FIC: Everyday Tragedies (RPF, G, gen, Rhett & Link)
Title: Everyday Tragedies
Fandom: Rhett & Link (YouTubers)
Word Count: 500
Rating: G
Category: Gen
Warnings: None
Summary: “You killed a pogo stick!”
Notes: This is RPF; I wasn't stalking these guys & taking notes back in the winter of 1999, I was in Massachusetts with a six-month-old. This was obviously based heavily on Rhett’s write-up of The Tragedy. Surprisingly little else about Link’s concussion and pelvic break is available; there’s also not much on-record about how the injury affected Link’s co-op job (at IBM, I think).
This fills a square on my h/c bingo card (prompt: head trauma).
January 18, 1999
Link lay in bed and tried to picture how it must have been - the snow, him on his board, two wicked jumps aligned…
His first jump had been perfect, Rhett had written, but the second…
Had he, mid-flight, realized he’d lost control? Felt fear? Or terror? Had he even maybe gleaned that he could die?
But his head was empty. No jumps, no groomed, though man-made, snow. No three-plus-hour back-seat ride to Hawksnest (doubtless squished).
Last Friday morning simply’d merged into early Saturday. He’d traded one day’s memories for a cracked hip, a bruised brain, and weeks to come of physical inertia - take it easy, classes only, here’s a crutch!
At least he’d gotten to ride shotgun back to Raleigh.
- - - - -
Rhett’s door-frame rat-tat-tat was followed by the guy himself, wielding - what the heck?
Some sort of pole, familiar, copperish…
“You killed a pogo stick!”
“Well, yeah,” said Rhett. “But check this out! I cut the staff and welded the edge smooth. The handle’s from a tricycle I pulled out of a dumpster; it's fully adjustable with these screws here and here." He paused. "Feel free to trim the tassel.”
“Ummm…”
“It’s a rebounding cane! It'll double your speed! Get up and try it!”
“Ummm…”
“Don’t you have to be at IBM by 9? You should’ve showered… Need any help?”
“No work today.”
At this, Rhett - froze. “It’s not Sunday, Link” he said, so carefully it hurt.
“I know,” said Link. “It’s the 18th - The Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Junior Day. A federal holiday, you goof.”
“Oh.”
“Come sit,” said Link, patting his bed, and so Rhett did: down, hard, hunched forward, face in hands.
“I’m fine,” Link said. “You know this, right? The headache’s even gone.”
He let himself lean sideways, forehead burrowed into his friend’s arm. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t. I’m being honest here, dude.”
He felt Rhett nod, and so continued, “You want to talk about it? It had to be the strangest thing…”
“You read what-all I wrote.”
“And that’s all I’m going to get?”
“Four pages, single-spaced.”
“Alrighty then,” said Link, straightening. “Help me up and let me try that thing.”
And so Link gave the stick a decent shot; across his room, then back, the spring rebounding now and then, trying to pitch him back, then forward, then back again. “Well, it didn’t kill me,” Link said finally, plopping carefully bedward and handing the sick to Rhett. “But maybe do the world a favor and stay away from human factors engineering?”
“I wish I’d taped that, that was great,” said Rhett, although he hadn’t smiled at all.
“Why?” Link asked, and Rhett shrugged. "Maybe put it on the internet."
Yeah, right.
“It’s just,” Link said, “when something’s major purpose is stability - well, stability is key.”
And finally Rhett looked straight at him. “That hold for people too?”
“There are no stable people, dude,” said Link. “We’ve known THAT for forever. Right?”
“Yeah, right,” said Rhett, now playing with the tassel.
Fandom: Rhett & Link (YouTubers)
Word Count: 500
Rating: G
Category: Gen
Warnings: None
Summary: “You killed a pogo stick!”
Notes: This is RPF; I wasn't stalking these guys & taking notes back in the winter of 1999, I was in Massachusetts with a six-month-old. This was obviously based heavily on Rhett’s write-up of The Tragedy. Surprisingly little else about Link’s concussion and pelvic break is available; there’s also not much on-record about how the injury affected Link’s co-op job (at IBM, I think).
This fills a square on my h/c bingo card (prompt: head trauma).
January 18, 1999
Link lay in bed and tried to picture how it must have been - the snow, him on his board, two wicked jumps aligned…
His first jump had been perfect, Rhett had written, but the second…
Had he, mid-flight, realized he’d lost control? Felt fear? Or terror? Had he even maybe gleaned that he could die?
But his head was empty. No jumps, no groomed, though man-made, snow. No three-plus-hour back-seat ride to Hawksnest (doubtless squished).
Last Friday morning simply’d merged into early Saturday. He’d traded one day’s memories for a cracked hip, a bruised brain, and weeks to come of physical inertia - take it easy, classes only, here’s a crutch!
At least he’d gotten to ride shotgun back to Raleigh.
- - - - -
Rhett’s door-frame rat-tat-tat was followed by the guy himself, wielding - what the heck?
Some sort of pole, familiar, copperish…
“You killed a pogo stick!”
“Well, yeah,” said Rhett. “But check this out! I cut the staff and welded the edge smooth. The handle’s from a tricycle I pulled out of a dumpster; it's fully adjustable with these screws here and here." He paused. "Feel free to trim the tassel.”
“Ummm…”
“It’s a rebounding cane! It'll double your speed! Get up and try it!”
“Ummm…”
“Don’t you have to be at IBM by 9? You should’ve showered… Need any help?”
“No work today.”
At this, Rhett - froze. “It’s not Sunday, Link” he said, so carefully it hurt.
“I know,” said Link. “It’s the 18th - The Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Junior Day. A federal holiday, you goof.”
“Oh.”
“Come sit,” said Link, patting his bed, and so Rhett did: down, hard, hunched forward, face in hands.
“I’m fine,” Link said. “You know this, right? The headache’s even gone.”
He let himself lean sideways, forehead burrowed into his friend’s arm. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t. I’m being honest here, dude.”
He felt Rhett nod, and so continued, “You want to talk about it? It had to be the strangest thing…”
“You read what-all I wrote.”
“And that’s all I’m going to get?”
“Four pages, single-spaced.”
“Alrighty then,” said Link, straightening. “Help me up and let me try that thing.”
And so Link gave the stick a decent shot; across his room, then back, the spring rebounding now and then, trying to pitch him back, then forward, then back again. “Well, it didn’t kill me,” Link said finally, plopping carefully bedward and handing the sick to Rhett. “But maybe do the world a favor and stay away from human factors engineering?”
“I wish I’d taped that, that was great,” said Rhett, although he hadn’t smiled at all.
“Why?” Link asked, and Rhett shrugged. "Maybe put it on the internet."
Yeah, right.
“It’s just,” Link said, “when something’s major purpose is stability - well, stability is key.”
And finally Rhett looked straight at him. “That hold for people too?”
“There are no stable people, dude,” said Link. “We’ve known THAT for forever. Right?”
“Yeah, right,” said Rhett, now playing with the tassel.