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suspiciouslackofclowns · 5 months

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Eddie’s never this late.

He’s usually pretty washy when it comes to being places on time — always either twenty minutes early or twenty minutes late, never anything between — but Gareth’s legs are actually getting sore from standing at this point.

He glances at his watch every so often, looking up and down the street for any sign of the van approaching. A couple of times, he’s considered walking to the nearest pay phone about a block or so away.

But no fucking way he’s leaving his drum kit on the curb unattended.

As if Eddie would pick up the phone anyway.

The owner of the music store has come out twice now to check in on him. Offered to have one of his guys load the stuff up for him, but Gareth declined as graciously as he could while trying to hide his festering irritation.

He saved up for months to be able to afford all of this new equipment, he absolutely cannot pay to have it delivered.

It irks him even more the closer that Eddie gets to being almost an hour late.

Just when he’s about completely fed up, having downed the entire bottle of water that Harold was generous enough to gift him, a vehicle turns down the street. For a moment, Gareth is overwhelmed by a blend of relief and rage, stepping up to the edge of the curb, but those feelings quickly fade.

Rather than the van, it’s a truck.

Gareth’s heart drops, and as it gets closer, he hopes to god that it’s still Eddie behind the wheel. When the truck pulls up to the curb, his hopes vanish.

The engine dies, and the driver side door opens. Heavy footsteps scrape the pavement, rounding the truck, and Hargrove comes to stand beside the collection of equipment.

His expression is blank. He’s clad in rough denim jeans and a t-shirt, with a pair of work boots to match. There’s a layer of grime on him that says he’s been doing something all day, likely outside, if the dirtied stains on the knees of his pant legs say anything.

For a guy from the city, he sure looks like every other ranch hand around here. The only things he’s missing are a can of dip denting his back pocket and a hat.

It’s quiet between the two of them for a beat. Gareth doesn’t know what to do or say — he’s only ever been in Hargrove’s company when other people are around.

And that was intentional.

The blond nods at the stuff on the curb and clicks his tongue.

“This everything?” he asks.

Gareth nods. Watches as Hargrove wordlessly circles to the back of his truck and drops the tailgate.

He immediately begins grabbing things, and Gareth steps out of his way. Watches as he carefully loads a few things into the bed, grabbing the larger ones first.

“You, uh,” Gareth begins. He clears his throat when Hargrove glances over at him. “Want me to help?”

At that, the blond huffs a little laugh to himself.

“Not gonna break your fancy drum set,” he says.

Gareth opens his mouth, and then promptly closes it. Furrows his brows and looks off down the street.

Everyone else seems to click with this guy. Even Grant and Jeff, after a while.

Not that Gareth necessarily wants to.

He just doesn’t understand why he quite literally can’t.

Eddie and even Steve have tried to explain to him that Hargrove is just tough — he’s not the type to wanna sit around and gush about niche interests, and he’s fairly blunt when he talks.

For some reason, everything the guy does and says just rubs Gareth the wrong way. He would say he doesn’t get why his partners are into him, but that would be a complete lie.

Hargrove is hot.

He’s thicker now than he was in high school. His arms are bigger, veinier closer to his wrists, and he’s got the faintest hint of chub on his stomach. Enough to pooch out a little over the lip of his jeans when he bends over to grab things.

It’s overwhelmingly obvious that he’s a man, and not a boy. A man with perfect blond curls and broad shoulders and the visible trace of scruff on his neck.

Of course he has two other guys drooling over him constantly.

Gareth himself tries not to look at him too much for fear of heat rising to the surface of his skin. Especially when he’s doing anything physical like this.

Once everything is loaded and the tailgate is shut, Hargrove straps the few larger things down, and steps up on the tire at each side to check and make sure everything is held sturdily enough in place before he hops down.

Wordlessly walks back to the front of the truck and climbs behind the wheel again.

Gareth hesitates, but opens the passenger side door and joins him in the cab.

The blond starts the engine, and the stereo immediately blasts Tooth and Nail by Dokken. He reaches out to turn the dial down a hint, sighing as he puts the truck in drive.

Gareth stares out his window as they pull away from the music shop.

“Why didn’t Eddie show up?” he asks.

Keeps his voice even so as not to let on how irritated he is. It works, for the most part, because Hargrove blows a raspberry and rests his elbow against the door panel.

“We got caught up trying to figure out why his van wouldn’t start, and when he realized he was late, he—“ Hargrove cuts himself off with a chuckle, an easy smile pulling at his lips. “He tripped up the porch steps. Started whining about having a concussion and a dislocated shoulder, and asked me to come pick you up.”

Gareth huffs.

“Figures.”

At that, Hargrove’s smile dims.

“Would’ve been worse if he’d shown up and been a drama queen the whole time, trust me.”

“It’s not that,” Gareth grumbles.

For a stretch of the street they’re driving down, only the music fills the silence between them. Hargrove’s grip on the wheel tightens.

“Well, I could’a said no, and you’d’ve been stuck on the curb all day. I’m not exactly thrilled about it either.”

His voice is lower. Testy. Like when he argues with Max or Steve and can no longer hide his blooming irritation.

Eddie has this way of making Hargrove laugh when things get too tense. Never lets the blond’s tone get under his skin no matter what they’re talking about, and takes it upon himself to lighten the mood.

Gareth wishes he was less easily affected like that.

“Didn’t have to come,” Gareth huffs. “I could’ve figured it out.”

Even out of the corner of his eye, he can see the angry red that creeps up Hargrove’s neck and pops the veins in his forehead.

Despite not having done anything remotely violent in recent years, Gareth still feels a small spike of anxiety at witnessing his little tells. Leans closer to the door and keeps careful attention.

After a tense moment, Hargrove takes a calming breath and sighs heavily. Relaxes his grip on the wheel and shifts in his seat, loosening up.

“I’m doing this for Eddie. Not you,” he says. “I don’t typically do free labor for people who hate my guts.”

Gareth’s brows draw closer together.

“I don’t… hate you.”

At the words, the blond chuckles, but it isn’t a happy sound.

“What’s your fuckin’ deal, then?”

“I don’t know. Nothing,” Gareth huffs. “Everything.”

“Well, which is it? You act like I’m some comic book villain when I can’t recall ever having done anything to you personally.”

Now, Gareth chuckles.

“Personally,” he murmurs. He takes a risk and turns to fully look at Hargrove, expecting to see more of that rage bloom on his skin again. Instead, he looks dejected. Sad, with his mouth pinched in a subtle frown, and his eyes vacant. Gareth sighs. “Look, it’s not… I don’t hate you. I just don’t get you, I guess? Plus, before you and Steve, Eddie used to actually care about doing shit with his friends. Today is a good example.”

After a moment of processing, Hargrove purses his lips.

“Edd cares. He’s just a little messy with his priorities — if he’d told Stevie that he was supposed to pick you up, he would’ve made sure everything happened on time.”

Gareth huffs. Slouches in his seat and props his elbow against the door, leaning his cheek against his hand.

“Right.”

“I’m serious. Who do you think plans all of your game nights?”

The brunet makes a face, and Hargrove chuckles again. Softer this time. Amused.

“Eddie’s always planned for that, though. Before he got with Steve.”

“Being in a club with a fixed schedule is very different than organizing things with complete flexibility,” Hargrove muses. Smiles to himself as he thinks briefly. “My point is that he does care. He’s also just… Eddie.” The two of them share a chuckle, and Gareth tenses when Billy playfully elbows him. “I promise I’m not stealing him from you.”

Instantly, Gareth’s face heats up, and he blows a raspberry in dismissal.

“Never said you were.”

“But you were thinkin’ it.”

With no valid argument, Gareth pouts. Crosses his arms over his chest and looks back out the window.

They’re only a few streets away from his place. That has his body welling with relief.

“Also,” Billy begins. “There’s nothing to get.”

Gareth glances back over at the blond.

“What?”

“About me. There’s nothing to get.”

“I mean—“ Gareth pauses, frustration building in his throat at the lack of proper words. Decides instead to gesture vaguely at Billy with his hand. “You’re not exactly an open book. I don’t think we’ve ever really even talked before today.”

“I know I’m not the most approachable guy, but you’ve never exactly tried to strike up a conversation with me before today.”

“That’s a two-way street,” Gareth grumbles.

Billy sighs.

“When you’re around, Eddie’s happy, and I don’t wanna ruin that because you and I don’t click for whatever stupid reason.” He shrugs nonchalantly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel absently. “So I don’t make an effort to talk.”

The for Eddie goes unspoken at the end, but it’s thick in the air regardless. Gareth spreads a knowing grin, and Billy gives him a look out of the corner of his eye.

“So, Hargrove does have feelings.”

The blond tsks.

“Who said I didn’t?”

“No one. You’re just like if a stone wall was a person, is all.”

Billy giggles at that. Not laughs. Not chuckles. Giggles.

It’s a very not manly sound and has Gareth spreading a sort of bewildered grin upon hearing it, while also serving to chip the lingering intimidation away.

“I am not,” Billy muses.

“Yes huh. With barbed wire at the top, spikes at the bottom, and maybe even a mote with alligators up front.”

“Mm, and what makes you say that?”

The question makes Gareth think for a beat. They’re nearing his street now, and he sighs as he shrugs half-heartedly. Gestures at Billy lamely with his hand and earns a quirked eyebrow.

“I dunno. You’re… you, I guess.” The truck pulls up to the curb in front of Gareth’s house, and Billy throws it in park. Doesn’t take the key out of the ignition or move to open his door just yet. “Like some heavily guarded fortress at the top of a hill, overlooking a tiny village with no line of defense.”

The brunet presses his lips into a line. Doesn’t bother looking at the other seat out of embarrassment.

Billy is quiet. Then, he clicks his tongue and shifts idly in his seat, hand still on the wheel.

“I’m not really big on mystical analogies, but…” he begins with a sigh. “I’m more like the princess at the top of the tower, stuck in the fortress. Guarded by a fire-breathing dragon.” Billy drums his fingers against the steering wheel before he lets his hand drop to his lap. “There’s something to be said about Eddie and Steve being some knights in shining armor or something, but I think you get it.”

They sit there for a handful of seconds. Gareth mulls it over, thinks about what to say, but before he can open his mouth, Billy kills the engine. Pushes his door open and climbs out.

The truck jostles when he drops the tailgate, and Gareth hesitates before he gets out as well.

This time, rather than stand by and watch, he helps move everything from the bed to the garage. It goes by quicker, at least, that’s how it feels when they’re finally finished. Billy tosses the straps into the back of the truck and shuts the tailgate, cracking his knuckles absently.

“You need help setting anything up?” he offers.

Gareth shoves his hands into his pockets and glances over his shoulder into his garage.

“Nah, I got it from here,” he says. “Thanks.”

Billy nods.

“Anytime.”

He knocks lightly on his truck before he goes to walk back to the driver’s seat. Gareth chews his lip.

“See ya, princess.”

At that, Billy giggles again. Climbs into the front seat and starts it up. Then he’s driving away, music blasting, and Gareth turns to walk up the length of his driveway.

He’s still irritated about the events of today, but he’s a little relieved, too.

Because maybe Hargrove isn’t all that bad.

#gareth stranger things #billy hargrove #steve harrington #eddie munson #harringroveson #steddilly #metalsandwich #chubby billy hargrove #soft billy hargrove #misunderstandings #this is very self indulgent #ooc? unrealistic? not my major concern #billy is so princess despite the Everything about how he looks #fav thing is making him the ‘man of the house’ but also knowing hes the Bottom #my writing #ficlet #mostly unedited

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rcdiostcrs · 6 months

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carpenter bros reunion.

triggers: child abandonment, asph being a dick about sheamus being adopted (one line, but still)

Sheamus had been living in New Rome for about a year. Being surrounded by creatures his father told stories about and children of literal gods hadn’t even been the hard part of the year. Nor was the hard part being asked who his godly relation was only to explain that he was painfully human. The hard part was clinging to hope that Asph would one day cross the Little Tiber like so many other demigods who enter the city for the first time.

What would a fourteen-year-old version of his baby brother even look like? Would he still be swamped by fabric? Would he have grown lanky? Would he look like their mother or would he be unrecognizable? So much time had passed it was hard to even recall the seven-year-old’s face.

He was mid-conversation with his ex-guide and current best friend, Kira, when a commotion was heard outside.

“Someone new crossed. And it made a big splash,” she chugged the rest of her sparkling water (“You drink TV static?” Sheamus asked when she first ordered it. / “You don’t?” Kira responded, downing the glass in one go.) “Let’s go see, Mr. Hopeful.”

“I hate it when you call me that.” The mortal rolled his eyes before slamming back the last of his own drink—a much more sensible Coca-Cola—and following her.

By the time the pair had made it to the Little Tiber, the newbie had already crossed, receiving the cleansing. They collapsed, sending a pang through Sheamus. Curse his bleeding heart. When once he couldn’t care less about children, now there was a soft spot for them. A need to protect them from the horrors of the world. Too many had been through too much. Especially the demigods.

His eyes caught hair that was just-shy of a light brown. The pang worsened. That was his brother’s hair color. When the kid shook the water off, his eyes landed on a scar peaking out from their ear. While not one he remembered his brother having, there was the near-miss in the ER. (“This ID isn't valid, I can’t let you in.” / “Don’t tell anyone, I could lose my job, but he’s doing quite well for someone who took a lawn mower to the side of his head. Now leave.”)

“Hey, they look about the right age.” Kira’s voice was drowned out by the waves of regret. Sheamus had only been a teenager, unable to do anything, but he still felt that he had abandoned his sweet baby brother all those years ago. Was now the time to make it right?

Asph had finally settled into the barracks when his new centurion joined him. “You are requested in the Fifth’s Meeting Hall.”

“The… where?”

They grabbed his wrist and marched out the door, dragging him with. They only let go upon arriving at said meeting hall. “Newbie’s here,” they shouted into the door as they shoved him in.

He regained his balance and stood straight up, hands behind his back. “I was told you needed to speak with me?”

“Damn, you look so much like him for not being blood,” a woman said. She was flicking a coin back and forth.

Instead of speaking, Asph tilted his head. What was she on about?

“Kira, you’re going to freak him out.” A man in his early twenties spoke up from right next to her.

Wait. Dressed only in blacks. Triangular head. Brown eyes. He was older than last seen, but it was clearly “Sheamus?”

“Seven years. Two of which I was stuck at home. Four of which I spent searching. The final one, I spent here. Waiting. Hoping.”

Asph’s confusion grew. “Why would you do that? It wasn’t like we were friends or anything. We aren’t even really related.”

Sheamus stepped back. “I may not have been the best at first, but you disappearing was the worst thing to ever happen to me.” He had wallowed for years, changed schools, leaving D.C. as soon as he could.

“You were such a sweet kid. What happened?”

“I was abandoned!” he exclaimed. “Without any explanation! That’s what happened.” Asph stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

#*asph #*sheamus #asph —☆— drabbles #sheamus —☆— drabbles #//#THE BROTHERS' REUNION FLASHBACK DRABBLE!!!#(kira is the roman demigod that sheamus paid to get him to where roman demis go so he could eventually find asph.#who's her godly relation you ask. uhhhhhhhhhh next question.)#bls appriciate that i took the time to scroll to the very bottom of their gif hunt tags to find gifs where they'd be the right age #*appreciate (i stg i can spell. i promise i'm an eglish major.)#*ENGLISH oml #also bls appreciate that i made them all the same size even though it degraded the quality massively #n e ways it's 0100 so imma sleep now #gn <3

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