Laundry Day, or: Quinn Allman's Mom Has Got It Going On
Title: Laundry Day,or:Quinn Allman's Mom Has Got It Going On
Author: howXiXdisappear
Pairing: Bert McCracken/Quinn Allman
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: The Morning After [100 prompts]; imprisonment [h/c bingo]
Summary: The first time Bert got arrested, he used his one phone call on his mom.
Disclaimer: A prologue of sorts to my Laundry Day drabbles. This was originally intended to be a drabble as well, but that... did not happen... Also, unlike the other Laundry Day drabbles, this one is written in Bert's point of view, in 3rd person. Written for the lovely xstunt_pilots. Oh, and feel free to leave con crit, its been a while since I've done the whole ~writing thing~... obviously.
Bathtub Shit-Kisses
Breakdown
The first time Bert got arrested, he used his one phone call on his mom. She loved him, right? Even though he wasn't allowed to come home anymore, he knew she still loved him. She had to; she was his mom, and he had absolutely no doubt that she would come to his rescue. That's what moms do.
But when her voice came in on the other line, it sounded tired, frustrated. As if she knew that the 'bad seed' was the one calling. Mother's intuition is scary shit. The usually polite voice she used to answer the phone was replaced by a cold, hard, "What."
"Mom..." Bert started, voice hoarse and his confidence quickly fading. "Mom, I, uh. I'm in... I'm in jail, and-" He ran his hands through his greasy hair, suddenly forgetting the words he rehearsed in his head the entire time he was in the back of the squad car. "And- And I. Shit... Mom, I. Please come get me..."
He sounded pathetic. He felt pathetic. At fifteen, he was homeless and broke and no matter what he tried to tell himself, he knew his parents weren't up for doing him any favors. They were too ashamed. Too disgusted. Bert was the bad child, the disgrace, the failure.
In the end, he figured he shouldn't have been very surprised when she hung up on him. Still he could feel the hot tears stinging at his eyes. After all, this was his mother... he was her son.
He fell asleep on the floor, curled up against the corner of the wall, face buried in his knees. No one- fucking no one- was going to come for him.
***
"Hey, fuckface," A familiar voice wakes him, but he doesn't move. Obviously this voice can't be talking to him. Nobody would come for him. That would be ridiculous. Nobody-- "C'mon, dude, get up... Bert." There's a soft rattling on the bars of the cell. Slowly, Bert lifts his head, eyes widening as he realizes who that familiar voice belongs too.
"Quinn..." He half-whispers, peeling himself away from the wall. The blond smiles, face pressed against the bars. "Fuck, Quinn. How did you...?"
"A friend of a friend of Jeph's girlfriend's brother told my sister that his cousin saw you getting thrown in the back of a cop car." Quinn answers with a shrug. This sounds reasonable to Bert, so he stands up and staggers closer to the bars, body sore from sleeping like a contortionist. "Why didn't you call?"
Now Bert really feels ridiculous. "I... called my mom. Go figure she didn't show up." He tries to laugh, tries to pretend it doesn't bother him, but Quinn's his best friend. He knows Bert better than anyone.
"Well, uh... my mom's up front posting your bail, and she said you're moving in with us. Maybe we can, like, get a tent and set it up in my room."
"So we can go camping every night and eat smores and sing songs?"
"Exactly."
When an officer opens the cell to let him out, Bert runs straight to Mrs. Allman and nearly tackles her to the floor.
***
Quinn's mom makes waffles every Friday and bacon on Mondays. She helps her kids with their homework, and sometimes Bert even does a few math problems too just for the hell of it. She gives awesome dating advice and knows where all the best deals on good clothing are, and for the first time in a long time, Bert feels like he's home.
He feels safe. Loved, even. No matter what he does or says, how many mistakes he makes, they love him. For the first time in a long time, he's happy.
***
Sometimes Quinn gets nightmares. He trashing around and screams like he's being stabbed. Bert gave up on trying to wake him up after getting punched in the face... twice. But Mrs. Allman can wake him up.
Usually, Quinn doesn't remember the dreams in the morning. But sometimes he does, and the emptiness in his eyes on those days kind of make Bert want to cry. On those days, Mrs. Allman gives Quinn his space, making sure to secretly check up on him every hour or so. He won't tell anyone what he dreams about, and nobody asks. By the next day, he's always better.
Mrs. Allman found the old tent in the back of the garage. She helped the boys clean it up and drag it to Quinn's already too-crowded room. It gets set up on top of a pile of clothes and Bert's coloring book collection, which he makes sure to rescue later. At night, they curl up under a thick blanket, staring at each other and whispering about anything and everything. Quinn always falls asleep first, snuggled right up against Bert's chest.
Bert tries to pretend he's not hopelessly in love with his best friend. It's silly and weird and kind of cliche, except gay. If life was an animated musical, it would be okay, because in the end, the talking raccoon would convince Bert to follow his heart and there would be some epic love song and maybe even a fierce battle that almost costs Bert his life. And then Quinn would realize his undying love for the greasy little hero, and they'd ride off into the sunset together on a white horse.
But life is not an animated musical, and Bert can't befriend the family cat, much less a talking raccoon. And when Quinn comes home from school one day, slamming the door and announcing that he's so fucking done with relationships, it just confirms Bert's beliefs.
Life is not an animated musical, and falling hopelessly in love with his best friend is not okay.
***
That 'mothers intuition' shit is a truly scary thing. It's like they have this third eye in the back of their head that sends out radio waves, allowing them to read every thought of every child within five miles. Mrs. Allman is no exception to this strange gift, and Bert McCracken is no exception to the Five Mile rule.
Even still, his jaw drops a little when her reply to "I think I'm in love with your son," is a simple, "I know."
He frowns as she turns her back to him to check on dinner and scrambles to stand next to her, racking his brain for something to say. "Nu-uh."
Bert has a wonderful way with words.
"I do,"
But Mrs. Allman has a much more extensive vocabulary.
"No, but," Bert furrows his eyebrows and motions with his hands, hoping they'll magically say a bunch of smart things for him. "You don't know. I really think I do... love him."
"Just don't give him herpes, please. Medical bills are expensive."
Exasperated, Bert throws his arms in the air and groans. "It's not fucking herpes, it's just a scab! Listen," He pulls himself onto the counter, resting his arms against knees. "I don't know what to do. He's my best friend, and that's... I'd rather have him be just my best friend than nothing at all, and if I tell him, he might..."
"Give him time." With a small smile, Mrs. Allman leans against the opposite counter and folds her arms. "He'll come to you when he's ready. You know how he is."
***
Bert watches his best friend sleep at his side, checking (as usual) for any signs of another nightmare. Tonight, though, he's distracted, unable to stop himself from thinking about the conversation he had with Quinn's mother.
Give him time.
So that means... biting his nail, he glances back over at Quinn. Maybe not now, not for a while, but someday... someday, Quinn's going to want it too. Someday, he'll wake up and realize that maybe life can be an animated musical, and they can live happily ever after in their tent, and if he really wants to, Quinn can even bring his cat along.
Someday, Quinn's going to be ready, even if he doesn't think he ever will be right now. Bert can wait. He'll wait forever, if he has to.
Maybe Mrs. Allman can be the raccoon.
Author: howXiXdisappear
Pairing: Bert McCracken/Quinn Allman
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: The Morning After [100 prompts]; imprisonment [h/c bingo]
Summary: The first time Bert got arrested, he used his one phone call on his mom.
Disclaimer: A prologue of sorts to my Laundry Day drabbles. This was originally intended to be a drabble as well, but that... did not happen... Also, unlike the other Laundry Day drabbles, this one is written in Bert's point of view, in 3rd person. Written for the lovely xstunt_pilots. Oh, and feel free to leave con crit, its been a while since I've done the whole ~writing thing~... obviously.
Bathtub Shit-Kisses
Breakdown
The first time Bert got arrested, he used his one phone call on his mom. She loved him, right? Even though he wasn't allowed to come home anymore, he knew she still loved him. She had to; she was his mom, and he had absolutely no doubt that she would come to his rescue. That's what moms do.
But when her voice came in on the other line, it sounded tired, frustrated. As if she knew that the 'bad seed' was the one calling. Mother's intuition is scary shit. The usually polite voice she used to answer the phone was replaced by a cold, hard, "What."
"Mom..." Bert started, voice hoarse and his confidence quickly fading. "Mom, I, uh. I'm in... I'm in jail, and-" He ran his hands through his greasy hair, suddenly forgetting the words he rehearsed in his head the entire time he was in the back of the squad car. "And- And I. Shit... Mom, I. Please come get me..."
He sounded pathetic. He felt pathetic. At fifteen, he was homeless and broke and no matter what he tried to tell himself, he knew his parents weren't up for doing him any favors. They were too ashamed. Too disgusted. Bert was the bad child, the disgrace, the failure.
In the end, he figured he shouldn't have been very surprised when she hung up on him. Still he could feel the hot tears stinging at his eyes. After all, this was his mother... he was her son.
He fell asleep on the floor, curled up against the corner of the wall, face buried in his knees. No one- fucking no one- was going to come for him.
***
"Hey, fuckface," A familiar voice wakes him, but he doesn't move. Obviously this voice can't be talking to him. Nobody would come for him. That would be ridiculous. Nobody-- "C'mon, dude, get up... Bert." There's a soft rattling on the bars of the cell. Slowly, Bert lifts his head, eyes widening as he realizes who that familiar voice belongs too.
"Quinn..." He half-whispers, peeling himself away from the wall. The blond smiles, face pressed against the bars. "Fuck, Quinn. How did you...?"
"A friend of a friend of Jeph's girlfriend's brother told my sister that his cousin saw you getting thrown in the back of a cop car." Quinn answers with a shrug. This sounds reasonable to Bert, so he stands up and staggers closer to the bars, body sore from sleeping like a contortionist. "Why didn't you call?"
Now Bert really feels ridiculous. "I... called my mom. Go figure she didn't show up." He tries to laugh, tries to pretend it doesn't bother him, but Quinn's his best friend. He knows Bert better than anyone.
"Well, uh... my mom's up front posting your bail, and she said you're moving in with us. Maybe we can, like, get a tent and set it up in my room."
"So we can go camping every night and eat smores and sing songs?"
"Exactly."
When an officer opens the cell to let him out, Bert runs straight to Mrs. Allman and nearly tackles her to the floor.
***
Quinn's mom makes waffles every Friday and bacon on Mondays. She helps her kids with their homework, and sometimes Bert even does a few math problems too just for the hell of it. She gives awesome dating advice and knows where all the best deals on good clothing are, and for the first time in a long time, Bert feels like he's home.
He feels safe. Loved, even. No matter what he does or says, how many mistakes he makes, they love him. For the first time in a long time, he's happy.
***
Sometimes Quinn gets nightmares. He trashing around and screams like he's being stabbed. Bert gave up on trying to wake him up after getting punched in the face... twice. But Mrs. Allman can wake him up.
Usually, Quinn doesn't remember the dreams in the morning. But sometimes he does, and the emptiness in his eyes on those days kind of make Bert want to cry. On those days, Mrs. Allman gives Quinn his space, making sure to secretly check up on him every hour or so. He won't tell anyone what he dreams about, and nobody asks. By the next day, he's always better.
Mrs. Allman found the old tent in the back of the garage. She helped the boys clean it up and drag it to Quinn's already too-crowded room. It gets set up on top of a pile of clothes and Bert's coloring book collection, which he makes sure to rescue later. At night, they curl up under a thick blanket, staring at each other and whispering about anything and everything. Quinn always falls asleep first, snuggled right up against Bert's chest.
Bert tries to pretend he's not hopelessly in love with his best friend. It's silly and weird and kind of cliche, except gay. If life was an animated musical, it would be okay, because in the end, the talking raccoon would convince Bert to follow his heart and there would be some epic love song and maybe even a fierce battle that almost costs Bert his life. And then Quinn would realize his undying love for the greasy little hero, and they'd ride off into the sunset together on a white horse.
But life is not an animated musical, and Bert can't befriend the family cat, much less a talking raccoon. And when Quinn comes home from school one day, slamming the door and announcing that he's so fucking done with relationships, it just confirms Bert's beliefs.
Life is not an animated musical, and falling hopelessly in love with his best friend is not okay.
***
That 'mothers intuition' shit is a truly scary thing. It's like they have this third eye in the back of their head that sends out radio waves, allowing them to read every thought of every child within five miles. Mrs. Allman is no exception to this strange gift, and Bert McCracken is no exception to the Five Mile rule.
Even still, his jaw drops a little when her reply to "I think I'm in love with your son," is a simple, "I know."
He frowns as she turns her back to him to check on dinner and scrambles to stand next to her, racking his brain for something to say. "Nu-uh."
Bert has a wonderful way with words.
"I do,"
But Mrs. Allman has a much more extensive vocabulary.
"No, but," Bert furrows his eyebrows and motions with his hands, hoping they'll magically say a bunch of smart things for him. "You don't know. I really think I do... love him."
"Just don't give him herpes, please. Medical bills are expensive."
Exasperated, Bert throws his arms in the air and groans. "It's not fucking herpes, it's just a scab! Listen," He pulls himself onto the counter, resting his arms against knees. "I don't know what to do. He's my best friend, and that's... I'd rather have him be just my best friend than nothing at all, and if I tell him, he might..."
"Give him time." With a small smile, Mrs. Allman leans against the opposite counter and folds her arms. "He'll come to you when he's ready. You know how he is."
***
Bert watches his best friend sleep at his side, checking (as usual) for any signs of another nightmare. Tonight, though, he's distracted, unable to stop himself from thinking about the conversation he had with Quinn's mother.
Give him time.
So that means... biting his nail, he glances back over at Quinn. Maybe not now, not for a while, but someday... someday, Quinn's going to want it too. Someday, he'll wake up and realize that maybe life can be an animated musical, and they can live happily ever after in their tent, and if he really wants to, Quinn can even bring his cat along.
Someday, Quinn's going to be ready, even if he doesn't think he ever will be right now. Bert can wait. He'll wait forever, if he has to.
Maybe Mrs. Allman can be the raccoon.