(no subject)
~*Happy Birthday to YOU, Miss slipperieslope!!*~
Here's to a fun, sweet day for your birthday! You simply MUST have cake, wine and fun... I DEMAND IT. Here's some fic-love to get you goin'. Love ya!! *hugs*!
Title: The Victory Within Defeat
Pairing/Characters: C/Z (implied), the Connor family and... ?
Rating: PG-13
Tiny Warning: Slight domestic abuse, angst, ends as an H/C
Synopsis: Someone needs a Casey-hug, and gets it.
The mood of the entire field was dour, sour and sad--even for Casey, who stood at the edge of the football field, sighing deeply. He felt like packing up his camera and putting the pictures of the good plays of the Hornet’s game against the ‘Canton Cannons’ in the school paper, but he had a job to do.
He turned towards the group of cheerleaders nearby, watching as Delilah slung her arm over one girl and talked to her with a sad smile. Click. Coach Willis wasn’t even bothering yelling or swearing as the players shook hands with their Thanksgiving rivals--he simply sat on the bench and sipped some Gatorade. Click. Of course, more clicks went off towards the field itself, catching the team taking off their helmets, removing their mouth guards and slapping each other woefully on the back.
‘Can’t win ‘em all,’ Casey thought as he checked his camera settings. It was sad, however, even if he’d never followed football before. Then again, he’d never had a reason to… he watched that very reason trudge over towards the bench with the others, standing there as Willis made a small, quiet speech to them all. Casey was glad to see the usually pissed-off at any-and-everything man giving his team friendly claps to the shoulders and small, reassuring smiles. Casey kept his eyes on the only person he really cared about as the team disbanded.
Zeke was taking his jersey and shoulder pads off when he saw Casey walking over. The young man shook his head and shrugged. “We tried, man,” he told Casey.
“I know. You guys DID do a good job. It wasn’t like the ‘Cannons’ swept the field with your asses. It got pretty close,” Casey said, nodding to the scoreboard reading ‘28-36’ in favor of their rivals.
“Still… sucks, being our last game of the season.”
“I know, I know,” Casey said again. “You can drown your sorrows in a big pile of my mom’s mashed potatoes. I know for a fact that that can cure your ills.”
Smiling a little, Zeke ruffled Casey’s hair. “They’d better. Wait for me to come out?”
“Of course. I’ll be by the back of the school,” Casey told him. He watched Zeke trudge off to the aisle leading to the locker rooms and sighed. ‘I’ll make him feel better,’ he thought deviously.
A while later, Casey was still waiting on the back steps of the school, occupying himself with the last of his potato chips and reading ‘Catcher in the Rye’ for his lit class’ assignment for that next week. Most of the crowd was piling out of the parking lot, leaving the botched game day behind. Casey leaned back and watched, glad that it was at LEAST a nice, sunny day… he was about to give up and go to Zeke’s car when a voice from the half-opened back doors spoke.
“I can’t believe how worthless you were out there. Absolutely fucking worthless!”
Casey whirled around, fully-expecting someone to be chiding HIM out, for whatever reason. Old instincts never died, even if his former tormentors hadn’t said ‘boo’ to him over the last two months since MaryBeth. He didn’t see anyone; figuring that whoever speaking was hidden behind the darkened doorway, Casey turned back around.
“Dad, I’m sorry--it wasn’t my best, I KNOW that--”
“You’re goddamned right it wasn’t your best. You botched so many passes, it’s a wonder the Hornets scored at all.”
Casey frowned and turned his head back, listening. He usually ignored uncomfortable situations like this, but whatever was going on struck a chord in him; probably because he recognized who had said ‘Dad, I’m sorry’.
“Can we just go home? I’m depressed enough!”
“Not as depressed as I am. You fucking humiliated me out there.”
“Dad, stop it…”
“I’m ready to tell you to get your ass back on the field and STAY there, until you improve. I don’t care if you gotta throw the ball to the end zone and run to CATCH the damned thing, all by yourself--”
“STOP it! Jesus, nothing is ever good enough for you!”
The loud sound of a slap made Casey jump. It went quiet now, all except for the small cries coming from inside the foyer.
“Dad…”
Casey felt like running away when the door was thrown open, and a man dressed in a full suit stormed out. He didn’t notice Casey sitting there as he slipped on his sunglasses, muttering under his breath. Casey watched as he went down the steps and walked, military style, into the parking lot.
No one else came out. Casey sat in shock for a moment, wondering what to do next; when the tiny cries became sniffles and sobs, he bit his lip, hard.
‘This is why he’d been such a prick,’ Casey sadly thought. Perhaps it was this small realization--the small insight into why things had happened the way they had for four years that made him stand and slowly make his way to the door. Getting inside, he turned to the left, looked over to the shadowed corner of the foyer and parted his lips in shock.
Gabe Santora sat on a battered looking folding chair, his head hung low over his thighs and his hands clasped behind his neck, tense and unmoving. A small series of soundless-sobs went off, shaking his back. It was the purest, most desperate picture of defeat, though not just from a failed football game. The sight of it made Casey’s chest hitch.
Before he could stop himself, Casey made a small step forward; with his sneaker squeaking a little, Gabe’s head shot up and looked towards him. The old mean expression he’d given Casey for years flashed over his face, but Casey ignored it to ask, “Are you okay?”
~*~
“Oh good, you’re home! C’mon and help me set the table, boys,” Mrs. Connor announced as Casey and Zeke walked into the kitchen.
“Sure thing, Mrs. C.,” Zeke said with a smile, going to the stack of plates.
Casey watched him walk off with the dinnerware, sighing to himself. He turned back to his mother and bit his lip. He watched her add butter to a large pile of mashed potatoes and begin stirring. “Hey Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“I um… I know it was just supposed to be the five of us, and that there’s not a lot of room…” he started. He cleared his throat and continued. “But--I asked someone else if they wanted to join us.”
Mrs. Connor turned to him, wearing a small, perplexed expression. “Oh?”
“Yea. It’s someone… someone that kinda needs it.”
The smile on Mrs. Connor’s face grew. “You’re such a sweet boy, Casey. Of course they can come; I always make plenty to share,” she answered. “Who is it?”
This was going to be tricky… “Well, uh--y’know… of course you know, but… um…”
The doorbell rang just then, interrupting his thoughts. He pursed his lips and looked through the kitchen doorway to the front. Seeing Gabe’s silhouette past the curtained, mottled window of the door made him sigh. “It must be him. I’ll go get it,” he said.
Mrs. Connor nodded and turned back to the potatoes. As Casey made his way over, he sighed. He knew his parents would recognize the young man that they’d seen in the principal’s office on many occasions, knowing who he was--knowing who’d beaten their son so badly that they needed to be in that principal’s office to begin with.
But now, all they needed to know was that their son had forgiven him, and just wanted him to have a warm meal with his family.
Here's to a fun, sweet day for your birthday! You simply MUST have cake, wine and fun... I DEMAND IT. Here's some fic-love to get you goin'. Love ya!! *hugs*!
Title: The Victory Within Defeat
Pairing/Characters: C/Z (implied), the Connor family and... ?
Rating: PG-13
Tiny Warning: Slight domestic abuse, angst, ends as an H/C
Synopsis: Someone needs a Casey-hug, and gets it.
The mood of the entire field was dour, sour and sad--even for Casey, who stood at the edge of the football field, sighing deeply. He felt like packing up his camera and putting the pictures of the good plays of the Hornet’s game against the ‘Canton Cannons’ in the school paper, but he had a job to do.
He turned towards the group of cheerleaders nearby, watching as Delilah slung her arm over one girl and talked to her with a sad smile. Click. Coach Willis wasn’t even bothering yelling or swearing as the players shook hands with their Thanksgiving rivals--he simply sat on the bench and sipped some Gatorade. Click. Of course, more clicks went off towards the field itself, catching the team taking off their helmets, removing their mouth guards and slapping each other woefully on the back.
‘Can’t win ‘em all,’ Casey thought as he checked his camera settings. It was sad, however, even if he’d never followed football before. Then again, he’d never had a reason to… he watched that very reason trudge over towards the bench with the others, standing there as Willis made a small, quiet speech to them all. Casey was glad to see the usually pissed-off at any-and-everything man giving his team friendly claps to the shoulders and small, reassuring smiles. Casey kept his eyes on the only person he really cared about as the team disbanded.
Zeke was taking his jersey and shoulder pads off when he saw Casey walking over. The young man shook his head and shrugged. “We tried, man,” he told Casey.
“I know. You guys DID do a good job. It wasn’t like the ‘Cannons’ swept the field with your asses. It got pretty close,” Casey said, nodding to the scoreboard reading ‘28-36’ in favor of their rivals.
“Still… sucks, being our last game of the season.”
“I know, I know,” Casey said again. “You can drown your sorrows in a big pile of my mom’s mashed potatoes. I know for a fact that that can cure your ills.”
Smiling a little, Zeke ruffled Casey’s hair. “They’d better. Wait for me to come out?”
“Of course. I’ll be by the back of the school,” Casey told him. He watched Zeke trudge off to the aisle leading to the locker rooms and sighed. ‘I’ll make him feel better,’ he thought deviously.
A while later, Casey was still waiting on the back steps of the school, occupying himself with the last of his potato chips and reading ‘Catcher in the Rye’ for his lit class’ assignment for that next week. Most of the crowd was piling out of the parking lot, leaving the botched game day behind. Casey leaned back and watched, glad that it was at LEAST a nice, sunny day… he was about to give up and go to Zeke’s car when a voice from the half-opened back doors spoke.
“I can’t believe how worthless you were out there. Absolutely fucking worthless!”
Casey whirled around, fully-expecting someone to be chiding HIM out, for whatever reason. Old instincts never died, even if his former tormentors hadn’t said ‘boo’ to him over the last two months since MaryBeth. He didn’t see anyone; figuring that whoever speaking was hidden behind the darkened doorway, Casey turned back around.
“Dad, I’m sorry--it wasn’t my best, I KNOW that--”
“You’re goddamned right it wasn’t your best. You botched so many passes, it’s a wonder the Hornets scored at all.”
Casey frowned and turned his head back, listening. He usually ignored uncomfortable situations like this, but whatever was going on struck a chord in him; probably because he recognized who had said ‘Dad, I’m sorry’.
“Can we just go home? I’m depressed enough!”
“Not as depressed as I am. You fucking humiliated me out there.”
“Dad, stop it…”
“I’m ready to tell you to get your ass back on the field and STAY there, until you improve. I don’t care if you gotta throw the ball to the end zone and run to CATCH the damned thing, all by yourself--”
“STOP it! Jesus, nothing is ever good enough for you!”
The loud sound of a slap made Casey jump. It went quiet now, all except for the small cries coming from inside the foyer.
“Dad…”
Casey felt like running away when the door was thrown open, and a man dressed in a full suit stormed out. He didn’t notice Casey sitting there as he slipped on his sunglasses, muttering under his breath. Casey watched as he went down the steps and walked, military style, into the parking lot.
No one else came out. Casey sat in shock for a moment, wondering what to do next; when the tiny cries became sniffles and sobs, he bit his lip, hard.
‘This is why he’d been such a prick,’ Casey sadly thought. Perhaps it was this small realization--the small insight into why things had happened the way they had for four years that made him stand and slowly make his way to the door. Getting inside, he turned to the left, looked over to the shadowed corner of the foyer and parted his lips in shock.
Gabe Santora sat on a battered looking folding chair, his head hung low over his thighs and his hands clasped behind his neck, tense and unmoving. A small series of soundless-sobs went off, shaking his back. It was the purest, most desperate picture of defeat, though not just from a failed football game. The sight of it made Casey’s chest hitch.
Before he could stop himself, Casey made a small step forward; with his sneaker squeaking a little, Gabe’s head shot up and looked towards him. The old mean expression he’d given Casey for years flashed over his face, but Casey ignored it to ask, “Are you okay?”
~*~
“Oh good, you’re home! C’mon and help me set the table, boys,” Mrs. Connor announced as Casey and Zeke walked into the kitchen.
“Sure thing, Mrs. C.,” Zeke said with a smile, going to the stack of plates.
Casey watched him walk off with the dinnerware, sighing to himself. He turned back to his mother and bit his lip. He watched her add butter to a large pile of mashed potatoes and begin stirring. “Hey Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“I um… I know it was just supposed to be the five of us, and that there’s not a lot of room…” he started. He cleared his throat and continued. “But--I asked someone else if they wanted to join us.”
Mrs. Connor turned to him, wearing a small, perplexed expression. “Oh?”
“Yea. It’s someone… someone that kinda needs it.”
The smile on Mrs. Connor’s face grew. “You’re such a sweet boy, Casey. Of course they can come; I always make plenty to share,” she answered. “Who is it?”
This was going to be tricky… “Well, uh--y’know… of course you know, but… um…”
The doorbell rang just then, interrupting his thoughts. He pursed his lips and looked through the kitchen doorway to the front. Seeing Gabe’s silhouette past the curtained, mottled window of the door made him sigh. “It must be him. I’ll go get it,” he said.
Mrs. Connor nodded and turned back to the potatoes. As Casey made his way over, he sighed. He knew his parents would recognize the young man that they’d seen in the principal’s office on many occasions, knowing who he was--knowing who’d beaten their son so badly that they needed to be in that principal’s office to begin with.
But now, all they needed to know was that their son had forgiven him, and just wanted him to have a warm meal with his family.