I Want to Go Home! fic -- "Supervision"
For once, one of my obsessions has proved fruitful, this time in the form of fanfiction. Unfortunately, it is as yet untitled. If someone would be willing to suggest a name for this snippet, I would be very grateful. ETA: Decided on a title, crappy as it may be. Suggestions are still welcome.
Title: Supervision
Fandom: I Want to Go Home!
Pairing: Rudy/Mike preslash, sort of
Rating: G
Words: ~640
Summary: Rudy runs away from camp, but doesn't turn back.
Notes: This is basically a short exercise at writing dialogue (which I am pants at). However, I like to pretend that it has a plot, too.
The first and only time Rudy Miller successfully ran away from camp and didn't immediately return, his first act as a free man was to hop on a bus headed southward to pay a visit to a friend.
Less than twelve hours after Rudy had stepped off the motor launch to begin what would be his third summer at Camp Algonkian Island, he was standing on the front step of a house on the outskirts of London, Ontario, and ringing the doorbell insistently. Footsteps pounded inside the hallway, and the door swung open to reveal ten year old Vicky Webster. Rudy's expression changed to something that might have passed for pleasant.
"Is Mike here?"
She stammered out a reply that was most likely positive as Rudy swept past her into the house.
Mike was in his room, lying belly up on his bed with his right leg elevated on a pile of pillows, flipping mindlessly through a magazine.
"Hello, Webster," and at this Mike started, and winced a little at the movement of his leg, "I don't suppose that you would be able to tell me why I've already escaped from Alcatraz once this summer, and you haven't even bothered to show up yet?"
Despite his bland expression, his friend was very angry, Mike realized. "R-Rudy?"
"I'm happy to see that you've maintained your powers of observation." Rudy's eyes widened almost imperceptibly as he took in the other boy’s injury. "Nursing an old war wound?"
"I sprained my ankle," Mike defended himself. "I can't escape from camp if I can't walk!"
"And apparently your loss of mobility also means a loss of loyalty." Rudy squeezed onto the edge of the bed next to the injured boy's hip. "You left me on an island populated by rabid clones, misguidedly happy campers, a man who's a walking advertisement for calcium supplements, and my little brother. I don't know how you sleep at night."
Mike gazed at Rudy's long-suffering expression and sighed. "My mom wouldn't let me go," he muttered. "And I couldn't call you to tell you about it because it just happened yesterday, and by the time I got home from the hospital, you'd already left for camp. I tried your house. Four times."
Rudy's countenance shifted ever so slightly to a look that Mike had finally managed, after years of friendship, to decipher as curiosity. "How exactly did you manage to do that, anyway?" he inquired, glancing at the heavily bandaged foot.
Mike mumbled something about a tree and a garden hose that the other boy didn't quite catch. "But anyway," he hastily continued, "my mom called the Warden and got me switched to next month instead." He looked glum. "She said that August would be just as good as July."
"Ah, August. Just when the blackflies start to die off, and the mosquitoes begin to breed more to make up for it. Well, I suppose there's no way around it. We'll have to deprive Chip of the pleasure of our company for awhile." Rudy stood, and moved toward the door.
"Wait, Chip's still there?!" Mike asked incredulously. "After last year's Icing Incident? And what about camp? What do you mean, 'we'? Where are you going?"
His friend turned with one foot in the hallway. "Our favourite howler monkey is not only there, he's managed to become Head Counsellor. The hiring standards of Alcatraz have definitely gone downhill. And despite Jeffrey, camp should still be there in a month. And to answer your final question, I'm going to call my parents and let them know where I'll be staying in the meantime."
"Where you’ll be staying?" Mike echoed blankly.
"Here, of course," Rudy replied, his tone implying the stupidity of the question. "Injuries don't just heal on their own, you know. They need supervision."
Mike's laughter followed him down the hall.
Title: Supervision
Fandom: I Want to Go Home!
Pairing: Rudy/Mike preslash, sort of
Rating: G
Words: ~640
Summary: Rudy runs away from camp, but doesn't turn back.
Notes: This is basically a short exercise at writing dialogue (which I am pants at). However, I like to pretend that it has a plot, too.
The first and only time Rudy Miller successfully ran away from camp and didn't immediately return, his first act as a free man was to hop on a bus headed southward to pay a visit to a friend.
Less than twelve hours after Rudy had stepped off the motor launch to begin what would be his third summer at Camp Algonkian Island, he was standing on the front step of a house on the outskirts of London, Ontario, and ringing the doorbell insistently. Footsteps pounded inside the hallway, and the door swung open to reveal ten year old Vicky Webster. Rudy's expression changed to something that might have passed for pleasant.
"Is Mike here?"
She stammered out a reply that was most likely positive as Rudy swept past her into the house.
Mike was in his room, lying belly up on his bed with his right leg elevated on a pile of pillows, flipping mindlessly through a magazine.
"Hello, Webster," and at this Mike started, and winced a little at the movement of his leg, "I don't suppose that you would be able to tell me why I've already escaped from Alcatraz once this summer, and you haven't even bothered to show up yet?"
Despite his bland expression, his friend was very angry, Mike realized. "R-Rudy?"
"I'm happy to see that you've maintained your powers of observation." Rudy's eyes widened almost imperceptibly as he took in the other boy’s injury. "Nursing an old war wound?"
"I sprained my ankle," Mike defended himself. "I can't escape from camp if I can't walk!"
"And apparently your loss of mobility also means a loss of loyalty." Rudy squeezed onto the edge of the bed next to the injured boy's hip. "You left me on an island populated by rabid clones, misguidedly happy campers, a man who's a walking advertisement for calcium supplements, and my little brother. I don't know how you sleep at night."
Mike gazed at Rudy's long-suffering expression and sighed. "My mom wouldn't let me go," he muttered. "And I couldn't call you to tell you about it because it just happened yesterday, and by the time I got home from the hospital, you'd already left for camp. I tried your house. Four times."
Rudy's countenance shifted ever so slightly to a look that Mike had finally managed, after years of friendship, to decipher as curiosity. "How exactly did you manage to do that, anyway?" he inquired, glancing at the heavily bandaged foot.
Mike mumbled something about a tree and a garden hose that the other boy didn't quite catch. "But anyway," he hastily continued, "my mom called the Warden and got me switched to next month instead." He looked glum. "She said that August would be just as good as July."
"Ah, August. Just when the blackflies start to die off, and the mosquitoes begin to breed more to make up for it. Well, I suppose there's no way around it. We'll have to deprive Chip of the pleasure of our company for awhile." Rudy stood, and moved toward the door.
"Wait, Chip's still there?!" Mike asked incredulously. "After last year's Icing Incident? And what about camp? What do you mean, 'we'? Where are you going?"
His friend turned with one foot in the hallway. "Our favourite howler monkey is not only there, he's managed to become Head Counsellor. The hiring standards of Alcatraz have definitely gone downhill. And despite Jeffrey, camp should still be there in a month. And to answer your final question, I'm going to call my parents and let them know where I'll be staying in the meantime."
"Where you’ll be staying?" Mike echoed blankly.
"Here, of course," Rudy replied, his tone implying the stupidity of the question. "Injuries don't just heal on their own, you know. They need supervision."
Mike's laughter followed him down the hall.