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n00dl3gal · 3 years ago

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Like Old Times (Father-Son Bonding AU)

A direct sequel to the “Expiration Date” fic, which I’ll link in a reblog. I’ve also posted all my fics in this AU to AO3!! Thanks again to @thetriggeredhappy for their help and just generally being a cool dude, and the Scoutsune Discord server for indulging my brainrot

No warnings beyond family schmoop!

Less than an hour after the bread monster incident, the Administrator called for a ceasefire. “Only while your base is repaired,” she said over the TV screen. “BLU is quite disappointed in this negligence- as am I. Regardless, you may use these three days as you see fit. Go home, stay here- whatever you do, no more bread monsters.” The screen turned off with a click.

Scout exhaled through his nose. He was thankful there was no mention of him or Miss Pauling’s woodchipper.

Spy decloaked behind him. “Less time than I wanted, but c’est la vie.” Scout looked at him over his shoulder. “I’m meeting with an old contact during our break,” Spy said in Italian. “Would you like to come along? It’ll be like old times.”

Scout’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. At least this way, he’d get out of helping Engie and Heavy with repairs. And possibly meeting Miss Pauling’s woodchipper.

“Excellent. Our flight is at 7 AM tomorrow.”

“We’re flying commercial?” Scout asked, also in (more hesitant) Italian.

“Our destination is continental. We’ll leave the base by 5:30.” Scout groaned as Spy started to leave. But- wait, he hadn’t-

“Oi, where are we going, anyway?” he called back in English.

Spy paused to look at him and smile. “Boston.”

“Why do we always get the ass-crack-of-dawn flights?” Jeremy asked groggily, reclining his seat.

“They are the ones with first-class seats available,” Raphael replied. He took a sip from his mimosa.

“Yeah, cuz God forbid you fly coach for once.” Jeremy shifted, trying to get comfortable. “Hey. Have I ever been to Boston before?”

Raphael didn’t answer immediately. His lip sucked in, as if in thought. “Yes. When you were very, very young. You wouldn’t remember.”

Jeremy nodded. He wanted to ask more, there was something Raphael wasn’t saying but… well, he was never a morning person. He fell asleep before the plane even took off.

. . .

It was mid-afternoon by the time they landed in Boston. Jeremy was never fond of long flights; having his legs cramped like that for extended periods of time was murder. He was half tempted to take a jog around Logan International. Raphael, on the other hand, was ushering them both to the car rental. “Can’t even get a stretch in, huh?”

“Unfortunately, we are expected by 4, and I would hate to keep my contact waiting,” Raphael explained in French, accepting the keys from the girl at the counter. “She’s not a very patient woman, in some regards.”

Jeremy huffed but didn’t argue. He just followed his father to the rental, tossing his suitcase in the backseat. “Y’know, the girl at the counter-”

“We will not have time for you to go out on a date, Jeremy.”

“No! No, it was- her accent’s kinda like mine, it’s weird,” Jeremy said. Raphael started the car. “Cuz I’ve only been here as a baby, and I got mine from TV and shit. It’s just… really strange, is all.”

Raphael made a quiet noise of agreement. “Some of the shows you watched as a child were filmed here. It’s not as complex as you think it is.”

“Yeah, probably not…”

The pair lapsed into silence as Raphael drove. Storefronts and high rises morphed into houses. It had been a while since they were in a residential area. RED, for understandable reasons, kept away from civilians.

Raphael took the roads with practiced experience. Sure, it had been implied he knew the area. If he had a contact here- one with a house, presumably- he must’ve spent time here. But this- this was far too familiar. A bit suspicious, actually.

Eventually, Raphael slowed in front of a more rundown Brownstone. Still quite nice, just needed a little work. It felt… welcoming, in a way Jeremy couldn’t name.

“Lotta cars,” he observed as Raphael parallel parked. “Must be a party going on somewhere.”

“Hmm, perhaps,” Raphael said, turning the car off. “Would you mind ringing the doorbell for me? I need to grab something from the trunk. Ask for Sara Jane.”

OK, now Jeremy knew something was up. He was never the one to make the first contact, that was always Dad’s job. Jeremy might be a full-grown adult, but there were some things that didn’t change. This was one of them.

Still, he nodded. He climbed up the front steps and ringed the doorbell. He heard- multiple voices from inside, predominantly male, but they quickly silenced themselves. A TV, perhaps? They really ought to get that flower box on the second story window fixed-

The woman who opened the door was a bit shorter than him, though not by much. She was wearing a simple dress, hoop earrings, and flats. Her hair was dark, curved to her chin. But her nose and earlobes felt… achingly familiar. Like Jeremy saw them all the time.

“Um, hi, I’m looking for Sara Jane? My name’s-” The rest of his speech was knocked out of him as the woman launched herself at him. Jeremy braced for an attack, but quickly realized she was… hugging him.

She was hugging him, sobbing, and choked out the word “Jeremy.”

Wait. He knew that voice. He had only heard it a few times in his life, few enough he could count them on one hand, but he knew it. “M-Ma?” he whispered.

The woman- Sara Jane- Ma looked up at him, still crying. Her hands found his face as she observed him. “Y-yeah, sweetie, it’s me, it’s-it’s your ma,” she said.

“Ma!” he laughed, tears of his own dancing down his cheeks. He hugged her back, practically lifting her off her feet. “Oh my God, Ma! I-I never thought I’d-”

“Oh Jeremy, sweetie, look how tall you’ve gotten! Last I saw you, you fit in my arms! My baby, my handsome baby,” she spoke over him. She rubbed circles into his back as they embraced. It felt so, so right.

Jeremy laughed even harder. “Are you kiddin’? I got it from you, you’re beautiful, Ma!” He stared at her, trying to commit every mole and wrinkle and perfect flaw to memory. “I can’t believe- oh my God, I’m actually meeting you!”

“It was long overdue,” another voice said, as Raphael joined them on the front stoop. “I had put it off for safety reasons, but considering our current, ah, situation… I felt it was worth the risk.”

Sara Jane squealed, pulling Raphael into the hug as well. “You’ve been taking good care of my boy, you promise me, Raphael?”

“Don’t worry Ma, he’s the best dad I could ask for, considering,” Jeremy teased.

“Oh, don’t I know it. Called me up last night and told me to get the whole motley crew together. Even managed to get Melvin to bring his twin daughters, bless his wife’s heart,” she explained.

Jeremy blinked. “Uh- Melvin? Daughters?”

Sara Jane laughed. It sounded so much like Jeremy’s it practically hurt. This was his mother. Lord, he’s finally seeing her. “Melvin’s your older brother, sweetie. Eh, sixth oldest. Bobby’s the oldest.”

“I have a brother?”

“Oh honey, you’re the youngest of eight,” Sara Jane said plainly.

“...fuck,” Jeremy whispered.

. . .

He didn’t just have seven brothers. He had seven brothers, four of which brought their wives, one who brought his boyfriend, and three who brought their kids. And the kids totaled to an additional six, counting the babies.

It was… an admittedly tight squeeze in the living room.

Sara Jane introduced Jeremy. Jeremy had been expecting to be treated like a stranger. He had vanished when he was a baby, after all, and his younger-older brothers probably wouldn’t remember him at all.

And yet, it was like he knew them all his life.

They teased him and punched him playfully and acted so friendly, so familial it nearly made Jeremy break down. He was still crying from meeting Ma, but being dogpiled with so much affection was suffocating. In a good way. He had seen on sitcoms the intrinsic bond between family, and while he felt it with Dad, they also risked their lives nearly daily. But it was real, it was here, and it was wrapping him in a warm blanket.

Despite the chaos and the sheer number of people, Jeremy didn’t feel overwhelmed. He laughed and played along with their jokes, cracking some back when he could get a word in. Scott ragged on his dog tags, he countered by pointing out the hole in his pants. Michael told him he was still a shortass, he replied with “it takes one to know one.” Elliot and Ricky were the closest to actually getting hurt, and that was only because Jeremy elbowed them both so hard they nearly fell over.

For the first time in 25 years, Jeremy understood what “home” meant.

The kids were especially curious, eager to meet their uncle and step-grandfather. Within seconds, young Rebecca- only four years old- was challenging Jeremy to a race around the house. “I’m the fastest kid in the world,” she bragged, puffing out her chest.

“Oh yeah?” Jeremy asked. “That a fact?”

“You wanna test me? I beat Johnny Three-Legs at running, and he’s got three legs!” Jeremy laughed and stood from the couch, letting her lead him outside. “On the count of three, OK?”

“You’re on, pipsqueak,” Jeremy teased.

“Onetwothree GO!” Rebecca yelled, taking off in a sprint. Jeremy knew that, by all accounts, he should beat her. His legs were longer, she didn’t have the proper running stance, and it was his job to be fast. That’s what he got paid to do. But some small voice was telling him to let her win, so he did. “Ha! I told ya!”

“Ya sure did,” he replied, mock panting. “Look at you, a freaking blur on the green. You’re goin’ to the Olympics, kid.”

Rebecca beamed and hugged his leg. “Promise, Uncle Jeremy?” He nodded because, after that display, there was no way he could speak without squeaking like a chew toy.

Rebecca skipped back inside, past Raphael, who was watching on the stoop. “You’re a natural with children,” he observed. “I used to do the same thing when you were that age.”

“Wait- wait, really? You sure fooled me,” Jeremy said.

Raphael rolled his eyes. “What’s my job again, mon lapin?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Jeremy leaned against the railing, watching Raphael’s cigarette smoke in the wind. “Hey. Uh… thanks for arranging all of this. You really didn’t need to.”

“But I did. I meant it when I said this was overdue. I’ve been wanting to introduce you to the rest of the family for a while, but have been unable. Then that whole ordeal with the supposed tumors, and-” Raphael exhaled slowly. “It wouldn’t have been fair to you if you died without knowing them. I would’ve never forgiven myself.”

Jeremy punched his shoulder lightly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, pops. It all worked out, we’re still kicking, and that roast chicken Ma’s making smells incredible. Everything’s perfect.”

Raphael finished his cigarette and smiled. “Oui. It is.”

. . .

While Sara Jane had been able to get the rest of the family here, it was a school night. Kids needed to be tucked in by 9:30, so most of Jeremy’s brothers were gone by 8. Elliot was staying overnight, as was his boyfriend. Otherwise, the house quickly went from bustling to barren.

It gave Jeremy a chance to explore his would-be childhood home.

He made his way upstairs, pushing open one of the doors. It led- to little surprise- to a bedroom. It was set up like a nursery, with a crib in one corner and a toddler bed in the other. Toys were scattered about across the floor.

He heard Sara Jane sigh behind him. “This was your room, you know.” Jeremy turned to look at her as she flipped the light switch. “That crib… I had put you to bed the night your father planned to fake his death. I was in on the whole plan, naturally. He wanted to hold you one last time, so I said OK. When I woke up the next morning… you were both gone.” She exhaled slowly, grabbing onto his shoulder. “I wrote both of you off as dead, but I knew what had happened. Honestly, should’ve figured it out before then. You hadn’t woken me up crying,” she joked. Her eyes were watering.

Jeremy hugged her, pulling her close. “You never took the crib down?”

“By the time I was ready, Bobby’s wife was pregnant, so I kept it up for my grandbabies. I knew- I knew you were out there, sweetie. Both of you.” She kissed his cheek, squeezing him.

“I-I never got to be a normal kid, really,” he confessed. “I mean, Dad did his best, gave me comic books and board games and stuff, but-but I never went to school or made friends or anything like that. I-I didn’t even know I had a family. It took me forever to even realize I had a Ma. An-and everything I did-” The tears were flowing again, more freely than earlier. “Ya missed me losing my first tooth, and potty trainin’, and all that stuff parents should know about. I-I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Sara Jane wiped his cheek dry. “Don’t apologize for what your father did, Jeremy. And definitely don’t apologize for me not potty training another kid. Besides… hold on, I’ll be right back.” She made her way down the hallway. Jeremy didn’t follow, instead deciding to examine the crib. This was where he grew up. It was a simple crib, obviously well-used. Not worn-down, mind, just… used. It had a history. A history that Jeremy wanted to decode, but unlike his dad’s ciphers, he didn’t have the key.

“Took me a second to find it,” Sara Jane said. She handed him what appeared to be a scrapbook. “Raphael- he wrote when he can. Taught me some basic codes, would send out letters whenever you’d leave a town. Never left a return address, but…” Jeremy flipped through the pages, moving to sit on the small bed. The letters were all coded but appeared to be about how much Raphael missed Sara Jane. Updates on Jeremy’s growth. Letters from a father to his lover and son’s mother.

One page jumped out to him, though. “I remember this,” he said, running his fingers against the paper. It was a simple drawing of a young boy, holding a catcher’s mitt, and a taller man next to him. “I drew this after Dad took me to my first baseball game, for my eighth birthday. I thought I lost the drawing after we skipped town, but- he sent them to you?”

Sara Jane nodded. “And I kept them all. Oh, honey, the day I first heard your voice on the phone- Mikey can tell you, I damn near fell over. You sounded so happy, and even if I couldn’t see you, that’s all a mother wants.” Jeremy leaned against her and she shut the book. “That’s all a mother wants, sweetie. To see her kids be safe and happy.”

“I am, Ma,” he assured her. “I promise.”

They sat like that for a while, with Sara Jane commenting on various letters and drawings in the scrapbook. Apparently, Raphael sent her money when he could- more frequently now that Mann Co. paid so well. She also had a rough idea of their current occupations. “I figure, if you and your father are working for the same company- with his skills, there’s gotta be a whole lot of nonsense going on out in that desert.” Jeremy laughed at that because she wasn’t wrong. “But I also figure since he raised you right, he’ll keep the both of you safe.”

“I keep him safe too, don’t worry,” Jeremy added. “Uh- listen, it’s touching and all you kept the crib, but I don’t have to sleep in it, right?”

They both had a good chuckle over that. Their laughs were in perfect harmony.

. . .

The next two days were a mix of learning the family history and exploring Boston. It was the offseason, so there weren’t any games going on at Fenway, but Jeremy still got a picture in front of the park. Sara Jane took the pair to a restaurant that served “the best damn clam chowder in the contiguous United States.” Which, incidentally, led them to discover Jeremy was allergic to clams. Thankfully they didn’t have to go to the hospital- he just sort of immediately got sick before it passed- but it did suck.

It was damn good chowder, though.

They went down to the harbor where the Boston Tea Party happened. It was crowded with people, resulting in them not staying long. Jeremy was a bit better with crowds than Raphael, but neither was great with them. Came with the job. Getting overpriced memorabilia from a nearby gift shop, though, went over much more smoothly.

When not out on the town, Sara Jane dug out more scrapbooks and photo albums, catching Raphael up on what his stepsons had been up to. She showed Jeremy pictures from Ricky’s first school play to Scott opening up his butcher shop. Graduation pictures, wedding pictures, baby pictures- it was all there, and Jeremy devoured it. He wanted to know these people. He wanted to know his family. And he did. He learned about Michael’s stint in the Navy, Melvin meeting his wife, how Bobby’s son could dribble a basketball for twenty minutes straight. He learned about how his parents met. How Raphael loved each of Sara Jane’s children, even if they weren’t biologically his. How Jeremy wasn’t planned- few of the kids were - but they were both so, so happy to realize he was coming.

He also learned that, while diner food would remain the undisputed king, homemade meatloaf came pretty close.

. . .

The only problem came when it was time to leave. It wasn’t that Jeremy didn’t want to return to work, or leave his Ma behind. Sara Jane wasn’t even torn up over losing her son and lover again. It just felt like there was so much left to say, to do. There was uncertainty as to when they’d be able to return. “We get time off for Smissmas, I know that’s months away but I’ll be here, I promise,” Jeremy swore, hugging Sara Jane for the eighth time.

“You better,” she said, squeezing him tightly. “You have 25 years worth of gifts to catch up on, not to mention birthday gifts-”

“Ma, you don’t have to go that far,” he whined. He was touched, sure, but the thought of that much luggage was truly frightening. Oh God, he was going to have to get gifts for everybody, wasn’t he? What do kids even want for Smissmas?

“Hush, let me spoil my baby,” Sara Jane told him, kissing his cheek. “Oh, Jeremy…”

Jeremy nodded. “I know, but I’ll call. I’ll write, too. Send pictures if I can.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” Raphael assured her. Sara Jane stood to kiss his lips, with Jeremy looking away pointedly. “You have my word, ma petite chou-fleur.”

“Alright, alright- now get going, I don’t want you two missing your flight. That boss of yours sounds like she’ll tear you both a new one if you’re late,” Sara Jane said, shooing them away. “Love you boys!”

“I love you too, Ma!” Jeremy shouted back, for the very first time.

The drive back to the airport was quiet. Jeremy stared out the window, watching his hometown- he had a hometown- pass by. “Hey, dad?” he asked, still looking outside. Raphael grunted to acknowledge he was listening. “One of these days, our contracts with Mann Co. are gonna expire. We’re gonna have to find new jobs.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Raphael said. He tapped a rhythm against the steering wheel.

“And-and I was thinking when that time comes… maybe we could come back to Boston. Find some gigs out here,” Jeremy suggested.

Raphael sighed. “Unfortunately, being a spy means that you don’t have the option of retiring, Jeremy. Not until you’re unable to complete your job. At that point, though, you’ve probably died a dozen times over,” he explained. “Even if I could retire, settling down somewhere so close to people I care about- I would still have enemies.”

“Right. ‘Course,” Jeremy said. “It’s OK.”

“That being said,” Raphael continued, “you have the luxury of youth and not being tied down to such a career. If you want to find a job in Boston after we finish with RED, there’s nothing stopping you.”

“But people will still be after me, since I’m your son. And you wouldn’t be around.”

“Every child leaves their parents someday. And you’re strong, Jeremy. You can protect yourself and your family.” Raphael smiled. “I don’t believe Sara Jane needs much protecting, but I do worry.”

Jeremy laughed. “I mean, did ya see the muscles on Scott and Michael? Guys can probably bench press a tractor!”

They both chuckled before settling into quietude. Eventually, though, Jeremy had to break the silence. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you.”

“I love you too, mon lapin.”

“...so your nickname for Ma is fucking ‘little cauliflower?’ What the hell, Dad?”

#father-son bonding au #Team Fortress 2 #team fortress 2 au #tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #tf2 scout's mom #dad spy #thetriggeredhappy #spy x scout's ma #noodle writes

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mildinsomnia · 7 years ago

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2017 Personal Oscars

2017 TOP TEN

There is a scene in Reds, Warren Beatty's indulgent epic on the life of journalist John Reed, in which Reed implores Louise (Diane Keaton) to follow him to New York, telling her "You wanna write? Come where the writers are."

So agrees Lady Bird, played with aplomb by Saoirse Ronan, in Greta Gerwig's (probably somewhat) semi-autobiographical (but maybe not really) coming-of-age tale of the same name. She, wasting away in Sacramento, desires a life in New York, or maybe even Connecticut; any place where culture thrives.

This is a sentiment I’ve felt myself since I was at the age that Lady Bird could serve as my onscreen analogue, but one that hadn’t been as present as it was in the past year. 2017 was, in terms of cinema, a grounding force for me, and when I peruse my list of favorites from the year (above) I see a gathering of familiarity. There’s a trait in each of them that I tend to gravitate toward, something there that I look for in every film I watch, and when I find it I latch on, and they end up on lists like this. There’s a special sort of solace found in seeing a new movie from your favorite director, or one starring your favorite actress, both of which 2017 gifted me.

Saoirse Ronan is a revelation. She is by far the greatest actress of her generation, of the current working lot, and has become among the most exciting performers making movies today. This is not hyperbole, just facts of my own volition.

While Lady Bird doesn’t fit the mold of a big-budget actioner lauded with the addendum that it must be seen in theaters, it should garner such a suggestion on the basis of Saoirse Ronan's performance, as anytime she graces the screen is reason enough to venture out for the sole reason to say that you were there. Ronan, who broke out in 2007’s Atonement to the tune of an Oscar nomination at the age of 13, has ostensibly grown up on screen, treating her own adolescence as another role, impressively conflating her own growth as a person with that of an actor. Comparing her initial nod to her most recent could conceivably lead one to believe it was two different actors, a testament to both her natural talent and prodigious development.

To provide such rich material, Greta Gerwig penned a tenderly detailed screenplay (the best of the year), allowing Lady Bird to exist as a movie as much about the world as it is about its characters. Exploring the American economic caste system provides the film with its conflict- this is not solely a movie about teen angst, but rather a larger indictment of the struggles bestowed by times of economic turmoil and the pressure it expends on every branch of every family tree. This socioeconomic strife finds its roots in almost every aspect of the film- the opening, in which Lady Bird pines for a move east toward culture, is indicative of her ridding herself of the “poorness” of Sacramento in favor of embracing New York’s regality. All that Lady Bird desires requires large financial sums, that which her family cannot provide, resulting in her appearing ungrateful and constantly quarreling with her mother.

Here Ronan is tasked with handling a character that is sometimes unlikeable, yet undoubtedly amiable under her tough exterior. She excels in keeping her rootable through tumultuous times, and is in all a joy to watch. Throughout all of her performances, Ronan has demonstrated a keen ability to, within seconds, bring you to care about her character and hope for a happy ending. Lady Bird is no different, despite a shift in genre. Going from a film like Brooklyn to this, where she must rely on her comedic chops in favor of her infallible dramatic tendencies, is further evidence to the evolution of her talents, and it allows her to showcase her innate charm evident in all of her interviews, yet the film retains elements of both. In between the laughs, Lady Bird is a persistently sad movie, and it is this that elevates it above other films of its ilk, is the reason that the film resonates as strongly. It speaks so much to one's concerns about their place in the world, and not just those grand thoughts regarding the future, but rather of the mundane day-to-day variety, when climbing out of bed becomes the biggest struggle. There’s no singular moment to single out, the emotion instead surrounds and suffocates, but before you know it you’re back to laughing along with these characters you’ve come to know. It’s a lot like life.

But there was really only one choice for my favorite film of 2017. The end of the year saw the release of a new Paul Thomas Anderson film, an act I consider the greatest form of inspiration to a budding wannabe such as myself. There is one certainty in life: you are either an Alma or a Hungry Boy. The work of Paul Thomas Anderson is permeated with the formation of makeshift, dysfunctional “families,” that of which in Phantom Thread consists of Alma and said “hungry boy,” Reynolds Woodcock, the avowed swan song of Daniel Day-Lewis, he who has had his fill of acting. This, his second collaboration with Anderson, is an assertion that There Will Be Blood was no aberration, and that the two are perfect partners in cinematic achievements. But Anderson, in his career, has made an ideal duo with many a collaborator, including Jonny Greenwood, who returns to score Phantom Thread in a way that if the film appeared on TCM it would not at all feel out of place. But no matter who he surrounds himself with, Anderson always emerges as the most important element of all of his films.

Anderson is a self-admitted movie fanatic, and that is perhaps none the clearer than in Phantom Thread, wherein his love can be felt emanating from the screen. His camera glides through scenes assuredly, almost as if he’s showing off. And for as good of a director he is, his prowess as a writer seems to go unnoticed. Even in an original film like this, his words come across in a novelistic manner, as if he did adapt this from a Daphne du Maurier or an E. M. Forster novel, when in fact such an inclination is borne out of Anderson’s influence that commands the screen. No matter the genre or even the plot itself, I always find such joy in just watching his characters interact, those of whom are richly realized, performed perfectly, and leave more than a lasting impression. Each of his films has had more than one memorable character, and should this truly be Day-Lewis’ final film, it’s comforting to know he added one more to his and Anderson’s compendium, as it was a hell of a way to go out.

The conflation of Anderson’s adeptness at directing and writing comes in the form of the endings he crafts, and Phantom Thread ably joins the ranks of some of his best. The entire third act of the film can be described as something that needs to be seen to be believed, none more than the final frame. As mentioned, Anderson has a proclivity to make films about damaged people forming provisional families, usually in a zero-sum manner, but I can’t recall when it was as brutal as it is here, given the stakes it takes. Phantom Thread, in many a way, feels like an evolution in filmmaking for Anderson, as his cinematography continues to improve, his writing takes on darker, deeper paths, and as a whole, his films feel more grandiose in every way. And as they should; he’s our most vital filmmaker.

Onto the awards...

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