FNL: Laundrylist challenge #8, pt2
Title: Fifty Million Year Trip (Downside Up)
Rating: Teen (swearing)
Characters: Tim, Grandma Saracen, Bo, Billy
Spoilers: If you don't know they're going to State, you do now.
Author's Notes: FNL Laundrylist Challenge #8, prompt #6. Sequel to Get Your Kicks on Route 666 and this won't make sense unless you read that first. Title is from a song by Kyuss.
Dedication: Anybody who has ever had a road trip which might be descibed by the title.
Legalese: FNL is copyright its respective owners. This is for funny, not money.
Tim all but kicked the front door open. "Fuck you, Billy! You are never ever allowed to say another word about my music, ever!" he screamed, hurling his duffel bag to the floor.
Billy gave him a 'butter wouldn't melt in my mouth' look and said, "So does this mean that kid's never calling you daddy?"
~oo(0)oo~
[12 hours ago]
As Tim blearily laid down in bed, hoping to snatch a few hours shut-eye before the trip home, Billy said, "Hey Champ, how'd you like to drive home?"
Cool Tim thought. Billy almost never let him drive the Bronco. "You serious?"
"As cancer. And before you ask, I've already cleared it with Coach."
"Yeah," Tim yawned. "I don't think ther'll be too many people on the bus back." Pause. "What made you change your mind, because that Bronco? Sometimes I think you love it more than any of your girlfriends."
Billy snorted. "Well, unlike them, Betsy's never let me down. And why? Just because. Now shut up and get some sleep because you've got a long drive ahead of you tomorrow."
~oo(0)oo~
[6 hours ago]
"Here you go, Tim," Billy pitched the keys to him. Despite his hangover, and no sunglasses, Tim snagged them without a hitch. "Your bags are already in there, you're all packed and ready to go."
Tim blinked in surprise. "That's awful nice of you, Billy."
Wait.
Something about this just niggled at the back of Tim's mind.
Something just wasn't quite right.
Suddenly Billy turned and sprinted, screaming "Drive! Drive! Drive!" as he all but dived into a Honda Accord (one that looked a hell of a lot like Jackie's) which screeched around the corner and then peeled out in a cloud of smoke. Tim blinked, supremely puzzled. He wasn't aware it was possible to burn rubber like that in a front wheel drive four-banger. Okay, something strange was definitely going on, but he wasn't quite sure what.
It started falling into place when he opened the Bronco's door.
"Are you driving me home, Tim Riggins? Cool!"
"I guess so, little man." Tim murmured, climbing behind the wheel. Okay, three hours in the car with Bo? How bad could it really be?
He yelped in surprise when a voice from the back seat said, "You played a good game, young man, you got quick feet."
"Ma'am -- Grandma Saracen?! What are--"
"Oh don't mind me, handsome," she patted his arm. "I'm just here to help you with little Bo-Bo is all."
"Okay. Um. Thanks."
"Grandma Saracen's awesome," Bo said in a piping voice that felt like a chisel to the skull. "She knows all the Sesame Street songs!"
"Uh-huh." Tim started the engine. The radio crackled static. Right. Billy hadn't gotten around to fixing the antenna that some jackass busted off a few weeks back. He reached for the CD Wallet.
It felt ... light.
There were 3 CDs in it: The Legend of Johnny Cash, Sesame Street Platinum -- All Time Favorites, and a homemade one that had Crucifictorius written on it in Landry's angular handwriting.
~oo(0)oo~
They were in the worst of the DFW spaghetti bowl (holy shit, but it was like building freeway overpasses to nowhere was the industry up here) when Bo paused in his singing of "People in Your Neighborhood" and said he was hungry and wanted French Toast.
Unfortunately, Tim could not get over in time to make the exit with the Waffle House.
"Don't worry, Bo-Bo, it's Waffle House. There'll be another one in 15 minutes." Grandma Saracen said soothingly.
She was right.
It still didn't change the fact that it was the longest 15 minutes of Tim's life to that point.
~oo(0)oo~
[3 Hours ago]
Tim had never given much thought to Johnny Cash's "Sunday Morning, Coming Down", though he had heard it a fair amount as a child.
But now, he knew, and when he sang along with Johnny, it was most certainly from the bottom of his heart.
Because, holy shit did he ever wish he was stoned right now, as they pulled over yet again so Bo could pee.
"Told you about letting him having those Cokes with his French Toast," Grandma said.
"Yes ma'am," Tim muttered on autopilot. There had been gas station with a spinner rack of cheap sunglasses next to that Waffle House. At least it no longer felt like somebody was driving an icepick into his eyes anymore.
They were just driving them into his ears.
(Oh, and he decided was never, ever -- no matter how bad he needed it -- fucking a girl without a condom again. Ever. For reals. Cross his heart and hope to die. There were many other options for having fun. Flunking English? Bad. Failing paternity tests? Good. Really good.)
~oo(0)oo~
[2 Hours ago]
Tim vowed that if he ever ran for Governor of Texas his platform would be a simple one that would guarantee his election. Those "picnic stops" along the road every 10 miles or so? No more. Under his leadership there would be full fledged rest stops with flushing toilets.
Because for him or Bo to just go behind a bush or hunker down in a roadside ditch, or even just whip it out and give the people driving by something to talk about? That was one thing.
"Timmy, hon, I mean it when I say my back teeth are floating," Grandma Saracen said in somewhat quavery voice.
Tim floored it.
The nice State Troopers would just have to understand.
~oo(0)oo~
[30 minutes ago]
Tim glanced over his shoulder. Bo had fallen asleep half-draped across Grandma Saracen who gently stroked his hair and hummed along to "Being Green."
Tim now loved her forever and ever, world without end, amen. Because good God, was she ever calm, cool, and collected, knowing exactly what to do to get things taken care of and get him back behind the wheel and on the road again when events had caused him to bring the Bronco to a screeching halt at the side of the highway.
Because, seriously, it was a fucking miracle that he'd gotten stopped, unbuckled, and out the door before projectile vomiting like he had never imagined humanly possible.
Talk about putting on a show for the people passing by -- it was like a firehose of puke coming out of his mouth.
~oo(0)oo~
"I mean, Jesus Christ, Billy," Tim sighed as he popped the top off the cold Lone Star that Billy fished out the fridge for him. "Was I ever that bad?"
Billy's lips twitched as he said, "Are you talking about Bo or Grandma?"
Tim rolled his eyes.
There was a very long pause before Billy said, "Well then, I'm not quite sure the operative word here is 'was'."
"Asshole." Billy ducked and laughed when Tim pitched the bottle cap at him. "Well, at least I'll be back in Jackie's good graces after this."
"Don't be too sure about that, baby brother."
What?! "What?!"
Billy grinned and scratched idly at his jaw. "See, Tyra was in the car on the ride back. And she and Jackie did a lot of comparing notes. Hoo-whee, was that ever educational. And that Landry kid? Why you could just see him compiling a big ole list of what not to do."
Tim finished his beer. "I love you, too, Billy. You're just the swellest big brother, ever. Where would I be without you?"
"Once more, with feeling."
Tim flipped him off before he stretched, tossed Billy's keys on the island, and headed for the shower.
He took comfort in the fact that it was not his truck but Billy's Bronco with its incredibly absorbent carpet and cloth seats that Bo had been spectacularly carsick in.
Rating: Teen (swearing)
Characters: Tim, Grandma Saracen, Bo, Billy
Spoilers: If you don't know they're going to State, you do now.
Author's Notes: FNL Laundrylist Challenge #8, prompt #6. Sequel to Get Your Kicks on Route 666 and this won't make sense unless you read that first. Title is from a song by Kyuss.
Dedication: Anybody who has ever had a road trip which might be descibed by the title.
Legalese: FNL is copyright its respective owners. This is for funny, not money.
Tim all but kicked the front door open. "Fuck you, Billy! You are never ever allowed to say another word about my music, ever!" he screamed, hurling his duffel bag to the floor.
Billy gave him a 'butter wouldn't melt in my mouth' look and said, "So does this mean that kid's never calling you daddy?"
~oo(0)oo~
[12 hours ago]
As Tim blearily laid down in bed, hoping to snatch a few hours shut-eye before the trip home, Billy said, "Hey Champ, how'd you like to drive home?"
Cool Tim thought. Billy almost never let him drive the Bronco. "You serious?"
"As cancer. And before you ask, I've already cleared it with Coach."
"Yeah," Tim yawned. "I don't think ther'll be too many people on the bus back." Pause. "What made you change your mind, because that Bronco? Sometimes I think you love it more than any of your girlfriends."
Billy snorted. "Well, unlike them, Betsy's never let me down. And why? Just because. Now shut up and get some sleep because you've got a long drive ahead of you tomorrow."
~oo(0)oo~
[6 hours ago]
"Here you go, Tim," Billy pitched the keys to him. Despite his hangover, and no sunglasses, Tim snagged them without a hitch. "Your bags are already in there, you're all packed and ready to go."
Tim blinked in surprise. "That's awful nice of you, Billy."
Wait.
Something about this just niggled at the back of Tim's mind.
Something just wasn't quite right.
Suddenly Billy turned and sprinted, screaming "Drive! Drive! Drive!" as he all but dived into a Honda Accord (one that looked a hell of a lot like Jackie's) which screeched around the corner and then peeled out in a cloud of smoke. Tim blinked, supremely puzzled. He wasn't aware it was possible to burn rubber like that in a front wheel drive four-banger. Okay, something strange was definitely going on, but he wasn't quite sure what.
It started falling into place when he opened the Bronco's door.
"Are you driving me home, Tim Riggins? Cool!"
"I guess so, little man." Tim murmured, climbing behind the wheel. Okay, three hours in the car with Bo? How bad could it really be?
He yelped in surprise when a voice from the back seat said, "You played a good game, young man, you got quick feet."
"Ma'am -- Grandma Saracen?! What are--"
"Oh don't mind me, handsome," she patted his arm. "I'm just here to help you with little Bo-Bo is all."
"Okay. Um. Thanks."
"Grandma Saracen's awesome," Bo said in a piping voice that felt like a chisel to the skull. "She knows all the Sesame Street songs!"
"Uh-huh." Tim started the engine. The radio crackled static. Right. Billy hadn't gotten around to fixing the antenna that some jackass busted off a few weeks back. He reached for the CD Wallet.
It felt ... light.
There were 3 CDs in it: The Legend of Johnny Cash, Sesame Street Platinum -- All Time Favorites, and a homemade one that had Crucifictorius written on it in Landry's angular handwriting.
~oo(0)oo~
They were in the worst of the DFW spaghetti bowl (holy shit, but it was like building freeway overpasses to nowhere was the industry up here) when Bo paused in his singing of "People in Your Neighborhood" and said he was hungry and wanted French Toast.
Unfortunately, Tim could not get over in time to make the exit with the Waffle House.
"Don't worry, Bo-Bo, it's Waffle House. There'll be another one in 15 minutes." Grandma Saracen said soothingly.
She was right.
It still didn't change the fact that it was the longest 15 minutes of Tim's life to that point.
~oo(0)oo~
[3 Hours ago]
Tim had never given much thought to Johnny Cash's "Sunday Morning, Coming Down", though he had heard it a fair amount as a child.
But now, he knew, and when he sang along with Johnny, it was most certainly from the bottom of his heart.
Because, holy shit did he ever wish he was stoned right now, as they pulled over yet again so Bo could pee.
"Told you about letting him having those Cokes with his French Toast," Grandma said.
"Yes ma'am," Tim muttered on autopilot. There had been gas station with a spinner rack of cheap sunglasses next to that Waffle House. At least it no longer felt like somebody was driving an icepick into his eyes anymore.
They were just driving them into his ears.
(Oh, and he decided was never, ever -- no matter how bad he needed it -- fucking a girl without a condom again. Ever. For reals. Cross his heart and hope to die. There were many other options for having fun. Flunking English? Bad. Failing paternity tests? Good. Really good.)
~oo(0)oo~
[2 Hours ago]
Tim vowed that if he ever ran for Governor of Texas his platform would be a simple one that would guarantee his election. Those "picnic stops" along the road every 10 miles or so? No more. Under his leadership there would be full fledged rest stops with flushing toilets.
Because for him or Bo to just go behind a bush or hunker down in a roadside ditch, or even just whip it out and give the people driving by something to talk about? That was one thing.
"Timmy, hon, I mean it when I say my back teeth are floating," Grandma Saracen said in somewhat quavery voice.
Tim floored it.
The nice State Troopers would just have to understand.
~oo(0)oo~
[30 minutes ago]
Tim glanced over his shoulder. Bo had fallen asleep half-draped across Grandma Saracen who gently stroked his hair and hummed along to "Being Green."
Tim now loved her forever and ever, world without end, amen. Because good God, was she ever calm, cool, and collected, knowing exactly what to do to get things taken care of and get him back behind the wheel and on the road again when events had caused him to bring the Bronco to a screeching halt at the side of the highway.
Because, seriously, it was a fucking miracle that he'd gotten stopped, unbuckled, and out the door before projectile vomiting like he had never imagined humanly possible.
Talk about putting on a show for the people passing by -- it was like a firehose of puke coming out of his mouth.
~oo(0)oo~
"I mean, Jesus Christ, Billy," Tim sighed as he popped the top off the cold Lone Star that Billy fished out the fridge for him. "Was I ever that bad?"
Billy's lips twitched as he said, "Are you talking about Bo or Grandma?"
Tim rolled his eyes.
There was a very long pause before Billy said, "Well then, I'm not quite sure the operative word here is 'was'."
"Asshole." Billy ducked and laughed when Tim pitched the bottle cap at him. "Well, at least I'll be back in Jackie's good graces after this."
"Don't be too sure about that, baby brother."
What?! "What?!"
Billy grinned and scratched idly at his jaw. "See, Tyra was in the car on the ride back. And she and Jackie did a lot of comparing notes. Hoo-whee, was that ever educational. And that Landry kid? Why you could just see him compiling a big ole list of what not to do."
Tim finished his beer. "I love you, too, Billy. You're just the swellest big brother, ever. Where would I be without you?"
"Once more, with feeling."
Tim flipped him off before he stretched, tossed Billy's keys on the island, and headed for the shower.
He took comfort in the fact that it was not his truck but Billy's Bronco with its incredibly absorbent carpet and cloth seats that Bo had been spectacularly carsick in.