Mine - A Panthermania fic
Title: Mine
Author: sisredlo
Character: Tim Riggins
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up to and including 2.08
Summary: Is there anything in the world that belongs to Tim Riggins? Set during Seeing Other People
Disclaimer: Everything FNL belongs to people above my pay grade.
A/N: Happy Panthermania!
All Tim wanted was one thing that was his and his alone, just one. He wanted something that didn't have all the newness and shine rubbed off of it before he got it, something that really belonged to him.
It had started when he was little. His clothes were Billy's hand-me-downs, already patched before Tim ever put them on. Birthday gifts and Christmas presents - when he got them - came from Goodwill. At least he never had to wait for Walt to sober up and assemble anything. The keys to the truck were his when Billy decided to upgrade to something slightly less used. He got the Playstation a few days after Jay's birthday one year. Six had gotten an X-box and insisted his mom was going to throw the old system away if Tim didn't take it.
Jay. He had been Tim's once, back when they were kids running home from pee-wee practice to play until the last bits of light were being sucked from the sky. It wasn't always uncomplicated, especially when Tim started to have the dreams that Mrs. Street was his mom. She smelled like flowers and clothes that dried out on the line, not like cigarettes and bourbon, and when she raised her hand it was to smooth his hair not to hit him. But even if Mrs. Street couldn't be his mom, Jay was his best friend. Anytime Jay wanted to ride bikes, go swimming, throw the football for an hour or three, it was Tim that he called, no one else. They were inseparable, two halves of a whole.
Until Lyla came along. Then Jay was hers and three was a crowd. Tim always hated her a little for that. Not that he could blame Jay. Hell, he had tried to make Lyla his after the accident, failing miserably. Tyra came as close to being his as she could, but the truth was she was too afraid of losing herself to ever really belong to anyone.
He thought maybe Walt could have been his when he found him again. Billy certainly wasn't interested. Billy had told him that Walt was full of shit and couldn't be trusted. Tim had thought that Billy was just jealous that Walt had come back to Dillon with him, jealous that he actually made it to one of Tim's games.
He hated when Billy was right.
After that he thought Jackie or Bo could be his. It felt so weirdly normal to go over there for dinner, fix the gutters, put Bo to bed, take Jackie to hers. In a perfect world, they both would have been his. But this wasn't a perfect world, it was Dillon and Jackie didn't want Bo to be his, so he lost them both and they took Billy with them.
And now he had a weird-ass, tighty-whitey wearing meth dealer for a roommate.
Tim sat in his truck and wondered he if was crazy for what he was about to do. It could backfire on him completely. He looked at the jersey on the seat next to him for a minute. Then he grabbed it and the rest of his gear and headed towards the locker room. There was one thing he had that no one else did. No one was going to take it from him, not even Coach Taylor. He was Tim Riggins, Number 33, and he had a practice to get to.
Author: sisredlo
Character: Tim Riggins
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up to and including 2.08
Summary: Is there anything in the world that belongs to Tim Riggins? Set during Seeing Other People
Disclaimer: Everything FNL belongs to people above my pay grade.
A/N: Happy Panthermania!
All Tim wanted was one thing that was his and his alone, just one. He wanted something that didn't have all the newness and shine rubbed off of it before he got it, something that really belonged to him.
It had started when he was little. His clothes were Billy's hand-me-downs, already patched before Tim ever put them on. Birthday gifts and Christmas presents - when he got them - came from Goodwill. At least he never had to wait for Walt to sober up and assemble anything. The keys to the truck were his when Billy decided to upgrade to something slightly less used. He got the Playstation a few days after Jay's birthday one year. Six had gotten an X-box and insisted his mom was going to throw the old system away if Tim didn't take it.
Jay. He had been Tim's once, back when they were kids running home from pee-wee practice to play until the last bits of light were being sucked from the sky. It wasn't always uncomplicated, especially when Tim started to have the dreams that Mrs. Street was his mom. She smelled like flowers and clothes that dried out on the line, not like cigarettes and bourbon, and when she raised her hand it was to smooth his hair not to hit him. But even if Mrs. Street couldn't be his mom, Jay was his best friend. Anytime Jay wanted to ride bikes, go swimming, throw the football for an hour or three, it was Tim that he called, no one else. They were inseparable, two halves of a whole.
Until Lyla came along. Then Jay was hers and three was a crowd. Tim always hated her a little for that. Not that he could blame Jay. Hell, he had tried to make Lyla his after the accident, failing miserably. Tyra came as close to being his as she could, but the truth was she was too afraid of losing herself to ever really belong to anyone.
He thought maybe Walt could have been his when he found him again. Billy certainly wasn't interested. Billy had told him that Walt was full of shit and couldn't be trusted. Tim had thought that Billy was just jealous that Walt had come back to Dillon with him, jealous that he actually made it to one of Tim's games.
He hated when Billy was right.
After that he thought Jackie or Bo could be his. It felt so weirdly normal to go over there for dinner, fix the gutters, put Bo to bed, take Jackie to hers. In a perfect world, they both would have been his. But this wasn't a perfect world, it was Dillon and Jackie didn't want Bo to be his, so he lost them both and they took Billy with them.
And now he had a weird-ass, tighty-whitey wearing meth dealer for a roommate.
Tim sat in his truck and wondered he if was crazy for what he was about to do. It could backfire on him completely. He looked at the jersey on the seat next to him for a minute. Then he grabbed it and the rest of his gear and headed towards the locker room. There was one thing he had that no one else did. No one was going to take it from him, not even Coach Taylor. He was Tim Riggins, Number 33, and he had a practice to get to.