previously fuckoffshelton

*takes your hands ever so gently* I’m a fool and a half and never posted this because it wasn’t perfect by my own standards. Luckily/unluckily for you, it is five in the morning and I have not slept in an ungdly amount of time, so I have no sense of judgement. Here it is, thank you for your theoretical patience. (Since you really had no choice.)

——————

Bessie was a good car.

Okay. She wasn’t. But she was doing her best. Roe had taken her all the way up to Philadelphia that summer, and she’d only overheated once. She’d gotten him to and from part time jobs, classes, family get togethers, and hospital shifts as best she could, squeaky brake be damned. The mildew smell from when Roe had accidentally left her windows down before a rain storm wasn’t her fault. She was a good car. Roe was reminding himself of this as he stared at the car keys on his driver’s seat, protected by a very locked door. Bessie was a good car, and she did not deserve to get a trash can lid to her driver’s side window.

“S’what I get for learning my lesson,” Roe told the glass.

Roe didn’t have his phone. That was in the car, too, notifying him of text messages and emails from its spot next to the car keys. So now, he had to go back into the ACME and beg whatever sweaty teenager was playing assistant manager to let him use their phone so he could call AAA, please for the love of G-d.

“Hey, man. You okay?”

There was a guy standing at the trunk of his car. He had his own grocery bags in one hand, and an umbrella in the other. He looked between Roe and Bessie for a second, and Roe realized what he looked like; a strange guy with a mean bruise on his cheek trying to break into a locked car.

“Yeah. No, I-” Roe stepped back a little and gestured into the car. The guy came over, holding the umbrella out a little bit so Roe wouldn’t get rained on. “I was in a hurry and I left my keys in the car.”

“Oh, that sucks. Did you call-”

“Phone’s right next to the keys.” Roe tapped the window. “Say hi, phone.”

“Aw, shit, man. I- hang on-” The guy looked down the street. “Hey, let me run to my car real quick.”

“No, it’s fine. I was just gonna go back inside and ask for their phone.”

“No, really man, I can help. Here, just-” He pushed his umbrella into Roe’s hand, curling his fingers around the handle before letting go. He put an arm over his eyes. “Hang tight, I’ll be back.”

He was running off before Roe could tell him, again, that it really was okay. Roe looked down at Bessie.

Do you think he’s going to murder me? He asked her. The Honda Civic was quiet. Because that wouldn’t be too surprising, given the day we’re having.

The guy came back, sans groceries, but with a wire hanger that he was twisting into shape.

“Don’t worry, I’ve done this before. Just keep a lookout.”

“For what?” Roe blanched. “Oh my Gd.”

“It’s okay, I’ve done this before! Any cops coming?”

“No, there are no cops. And I think I should just call Triple A- what do you mean you’ve done this before?”

“Don’t worry about that. Just tell me if you see anyone.”

Before Roe could stop him, the guy had stuck the hooked end of the hanger into the space between the door and the glass. Part of Roe felt like he needed to tell him to stop before he broke his car and had him taking the bus back to his run down apartment that couldn’t even keep the kitchen cabinets from falling on the floor with all his dishes inside. The other part of him, however, was too tired, too cold, and too broke (and, frankly, too curious) to do anything other than look out for cops.

With a pop and another quick jiggle of the handle, Roe’s car door popped open. The guy smiled and pulled the hanger out before holding the door open. Roe genuinely had to hold back a little cry of a relief.

“Your chariot awaits.”

“Oh my Gd.” He looked back at him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He put his hand out towards Roe. “You can call me Babe.”

“Babe.” The name rolled behind his lips a little before coming out. He took Babe’s hand in his. “I’m Gene. I can drive you over to your car.”

“That’d be nice, actually, thank you.” Babe pointed down the street, his hand still neatly tucked into Roe’s. “I’m way back there.”

“Well. Get in.”

Roe picked up the bag of plastic plates at his feet and got into the car, picking up his keys and phone to drop them into his lap. He shook out the umbrella and closed it up while Babe crawled into the passenger seat, a tangle of limbs and denim. Gene let him pull his Philadelphia Flyers beanie off, revealing a shock of red, rain soaked hair.

“Sorry for the smell,” Roe said as he gave Babe his umbrella back. He stretched into the back seat, depositing the plates onto the seat behind his own. “I left her windows down during a rainstorm about two years ago, and now I gotta live with it.”

“I’ve smelled worse,” Babe said. The car was kind of small for two grown men, and it didn’t give either one of them very much room. That’s why Roe wasn’t weirded out when he felt Babe’s breath puffing hot on his neck. “It’s not that bad.”

When Roe sat back down, Babe was tapping the Saints air freshener hanging off of Bessie’s rearview mirror.

“You’re a football guy?”

“As much as you can be without knowing very much about football.”

“Are you from New Orleans? You’ve got a Louisiana license plate.”

“Morgan City. Closer to Baton Rouge.” Roe began his very precarious three point turn. “But I’ve been to New Orleans a few times, yeah. Are you from Philadelphia?”

“Born and raised.” Babe started to worry his finger between his teeth, only to quickly pull it out. “So. Minus the whole getting locked out of your car thing, how’s your day been?”

“Uh.” Gene looked back at the paper plates in his backseat. “A lot of this.”

“A lot of getting locked out of your car?”

“A lot of, like-“ Gene rolled his wrist a few times. “Kitchen cabinet falling apart as soon as I open it and breaking all my dishes, getting punched in the face by a patient, y’know.”

“Just an ass kicking of a day?” Babe offers, looking a little wide eyed.

“Pretty much.” Gene looked over at Babe. “Which car is yours?”

“You see the little red prius that looks like it just lost a fight?”

This was a frighteningly apt description; Gene saw it immediately.

“You gonna get home okay?” Babe asked.

“Yeah. Probably gonna go get some coffee first.”

“Need that second cup?” Babe asked, glancing at the empty cup between them.

“More like ‘need a cup in general.’” Gene pulled his jacket aside so that Babe could see the coffee stain across his shirt front. “That one didn’t make it.”

“Oh, my Gd.” Babe leaned back into his seat a little. “You’ve had a shitty day, have you?”

“Kind of, yeah.” Gene shrugged. “But you helped. So. Thank you… Babe? Really? Babe?”

“It’s a nickname.”

“Well I figured.”

“Hey. You’ve had a pretty shitty day.”

“Thanks for reminding me.”

“But I’ve had a pretty good one.”

“Good for you?”

“I actually got a scratch off this morning and won ten bucks. ‘S enough for two coffees.”

Babe glanced back at Gene, looking hopeful. Gene was starting to wonder if maybe he’d been right about Babe wanting to kill him. But this guy seemed nice enough. And he had helped Gene with his car. And Gene did need coffee before he tried to suck the caffeine off the side of the empty Coke bottle at Babe’s feet.

Also, Babe had the kind of eyes you wanted to swim in, and Gene was made of blood and tissue, not stone.

“Yeah. That’d be nice. Thank you. What about your gro-“

my brain: ZIM ZAM GD DAMN