FIC: Long Walk to Eden (AKB)
Mar. 11th, 2010 10:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceTitle: Long Walk to Eden
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nilchance
Pairing: Zach/Wendy/Jeremy
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: This isn't real.
A/N: Kept-verse, set roughly 2 years before the start of AKB and That Middle Road. Thank you,poisontaster, for the read-through and the hand-holding. beanside, just thank you; you know why.
It's two in the morning, and the baby's fussy. Jeremy hasn't been home in a week. He's been sleeping on Zach's couch, calling home occasionally to check on Marisa and remind her to eat. She usually tells him to fuck off, but she always picks up her phone when he calls.
They're not together at the moment. Another manic fit, another separation. It's how they roll. Jeremy usually ends up crashing on Zach's couch when it gets like this; it's just that this time, there's a squalling baby involved.
Wendy is curled up, catlike, in the armchair beside the couch. Technically she's supposed to be on watch while Zach sleeps in the bedroom, one of their many struggling attempts to mete parenthood out between them, but Jeremy's the one with the baby. Little Ryzer crashed out on his chest, not Wen's, soothed by Zach singing Copperhead Road until his voice was worn as thin as his guitar strings. It seems odd to think that anybody Jeremy knows was ever so little or so fragile. Zach agrees, apparently, counting Ryzer's fingers and toes like somebody else might count rosary beads, and Wendy--
"Don't," she whispers in her sleep, "please don't take him. Don't."
"Shh," Jeremy whispers, same as he did to Wendy, and spreads his hand on the kid's back. "Shh, kiddo, let's let your mom get some sleep, okay? Shh."
Ryzer grunts and kicks, no coordination. He's come out of the fetal curl, no longer red or coneheaded, gnarled like a little peanut. But he's still so tiny, barely a few weeks old. Jeremy measures Ryzer's time outside the womb by Wendy's halting, wincing steps around this tiny house in Pasadena. He's never felt so clumsy as when he cups Ryzer's fragile eggshell skull in the palm of his hands.
"You hungry?" Jeremy murmurs, mostly to keep himself company. "I think Mama pumped. Yeah, we can go heat up a bottle, okay? But we've got to keep it down."
Ryzer whines, like you've gotta keep it down, buddy, I didn't make any promises. Bouncing him gently as they walk to the kitchen, Jeremy pats Ryzer's back and hums-sings, "Ground control to Major Tom, your circuit's dead, there's something wrong..."
It's no easy feat, getting the fridge open and the bottle out without dropping Ryzer, who adds to the difficulty level by squirming and kicking his socked feet. Jeremy manages. Actually, it surprises him how well he manages. When he offered to help with the kid, he expected to suck at it; he has no patience, and loud noises wear him thin. He'd never changed a diaper before three weeks ago, or understood exactly how much a baby would need-- diapers, laundry, feeding, soothing. For sleeping 20 hours a day, Ryzer raises enough hell for three adults who sleep a quarter of that much, in shifts, if they were lucky; Ryzer squirms and poops and makes funny faces and howls his lungs out.
Jeremy loves it. Sure, diapers are a new and special hell, but it's really something when Ryzer finally and grudgingly settles in the crook of Jeremy's arm. That total trust.
I'll never let anything happen to you, Jeremy thinks, but that isn't his to promise. He won't have kids-- can't, now, the vasectomy neatly handled the last time he had a depressive crash. Wouldn't inflict his genetics on a kid anyway, with that fifty-fifty shot they'll get his fucked up disease. Wouldn't inflict himself on them like that, knowing he might or might not kill himself before it's all over.
Dark thoughts; he feels bad for thinking them with one hand on Ryzer, as if they'll pass to him. He bounces Ryzer, apologetically, and lets the kid squawk into his ear. "For heeeere am I sitting in a tincan, faaaaar above the world--"
"What're you teaching my kid?" Zach leans his hip against the fridge, rubbing at his eyes like a little kid. He sounds hollowed out and hoarse, but he reaches for Ryzer and makes gimme hands. "Glam rock is dead. C'mere, stinker."
Reluctantly, Jeremy hands Ryzer over. Zach murmurs and snuggles Ryzer tight, rubbing his cheek against Ryzer's peach-fuzz head. With a heart-clench of fondness that steals his breath, Jeremy looks away and retrieves the bottle from the microwave. "I figured Iggy Pop was out of the question."
Zach wrinkles his nose, then nods imperiously at the bottle. "Test that first." When Jeremy just looks at him, eyebrows raised and the nipple already at his wrist, Zach adds, "Sorry. Wen's still out?"
"Like a light. I think she's drooling."
"N'aww. That's my girl." With a last tired smile over Jeremy's shoulder, Zach transfers Ryzer from his shoulder to the bend of his arm and shuffles closer. "C'mon, the kid's not gonna feed himself. He starts crying for real and it's on your ass."
Jeremy dab-dabs the milk to his wrist and, unburned, tries to hand it to Zach. Zach lifts his eyebrows nearly to his hairline, which is an effect that's really wasted on a baby too young to see straight, then sighs and uses both arms to hold Ryzer against him. "I'll hold, you feed."
"Um," Jeremy hedges.
"What? You're not always getting out of feeding duty."
They've stood this close before; they've shared a joint and a bottle, they've even slept in the same bed, and so this should be nothing. It's the baby, Jeremy thinks, the milk-sweet smell of Ryzer's skin mingling with Zach's mouthwash. The baby makes it seem more intimate than before.
Well, all right, the baby and the sleep debt.
"Dude," Zach says, and the tiredness in his voice unhinges Jeremy's hesitation.
Bracing his arm under Zach's, three arms to hold up one eight pound baby, Jeremy smudges the nipple across Ryzer's chubby cheek. Ryzer grunts and turns towards it-- rooting, Jeremy thinks, his brain full of the books he read in the first breathless trimester, his voice ringing off the bathroom tiles as Wendy heaved and Zach soothed. All those instincts hardwired in Ryzer's head like a miracle. Ryzer latches on, and Jeremy beams as he feels Ryzer start to ferociously drink. Zach grins like I know, right?. The two of them, like they invented this all themselves.
And then Zach leans (carefully, so carefully) over Ryzer's head to kiss Jeremy on the mouth.
Jeremy hitches in a breath and freezes, too aware of the baby in his arms to move. After a moment, Zach draws back and looks at him, his expression tight and stubborn.
"Did Wendy," Jeremy begins, knowing better than to think Zach would ever stray, still needing to ask.
"Yeah. We talked about it. We, uh." Zach coughs and glances into the living room, like it'll be any help. "She was gonna ask you. But she crashed out and I figured that meant I ought to nut up."
"You don't like guys."
"You never asked if I did or I didn't, Jer, fucking Christ. Everybody just assumes that because of my fucking provenance--" Ryzer stirs, eyes coming open, and Zach seems to realize that his voice is rising. He shuts up, stroking Ryzer's side with his thumb, then sighs. "There were women, too. It was them, not... not people like you or Wen. Everything's different now."
"All right," Jeremy says, mostly to take that terrible look out of Zach's eyes. "Okay, man. I get that."
Zach flicks a glance up at him, one that Jeremy can read, and hehs. "Guess you do. Anyway, you're not just some guy. You're my." Pink creeps up Zach's throat, and he shakes himself like Winston shedding rain. "Ugh, I don't talk like this."
"You don't have to court me or anything, Z--"
"Pft." Dropping his voice, Zach shrugs a little. "You were around before Wen. You were around when I was hiding in closets and stealing shit out of Jeff's pantry. You know I love you or you wouldn't be holding my kid right now. It's not about getting laid; I get laid, and plenty. And it's not about getting Wen's mom off her back about getting hitched."
There's an easy joke in reach, but Jeremy doesn't try it. It's hard enough trying to keep his voice even. "Then what're we talking about?"
"You," Wendy says from behind him, her voice craggy with sleep. "Sticking around." Her body presses against his back, her arms coming around his waist in a loose hold; she gives him room to bolt. "Watching stupid movies in bed and helping wrangle the kid once he starts crawling. Sex. Lots of sex."
"Yeah?" Jeremy puts the bottle down on the counter, harder than necessary. "And what the hell are we gonna do the first time I have a manic swing? You won't want me around the kid--"
"Speak for yourself," Zach says, voice low. "You don't want to be around then, fine, but it won't be us kicking you out."
"We'll manage," Wendy adds, and rubs her cheek against his shoulder. "You, me, Zach. If you want us."
"No pressure." Swinging Ryzer up over his shoulder, Zach pats his back and watches Jeremy. "You don't-- it's cool if you--"
"I want to," Jeremy says, his voice running Zach's down. "I want to."
Zach exhales, resting his chin on Ryzer's back, and reaches out to clasp Wendy's fingers with his free hand. "Good. That's good, man. Thank you."
"Boys," Wendy says a little scornfully, and bites the back of Jeremy's neck when he laughs.
Author:
nilchancePairing: Zach/Wendy/Jeremy
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: This isn't real.
A/N: Kept-verse, set roughly 2 years before the start of AKB and That Middle Road. Thank you,
poisontaster, for the read-through and the hand-holding. beanside, just thank you; you know why.It's two in the morning, and the baby's fussy. Jeremy hasn't been home in a week. He's been sleeping on Zach's couch, calling home occasionally to check on Marisa and remind her to eat. She usually tells him to fuck off, but she always picks up her phone when he calls.
They're not together at the moment. Another manic fit, another separation. It's how they roll. Jeremy usually ends up crashing on Zach's couch when it gets like this; it's just that this time, there's a squalling baby involved.
Wendy is curled up, catlike, in the armchair beside the couch. Technically she's supposed to be on watch while Zach sleeps in the bedroom, one of their many struggling attempts to mete parenthood out between them, but Jeremy's the one with the baby. Little Ryzer crashed out on his chest, not Wen's, soothed by Zach singing Copperhead Road until his voice was worn as thin as his guitar strings. It seems odd to think that anybody Jeremy knows was ever so little or so fragile. Zach agrees, apparently, counting Ryzer's fingers and toes like somebody else might count rosary beads, and Wendy--
"Don't," she whispers in her sleep, "please don't take him. Don't."
"Shh," Jeremy whispers, same as he did to Wendy, and spreads his hand on the kid's back. "Shh, kiddo, let's let your mom get some sleep, okay? Shh."
Ryzer grunts and kicks, no coordination. He's come out of the fetal curl, no longer red or coneheaded, gnarled like a little peanut. But he's still so tiny, barely a few weeks old. Jeremy measures Ryzer's time outside the womb by Wendy's halting, wincing steps around this tiny house in Pasadena. He's never felt so clumsy as when he cups Ryzer's fragile eggshell skull in the palm of his hands.
"You hungry?" Jeremy murmurs, mostly to keep himself company. "I think Mama pumped. Yeah, we can go heat up a bottle, okay? But we've got to keep it down."
Ryzer whines, like you've gotta keep it down, buddy, I didn't make any promises. Bouncing him gently as they walk to the kitchen, Jeremy pats Ryzer's back and hums-sings, "Ground control to Major Tom, your circuit's dead, there's something wrong..."
It's no easy feat, getting the fridge open and the bottle out without dropping Ryzer, who adds to the difficulty level by squirming and kicking his socked feet. Jeremy manages. Actually, it surprises him how well he manages. When he offered to help with the kid, he expected to suck at it; he has no patience, and loud noises wear him thin. He'd never changed a diaper before three weeks ago, or understood exactly how much a baby would need-- diapers, laundry, feeding, soothing. For sleeping 20 hours a day, Ryzer raises enough hell for three adults who sleep a quarter of that much, in shifts, if they were lucky; Ryzer squirms and poops and makes funny faces and howls his lungs out.
Jeremy loves it. Sure, diapers are a new and special hell, but it's really something when Ryzer finally and grudgingly settles in the crook of Jeremy's arm. That total trust.
I'll never let anything happen to you, Jeremy thinks, but that isn't his to promise. He won't have kids-- can't, now, the vasectomy neatly handled the last time he had a depressive crash. Wouldn't inflict his genetics on a kid anyway, with that fifty-fifty shot they'll get his fucked up disease. Wouldn't inflict himself on them like that, knowing he might or might not kill himself before it's all over.
Dark thoughts; he feels bad for thinking them with one hand on Ryzer, as if they'll pass to him. He bounces Ryzer, apologetically, and lets the kid squawk into his ear. "For heeeere am I sitting in a tincan, faaaaar above the world--"
"What're you teaching my kid?" Zach leans his hip against the fridge, rubbing at his eyes like a little kid. He sounds hollowed out and hoarse, but he reaches for Ryzer and makes gimme hands. "Glam rock is dead. C'mere, stinker."
Reluctantly, Jeremy hands Ryzer over. Zach murmurs and snuggles Ryzer tight, rubbing his cheek against Ryzer's peach-fuzz head. With a heart-clench of fondness that steals his breath, Jeremy looks away and retrieves the bottle from the microwave. "I figured Iggy Pop was out of the question."
Zach wrinkles his nose, then nods imperiously at the bottle. "Test that first." When Jeremy just looks at him, eyebrows raised and the nipple already at his wrist, Zach adds, "Sorry. Wen's still out?"
"Like a light. I think she's drooling."
"N'aww. That's my girl." With a last tired smile over Jeremy's shoulder, Zach transfers Ryzer from his shoulder to the bend of his arm and shuffles closer. "C'mon, the kid's not gonna feed himself. He starts crying for real and it's on your ass."
Jeremy dab-dabs the milk to his wrist and, unburned, tries to hand it to Zach. Zach lifts his eyebrows nearly to his hairline, which is an effect that's really wasted on a baby too young to see straight, then sighs and uses both arms to hold Ryzer against him. "I'll hold, you feed."
"Um," Jeremy hedges.
"What? You're not always getting out of feeding duty."
They've stood this close before; they've shared a joint and a bottle, they've even slept in the same bed, and so this should be nothing. It's the baby, Jeremy thinks, the milk-sweet smell of Ryzer's skin mingling with Zach's mouthwash. The baby makes it seem more intimate than before.
Well, all right, the baby and the sleep debt.
"Dude," Zach says, and the tiredness in his voice unhinges Jeremy's hesitation.
Bracing his arm under Zach's, three arms to hold up one eight pound baby, Jeremy smudges the nipple across Ryzer's chubby cheek. Ryzer grunts and turns towards it-- rooting, Jeremy thinks, his brain full of the books he read in the first breathless trimester, his voice ringing off the bathroom tiles as Wendy heaved and Zach soothed. All those instincts hardwired in Ryzer's head like a miracle. Ryzer latches on, and Jeremy beams as he feels Ryzer start to ferociously drink. Zach grins like I know, right?. The two of them, like they invented this all themselves.
And then Zach leans (carefully, so carefully) over Ryzer's head to kiss Jeremy on the mouth.
Jeremy hitches in a breath and freezes, too aware of the baby in his arms to move. After a moment, Zach draws back and looks at him, his expression tight and stubborn.
"Did Wendy," Jeremy begins, knowing better than to think Zach would ever stray, still needing to ask.
"Yeah. We talked about it. We, uh." Zach coughs and glances into the living room, like it'll be any help. "She was gonna ask you. But she crashed out and I figured that meant I ought to nut up."
"You don't like guys."
"You never asked if I did or I didn't, Jer, fucking Christ. Everybody just assumes that because of my fucking provenance--" Ryzer stirs, eyes coming open, and Zach seems to realize that his voice is rising. He shuts up, stroking Ryzer's side with his thumb, then sighs. "There were women, too. It was them, not... not people like you or Wen. Everything's different now."
"All right," Jeremy says, mostly to take that terrible look out of Zach's eyes. "Okay, man. I get that."
Zach flicks a glance up at him, one that Jeremy can read, and hehs. "Guess you do. Anyway, you're not just some guy. You're my." Pink creeps up Zach's throat, and he shakes himself like Winston shedding rain. "Ugh, I don't talk like this."
"You don't have to court me or anything, Z--"
"Pft." Dropping his voice, Zach shrugs a little. "You were around before Wen. You were around when I was hiding in closets and stealing shit out of Jeff's pantry. You know I love you or you wouldn't be holding my kid right now. It's not about getting laid; I get laid, and plenty. And it's not about getting Wen's mom off her back about getting hitched."
There's an easy joke in reach, but Jeremy doesn't try it. It's hard enough trying to keep his voice even. "Then what're we talking about?"
"You," Wendy says from behind him, her voice craggy with sleep. "Sticking around." Her body presses against his back, her arms coming around his waist in a loose hold; she gives him room to bolt. "Watching stupid movies in bed and helping wrangle the kid once he starts crawling. Sex. Lots of sex."
"Yeah?" Jeremy puts the bottle down on the counter, harder than necessary. "And what the hell are we gonna do the first time I have a manic swing? You won't want me around the kid--"
"Speak for yourself," Zach says, voice low. "You don't want to be around then, fine, but it won't be us kicking you out."
"We'll manage," Wendy adds, and rubs her cheek against his shoulder. "You, me, Zach. If you want us."
"No pressure." Swinging Ryzer up over his shoulder, Zach pats his back and watches Jeremy. "You don't-- it's cool if you--"
"I want to," Jeremy says, his voice running Zach's down. "I want to."
Zach exhales, resting his chin on Ryzer's back, and reaches out to clasp Wendy's fingers with his free hand. "Good. That's good, man. Thank you."
"Boys," Wendy says a little scornfully, and bites the back of Jeremy's neck when he laughs.
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no subject
Date: 2010-03-11 04:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-11 05:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-11 08:39 pm (UTC)This was yummy!
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Date: 2010-03-12 04:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-12 06:09 am (UTC)Sometimes I wonder who would win a battle to see who had the lowest selfesteem... Jeremy or Dean Winchester. He's so preoccupied with how "defective" he is and how he shouldn't "inflict" himself on anyone, he never stops to think that maybe people love and accept him just the way he is (and not just Marissa, whom I think he writes off her feelings about him because she's bipolar too and completely frakked up by her guinea pig days), or that the love of those people accepting and supporting him might be able to just maybe give him that edge to stay alive.
I am curious... Jeremy's vasectomy... was that his choice? Or was that forced on him by the mental health "professionals" of this 'verse? 'Cause I can totally see that happening in this world.
It's very interesting to see how the attitudes that come out of slavery bleed over into the lives of free people. Jeremy's a slave owner, yet he is constantly judging his worth by how "tarnished" he is.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-12 09:52 am (UTC)