(no subject)
It's that time again...
...yay! Happy Halloween, all!
I was hoping to have this story done, especially since I'd started it weeks ago, but stalled a bit. I'm gonna try to finish it up on the weekend... it's just a very busy time, with lots of things to do, anniversaries to celebrate... like MINE. Yay, 12 years. :D
So here we iz... I've gone with super-spooky and/or skeery, but this here got real fluffy, real fast. Hope you like!
Title: Ride It Out (1/2)
Pairing: C/Z
Rating: PG-13 to very light R
Disclaimer: Don't own!
Synopsis: Zeke takes Casey to an old haunt of his... literally.
Zeke knew enough about Casey and his family history to not reach over to the passenger side and smack the boy upside the head, yelling, “Can you shut up, calm down and stop acting like you're on fucking meth?” Having loving but extremely-stifling, old fashioned parental units had been fine when Casey's only friends were books, teachers and the occasional gamer-geek. The fact that the eighteen-year old young man found it daring that he'd sneaked not one but two cans of Jolt into the house to guzzle under his parents' noses was comical, especially when Zeke's first time getting wasted on hard liquor had been around the time his voice started changing.
Then again, it was more endearing than funny. The fact that Zeke couldn't remember the last time he'd had more than one beer, never mind being piss-drunk was refreshing. The A's and B's on his last report card had felt pretty good, as well. Casey was the main reason for Zeke's new lease on life, and Zeke valued it-more than anyone knew.
Stan and Stokely had been let in on that 'more than', however, which was why this was a double-date... in secret, to everyone else, including Mr. and Mrs. Connor. Zeke was actually calling it a date. It made him nervous, excited and terrified all at the same time. It was too difficult to focus when the only emotion Casey conveyed was a feral, unquenchable joy.
“Can I pop a CD of mine in? It's topical!”
“Topical?” Zeke gave Casey a cocked eyebrow and smirk. He next looked to the CD case Casey was waving around. “Who're 'The Brickbats'?”
“Surfer-monster-rock!” Casey all but cheered. “Perfect for our spooky plans.”
Surfer-monster-rock. Zeke's first impulse was to say, “Let's not and say we did,” but his curiosity at just what that... genre?.... was won-out. “Sure.”
Casey cooed happily, flicked the case open and popped the disc into Zeke's brand-spanking-new player. The moment the music started, Zeke found himself nodding along, the bass and fast-paced lyrics of 'We Are the Dead' immediately infectious. “I like,” Zeke said.
“I know, right??” Casey himself bopped about a bit, though to the music or the enormous amounts of caffeine coursing through his bloodstream, Zeke couldn't be entirely sure. “You know, you know, you know, you know, now, we are the deeeead... by the way, I'm supposed to be in bed by one.”
“Huh?”
“Like THAT'LL happen!” Casey said, chuckling hard. “Oh! And this Haunted-Hayride we're going to isn't bloody at all.”
It was Zeke's turn to chortle. “Casey, it's only the bloodiest and goriest this side of the Mississippi...”
“And if they KNEW that, I'd have been sent to my room.”
“Um... you're at an age where you can go to a foreign country and watch half your buddies get blown-apart in a minefield.”
“Tell them that. Hah... the scariest movie they're ever let me watch was Fantasia.”
“Wow, terrifying,” Zeke teased. Casey widened his eyes and scoff-chuckled.
“It WAS!” he exclaimed. “For real, that shit gave me nightmares!”
Zeke was glad for the stoplight turning red; it allowed him to turn slowly to Casey and say, “Casey, if you piss your pants watching a cartoon, maybe I SHOULD turn us around. Dead serious, this hayride isn't full of playful ghosts and pretty pumpkins...”
“I know, you told me enough! Anyway, I went to their website. It looks SO fuckin' cool,” Casey said.
“'K. You just keep reminding yourself that any psych-bills that could come outta tonight are on you,” Zeke replied. As they now approached Stan's block, Zeke glanced to the clock, which read 6:52. “Good, we're on time.”
“Hey! Wait, can we stop here?”
Zeke looked to the right at the one lone business still open in the near-dead 'Mill Street Plaza'. “Dairy Mart?”
“Yea, they sell Pop Rocks. AND Jolt,” Casey said. His expression was joyous and wild, making Zeke snort.
“You don't need any more stimulants, for Christ's sake,” he replied. “Anyway, Stokes is always on my sack for being just two minutes late--”
“Pleeeease??” Casey said in a high-pitched drawl.
Zeke sighed, shook his head and slapped the blinker to 'right'. “Make it quick... and fuck, why not, grab me some Jolt, too,” Zeke said, grabbing a twenty from his pocket to give to the boy.
“I'm getting EVERY-one Jolt!” Casey said, more strange giggles following as he got out of the car and danced the whole way from the lot to inside the store. Zeke watched him scurry around in the candy aisle, only visible from the tip of his nose to the top of his tousled-haired-head.
It had to be love. Anyone else, and Zeke would've invested in a tranquilizer gun by now.
~*~
“I still can't believe you worked here,” Stan told Zeke as he got out of the GTO. Stokely, tying her favorite Jack Skellington scarf tighter around her neck to ward off the chill, scoffed.
“You can't? If school was one big Scream movie script, I would've picked him out at the serial killer AGES ago,” she said.
“It's just that it's huge...”
Zeke smiled and shrugged. “It was a good gig. Too bad it ain't a year-round thing,” he said. Noticing that only three of the four car's occupants had made it out, he leaned down and looked to the passenger side, where Casey was... upside-down? “What're you doing?”
“I found my Skittles, they're all over the stupid floor of the car!” Casey said.
“Jesus Christ,” Stokely said with an amused snort. “Casey, how the fuck much sugar have you eaten since we left Herrington?”
“Not a WHOLE big lot, OW, what the hell was-Zeke, you have, like, a thousand pencils down here!”
'Two Jolts at home, one in the car... two packs of bubblegum flavored Pop Rocks, a few Skittles before he lost 'em, at least five Warheads...' Zeke made the mental list. He'd expected at least ten bucks in change from the last minute pit-stop at the 'Mart, but had only received two and a couple dimes. He hadn't said anything about it, but the shopping spree's effects were coming clear as day now.
“Oh wow, this DOES look awesome,” Stokely, walking around to the front of the car and onto the dirt lane leading to the 'Raven-Woods Farm', said. “There's like a million people here.”
“Yea, it's still early, but... Case, c'mon, they've got a small store in the place if you really need more Skittles,” Zeke said.
“'Just don't want the stuff to melt into the floor or whatever...” Casey replied.
“It's about twenty degrees out here...?” Stokely said. Casey groaned.
“Fine, FREEZE to the floor,” he said, but he went right-side-up, fumbled his way out the door and stood straight. After making a long and loud stretch of his arms, he let out an, “Ah!” and went around the hood to Zeke. “Sorry if it makes a HUGE mess.”
“Whatever, I don't care for once,” Zeke said, rolling his eyes and smirking. “C'mon.”
“So...” Stan took Stokely's hand and looked to Zeke, grinning. “What DID you play for this thing?”
Zeke opened his mouth to answer, but Casey was quicker. “He was a ZOM-bie!”
“Ew,” Stokely muttered through a smile-grimace.
“N'aw, he made that shit look good. He showed me a ton of pics, I'd KILL to get a job like that,” Casey, in his all-over-the-map fashion said. “I'd wanna be one of the guys who shoves chainsaws in people's faces.”
“Weren't you the one begging Zeke to help carry your 'stupid heavy' camera bag yesterday?” Stan teased.
“Yea, heavy machinery isn't 'you', Case. Sorry,” Stokely said. “Now, a screaming-bloody-murder victim? Sign-up.”
“Nut-uh, nooo way,” Casey said, shaking his head vehemently. “But fine, I'd be... a werewolf!”
There were more skeptical-sounding snorts and looks exchanged. “Were-hamster, maybe,” Stokely said.
“Quit the teasing, guys. If Casey wants to be a chainsaw-toting werewolf, he can BE a chainsaw-toting werewolf,” Zeke said, allowing himself to give Casey's back a soft rubbing before heading back into their 'safe zone' of looking like the most casual and platonic 'buddies'. A few inches apart, aloof. Damn it.
“There, see? Oh my GOD, mulled cider,” Casey said, making his steps double-time now in seeing the small shack ahead advertising the autumn-season delights.
“I'm for that, fuck yea,” Stan said.
Zeke felt his own mouth water, remembering the delicious, homemade food and drink this place served. Having been an employee, two seasons in a row, he'd gotten to enjoy them all for free. The closer they got, the more intense the aromas and warmth surrounding the hut grew. There were two huge lines, but were moving quickly along thanks to the quick-on-their-feet teenagers working the counter. Both Casey and Stokely bobbed up on the balls of their feet to get a good look at the menu. “Pumpkin every-fucking-thing,” Casey said. He made a sudden laugh and turned to Stokely. “It's like that Bubba guy from 'Forrest Gump'. Pumpkin pie, pumpkin coffee, pumpkin GUM-bo--”
“Or... just pumpkin,” she said, pointing to the large sign on the counter which read 'Sweet Spiced Raven-Woods FRIED PUMPKIN!' She turned to Zeke, eyes wide. “Is that as amazing as it sounds?”
“It should have its own religion, yea,” Zeke replied.
Stan got his wallet out and brought out a twenty. “Get what ya wanna, babe,” he told his girlfriend, who turned to him with a wide smile. She pressed it onto Stan's, only for a moment before turning away.
“We know it's gotta suck for you guys; we'll keep it down,” she'd promised them when they'd planned this outing. Still, the brief moment of intimacy was enough to make Zeke sigh and focus on getting his own money out-and for the first time since heading-out here, Casey's smile was soft and bittersweet, instead of atomic. It made Zeke move in closer to him and smile; when he saw that Casey had gotten his wallet out, he made a quick shake of his head and pushed the hand holding the billfold down.
“Get what ya wanna, babe,” he echoed Stan's words in a whisper close to Casey's ear. They almost brushed noses when Casey turned to him, wearing a light frown, but Zeke backed off at the last moment.
“You already bought me my junk food and Jolt,” he muttered.
Zeke almost laughed and said, 'No, YOU bought YOU your junk food and Jolt, I had no fucking say in that,' but this was Casey's date, from Zeke. “You turned me into a 'Brickbats' fan, that's enough,” he said, daring a wink.
“I have a twenty? Mom gave it to me.”
“Casey?” Zeke said in a firmer voice. When Casey blinked and went quiet, Zeke smirked. “Shut up and let me pumpkin-you-up.”
The somber expression was gone in a flash, replaced with the sugar-induced mania again. “That's so HOT,” he said in a heavy chortle.
They were soon taking their turns at ordering, each of them getting a large fried-pumpkin, hot cider and ghost-shaped sugar cookie apiece. With every picnic table occupied, they resorted to the small weather-worn bench and old tree stump hidden by the food-hut's shadow. Zeke chose the stump, a familiar spot for him; he'd spent a good handful of breaks here, where he'd heat his chilled insides with the farm's delicious food along with his band of 'seasonal best friends'.
As if reading his mind, Stan asked, “See anyone familiar yet?”
“N'aw. The kids working the hut look like underclassmen. I WAS one when I was here, so...” Zeke shrugged then took his first bite of pumpkin. Just the soft, sweet and spicy flavor made a million memories flood back-all of them good, full of people who were just as batshit-crazy as HE was.
“This... is s'ho good,” Stokely said through a mouthful. She stared at Zeke as if she was in-love. “Thanks for bringing us here, by the way. I didn't say that yet.”
“No prob, it's too good not to share,” Zeke replied.
“I wanna work here,” Casey chimed in, nodding fast as he chewed. “They can pay me in PUMP-kin.”
“I'd throw on heels and a skimpy nightie and run around a cornfield for this shit, ya,” Stokely said.
“Ooh!” Stan said, eyes widening with great interest.
“Perv,” Stokely muttered.
“I gotta pee,” Casey announced suddenly. He stood and turned from side-to-side. “Where're the bathrooms?”
“Port-a-Potties, behind the barn area,” Zeke said, waving his fork in the general direction. “Wait... you're done already?”
“Still got my ghostie,” Casey said. He somehow managed to unwrap the plastic from the cookie while holding his empty bowl, fork and steaming cup of cider. He looked to Zeke with a broad grin. “Walk me there? I don't wanna get lost. Or eaten.”
Though Zeke wasn't finished with his own food, he figured he could eat and walk at the same time. “A'right,” he said. He stood, turned to the others to say, “Meet us in ten by the front of the barn,” then led the way. Casey walked alongside Zeke, sighing and taking long glances his way every now and again.
“This... really is cool,” he said. “I've never done anything like it before.”
“You've never been on a hayride before?” Zeke asked.
“Well yea, but the 'family friendly' kind. Like the farm there, past the apple orchards on the edge of town.” Casey chuckled, finally found a nearby barrel to dump their trash into-Zeke wolfing down the last few bites of his pumpkin to free a hand-then continued, “It's got a petting zoo, pumpkins, a kiddy train and yea, a hayride. The scariest feature? A huge tree with a big bunch of sheet-ghosts that hang over the tractor's route. Ooh-oooh!”
“Aw... betcha loved it as a kid.”
“As a KID, sure. And... Mom loves it. Still.”
Casey's smile was bittersweet again as he set his blank stare at the ground. Zeke downed the last of his cider, smacked his lips and cuffed the back of Casey's neck in a soft squeeze; casual enough, close enough, for now. “Maybe see it as a kinda 'gift' you gave her,” he told the young man. When Casey gave Zeke an inquiring stare, Zeke shrugged and said, “Most moms don't get their sons to sit with 'em for more than five minutes a day when the guy hits the fourteen-year mark.”
“Yea, I guess... oh.” Casey stopped dead and was facing the entrance to the barn, and Zeke knew why. The lights from inside cast a golden-orange glow over the entrance straight to where they stood-a yellow-brick-road of sorts, luring any and every passerby inside. “Wow, that... a store?”
“I said they sold Skittles, didn't I?” Zeke replied, but it was a lot more than supermarket brand candy here. As if forgetting that his bladder was full, Casey beamed and made a beeline for the shopping area, Zeke going-with.
“Wow,” Casey said again at the wooden shelves full of candy-more homemade, classic goodies encased in large jars with bags and weighing station nearby. Though the price was a little steep at four-ninety-nine for a half-pound, Casey snatched a plastic bag from its roll, grabbed a scoop and began making his choices... many of them. “I dunno what the hell 'horehounds' are, but they're mine,” he said as he dug the scoop into the jar.
Zeke chuckled and joined along. It wasn't every day he came across HIS favorite of clove-drops. They matched his brand of cigarette, so it made sense. Once Casey was sure he'd taken every sweet-sample he could afford, they moved along to the more 'tourist shop' angle of the business. From mugs to keychains to stuffed-animals, all bearing the Raven-Wood's logo, any choice made a sweet memory to take home. When they reached the table full of t-shirts, Casey's interest grew.
“Ooh, these are cool,” he said in the voice of an awed child. It was here that Zeke could see why Mrs. Connor kept her motherly claws into her son; eighteen years behind him or no, Casey had an almost-eerie innocence to him. The same unearthly, hypnotic blue eyes which had lured Zeke in pushed him away at the last second. It wasn't just Mrs. Connor wanting her son to stay safe, calm... sweet.
They would have made it past the metaphorical 'second base' if Zeke wasn't so scared that he'd ruin Casey in some irreversible, detrimental way.
“Oh! Okay, this is friggin' PER-fect!”
Casey's exclamation made Zeke shake the cobwebs from his head and look to what he was holding up. The t-shirt, extra-small of course, looked like it'd been thrown in the mud and stomped on by a mob of monsters-exactly how it was meant to look, with the words, I gots my brainz eated on teh Raven-Woods Haunted Hayride by zom-bees, and all I got wuz this stoopid t-shert. “SO mine,” Casey said, throwing the item over his arm, turning toward the other end of the barn where the cashier's station was and made his way over.
“Can you get that and the candy?” Zeke asked.
“I THINK so.”
“If it runs over, I gotcha.”
Casey pfft-ed. “You've already paid for the food, promised to pay for the tickets, I got this. I didn't weigh the candy, but... can't be much more than half a pound. So, that's about five bucks, the shirt's thirteen-ninety-nine, I... am golden.”
“You're the boss.”
“Yup.” Casey made a long, happy sigh then suddenly paused at one of the tables close to the checkout; Zeke gave the farm credit for this strategic maneuver. While nothing upon the bright orange, yellow and white candy-corn printed tablecloth was over thirty dollars that he could find, there were countless trinkets to choose from, most of it jewelry. Casey was hyper-focused on the rows of necklaces made of black-leather lacing and pewter charms of all kinds.
All it'd taken was for Casey's thumb and forefinger to linger upon one necklace in particular for something to snap! in Zeke's mind. Though it'd been a fraction of a second that Casey had touched the crazy-looking, extremely signature piece holding little pewter brains, bones and zombie faces in between black and blue glass beads, Zeke felt-for the first-time ever, perhaps, boyfriend radar. The message was loud and clear: 'Casey wants this thing like most people want oxygen.' But without a word or another clue provided, Casey smiled and walked off to the counter. He hadn't even flipped the tag over to check the price.
The blush Casey wore when his candy weighed in at over a pound and the pretty blonde cashier's saying, “That's twenty-four twenty-nine, please,” was adorable.
“Sorry,” Casey mumbled as Zeke dug out the difference.
“Yea, this is gonna cripple my monthly finances,” Zeke retorted.
“Ugh, it's just...” Casey smirked, sighed, and gave up with, “Thanks.”
Zeke nodded and turned to look to the left, where the hayride ticket sales were conducted. The quickest glance back to the jewelry and trinkets made his jaw clench, seeing a large group of young teenaged boys and girls inspecting the table. “Stan and Stokes are probably outside, we should--”
“Yea, I STILL gotta pee,” Casey said. He gave the clerk a quick, “Thanks!” before pointing to the barn's exit. “I'll meet ya in five!”
“Cool, I'll grab the tickets,” Zeke said, relieved. He turned slowly to watch Casey go, taking one step toward the ticket booth-a second-the moment he saw Casey come across Stan and Stokely, Zeke whirled back around toward the table, just as Casey's necklace-choice was inches away from one of the girl's fingertips. With a deft hand, he manged to snatch it up before the redhead could set her eyes upon it. It didn't matter if, in reality, she could've passed it by with a disgusted, “Ew, gross!”; Zeke had only had nanoseconds to spare, he was dead-certain of that.
It was time for tickets now. He knew Stan would not in any way allow Zeke to pay for his and Stokely's, the boy's pride in his part-time job at the KFC being on display for HIS date, but to be safe and sure, Zeke got the price for four spots out and waited behind two college-aged women, who were apparently taking seconds in order to see if the goth-girl of the pair could slip her number into 'that cute zombie-victim's' pocket somehow. Zeke chuckled to himself as they scampered off, leaving him with the clerk-the clerk who brightened and sat up straighter.
“Well, well. If it isn't Zekie Tyler.”
Zeke looked up, raised his eyebrows then beamed back at the now very familiar man. “Dean-o?” he said. “Hey man, what's up?”
Dean, the twenty-something son of the farm's owner himself, leaned over the small counter and took Zeke into a one-armed 'bro hug'. He was just as tall as Zeke, almost more, proving it with Zeke feeling a small strain in slapping his shoulder back. “How's it goin', dude?” Dean asked as they broke away.
“Not so bad. Your dad planning on retiring soon?” Zeke cast a look to the people crowding around in large, purchase-hungry groups. “Cos' he fuckin' well could.”
“Hah, never. You know him, he'd do this shit for free.” Dean sat back in his stool with a cocky grin. “What's kept you bringing your kickass zombie self in this season, I gotta ask?”
Zeke tilted his head to the side, feeling a little guilty. “Eh, it's... complicated, I guess.”
“Well, you're here now. And lemmee tell ya, the new breed that moved into Kent State? Worthless,” Dean said. “We used to get some good kids, but... nothing like YOU'D give.”
“Y'mean people need a doctorate in theater arts to moan and groan the word 'braaaains' nowadays?”
“You'd think.”
“Hah... well, I'm here to be entertained, actually,” Zeke said. He lifted the two twenties he held. “Four, please.”
“For now, for now. I guarantee, the second you're off the wagon, you're back here looking for me, begging to be let back.” Dean took the cash and tore off four tickets from the roll. “Maybe I'll letcha. May-be.”
Zeke chuckled and took the tickets being handed to him; one of the two twenties was also handed back. “Dean-o, c'mon. Ten per tick; it's an even forty,” he said.
“Enjoy the show,” Dean replied coolly then looked behind Zeke. “Next?”
Rolling his eyes but smiling, Zeke sighed his way back over to the main counter where the blonde clerk was helping the kids who'd almost stolen Casey's necklace. Going by their choices the clerk was ringing in, some of them zombie-related, Zeke felt relieved. That was when he decided to take a look at the price-tag.
'Good thing he didn't catch it,' Zeke thought at the markings reading $36.99. If the boy was ready to wither and die with embarrassment at Zeke's four-dollar help... “N'aw, it was only ten bucks,” Zeke planned on saying when the question would undoubtedly come up.
~*~
...yay! Happy Halloween, all!
I was hoping to have this story done, especially since I'd started it weeks ago, but stalled a bit. I'm gonna try to finish it up on the weekend... it's just a very busy time, with lots of things to do, anniversaries to celebrate... like MINE. Yay, 12 years. :D
So here we iz... I've gone with super-spooky and/or skeery, but this here got real fluffy, real fast. Hope you like!
Title: Ride It Out (1/2)
Pairing: C/Z
Rating: PG-13 to very light R
Disclaimer: Don't own!
Synopsis: Zeke takes Casey to an old haunt of his... literally.
Zeke knew enough about Casey and his family history to not reach over to the passenger side and smack the boy upside the head, yelling, “Can you shut up, calm down and stop acting like you're on fucking meth?” Having loving but extremely-stifling, old fashioned parental units had been fine when Casey's only friends were books, teachers and the occasional gamer-geek. The fact that the eighteen-year old young man found it daring that he'd sneaked not one but two cans of Jolt into the house to guzzle under his parents' noses was comical, especially when Zeke's first time getting wasted on hard liquor had been around the time his voice started changing.
Then again, it was more endearing than funny. The fact that Zeke couldn't remember the last time he'd had more than one beer, never mind being piss-drunk was refreshing. The A's and B's on his last report card had felt pretty good, as well. Casey was the main reason for Zeke's new lease on life, and Zeke valued it-more than anyone knew.
Stan and Stokely had been let in on that 'more than', however, which was why this was a double-date... in secret, to everyone else, including Mr. and Mrs. Connor. Zeke was actually calling it a date. It made him nervous, excited and terrified all at the same time. It was too difficult to focus when the only emotion Casey conveyed was a feral, unquenchable joy.
“Can I pop a CD of mine in? It's topical!”
“Topical?” Zeke gave Casey a cocked eyebrow and smirk. He next looked to the CD case Casey was waving around. “Who're 'The Brickbats'?”
“Surfer-monster-rock!” Casey all but cheered. “Perfect for our spooky plans.”
Surfer-monster-rock. Zeke's first impulse was to say, “Let's not and say we did,” but his curiosity at just what that... genre?.... was won-out. “Sure.”
Casey cooed happily, flicked the case open and popped the disc into Zeke's brand-spanking-new player. The moment the music started, Zeke found himself nodding along, the bass and fast-paced lyrics of 'We Are the Dead' immediately infectious. “I like,” Zeke said.
“I know, right??” Casey himself bopped about a bit, though to the music or the enormous amounts of caffeine coursing through his bloodstream, Zeke couldn't be entirely sure. “You know, you know, you know, you know, now, we are the deeeead... by the way, I'm supposed to be in bed by one.”
“Huh?”
“Like THAT'LL happen!” Casey said, chuckling hard. “Oh! And this Haunted-Hayride we're going to isn't bloody at all.”
It was Zeke's turn to chortle. “Casey, it's only the bloodiest and goriest this side of the Mississippi...”
“And if they KNEW that, I'd have been sent to my room.”
“Um... you're at an age where you can go to a foreign country and watch half your buddies get blown-apart in a minefield.”
“Tell them that. Hah... the scariest movie they're ever let me watch was Fantasia.”
“Wow, terrifying,” Zeke teased. Casey widened his eyes and scoff-chuckled.
“It WAS!” he exclaimed. “For real, that shit gave me nightmares!”
Zeke was glad for the stoplight turning red; it allowed him to turn slowly to Casey and say, “Casey, if you piss your pants watching a cartoon, maybe I SHOULD turn us around. Dead serious, this hayride isn't full of playful ghosts and pretty pumpkins...”
“I know, you told me enough! Anyway, I went to their website. It looks SO fuckin' cool,” Casey said.
“'K. You just keep reminding yourself that any psych-bills that could come outta tonight are on you,” Zeke replied. As they now approached Stan's block, Zeke glanced to the clock, which read 6:52. “Good, we're on time.”
“Hey! Wait, can we stop here?”
Zeke looked to the right at the one lone business still open in the near-dead 'Mill Street Plaza'. “Dairy Mart?”
“Yea, they sell Pop Rocks. AND Jolt,” Casey said. His expression was joyous and wild, making Zeke snort.
“You don't need any more stimulants, for Christ's sake,” he replied. “Anyway, Stokes is always on my sack for being just two minutes late--”
“Pleeeease??” Casey said in a high-pitched drawl.
Zeke sighed, shook his head and slapped the blinker to 'right'. “Make it quick... and fuck, why not, grab me some Jolt, too,” Zeke said, grabbing a twenty from his pocket to give to the boy.
“I'm getting EVERY-one Jolt!” Casey said, more strange giggles following as he got out of the car and danced the whole way from the lot to inside the store. Zeke watched him scurry around in the candy aisle, only visible from the tip of his nose to the top of his tousled-haired-head.
It had to be love. Anyone else, and Zeke would've invested in a tranquilizer gun by now.
~*~
“I still can't believe you worked here,” Stan told Zeke as he got out of the GTO. Stokely, tying her favorite Jack Skellington scarf tighter around her neck to ward off the chill, scoffed.
“You can't? If school was one big Scream movie script, I would've picked him out at the serial killer AGES ago,” she said.
“It's just that it's huge...”
Zeke smiled and shrugged. “It was a good gig. Too bad it ain't a year-round thing,” he said. Noticing that only three of the four car's occupants had made it out, he leaned down and looked to the passenger side, where Casey was... upside-down? “What're you doing?”
“I found my Skittles, they're all over the stupid floor of the car!” Casey said.
“Jesus Christ,” Stokely said with an amused snort. “Casey, how the fuck much sugar have you eaten since we left Herrington?”
“Not a WHOLE big lot, OW, what the hell was-Zeke, you have, like, a thousand pencils down here!”
'Two Jolts at home, one in the car... two packs of bubblegum flavored Pop Rocks, a few Skittles before he lost 'em, at least five Warheads...' Zeke made the mental list. He'd expected at least ten bucks in change from the last minute pit-stop at the 'Mart, but had only received two and a couple dimes. He hadn't said anything about it, but the shopping spree's effects were coming clear as day now.
“Oh wow, this DOES look awesome,” Stokely, walking around to the front of the car and onto the dirt lane leading to the 'Raven-Woods Farm', said. “There's like a million people here.”
“Yea, it's still early, but... Case, c'mon, they've got a small store in the place if you really need more Skittles,” Zeke said.
“'Just don't want the stuff to melt into the floor or whatever...” Casey replied.
“It's about twenty degrees out here...?” Stokely said. Casey groaned.
“Fine, FREEZE to the floor,” he said, but he went right-side-up, fumbled his way out the door and stood straight. After making a long and loud stretch of his arms, he let out an, “Ah!” and went around the hood to Zeke. “Sorry if it makes a HUGE mess.”
“Whatever, I don't care for once,” Zeke said, rolling his eyes and smirking. “C'mon.”
“So...” Stan took Stokely's hand and looked to Zeke, grinning. “What DID you play for this thing?”
Zeke opened his mouth to answer, but Casey was quicker. “He was a ZOM-bie!”
“Ew,” Stokely muttered through a smile-grimace.
“N'aw, he made that shit look good. He showed me a ton of pics, I'd KILL to get a job like that,” Casey, in his all-over-the-map fashion said. “I'd wanna be one of the guys who shoves chainsaws in people's faces.”
“Weren't you the one begging Zeke to help carry your 'stupid heavy' camera bag yesterday?” Stan teased.
“Yea, heavy machinery isn't 'you', Case. Sorry,” Stokely said. “Now, a screaming-bloody-murder victim? Sign-up.”
“Nut-uh, nooo way,” Casey said, shaking his head vehemently. “But fine, I'd be... a werewolf!”
There were more skeptical-sounding snorts and looks exchanged. “Were-hamster, maybe,” Stokely said.
“Quit the teasing, guys. If Casey wants to be a chainsaw-toting werewolf, he can BE a chainsaw-toting werewolf,” Zeke said, allowing himself to give Casey's back a soft rubbing before heading back into their 'safe zone' of looking like the most casual and platonic 'buddies'. A few inches apart, aloof. Damn it.
“There, see? Oh my GOD, mulled cider,” Casey said, making his steps double-time now in seeing the small shack ahead advertising the autumn-season delights.
“I'm for that, fuck yea,” Stan said.
Zeke felt his own mouth water, remembering the delicious, homemade food and drink this place served. Having been an employee, two seasons in a row, he'd gotten to enjoy them all for free. The closer they got, the more intense the aromas and warmth surrounding the hut grew. There were two huge lines, but were moving quickly along thanks to the quick-on-their-feet teenagers working the counter. Both Casey and Stokely bobbed up on the balls of their feet to get a good look at the menu. “Pumpkin every-fucking-thing,” Casey said. He made a sudden laugh and turned to Stokely. “It's like that Bubba guy from 'Forrest Gump'. Pumpkin pie, pumpkin coffee, pumpkin GUM-bo--”
“Or... just pumpkin,” she said, pointing to the large sign on the counter which read 'Sweet Spiced Raven-Woods FRIED PUMPKIN!' She turned to Zeke, eyes wide. “Is that as amazing as it sounds?”
“It should have its own religion, yea,” Zeke replied.
Stan got his wallet out and brought out a twenty. “Get what ya wanna, babe,” he told his girlfriend, who turned to him with a wide smile. She pressed it onto Stan's, only for a moment before turning away.
“We know it's gotta suck for you guys; we'll keep it down,” she'd promised them when they'd planned this outing. Still, the brief moment of intimacy was enough to make Zeke sigh and focus on getting his own money out-and for the first time since heading-out here, Casey's smile was soft and bittersweet, instead of atomic. It made Zeke move in closer to him and smile; when he saw that Casey had gotten his wallet out, he made a quick shake of his head and pushed the hand holding the billfold down.
“Get what ya wanna, babe,” he echoed Stan's words in a whisper close to Casey's ear. They almost brushed noses when Casey turned to him, wearing a light frown, but Zeke backed off at the last moment.
“You already bought me my junk food and Jolt,” he muttered.
Zeke almost laughed and said, 'No, YOU bought YOU your junk food and Jolt, I had no fucking say in that,' but this was Casey's date, from Zeke. “You turned me into a 'Brickbats' fan, that's enough,” he said, daring a wink.
“I have a twenty? Mom gave it to me.”
“Casey?” Zeke said in a firmer voice. When Casey blinked and went quiet, Zeke smirked. “Shut up and let me pumpkin-you-up.”
The somber expression was gone in a flash, replaced with the sugar-induced mania again. “That's so HOT,” he said in a heavy chortle.
They were soon taking their turns at ordering, each of them getting a large fried-pumpkin, hot cider and ghost-shaped sugar cookie apiece. With every picnic table occupied, they resorted to the small weather-worn bench and old tree stump hidden by the food-hut's shadow. Zeke chose the stump, a familiar spot for him; he'd spent a good handful of breaks here, where he'd heat his chilled insides with the farm's delicious food along with his band of 'seasonal best friends'.
As if reading his mind, Stan asked, “See anyone familiar yet?”
“N'aw. The kids working the hut look like underclassmen. I WAS one when I was here, so...” Zeke shrugged then took his first bite of pumpkin. Just the soft, sweet and spicy flavor made a million memories flood back-all of them good, full of people who were just as batshit-crazy as HE was.
“This... is s'ho good,” Stokely said through a mouthful. She stared at Zeke as if she was in-love. “Thanks for bringing us here, by the way. I didn't say that yet.”
“No prob, it's too good not to share,” Zeke replied.
“I wanna work here,” Casey chimed in, nodding fast as he chewed. “They can pay me in PUMP-kin.”
“I'd throw on heels and a skimpy nightie and run around a cornfield for this shit, ya,” Stokely said.
“Ooh!” Stan said, eyes widening with great interest.
“Perv,” Stokely muttered.
“I gotta pee,” Casey announced suddenly. He stood and turned from side-to-side. “Where're the bathrooms?”
“Port-a-Potties, behind the barn area,” Zeke said, waving his fork in the general direction. “Wait... you're done already?”
“Still got my ghostie,” Casey said. He somehow managed to unwrap the plastic from the cookie while holding his empty bowl, fork and steaming cup of cider. He looked to Zeke with a broad grin. “Walk me there? I don't wanna get lost. Or eaten.”
Though Zeke wasn't finished with his own food, he figured he could eat and walk at the same time. “A'right,” he said. He stood, turned to the others to say, “Meet us in ten by the front of the barn,” then led the way. Casey walked alongside Zeke, sighing and taking long glances his way every now and again.
“This... really is cool,” he said. “I've never done anything like it before.”
“You've never been on a hayride before?” Zeke asked.
“Well yea, but the 'family friendly' kind. Like the farm there, past the apple orchards on the edge of town.” Casey chuckled, finally found a nearby barrel to dump their trash into-Zeke wolfing down the last few bites of his pumpkin to free a hand-then continued, “It's got a petting zoo, pumpkins, a kiddy train and yea, a hayride. The scariest feature? A huge tree with a big bunch of sheet-ghosts that hang over the tractor's route. Ooh-oooh!”
“Aw... betcha loved it as a kid.”
“As a KID, sure. And... Mom loves it. Still.”
Casey's smile was bittersweet again as he set his blank stare at the ground. Zeke downed the last of his cider, smacked his lips and cuffed the back of Casey's neck in a soft squeeze; casual enough, close enough, for now. “Maybe see it as a kinda 'gift' you gave her,” he told the young man. When Casey gave Zeke an inquiring stare, Zeke shrugged and said, “Most moms don't get their sons to sit with 'em for more than five minutes a day when the guy hits the fourteen-year mark.”
“Yea, I guess... oh.” Casey stopped dead and was facing the entrance to the barn, and Zeke knew why. The lights from inside cast a golden-orange glow over the entrance straight to where they stood-a yellow-brick-road of sorts, luring any and every passerby inside. “Wow, that... a store?”
“I said they sold Skittles, didn't I?” Zeke replied, but it was a lot more than supermarket brand candy here. As if forgetting that his bladder was full, Casey beamed and made a beeline for the shopping area, Zeke going-with.
“Wow,” Casey said again at the wooden shelves full of candy-more homemade, classic goodies encased in large jars with bags and weighing station nearby. Though the price was a little steep at four-ninety-nine for a half-pound, Casey snatched a plastic bag from its roll, grabbed a scoop and began making his choices... many of them. “I dunno what the hell 'horehounds' are, but they're mine,” he said as he dug the scoop into the jar.
Zeke chuckled and joined along. It wasn't every day he came across HIS favorite of clove-drops. They matched his brand of cigarette, so it made sense. Once Casey was sure he'd taken every sweet-sample he could afford, they moved along to the more 'tourist shop' angle of the business. From mugs to keychains to stuffed-animals, all bearing the Raven-Wood's logo, any choice made a sweet memory to take home. When they reached the table full of t-shirts, Casey's interest grew.
“Ooh, these are cool,” he said in the voice of an awed child. It was here that Zeke could see why Mrs. Connor kept her motherly claws into her son; eighteen years behind him or no, Casey had an almost-eerie innocence to him. The same unearthly, hypnotic blue eyes which had lured Zeke in pushed him away at the last second. It wasn't just Mrs. Connor wanting her son to stay safe, calm... sweet.
They would have made it past the metaphorical 'second base' if Zeke wasn't so scared that he'd ruin Casey in some irreversible, detrimental way.
“Oh! Okay, this is friggin' PER-fect!”
Casey's exclamation made Zeke shake the cobwebs from his head and look to what he was holding up. The t-shirt, extra-small of course, looked like it'd been thrown in the mud and stomped on by a mob of monsters-exactly how it was meant to look, with the words, I gots my brainz eated on teh Raven-Woods Haunted Hayride by zom-bees, and all I got wuz this stoopid t-shert. “SO mine,” Casey said, throwing the item over his arm, turning toward the other end of the barn where the cashier's station was and made his way over.
“Can you get that and the candy?” Zeke asked.
“I THINK so.”
“If it runs over, I gotcha.”
Casey pfft-ed. “You've already paid for the food, promised to pay for the tickets, I got this. I didn't weigh the candy, but... can't be much more than half a pound. So, that's about five bucks, the shirt's thirteen-ninety-nine, I... am golden.”
“You're the boss.”
“Yup.” Casey made a long, happy sigh then suddenly paused at one of the tables close to the checkout; Zeke gave the farm credit for this strategic maneuver. While nothing upon the bright orange, yellow and white candy-corn printed tablecloth was over thirty dollars that he could find, there were countless trinkets to choose from, most of it jewelry. Casey was hyper-focused on the rows of necklaces made of black-leather lacing and pewter charms of all kinds.
All it'd taken was for Casey's thumb and forefinger to linger upon one necklace in particular for something to snap! in Zeke's mind. Though it'd been a fraction of a second that Casey had touched the crazy-looking, extremely signature piece holding little pewter brains, bones and zombie faces in between black and blue glass beads, Zeke felt-for the first-time ever, perhaps, boyfriend radar. The message was loud and clear: 'Casey wants this thing like most people want oxygen.' But without a word or another clue provided, Casey smiled and walked off to the counter. He hadn't even flipped the tag over to check the price.
The blush Casey wore when his candy weighed in at over a pound and the pretty blonde cashier's saying, “That's twenty-four twenty-nine, please,” was adorable.
“Sorry,” Casey mumbled as Zeke dug out the difference.
“Yea, this is gonna cripple my monthly finances,” Zeke retorted.
“Ugh, it's just...” Casey smirked, sighed, and gave up with, “Thanks.”
Zeke nodded and turned to look to the left, where the hayride ticket sales were conducted. The quickest glance back to the jewelry and trinkets made his jaw clench, seeing a large group of young teenaged boys and girls inspecting the table. “Stan and Stokes are probably outside, we should--”
“Yea, I STILL gotta pee,” Casey said. He gave the clerk a quick, “Thanks!” before pointing to the barn's exit. “I'll meet ya in five!”
“Cool, I'll grab the tickets,” Zeke said, relieved. He turned slowly to watch Casey go, taking one step toward the ticket booth-a second-the moment he saw Casey come across Stan and Stokely, Zeke whirled back around toward the table, just as Casey's necklace-choice was inches away from one of the girl's fingertips. With a deft hand, he manged to snatch it up before the redhead could set her eyes upon it. It didn't matter if, in reality, she could've passed it by with a disgusted, “Ew, gross!”; Zeke had only had nanoseconds to spare, he was dead-certain of that.
It was time for tickets now. He knew Stan would not in any way allow Zeke to pay for his and Stokely's, the boy's pride in his part-time job at the KFC being on display for HIS date, but to be safe and sure, Zeke got the price for four spots out and waited behind two college-aged women, who were apparently taking seconds in order to see if the goth-girl of the pair could slip her number into 'that cute zombie-victim's' pocket somehow. Zeke chuckled to himself as they scampered off, leaving him with the clerk-the clerk who brightened and sat up straighter.
“Well, well. If it isn't Zekie Tyler.”
Zeke looked up, raised his eyebrows then beamed back at the now very familiar man. “Dean-o?” he said. “Hey man, what's up?”
Dean, the twenty-something son of the farm's owner himself, leaned over the small counter and took Zeke into a one-armed 'bro hug'. He was just as tall as Zeke, almost more, proving it with Zeke feeling a small strain in slapping his shoulder back. “How's it goin', dude?” Dean asked as they broke away.
“Not so bad. Your dad planning on retiring soon?” Zeke cast a look to the people crowding around in large, purchase-hungry groups. “Cos' he fuckin' well could.”
“Hah, never. You know him, he'd do this shit for free.” Dean sat back in his stool with a cocky grin. “What's kept you bringing your kickass zombie self in this season, I gotta ask?”
Zeke tilted his head to the side, feeling a little guilty. “Eh, it's... complicated, I guess.”
“Well, you're here now. And lemmee tell ya, the new breed that moved into Kent State? Worthless,” Dean said. “We used to get some good kids, but... nothing like YOU'D give.”
“Y'mean people need a doctorate in theater arts to moan and groan the word 'braaaains' nowadays?”
“You'd think.”
“Hah... well, I'm here to be entertained, actually,” Zeke said. He lifted the two twenties he held. “Four, please.”
“For now, for now. I guarantee, the second you're off the wagon, you're back here looking for me, begging to be let back.” Dean took the cash and tore off four tickets from the roll. “Maybe I'll letcha. May-be.”
Zeke chuckled and took the tickets being handed to him; one of the two twenties was also handed back. “Dean-o, c'mon. Ten per tick; it's an even forty,” he said.
“Enjoy the show,” Dean replied coolly then looked behind Zeke. “Next?”
Rolling his eyes but smiling, Zeke sighed his way back over to the main counter where the blonde clerk was helping the kids who'd almost stolen Casey's necklace. Going by their choices the clerk was ringing in, some of them zombie-related, Zeke felt relieved. That was when he decided to take a look at the price-tag.
'Good thing he didn't catch it,' Zeke thought at the markings reading $36.99. If the boy was ready to wither and die with embarrassment at Zeke's four-dollar help... “N'aw, it was only ten bucks,” Zeke planned on saying when the question would undoubtedly come up.
~*~