FIC: That Morning at Breakfast (Venture Bros ficlet)
This is just a short Venture Bros. fic that I couldn't get out of my head.
PG for language and slashy implications
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That Morning At Breakfast
There are times in a man’s life when he’s happy about the little things, like hot coffee, the morning paper (okay, video screened online news feeds with special notifications on NASA stock, but still...) and peace and quite. Apparently, Dr. Rusty Venture thought, that time only lasts two and a half minutes.
“DAD! DAD! DADDADDADDADDADDADDADDAD!”
Against his better judgment, Rusty looked up from his news feed. “What is it boys?”
“Oh, Dad, you’re okay!” “We thought you might be dead! How’s the compound? Is it damaged?” “Does Brock have a lot of bodies to clean up? Can I help?!” “Do we need to make repairs to the jet? It was outside the whole time, right?” “Hey, did we break the record for number of arching attacks in one month? I think we did!” “Nothing else is badly damaged, right?!”
Rusty blinked at his boys, each of them getting louder as they both tried to talk over the other. “Boys, you’re making less sense than usual. Now, WHAT are you talking about?”
Dean and Hank just stared at their father, their faces scrunched up in confusion. “Uh,” Dean stammered, “we were attacked last night, right?”
“What?!” Rusty laughed and then, when the boys just stared at him blankly, hazarded a sip of his coffee. “No.”
“Uh,” Hank puffed out his cheeks- something he always did on the rare occasion when he actually took the time to think about something-and said, “Are you sure?”
“Yes! Yes, I’m sure.”
“How sure?” Dean countered.
“Oh, for Christsake. Every time the compound is attacked, the security system in the panic room freaks out and I need to reset it or the hazard lights will flash red around the compound all day. Do you see any flashing red lights here in the kitchen?”
“Uh.........” Hank looked around the room.
“No?” Dean finally said.
Rusty sighed. He couldn’t believe these children were actually his. Barely a braincell between them, and he was fairly certain that said cell still only belonged to Dean.
Brock shuffled into the kitchen in nothing but a pair of camouflage pattern boxer-shorts and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Hey Brock!” Hank shouted. Rusty rolled his eyes; his son’s fanboying of Brock was borderline embarrassing. Brock replied with a monosyllabic grunt and sat down at the table across from Rusty.
“So, Brock, you didn’t kill anyone last night?” Dean said, his forehead creased.
“No.” Brock answered flatly, not even taking the time to look over.
“And we weren’t attacked?”
Rusty sighed. “No flashing lights. No need to reset security. No need to clean up bodies...” Hank groaned in disappointment. “Ergo propter hoc, no attack. Now, leave Daddy alone so he can enjoy his coffee and paper.”
“Hey Brock...”
“And leave Brock alone too, because he’s sitting by Daddy!”
The boys just stood there, fidgeting. Rusty rubbed his eyes under his glasses and sighed. “Okay, I just know I’m going to regret asking, but WHY did you think we were attacked last night?”
“Oh!” Dean beamed, pleased to be showing off his and Hank’s detective skills. “Well, first we heard these loud banging noices. And then we heard Brock fighting with someone- it sounded pretty brutal, like he was beating someone to death with his bare hands!" Neither boy noticed Rusty's face start to turn red. "And then we heard you scream, Dad, and it sounded like that time that you were nearly crushed to death by Baron Underbite’s giant robot....”
“Oh, I remember that,” Hank laughed. “That robot was awesome. I totally want one...”
“And so we thought that you had to be seriously injured! And the compound in danger!”
“We were going to go to the panic room, but the door was locked.”
“Of course the door was locked-it’s a panic room. You have to go to the back and.... you know what, never mind.” Rusty sighed. “Boys, there was no attack on the compound. Just, well, too much tequila and whiskey.”
“Huh?”
Rusty looked over at Brock, who had picked up the news feed screen and was scrolling through the pages. “You want to help me out here?”
“Not particularly,” Brock muttered.
Rusty rolled his eyes. “Typical. With you it's just slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am. Or whatever. Okay, boys. Well... uh.... see, sometimes... well, occasionally grown-ups, when they’re feeling extra frustrated, drink lots of alcohol. And... well, when a man and a woman love each other. Very much....”
“Oh, for Christsake, Doc!” Brock slammed the screen down and turned to the boys. “Boys, your dad and I were practicing some hand to hand combat. You know, sparring.”
“Oh! So he keeps up on his skills, so he doesn’t get kidnapped or something!” Dean beamed and clapped his hands together. “I get it!”
“Wow, you guys must spar pretty hard,” Hank said. “How come you don’t spar like that with me Brock?”
“Oh god, I think I just threw up a little in my mouth” Rusty coughed.
Brock winced. “Lot’s of reasons. And because it’s a felony.” When the boys looked confused and ready to ask more questions, Brock quickly changed the subject. “Boys, now that you know everything’s fine here, why don’t you go, I don’t know, give Helper a bath or something.”
“Okay!” “Roger that!” The boys hurried out of the room, eager to see if Helper would short-circuit or if (this time) their dad’s attempt at waterproofing would actually hold.
The kitchen was silent once more.
“So.... practicing some hand to hand combat. Is that what they’re calling it now?”
Brock just grunted, took a sip of his coffee... and half smiled. Rusty grinned back. All in all, he thought, not a terrible morning.
END
*Note: that last new ep. of Vent Bros made me ALL kinds of sad in a way that a comedy show really shouldn't. Brock must always be around to pick up conditioner at the store for Rusty and protect him from evil! Always!!! And don't even get me started on Henchman 24....