YuGiOh fic: "Dragons Slain At No Extra Charge", Chapter 3
**sigh** This bugger's big enough that I'm gonna have to post it in several bits; I'll add 'em as successive posts; my apologies for the awkwardness. And if you're my mom, please preserve your innocence and don't read this, okay? **huddles beneath desk**
Chapter 3: "Goldilocks And The Three Bears (Or: Who's Been Sleeping In MY Bed?"
“Ooookay… Ahem. I summon Tiger Axe into defensive mode! And place one reverse card!” Tiger Axe glared with ferocity from its face-up position on the blue expanse of bedspread. “Hah! Let’s see your Legendary Swordsman beat that.”
Paper shuffled; “Aaaaand I draw… Change of Heart!” A triumphant fist punched the air. “And that adds your Tiger Axe to my Legendary Swordsman as tribute, and now I can play Beastly Mirror Ritual!” The bedspread bounced (drawing a faint ‘Ow’ from the bed’s occupant) as another card was held up. “Fiend’s Mirror! Yeah! Eat hot reflective death!”
“Aaaaagh! I’m melting… I’m melting…. Oooohhhh, what a world…..” Cards flew in all directions as the losing player fell over in defeat.
“Joey? Not to sound critical, but you’re weird, you know?”
Joey Wheeler beamed at his sister from his place among the tumbled wreckage of his bed. “Hey, I won!”
“You also lost,” she pointed out, picking up a fallen Tiger Axe. “I mean, you were playing against yourself.”
“I STILL won.”
A sigh. “I think you hit your head harder than we thought on that fire-escape…”
A bored Joey Wheeler is a restless, grouchy, tossing-and-turning, book-crumpling, loudly-complaining Joey Wheeler, one who was well aware of several of the most important lessons common to all convalescents: that the TV only shows reruns while you’re at home being sick, that someone has already eaten all the ice-cream, and that the only chips left in the kitchen were the icky lime-and-salsa ones with the weird aftertaste.
Three days home, sitting on his butt; very Not Good. They’d asked a friend with nursing experience to take a look (since Joey flatly refused to go to an Urgent Care clinic-they were too damned expensive), and she had pronounced his ankle “badly sprained but probably not broken” and then suggested that he be tied to the bed. “No,” Duke had said with a perfectly straight face; “He’d like that, and then nobody’d get any sleep.” Ha Ha very Ha… Joey’d have to remember that the next time the ponytailed brunet fell asleep within reach; maybe he’d learn to keep his mouth shut after going to work with a curly moustache drawn on his face. Or, thought the blond, shifting restlessly against the pillows, maybe some cat-whiskers or a nice inscription on one cheek advertising Who To Call For A Good Time-
“Are you going to be alright here by yourself, Joey? Is there anything I can get you before I leave?” He jerked his attention back to his sister again; she had stopped in during lunch and was now leaning against the doorway, backpack in hand. “Do you need more aspirin?”
“Nah, I’m fine.” He waved a hand before sliding back down among the covers, hitching up his jockey shorts surreptitiously with one hand. Damn things tended to ride up under the sheets-he scratched, trying to avoid bruises and a certain long scrape in a delicate place. Tristan (and Duke, later on) had done his best to make him feel better, but his ass still hurt like hell. “Hey, Sis? Can you do me a favor? On your way back home can you pick up some stuff at the store for me?”
She blinked at him quizzically from the door, puffing a stray strand of hair from her eyes. “Of course…” Then she paused, wrinkling her nose. “…unless you want me to get more of those fish-snack things. Those are disgusting. How you can like anchovies-“ Serenity had discovered her brother’s addiction to certain junkfoods from the local Asian market, including something that looked like (and was) small, roasted, headless little fish covered in sesame seeds.
“Could be worse. Could be those Wasabi Peas that Tris likes. You know he puts chocolate syrup on ‘em?” Joey’s sister gave him a horrified look and shook her head. “Or Duke and his pickled beets. Now those’re disgusting… No-we need some groceries, just basic stuff. Here.” He rummaged around on the bedside table for the list he had written the night before and for the cash he had put with it. Still hefting her backpack, Serenity took it and read aloud:
“Toilet paper… spaghetti noodles, sauce… eggs, garbage-bags, bananas… Lucky Charms? Cucumbers, lettuce, radishes, spinach, green onions, mushrooms… instant coffee? Joey, THAT’S disgusting, who in the world drinks--?”
He smirked. “Tristan. It’s just wrong, isn’t it? And he makes it like motor oil, and he puts sugar in the pot while it’s brewing. Don’t ever let him make you coffee. The bananas are his as well…”
“The veggies? Whose are those?”
“Well, we’ll all eat ‘em if he makes a salad, but Dukes likes the green stuff. Don’t forget the radishes or he’ll throw a shit-fit.”
“And the Lucky Charms?”
Her brother smirked again. “They’re magically delicious!”
An eye-roll was his answer, and Serenity shook her head. “You ARE weird. Stay in bed, please? At least ‘til Tristan wakes up-“
Joey shifted restlessly. “No promises, Sis; I can only take lying around on my butt for so long. Besides,” and he winced, scooting into a more comfortable position, “it’s kind of sore…”
It was, he reflected as his sister closed the door behind her, not the first time that he had considered family troubles to be a pain in the ass-just the first time they had been so literal.
Alone at last.
For a little while he dozed despite himself; the night before had been restless, broken by aches and stabbing jabs of pain when he shifted the wrong way in bed. His boss had apparently been more or less sweet-talked by Serenity into a grudging agreement that a mechanic with a busted ankle was Not Welcome In His Establishment… temporarily, fortunately for Joey’s budget and peace of mind. Three days off to heal his ankle and assorted scrapes, gashes and damaged pride… and then it was back to the grind.
The sheets were scratchy; after so many months with company in bed, it was irritating sleeping alone. More than irritating, actually; boring as hell, too. It was one thing, he reflected as he turned over restlessly, to have the whole bed to himself-nice and roomy, yeah, nobody stealing the covers, nobody whacking you in the kidney with an elbow, but- A faint snore filtered through from the living room where Tristan lay wrapped in a huddle of sheets; curled around his pillow, Joey contemplated the sound and the fact that he still had several hours before Serenity would be back…
*Hmmm… and why am I in here in a cold, lonely bed all by myself?*
He had an old crutch to hobble with, left over from when he had tripped over a fire-hydrant years earlier; it made the trip to the living room by way of the kitchen a little easier (*Goddamned ankle, ow ow ow*) and on the way he stopped to pay his respects to the ‘fridge. *Milk: it does a body good.* He upended the carton; who needed a glass, anyway?
“If Duke sees you drinking straight from the carton again like that he’ll chew your ass.”
Eyes flicked sideways at the sleepy voice; one more gulp, and Joey shook his head as he stored the milk back where it belonged. “Hey, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt me. What’re you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep. Couch’s lumpy.” Dark hazel eyes crinkled as Tristan yawned, stretching both arms up to hook his fingers on the molding at the top of the doorjamb; he relaxed, a little smile curling his lips as he eyed Joey up and down. “Did you know you’ve got a milk-moustache?”
His friend and partner leaned back against the counter. Suddenly Joey’s ankle wasn’t bothering him all that much anymore, and he smiled. “Oh yeah? Wanna lick it off for me?”
Tristan obliged. But then, he always had been a thoughtful kind of guy.
The school bell rang stridently for a second time, signaling the beginning of the day’s last class… if you had a class. Seniors often had the last period free, and so the young woman who waited impatiently at the curbside had a perfectly valid reason to leave early. Even if she was supposed to use the time for study hall, it wasn’t required or anything; and there was no reason whatsoever for her to feel guilty about just leaving, was there? No.
Or so Serenity Wheeler told herself, anyway.
The blue Chevrolet pulled alongside the curb, and the driver leaned over to unlock the door. “Hey…” The half-smile that they got in return for their own made the driver blink. “What’s wrong, Serenity? Long day? -or… how’s Joey doing?”
The young woman with the tawny hair dropped her backpack behind her seat and slid in, grimacing. “Sore and achy; his ankle’s all swollen, and I still wonder if he was spying on me yesterday. If he was, if he saw us…”
They pulled into traffic, and her companion shook their head. “If he was, he didn’t see anything or he would’ve said something. You know he never keeps anything inside.” The driver hugged her with one arm. “Don’t worry so much; it’ll all work out.”
Serenity blushed a little, leaning into the touch. “And people call me an optimist… I hope so, though. I just wish Mom wasn’t so mad- “
“At you? Or at Joey? Maybe you should talk to him about it.”
“…at both of us. I can understand her being mad at me, sort of, but she shouldn’t be mad at Joey. He didn’t do anything wrong! If she’d just let me talk to her, maybe she’d understand.” The teenager bit her lip, twisting the bracelet on her wrist around and around. “But she hasn’t returned any of my calls. All those things she said before I left… I wish I could forget them, but I can’t. And Joey and his friends have been so nice, letting me stay with them-how can I tell him what she said? She’s his mom too.”
The driver of the car shook their head, concentrating on threading through traffic. “He’s tough, Joey is,” they said distractedly; “It’ll upset him, but it won’t tear him up; and Duke and Tristan’ll be there for him if he needs them.”
“I know…” and Serenity smiled at her companion gratefully, the lines of worry smoothing out a little. “Just like you’re always there for me.”
(To be continued in Part Two, next post)
Chapter 3: "Goldilocks And The Three Bears (Or: Who's Been Sleeping In MY Bed?"
“Ooookay… Ahem. I summon Tiger Axe into defensive mode! And place one reverse card!” Tiger Axe glared with ferocity from its face-up position on the blue expanse of bedspread. “Hah! Let’s see your Legendary Swordsman beat that.”
Paper shuffled; “Aaaaand I draw… Change of Heart!” A triumphant fist punched the air. “And that adds your Tiger Axe to my Legendary Swordsman as tribute, and now I can play Beastly Mirror Ritual!” The bedspread bounced (drawing a faint ‘Ow’ from the bed’s occupant) as another card was held up. “Fiend’s Mirror! Yeah! Eat hot reflective death!”
“Aaaaagh! I’m melting… I’m melting…. Oooohhhh, what a world…..” Cards flew in all directions as the losing player fell over in defeat.
“Joey? Not to sound critical, but you’re weird, you know?”
Joey Wheeler beamed at his sister from his place among the tumbled wreckage of his bed. “Hey, I won!”
“You also lost,” she pointed out, picking up a fallen Tiger Axe. “I mean, you were playing against yourself.”
“I STILL won.”
A sigh. “I think you hit your head harder than we thought on that fire-escape…”
A bored Joey Wheeler is a restless, grouchy, tossing-and-turning, book-crumpling, loudly-complaining Joey Wheeler, one who was well aware of several of the most important lessons common to all convalescents: that the TV only shows reruns while you’re at home being sick, that someone has already eaten all the ice-cream, and that the only chips left in the kitchen were the icky lime-and-salsa ones with the weird aftertaste.
Three days home, sitting on his butt; very Not Good. They’d asked a friend with nursing experience to take a look (since Joey flatly refused to go to an Urgent Care clinic-they were too damned expensive), and she had pronounced his ankle “badly sprained but probably not broken” and then suggested that he be tied to the bed. “No,” Duke had said with a perfectly straight face; “He’d like that, and then nobody’d get any sleep.” Ha Ha very Ha… Joey’d have to remember that the next time the ponytailed brunet fell asleep within reach; maybe he’d learn to keep his mouth shut after going to work with a curly moustache drawn on his face. Or, thought the blond, shifting restlessly against the pillows, maybe some cat-whiskers or a nice inscription on one cheek advertising Who To Call For A Good Time-
“Are you going to be alright here by yourself, Joey? Is there anything I can get you before I leave?” He jerked his attention back to his sister again; she had stopped in during lunch and was now leaning against the doorway, backpack in hand. “Do you need more aspirin?”
“Nah, I’m fine.” He waved a hand before sliding back down among the covers, hitching up his jockey shorts surreptitiously with one hand. Damn things tended to ride up under the sheets-he scratched, trying to avoid bruises and a certain long scrape in a delicate place. Tristan (and Duke, later on) had done his best to make him feel better, but his ass still hurt like hell. “Hey, Sis? Can you do me a favor? On your way back home can you pick up some stuff at the store for me?”
She blinked at him quizzically from the door, puffing a stray strand of hair from her eyes. “Of course…” Then she paused, wrinkling her nose. “…unless you want me to get more of those fish-snack things. Those are disgusting. How you can like anchovies-“ Serenity had discovered her brother’s addiction to certain junkfoods from the local Asian market, including something that looked like (and was) small, roasted, headless little fish covered in sesame seeds.
“Could be worse. Could be those Wasabi Peas that Tris likes. You know he puts chocolate syrup on ‘em?” Joey’s sister gave him a horrified look and shook her head. “Or Duke and his pickled beets. Now those’re disgusting… No-we need some groceries, just basic stuff. Here.” He rummaged around on the bedside table for the list he had written the night before and for the cash he had put with it. Still hefting her backpack, Serenity took it and read aloud:
“Toilet paper… spaghetti noodles, sauce… eggs, garbage-bags, bananas… Lucky Charms? Cucumbers, lettuce, radishes, spinach, green onions, mushrooms… instant coffee? Joey, THAT’S disgusting, who in the world drinks--?”
He smirked. “Tristan. It’s just wrong, isn’t it? And he makes it like motor oil, and he puts sugar in the pot while it’s brewing. Don’t ever let him make you coffee. The bananas are his as well…”
“The veggies? Whose are those?”
“Well, we’ll all eat ‘em if he makes a salad, but Dukes likes the green stuff. Don’t forget the radishes or he’ll throw a shit-fit.”
“And the Lucky Charms?”
Her brother smirked again. “They’re magically delicious!”
An eye-roll was his answer, and Serenity shook her head. “You ARE weird. Stay in bed, please? At least ‘til Tristan wakes up-“
Joey shifted restlessly. “No promises, Sis; I can only take lying around on my butt for so long. Besides,” and he winced, scooting into a more comfortable position, “it’s kind of sore…”
It was, he reflected as his sister closed the door behind her, not the first time that he had considered family troubles to be a pain in the ass-just the first time they had been so literal.
Alone at last.
For a little while he dozed despite himself; the night before had been restless, broken by aches and stabbing jabs of pain when he shifted the wrong way in bed. His boss had apparently been more or less sweet-talked by Serenity into a grudging agreement that a mechanic with a busted ankle was Not Welcome In His Establishment… temporarily, fortunately for Joey’s budget and peace of mind. Three days off to heal his ankle and assorted scrapes, gashes and damaged pride… and then it was back to the grind.
The sheets were scratchy; after so many months with company in bed, it was irritating sleeping alone. More than irritating, actually; boring as hell, too. It was one thing, he reflected as he turned over restlessly, to have the whole bed to himself-nice and roomy, yeah, nobody stealing the covers, nobody whacking you in the kidney with an elbow, but- A faint snore filtered through from the living room where Tristan lay wrapped in a huddle of sheets; curled around his pillow, Joey contemplated the sound and the fact that he still had several hours before Serenity would be back…
*Hmmm… and why am I in here in a cold, lonely bed all by myself?*
He had an old crutch to hobble with, left over from when he had tripped over a fire-hydrant years earlier; it made the trip to the living room by way of the kitchen a little easier (*Goddamned ankle, ow ow ow*) and on the way he stopped to pay his respects to the ‘fridge. *Milk: it does a body good.* He upended the carton; who needed a glass, anyway?
“If Duke sees you drinking straight from the carton again like that he’ll chew your ass.”
Eyes flicked sideways at the sleepy voice; one more gulp, and Joey shook his head as he stored the milk back where it belonged. “Hey, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt me. What’re you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep. Couch’s lumpy.” Dark hazel eyes crinkled as Tristan yawned, stretching both arms up to hook his fingers on the molding at the top of the doorjamb; he relaxed, a little smile curling his lips as he eyed Joey up and down. “Did you know you’ve got a milk-moustache?”
His friend and partner leaned back against the counter. Suddenly Joey’s ankle wasn’t bothering him all that much anymore, and he smiled. “Oh yeah? Wanna lick it off for me?”
Tristan obliged. But then, he always had been a thoughtful kind of guy.
The school bell rang stridently for a second time, signaling the beginning of the day’s last class… if you had a class. Seniors often had the last period free, and so the young woman who waited impatiently at the curbside had a perfectly valid reason to leave early. Even if she was supposed to use the time for study hall, it wasn’t required or anything; and there was no reason whatsoever for her to feel guilty about just leaving, was there? No.
Or so Serenity Wheeler told herself, anyway.
The blue Chevrolet pulled alongside the curb, and the driver leaned over to unlock the door. “Hey…” The half-smile that they got in return for their own made the driver blink. “What’s wrong, Serenity? Long day? -or… how’s Joey doing?”
The young woman with the tawny hair dropped her backpack behind her seat and slid in, grimacing. “Sore and achy; his ankle’s all swollen, and I still wonder if he was spying on me yesterday. If he was, if he saw us…”
They pulled into traffic, and her companion shook their head. “If he was, he didn’t see anything or he would’ve said something. You know he never keeps anything inside.” The driver hugged her with one arm. “Don’t worry so much; it’ll all work out.”
Serenity blushed a little, leaning into the touch. “And people call me an optimist… I hope so, though. I just wish Mom wasn’t so mad- “
“At you? Or at Joey? Maybe you should talk to him about it.”
“…at both of us. I can understand her being mad at me, sort of, but she shouldn’t be mad at Joey. He didn’t do anything wrong! If she’d just let me talk to her, maybe she’d understand.” The teenager bit her lip, twisting the bracelet on her wrist around and around. “But she hasn’t returned any of my calls. All those things she said before I left… I wish I could forget them, but I can’t. And Joey and his friends have been so nice, letting me stay with them-how can I tell him what she said? She’s his mom too.”
The driver of the car shook their head, concentrating on threading through traffic. “He’s tough, Joey is,” they said distractedly; “It’ll upset him, but it won’t tear him up; and Duke and Tristan’ll be there for him if he needs them.”
“I know…” and Serenity smiled at her companion gratefully, the lines of worry smoothing out a little. “Just like you’re always there for me.”
(To be continued in Part Two, next post)