown paper bag in his hand.
When Brian steps back, Street's still grinning. "You came by to beat me up with a paper bag? Don't you know they have laws about that kinda thing now? No fucking with the cripple."
Brian laughs in spite of himself because Street's humor is so callous and straight-forward -- it's like a punch to the gut. A little shock to take away the nervousness. "Man, you ain't gotta tell me about fucking with no cripple, I heard what you did to your boy, Riggins."
Some of the amusement slips from Jason's face, and he purses his lips. "Yeah, well, you know."
Smash raises an eyebrow and drops the bag on Jason's bed to take off his jacket. "Nah, I really don't," he says, dropping his jacket on the foot of the bed "Why don't you enlighten me?"
It's Jason's turn to raise an eyebrow. "You just want me to talk about kicking his ass."
Brian shrugs. "Yeah, pretty much."
Jason's face goes blank and then he laughs again. "That's wrong, Smash. You know that's wrong."
There's a moment where Smash is standing there with Jason grinning at him, and it's like old times. Like when their middle school coach, Coach Butler, used to call 'em Smashnstreet because where there was one, you could probably find the other.
Except that time is long gone, so Smash snorts, looks around for a chair, and then when he doesn't find one, drops into Jason's wheelchair. "Fuck him," he says pointedly. "I didn't start it."
Jason opens his mouth to say something and then apparently thinks better of it. This has been going on for years: Riggins never liked Smash so Smash's never liked him. It's not like he was trying to move in on his territory or nothin'.
It's not like he started it.
Brian's mama says some people aren't gonna like you no matter what you do or what you say. Some people are just gonna be closed-minded that way.
Jason doesn't say anything, but Smash can see him thinking. Street's always been a thinker -- it's why he's a quarterback -- you can see his brain working when he looks at you. Jason's not stupid, he knows how this all went down.
Smash licks his lips and looks around the room. There's another bed, but no pictures. He nods his head absently, tapping his hand on the armrest and spitting a couple lyrics that are in his head. He turns back to Jason when he hears the rustling of the paper bag.
"Aw, Smash, you made me cookies. You shouldn't have!" Jason's talking with a mock female lisp, the bag clasped to his chest, and Smash chuckles.
"Please, Street, you ain't worth cookin' for." Smash leans forward in the wheelchair and almost falls on his face into the side of Jason's bed when the wheels roll out from underneath him.
"What the hell, Street, don't this thing come with brakes?" he grumbles, grabbing onto the rails of Jason's bed for dear life.
Jason's face goes deceptively innocent. "You must've taken 'em off or somethin'."
Brian narrows his eyes. "I know you just want me to be laid up too with a fucked up nose, but I'm too pretty for that."
"Smash, your face is already fucked up, it's too late for any doctors to help you with that."
Smash is on his feet, tryin' to grab the cookies away from Street. "Oh, you got jokes, is that it?"
"I always have jokes," Jason laughs, trying to hold he bag out of Brian's grasp. The bottle bumps against the wall, and they both grab at the bag so it doesn't slip and wind up on the floor.
Brian ends up perched on the side of the bed, opening the bottle of milk while Jason stuffs cookies in his face. "These're real good, man, did your mom make 'em? Your mom was always the best cook."
Smash smirks. "Yeah man, my mom can throw down in the kitchen."
Jason came to dinner at Smash's house a couple times when they were younger, after football practice and all, but Mrs. Street didn't like that so much, so Jason stopped coming around. That was fine because Brian needed friends who were more like him, his mother said. He didn't need to be hanging around with that Street boy, with his uppity mother anyhow.
Jason snorts around his cookie. "My mom can call for take out," he says mock-helpfully.
The one time Brian went to Jason's house they'd had frozen pizza, it'd been cold in the middle and burnt on top.
Brian shakes his head. "Mom didn't make these though," he said, "Sheila made 'em."
Jason makes a scoffing noise. "Little Sheila, with her three Barbies who were going to be the first Barbies to play for the Cowboys?"
"Those are Noannie's Barbies now," Brian says between sips of milk, "don't hate."
Jason holds up his hands. "How old's Sheila now, anyway?"
"She's in ninth grade."
Street furrows his brow. "She's at Dillon?"
"Yeah, man, she's a pain in my ass."
"I didn't know that," Jason says.
Neither one of them says the obvious: that Jason hasn't seen Sheila because he hasn't been looking.
There's another awkward moment, and then Street's pulling the milk away. "Don't you see me drinkin' here?" Smash protests.
"Cripple here," Jason parrots.
Brian scowls and lets go. "That cripple thing's getting real old, man."
"Who're you tellin'?" Jason holds the plastic container with his fists and some spills down the side of his jaw. Brian lets it go. Street can take care of himself.
When Jason's done, he puts the milk in his lap and wipes his face with the back of his hand like any other guy his age. No matter what they look like, they're all the same.
Smash cocks his head to the side. "So, did you really knock Riggins out?"
Jason smiles around a mouth full of cookie. "So did you really sleep with Tyra?" Crumbs fly everywhere, and Smash cracks up.
"Who told you about that?" Brian asks.
"Who do you think told me?" Jason mocks.
"Tyra?" There's only one other alternative, and Brian's not even trying to have this conversation go there.
Street smirks and Smash makes an incredulous noise. "Shit, I knew them rumors about Riggins beatin' on you were wrong. If I'd thought they were true I'd've choked him my damn self."
"Smash, I'm touched," Streets laughs, "but the question is, did your mama beat on you when she found you with Tyra?"
Smash makes a dismissive wave with his hand. Street's not buying it, so Brian confesses. "You know she nearly tore my ass up, messin' with some white girl."
Jason laughs so hard that the milk bottle almost falls out his lap, Brian rescues it just in time. "What the hell you doin', man? This cost $1.49! That's a dollar, forty-eight more than your ass is worth."
"I'm sorry, but you know, if you were gonna mess with anybody -- I mean Tyra?"
Brian just shrugs. "She was there."
"Yeah, well." Brian's heard about Riggins and Jason's girl too. That's some fucked up shit. He's not surprised though, Riggins was always too involved in Jason's business anyhow.
Brian raises an eyebrow. "What, you tellin' me you ain't never hit that?"
It's Jason's turn to raise an eyebrow and gesture to his legs. "With Tyra? When would I get the chance?"
Smash shrugs. "You never know."
Jason's brows knit together for moment. "You know, she was here a couple days ago, talkin' shit about Riggins -- we had some drinks."
Smash smiles and gestures with the bottle. "See, that's what I'm talkin' about -- you ain't even gotta do the work."
Street snorts. "Yeah, I'll get on that first thing tomorrow, Coach."
"Just 'cause your legs are broke, ain't got nothin' to do with your dick."
Jason raises an eyebrow. "So, if I run into Sheila in a couple years..."
"Aw, man, don't even go there. Tyra ain't your family, and if my mama caught you with Sheila, she'd kill you and her."
"Street, don't go messin' with people's sisters. I know you're all liberated from the cheerleader and shit, but damn." Smash turns sharply as a third voice joins their conversation and his head cranes down a bit to a scrappy white guy in a wheelchair with a shaved head.
Smash isn't immediately suspicious of everybody he meets, just most people. Still, he can totally take some cripple. The scrappy guy is driving a broke-down sort of wheelchair, it looks almost like he built it himself.
Brian raises an eyebrow when Street pats him on the shoulder. "Smash, this is Herc, Herc, this is Smash, my wide receiver."
The guy in the wheelchair, Herc, smirks at Smash. "Damn, Street, you move fast -- you dump your girlfriend and get a boyfriend? Shit, you gotta show me your technique."
"Oh, hell no!" Smash protests. "With his pasty ass? Are you crazy?! I don't even roll that way -- do you know who I am?"
Herc laughs. "Well, Street said your name was Smash. I'm thinking if you don't know that, the amnesiacs ward is on the other side of the building."
"Boy, you don't know who you're messin' with," Smash begins, jumping to his feet even though he can feel Jason tugging on the hem of his shirt.
Herc doesn't even roll his wheelchair back. "I'm just messin' with you," he says, holding up glove-covered hands in surrender. "I know don't nobody want Street's ass anyway -- rollin' or walkin'."
All of Brian's retorts fall away when he realizes Herc's just talking shit. "For a guy in a wheelchair, you got balls," he says impressed.
Herc nods knowingly. "You can't be sittin' in no chair and not stand up for yourself, man. Shit, people'll treat you like you ain't got a brain in your head if you don't tell 'em different."
Smash can definitely relate to that. "I hear that," he agrees. "So, you Street's roommate?"
Herc scoffs. "More like his nursemaid and his coach."
"Coach?"
"Yeah, Street, you ain't tell your man about Murderball?"
Smash blinks, and turns back to Street. "Murderball? You playin' some shit called Murderball? Didn't your ass already get messed up enough?"
Street grins. "Yeah, well, can't get much more messed up then, can I?"
Brian doesn't even know what to do with this news. Actually, yes he does. "I know you don't murder people for real, so what happens?"
"It's like football, but in a wheelchair," Jason says, his eyes lighting up the way they used to when he was in the huddle, about to call a huge play and have the team kick ass all over the place. Saracen's a nice kid, but he's not Street. He doesn't know Smash's strengths like Street does. Brian didn't come up with Matt Saracen, he came up with Jason Street.
"It ain't nothin' like no damn football, you don't have no feet involved," Herc corrects.
Jason rolls his eyes. "It's like basketball then," he corrects, "but in a wheelchair."
"Don't listen to the newbie," Herc interjects, "you just gotta see it for yourself. It ain't nothin' like that."
Smash thinks about it for a minute. He can go work-out and try not to think about how fucked up his entire season has become, or he can watch Street get his ass beat down. If Street hadn't gotten hurt, maybe neither one of them would be in this mess now.
"Y'all wanna show me right now?" Brian asks curiously
Jason raises an eyebrow. "Right now?"
"You got something else to do?"
"Lay on his ass and think about how he can't whack off over the cheerleader, probably," Herc snorts.
"Oh, snap," Brian laughs, "you gonna let him talk about you like that?"
"Hell, no," Street snaps, pushing Smash back a little, so he can lean over the side of the bed to grab at his wheelchair. "You're gonna be eating the floor when I get done with you, Herc," he grumbles.
"In your dreams, Street," Herc hollers, already halfway out the room.
Smash tries not to get in the way as Jason does his thing, swinging from his bed into his wheelchair with a practiced effort that tells Brian he's being doing this a lot. And then it hits him that Jason's going to be doing this forever.
All their thirteen year-old dreams about taking the Cowboys to the Super Bowl like Troy Aikman and Emmitt Smith aren't going to happen anymore -- everybody's got their own cross to bear, and sometimes it's not about race at all.
"You comin', Smash, or what?" Jason's in his wheelchair, brushing cookie crumbs from his face.
Brian shakes his head, and looks down at the half-drunk bottle of milk they've shared.
If someone had told him a year ago that he'd be back to hanging out with Jason Street, he'd have laughed in their faces.
"Yeah, I'm comin'," he says, standing aside to let Jason roll by. "I mean shit, I've been seein' you get your ass kicked for most of my life. Can't stop now, right?"
Jason scoffs. "Why don't you get in one of these chairs and then I can kick your ass too?"
Smash shrugs. "Maybe Phil can hook me up, you know, so I can see how the other half lives."
"It's nothing like what you expect."
"Yeah, it never is. C'mon, money, let's show your boy Herc how it's done."
Jason smirks. "Smashnstreet are at it again."
Smash pats Jason on the back as they leave his room. "Everybody best look out."
--end-
FNL betas by the fabulous antheia and ethrosdemon