Coffee, tea, or EBUL!???!??!? MWUHAHA!
ZOMG I DID IT! My blocks are being removed piece by piece! YAYZ!!!!
I'm continuing our ebul tig HERE: the last parts from anon can be found HERE!... if need be. If you haven't read it, READ IT!!!
Heehee. So here. Enjoy our NC-17 TOTALLY MENTAL WHY ARE WE DOING THIS TO CASEY BADNESS. Because you KNOW you enjoy it. You won't admit it, but you do. We have a three billion readership and three comments. *grins and cackles like teh most ebullest person in teh world*
*hugs anonner*! Thanks for being so patient, m'sweet. :D
When Casey had started feeling sleep leave him, he'd been confused; why had Zeke been trapped in his basement, yelling for Casey to get him out? His basement door did have a lock, but it was from the inside-- yet he kept saying that he 'lost his key'. When Casey called 911 to have someone come help Zeke out, they said they were busy and couldn't make it out. They DID however suggest singing to Zeke to keep him calm.
So Casey had sat at the door, singing some song he knew from childhood. Zeke had quieted, letting Casey's voice soothe him. He kept saying that Casey had such a nice voice, and that he loved him; it warmed Casey's heart...
But Zeke wasn't trapped in a basement; that was ridiculous. When everything faded to black, Casey began figuring out that he was still in the hospital, and... someone touched him... was touching him.
His eyes opened in a snap, the light feel of fingers now reaching his mouth. They focussed slowly, but his initial shock wore off even without the sight of who was with him.
I'm safe. I feel it. he thought; seeing the dark brown eyes looking at him, he almost smiled. Of course I do. It's Zeke.
Casey let a sigh escape; Zeke had moved his fingers now, resting them on Casey's sheet-clad shoulder. "Hey," Zeke murmured, biting his lip. Casey nodded.
"You were in-- the basement," he replied. Zeke blinked a few moments.
"Huh?"
"I was singing to you." Casey said, starting to realize how silly he sounded. "You were stuck, and the police were busy. So I sang to you,"
Zeke must have realized what Casey was on about; a small smile came across his lips. "What did you sing?"
"Can't really remember. It was from a kid's show... I think,"
"Couldn't come up with some Sabbath, huh?" Zeke said, chuckling lightly. Casey realized how close he was as warm breath rolled over his face. The familiar scent of cigarettes, along with Zeke's usual Old Spice aftershave made him feel at complete and total peace. He's all I need. He's so close.
"I only know 'War Pigs'," Casey replied.
"Ah… well, that’s a good one. Go ahead."
"Go ahead... what?"
"Sing it."
Casey really couldn't believe that after all that had happened... oh God, it felt good to laugh like this. "Wha... what? You want me to-- sing 'War Pigs'...?" he asked incredulously. Zeke chuckled back, now running fingers through Casey's bangs.
"Yea. You can't just lie here."
"But you're not trapped in your basement."
"So?" Zeke replied. Casey smiled wide, burying his cheek into the pillow. Zeke's fingertips were massaging his scalp, and by God it felt so good. "You hungry?" Zeke asked. Casey shook his head.
"I should eat... they'll make me anyways." Casey grumbled.
"Yea."
"Not right now, though; not right now," Casey answered, curling into Zeke's touch further. They stayed close together, Casey finding so much comfort in just this alone. It didn't matter the fears or demons running about in his head right now. Nothing much else mattered.
It was all happening so slow, and so real. Zeke had to have been getting bored just leaning there, making the gentle 'scritch-scratch' of hair to skin on Casey's head. Casey put a hand to the wrist by his forehead and held it, fingers dancing on top of Zeke's. The warm breath on his face was calm, even; it was as if Casey sat on a beach, waves bringing fresh air from the ocean. They were close... not close enough.
Casey nuzzled his way forward, seeking out more of Zeke's warmth like a babe to breast, finding total comfort in another's skin. He now nested in the crook of Zeke's neck and shoulder, the smoky-spice scent of him letting Casey's body relax almost entirely. It tensed up once, only for a moment, when the feel of Zeke's fingers at his hair, holding it firmly and pressing his cheek to Casey's ear made an intense feel wash over Casey's skin. A good intense. Welcome and deserved.
"Casey?" Zeke whispered, throat hoarse. Casey didn't respond either way; Zeke moved closer, sighing shakily. "You know... y'now I love you, right?"
Perhaps on any other day-- in school or watching TV at Zeke's, playing video games, whatever-- this sort of revelation would shock him. Zeke didn't love anybody. That wasn't true anymore. "You said it... in my dream. And before... I did too."
"Okay." Zeke replied, voice full of tears. Another thing that should have shocked Casey; Zeke Tyler didn't cry, either. It made Casey press his lips into Zeke's neck, gentle and firm. He felt the muscles in it tense, Zeke moving in closer and burying Casey into him... cradling him in every nook of his body.
Nothing could hurt him here. Not with Zeke.
~*~
Sheriff Stevie Amak folded his favorite flannel shirts neatly and got them in the small amount of space left in his suitcase. He wasn't taking much, as he didn't plan on staying in Herrington for very long. He had hoped his wife, Cherie, would've been able to come with him to Ohio but had been taking double shifts at the hospital she worked at to cover for her fellow nurse on maternal leave.
Stevie went to the bathroom, grabbing random toiletries to bring; looking out the window, he smiled weakly. He was sure that the oncoming summer months had brought on good, warm weather for those in Ohio. Alaskan weather wasn't the stereotyped 'snow all year round', but it was most definitely cooler. Today was sunny and balmy; a lovely seventy-two degrees. He knew the Midwest enough to know that Ohio was no Florida, so perhaps it wouldn't be the biggest transition.
Once finished with his packing, Stevie looked at the clock. He had enough time to grab some coffee before calling a cab, so he brought his things downstairs, put them by the door and walked through the living room. Before getting to the archway leading to the kitchen, his eyes fell on a picture frame sitting on the side table.
Tiquana was forever young, captured in photographs all over the house. It was common for Stevie to pick up any one of them to carry with him, sometimes placing it on the dinner table with the extra plate they always laid out for him, or on the bedside table when he'd read the newspaper. Ity was comfort; it'd BEEN a comfort from the very beginning. Tiquana may not have been their biological son, but that hadn't mattered. This was his home, and despite his rebellious nature near the end of his short life, he'd always noted to Stevie and Cherie on who he considered his 'second set of parents'. It hadn't been his fault that he was easily manipulated into what someone called 'love'.
It had taken a good eight or nine years for Tiquana to break under the pressure of his parents' death. Only a year old when his mother died in a car accident and four when his father was taken next gave him nothing to work with. The preteen years were hellish; many times Stevie would get calls from school, a couple even coming from local shops to report Tiquana's shoplifting. It was never anything crucial; just candy or small toys. Stevie and Cherie tried everything to reform him, using counseling services at his school and in town. When Tiquana had been caught stealing a $65 pair of designer jeans however, it'd been crystal clear that he needed more than a Sheriff of an uncle. He was lucky that the store ended up dropping charges, but Stevie had had enough.
That entire summer had been set aside as a vacation for Stevie and Tiquana to be spent in Canada, traveling the Yukon Territory. Tiquana had needed to be quiet, to think without interruption. The first four days they barely spoke... the fifth day Tiquana had become annoyed and frustrated when they couldn't find a place that sold his favorite candy. Somewhere in the fifteen minute rant, the growling lament of 'not having any stupid Mallow Cups' turned into 'I want my dad, my REAL dad!'
They'd talked a lot more after that. They'd ended up at Kluane National Park together; what was going to be a weekend there turned into a month. Each day had been spent waking to the day and whatever it gave (even the rain offered interesting experiences), fishing for Kokanee salmon, taking hikes along trails most of the tourists wouldn't dare to venture on... whatever it'd been, they'd done it. In all the eight years Stevie and Cherie had cared for Tiquana, he'd neve rheard the boy talk so much. Upon returning home, Stevie and Cherie watched with great pleasure as Tiquana aced his classes, joined the photography clubs and used his impeccable brain to get the edge in school that he needed.
Being in college at such an early age had made him sensitive but determined. He'd only been there a week when he'd become the star pupil in the photography department. As Stevie had explained to the officers in Ohio, he and Cherie would often nudge each other washing dishes, going over Tiquana's moods. He was grumpy one moment and dreamy-eyed the next. "Maybe he'll bring her home for dinner one day soon," Cherie had said with a wink.
No girls came home with him; only Richard. The trusted, always-with-a-kind-smile teacher that gushed on and on about how Tiquana advanced and flourished in his classes above the rest. When Richard informed them of a trip he was taking, wanting to take Tiquana along, Stevie and Cherie had all but leapt from their chairs and cheered. Tiquana would get opportunities, edging past his classmates. Even if it meant getting favored over the others...
Favored. Stevie stopped his stirring cream into coffee a moment, looking to the picture he'd brought in. Tiquana's tenth-grade school picture had him grinning, perfect teeth shining, tanned skin glowing and dark eyes glinting merrily. How Stevie had missed this... how he hadn't seen the signs, it was beyond him.
Stevie turned away and sipped his coffee, staring at the many fridge magnets Cherie collected. It had taken him a few moments of staring at the 'Caribou Cab Service' magent to realize he was running low on time. He finished his coffee and went for the phone, carrying Tiquana's image with him. He's stuff this in one of his flannel shirts, bringing Tiquana along to greet friends.
~*~
"He's never traveled before... I think it'd be... good for him,"
Meredith nodded dumbly to Frank's meandering conversation. She'd read all the pamphlets, papers, and looked at every picture the detectives had given them. Matanuska-Susitna County looked rustic and serene from what she'd seen so far. Sheriff Stevie Amak sounded like a good man. Zeke was a good friend.
Casey was her baby.
She shivered and stood up from the hospital's waiting room couch, listening to the local television station blaring the weather reports between commercials and Frank flipping through pages and pages of random documents. "Is Alaska... Alaska cold, year round? Casey's never liked the cold."
"It says that summers are nice. Not hot... he never liked the hot much either." Frank said with a small smile. Meredith nodded again, staring at her feet.
"Do you think he'll go, Frank?" she asked in a soft voice. She saw Frank look up in the corner of her eye. She went on, sighing shakily. "I want... I want him to be safe, and I can't help but think-- that we'd do that best for him. We're his parents."
Frank put the papers aside now, hoisting his ankle upon his knee and sitting back. "We can't protect him from everything, Mer. We can't."
"You mean we couldn't." she stated dryly. Frank swallowed hard.
"No, we couldn't."
"No. We failed him-- miserably," she said. A hand went to her forehead and rubbed it, feeling a headache coming on again. "All those years, telling him to trust teachers. No matter what; like we were all living in some 'Donna Reed' world where the milkman's your best friend and teachers are God. Goes to show how stupid we were."
"I didn't anticipate this either, Mer," Frank grumbled out. "No one could. You can't totally prepare for sick fucks like Richard. What were we supposed to do? Tell Casey to NOT trust his teachers, just in case one of them is some serial killer rapist?"
Meredith hated Frank swearing, usually; she'd done plenty of that herself however, and didn't dwell on the four letter word. The last three he'd spoken was enough. "I want what's best for him. But he's my baby, my only baby."
"He's my only baby too,"
Meredith sat back down and looked out the door to the hall. She heard the two nurses at their station talking and laughing, something to do with a show they'd watched the night before. It made her angry; no one could be laughing like that. Not when Casey was in that room, body broken and spirit smashed.
But if she'd known of Zeke's whispered 'I love you' and small, soothing kiss he'd given her son a moment before the nurse guffawed, she might've thought differently on how unfixable her son really was.
I'm continuing our ebul tig HERE: the last parts from anon can be found HERE!... if need be. If you haven't read it, READ IT!!!
Heehee. So here. Enjoy our NC-17 TOTALLY MENTAL WHY ARE WE DOING THIS TO CASEY BADNESS. Because you KNOW you enjoy it. You won't admit it, but you do. We have a three billion readership and three comments. *grins and cackles like teh most ebullest person in teh world*
*hugs anonner*! Thanks for being so patient, m'sweet. :D
When Casey had started feeling sleep leave him, he'd been confused; why had Zeke been trapped in his basement, yelling for Casey to get him out? His basement door did have a lock, but it was from the inside-- yet he kept saying that he 'lost his key'. When Casey called 911 to have someone come help Zeke out, they said they were busy and couldn't make it out. They DID however suggest singing to Zeke to keep him calm.
So Casey had sat at the door, singing some song he knew from childhood. Zeke had quieted, letting Casey's voice soothe him. He kept saying that Casey had such a nice voice, and that he loved him; it warmed Casey's heart...
But Zeke wasn't trapped in a basement; that was ridiculous. When everything faded to black, Casey began figuring out that he was still in the hospital, and... someone touched him... was touching him.
His eyes opened in a snap, the light feel of fingers now reaching his mouth. They focussed slowly, but his initial shock wore off even without the sight of who was with him.
I'm safe. I feel it. he thought; seeing the dark brown eyes looking at him, he almost smiled. Of course I do. It's Zeke.
Casey let a sigh escape; Zeke had moved his fingers now, resting them on Casey's sheet-clad shoulder. "Hey," Zeke murmured, biting his lip. Casey nodded.
"You were in-- the basement," he replied. Zeke blinked a few moments.
"Huh?"
"I was singing to you." Casey said, starting to realize how silly he sounded. "You were stuck, and the police were busy. So I sang to you,"
Zeke must have realized what Casey was on about; a small smile came across his lips. "What did you sing?"
"Can't really remember. It was from a kid's show... I think,"
"Couldn't come up with some Sabbath, huh?" Zeke said, chuckling lightly. Casey realized how close he was as warm breath rolled over his face. The familiar scent of cigarettes, along with Zeke's usual Old Spice aftershave made him feel at complete and total peace. He's all I need. He's so close.
"I only know 'War Pigs'," Casey replied.
"Ah… well, that’s a good one. Go ahead."
"Go ahead... what?"
"Sing it."
Casey really couldn't believe that after all that had happened... oh God, it felt good to laugh like this. "Wha... what? You want me to-- sing 'War Pigs'...?" he asked incredulously. Zeke chuckled back, now running fingers through Casey's bangs.
"Yea. You can't just lie here."
"But you're not trapped in your basement."
"So?" Zeke replied. Casey smiled wide, burying his cheek into the pillow. Zeke's fingertips were massaging his scalp, and by God it felt so good. "You hungry?" Zeke asked. Casey shook his head.
"I should eat... they'll make me anyways." Casey grumbled.
"Yea."
"Not right now, though; not right now," Casey answered, curling into Zeke's touch further. They stayed close together, Casey finding so much comfort in just this alone. It didn't matter the fears or demons running about in his head right now. Nothing much else mattered.
It was all happening so slow, and so real. Zeke had to have been getting bored just leaning there, making the gentle 'scritch-scratch' of hair to skin on Casey's head. Casey put a hand to the wrist by his forehead and held it, fingers dancing on top of Zeke's. The warm breath on his face was calm, even; it was as if Casey sat on a beach, waves bringing fresh air from the ocean. They were close... not close enough.
Casey nuzzled his way forward, seeking out more of Zeke's warmth like a babe to breast, finding total comfort in another's skin. He now nested in the crook of Zeke's neck and shoulder, the smoky-spice scent of him letting Casey's body relax almost entirely. It tensed up once, only for a moment, when the feel of Zeke's fingers at his hair, holding it firmly and pressing his cheek to Casey's ear made an intense feel wash over Casey's skin. A good intense. Welcome and deserved.
"Casey?" Zeke whispered, throat hoarse. Casey didn't respond either way; Zeke moved closer, sighing shakily. "You know... y'now I love you, right?"
Perhaps on any other day-- in school or watching TV at Zeke's, playing video games, whatever-- this sort of revelation would shock him. Zeke didn't love anybody. That wasn't true anymore. "You said it... in my dream. And before... I did too."
"Okay." Zeke replied, voice full of tears. Another thing that should have shocked Casey; Zeke Tyler didn't cry, either. It made Casey press his lips into Zeke's neck, gentle and firm. He felt the muscles in it tense, Zeke moving in closer and burying Casey into him... cradling him in every nook of his body.
Nothing could hurt him here. Not with Zeke.
~*~
Sheriff Stevie Amak folded his favorite flannel shirts neatly and got them in the small amount of space left in his suitcase. He wasn't taking much, as he didn't plan on staying in Herrington for very long. He had hoped his wife, Cherie, would've been able to come with him to Ohio but had been taking double shifts at the hospital she worked at to cover for her fellow nurse on maternal leave.
Stevie went to the bathroom, grabbing random toiletries to bring; looking out the window, he smiled weakly. He was sure that the oncoming summer months had brought on good, warm weather for those in Ohio. Alaskan weather wasn't the stereotyped 'snow all year round', but it was most definitely cooler. Today was sunny and balmy; a lovely seventy-two degrees. He knew the Midwest enough to know that Ohio was no Florida, so perhaps it wouldn't be the biggest transition.
Once finished with his packing, Stevie looked at the clock. He had enough time to grab some coffee before calling a cab, so he brought his things downstairs, put them by the door and walked through the living room. Before getting to the archway leading to the kitchen, his eyes fell on a picture frame sitting on the side table.
Tiquana was forever young, captured in photographs all over the house. It was common for Stevie to pick up any one of them to carry with him, sometimes placing it on the dinner table with the extra plate they always laid out for him, or on the bedside table when he'd read the newspaper. Ity was comfort; it'd BEEN a comfort from the very beginning. Tiquana may not have been their biological son, but that hadn't mattered. This was his home, and despite his rebellious nature near the end of his short life, he'd always noted to Stevie and Cherie on who he considered his 'second set of parents'. It hadn't been his fault that he was easily manipulated into what someone called 'love'.
It had taken a good eight or nine years for Tiquana to break under the pressure of his parents' death. Only a year old when his mother died in a car accident and four when his father was taken next gave him nothing to work with. The preteen years were hellish; many times Stevie would get calls from school, a couple even coming from local shops to report Tiquana's shoplifting. It was never anything crucial; just candy or small toys. Stevie and Cherie tried everything to reform him, using counseling services at his school and in town. When Tiquana had been caught stealing a $65 pair of designer jeans however, it'd been crystal clear that he needed more than a Sheriff of an uncle. He was lucky that the store ended up dropping charges, but Stevie had had enough.
That entire summer had been set aside as a vacation for Stevie and Tiquana to be spent in Canada, traveling the Yukon Territory. Tiquana had needed to be quiet, to think without interruption. The first four days they barely spoke... the fifth day Tiquana had become annoyed and frustrated when they couldn't find a place that sold his favorite candy. Somewhere in the fifteen minute rant, the growling lament of 'not having any stupid Mallow Cups' turned into 'I want my dad, my REAL dad!'
They'd talked a lot more after that. They'd ended up at Kluane National Park together; what was going to be a weekend there turned into a month. Each day had been spent waking to the day and whatever it gave (even the rain offered interesting experiences), fishing for Kokanee salmon, taking hikes along trails most of the tourists wouldn't dare to venture on... whatever it'd been, they'd done it. In all the eight years Stevie and Cherie had cared for Tiquana, he'd neve rheard the boy talk so much. Upon returning home, Stevie and Cherie watched with great pleasure as Tiquana aced his classes, joined the photography clubs and used his impeccable brain to get the edge in school that he needed.
Being in college at such an early age had made him sensitive but determined. He'd only been there a week when he'd become the star pupil in the photography department. As Stevie had explained to the officers in Ohio, he and Cherie would often nudge each other washing dishes, going over Tiquana's moods. He was grumpy one moment and dreamy-eyed the next. "Maybe he'll bring her home for dinner one day soon," Cherie had said with a wink.
No girls came home with him; only Richard. The trusted, always-with-a-kind-smile teacher that gushed on and on about how Tiquana advanced and flourished in his classes above the rest. When Richard informed them of a trip he was taking, wanting to take Tiquana along, Stevie and Cherie had all but leapt from their chairs and cheered. Tiquana would get opportunities, edging past his classmates. Even if it meant getting favored over the others...
Favored. Stevie stopped his stirring cream into coffee a moment, looking to the picture he'd brought in. Tiquana's tenth-grade school picture had him grinning, perfect teeth shining, tanned skin glowing and dark eyes glinting merrily. How Stevie had missed this... how he hadn't seen the signs, it was beyond him.
Stevie turned away and sipped his coffee, staring at the many fridge magnets Cherie collected. It had taken him a few moments of staring at the 'Caribou Cab Service' magent to realize he was running low on time. He finished his coffee and went for the phone, carrying Tiquana's image with him. He's stuff this in one of his flannel shirts, bringing Tiquana along to greet friends.
~*~
"He's never traveled before... I think it'd be... good for him,"
Meredith nodded dumbly to Frank's meandering conversation. She'd read all the pamphlets, papers, and looked at every picture the detectives had given them. Matanuska-Susitna County looked rustic and serene from what she'd seen so far. Sheriff Stevie Amak sounded like a good man. Zeke was a good friend.
Casey was her baby.
She shivered and stood up from the hospital's waiting room couch, listening to the local television station blaring the weather reports between commercials and Frank flipping through pages and pages of random documents. "Is Alaska... Alaska cold, year round? Casey's never liked the cold."
"It says that summers are nice. Not hot... he never liked the hot much either." Frank said with a small smile. Meredith nodded again, staring at her feet.
"Do you think he'll go, Frank?" she asked in a soft voice. She saw Frank look up in the corner of her eye. She went on, sighing shakily. "I want... I want him to be safe, and I can't help but think-- that we'd do that best for him. We're his parents."
Frank put the papers aside now, hoisting his ankle upon his knee and sitting back. "We can't protect him from everything, Mer. We can't."
"You mean we couldn't." she stated dryly. Frank swallowed hard.
"No, we couldn't."
"No. We failed him-- miserably," she said. A hand went to her forehead and rubbed it, feeling a headache coming on again. "All those years, telling him to trust teachers. No matter what; like we were all living in some 'Donna Reed' world where the milkman's your best friend and teachers are God. Goes to show how stupid we were."
"I didn't anticipate this either, Mer," Frank grumbled out. "No one could. You can't totally prepare for sick fucks like Richard. What were we supposed to do? Tell Casey to NOT trust his teachers, just in case one of them is some serial killer rapist?"
Meredith hated Frank swearing, usually; she'd done plenty of that herself however, and didn't dwell on the four letter word. The last three he'd spoken was enough. "I want what's best for him. But he's my baby, my only baby."
"He's my only baby too,"
Meredith sat back down and looked out the door to the hall. She heard the two nurses at their station talking and laughing, something to do with a show they'd watched the night before. It made her angry; no one could be laughing like that. Not when Casey was in that room, body broken and spirit smashed.
But if she'd known of Zeke's whispered 'I love you' and small, soothing kiss he'd given her son a moment before the nurse guffawed, she might've thought differently on how unfixable her son really was.