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thesquidkid · 3 years ago

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It's where you go when you're alone

Written for day 3 of malex week 21, "seventeen again", with also huge inspiration from day 2, "home".

/!\ There is mention of the 1x06 shed scene and of canon child abuse

This is mostly a Michael introspection, with a flashback to 2008, and Sanders being a good dad. Hope you enjoy! 😊 (Read it on ao3)

Home. That word, for the longest time, was foreign to Michael. He was living on this pile of rock people called Earth, looking to the stars, waiting for his family to come around and pick him up. And then, once they would come, he would be home.

But no one ever came down from the sky, no one brought him back home.

Growing up, being thrown around the foster system, he never had a place to call home. When the school asked for his home to list in their system, he wrote down the address of the drunk who he was staying with.

But it was just an address, a roof over his head. Definitely not the home all the other kids had, with hot meals as a family, goodnight kisses and help with homework.

He ran away at the first opportunity he had, getting on a bus and going to the last place he saw his family. Roswell. But even there, there was no such thing as home. More drunks, people who only cared about the paycheck and not about the kids they had under their roof.

And so Michael ran again, living in his truck, the one he paid with his own money, as soon as he was old enough to work and earn a paycheck of his own. But the bed of a truck did not make a home.

When he was 19, an old airstream showed up at the junkyard. The old piece of metal was in a dreadful state, barely holding together. He convinced old man Sanders that he could fix it up, and after many long nights, he finally got a glimpse of a home.

He moved his airstream every few weeks, not wanting the cops to catch onto him, but never going far from Roswell. After a few years, however, he settled by Foster’s ranch, the last place he had any real connection to, on this miserable pile of rocks.

But even then, he had been kicked out. Forced out of the only place he had ever dared called home. The airstream held all of Michael’s life - from alien tech to photographs of when life seemed worth fighting for.

Out of all the places in Roswell, his airstream parked near Foster’s ranch was the only one that 28 year old Michael Guerin considered home. Sure, there was the junkyard where he worked, but he always felt bad for stealing under the old man’s nose. One may also consider the Wild Pony as his home, with how often he could be found sitting on a stool getting drunk, of the Sheriff detention cell, with how often he got arrested.

And as much as he enjoyed his time at the junkyard or at the Pony, he had his guard up, didn’t let his defences down until the door to the airstream was closed and he didn’t have to worry about the real world. Where he could let it all out, the pain, the solitude, the sorrow.

There was a boy, once, who gave him a glimmer of hope - that things could be good on that miserable pile of dirt people called Earth. But that glimmer had brought pain and scars that would follow Michael for the rest of time, some less visible than others.

—

Thinking back to that day, he curled up his fist, flexing his knuckles, and, for a short moment, missing the pain that for so long had come with any movement. He took a deep breath and took in his surroundings with a smile.

He was in his truck, having just arrived at the junkyard. He got out, slamming the door louder than necessary and walked to his airstream, longing in front of the door, before opening it.

“Finally getting your ass back at work?” said a voice from behind the airstream, making Michael jump, before he rolled his eyes. Sanders appeared in Michael’s field of view, looking as grumpy as Michael knew him to be.

“Yep,” Michael replied, popping the ‘p’, “missed me?” he asked, turning to Sanders and closing the door to his trailer.

“Enjoying the quiet, more like,” Sanders retorted, with no bite to his voice. “I thought you’d moved out?” He raised his chin in the airstream’s direction, referencing the fact that in the past six months, Michael hadn’t slept at the junkyard a single night.

Michael chuckled, rubbing the back of the back, feeling somewhat embarrassed at being caught. He went to sit at one of the chairs in front of the airstream, inviting Sanders along.

“You know,” he said after a while, the two of them sitting in silence until now, “this thing was the closest to a home a ever had.”

Sanders scoffed, “what about your boy’s house?” In his humble opinion, Alex’s house made a much better home than a piece of scrap on wheels. Except, he also understood better than anyone the need to be independent, to have something just for yourself. And the fact that the airstream was on wheels was just an added bonus in case you needed to run away.

“It’s not his house,” Michael whispered with a smile, looking at his hands on his laps. His left hand was still curled in a fist, but not as a reminder of the pain. He held something in that hand, something that he knew, if he looked at it properly, would only become more real.

And he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

Sanders stayed quiet, not one to talk much about emotions and feelings, and Michael appreciated it. His mind wandered back to the boy who offered him a warm place to stay at night.

—

Michael was laying on his back on the wooden floor, looking at all the various posters on the wall. He didn’t know who most of these bands were, but he recognised some of the names, knew how much Alex loved them.

He often felt like an outsider when the other kids his age talked about cartoons or movies or music. In the system, he didn’t have access to VHS tapes, and none of his foster parents cared enough to buy him some. And as for now, well, he didn’t have the money to buy music or movies, so he just stayed quiet, hoping no one would invite him in the conversation and make fun of him.

But Alex was different. He shared his passion with such joy and love that all Michael could do was listen in awe and he explained the different bands, the different cartoons he grew up with, and his current obsession with a TV show called Buffy.

Michael tried, wanted, to remember everything Alex said, but sometimes it got messy in his brain and he would get confused. But Alex didn’t seem to care, happy to explain it all one more time.

The two of them would spend many nights in the shed, talking, playing music, or just stay there in silence, enjoying each other’s company, being safe for a few minutes, before real life bit back.

Michael quickly sat up as he heard the door open and sighed in relief as he saw it was only Alex on the other side. He smiled at the other boy, who went to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of him.

“I brought you this,” he said sheepishly, taking out a few comic books from his backpack. “These ones are the X-men -” he handed Michael three different comic books. “They have super powers and are pretty cool. This one’s Gambit, he can manipulate heat and create kinetic energy and -”

Against his will, Michael zoned out, for the first time not hearing a word Alex was saying. He was holding between his hands the story of someone like him. And Alex thought he was cool.

He looked up at the other boy, who was in the middle of an explanation, gesticulating his hands, no doubt reenacting Gambit’s abilities. Alex froze, thinking that Michael’s reaction was about him not enjoying the comic books he had brought.

Seeing the look start to appear on Alex’s face, Michael quickly spoke up, “It sounds so cool!” he said, probably a bit too enthusiastic. “This is, uh, the first time anyone shared something so personal with me.” He lowered his voice, suddenly feeling like maybe Alex didn’t want to have to deal with Michael’s awkwardness and lack of culture anymore.

“Oh,” was all Alex said, but in that simple word, Michael heard understanding. In that simple syllable, Michael heard that Alex maybe wasn’t so different, not used to receiving gifts, not used to nice coming without a flip side.

“Well, it’s not like I’m giving them to you,” Alex said after a beat, smiling warmly at Michael. Michael smiled back, and accepted the comic book, trying to remember as much of what Alex said.

For a few days afterwards, Alex would bring comic books, whether they were his or his brothers’. They would read them quietly, sharing a few funny strips, a few funny lines, enjoying the way these outsiders came together as a family.

It gave them hope, that maybe, one day, they too could find their people, find their place in the world, where they didn’t have to hide and live in shame and in fear.

—

Michael snapped his head towards Sanders, who simply raised his eyebrow at him. “Of course,” he breathed out, holding his fist tighter, feeling the metal dig into his palm.

“Alex asked me to move in with him.”

There, he said it. The words rang in his ears, remembering when Alex said them, handing him the key, saying that most of Michael’s belongings had mostly already moved in anyways.

“That’s a good thing right?” asked Sanders, confused as to Michael’s current state.

“Yeah, it is, most of my stuff is there already, and you said it yourself - I haven’t slept here in months.”

“But,” Sanders supplied, knowing that things were never that simple.

Michael sighed. “But,” he repeated, “last time I dared to dream of a future, reality bit me in the ass.” His voice was bitter as he clutched his fist harder, wincing as the key dug into his hand, no doubt leaving blood behind.

“Your hand,” was all that Sanders said. He always had his suspicions as to how Michael had gotten injured, never believing the kid as he talked about an accident fixing his truck, but never questioning it further - he trusted Michael to tell him whenever he was ready.

But now, he was starting to understand better. Understand how exactly Alex tied into Michael’s broken hand. And he knew he wasn’t going to like the full story.

“Jesse Manes,” Michael said with a flat voice, shifting in his seat, “he caught us together, and he flipped. Grabbed a hammer. Tada,” he waved his fist in the air, having unclenched it a little bit, feeling a slight sting from the key.

Sanders’ blood was starting to boil, and if Jesse Manes wasn’t already dead, he would make sure the other man would pay. And a lot of things started to make sense - including Michael’s reaction to living with Alex.

“Look, kid, I ain’t an expert in relationships, but that kid has been your one for over a decade now. You started to do stuff you wanted to, so move in with him. Live a boring picket fence life. Be happy, or whatever kids say these days.”

Michael shook his head, but he was smiling. He opened his fist, wincing as he saw the red drops and the lacerations on his skin. Without a word, he stood up, heading towards his truck.

“Hey,” Sanders called after him, “you got work to do, where d’you think you’re going?”

“Home.” Michael simply said, waving at him as he got into the driver’s seat. He drove out of the junkyard, looking at the familiar shape of his airstream in his rear-view mirror. He was turning that chapter of his life, starting a new one.

He may have been living with Alex for the past six months, there was something different about owning a key, about officially moving in. It was scary, but Michael had found his family, and they didn’t come down from the stars to get him.

No, he found them all on his own, and he wouldn’t change a thing.

He used his key to open the front door, smiling as he heard music come from the living room.

“Honey, I’m home.”

#malexweek21 #malex21 #this got a bit out of hand 😅#i actually had three different ideas at first #but somehow two of them tied together pretty nicely #tw 1x06 shed scene #tw child abuse #rnm fic #thesquidkid writes

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ober-affen-geil · 5 years ago

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(tw abuse) I knew the hammer scene was coming in rnm because i had seen gifs of it but when i actually saw it in the real episode i still felt my stomach drop 50 meters. Its a really well done scene but holy shit it is terrifying to watch

Oooooh anon. I’m going to bend my own rules a touch and break the fourth wall here because the bts deserves to be acknowledged imo.

If you made it this far, CW for discussion of gay bashing/abuse and homophobia.

Fam. *deep breath* Fam. I am not a person who is easily put off by violence or gore on my screen. Somehow I can walk the fine line of suspension of disbelief and “none of this is real” well enough that it just doesn’t bother me. But boy, I’m not actually positive I watched that scene all the way through even the first time I saw it because I knew, I knew, what was going to happen as soon as that door opened and fuck I didn’t want to see that.

The kicker is, we didn’t actually really get gore. The thing that makes that scene so viscerally disturbing is 100 percent down to the performances of the three actors in that room, Michael Vlamis, Tyler Blackburn, and Trevor St. John. And I want to take a second here and give a lot of credit to Trevor St. John because he has to be very, very good at his job to make me hate his character as much as I do. Jesse Manes is terrifying and that is all thanks to Mr. St. John.

Part of it is the writers, they deserve credit for rounding out his character because part of what makes him so scary is how realistic as a person he is. He’s more than one thing, he’s not easily whittled down to a single character trait and that makes him have more substance than a cartoon villain. But Trevor St. John gives him physical presence and that man does such an excellent job of so clearly projecting cold-blooded violence held in check it is unnerving.

In Jesse’s conversation with Alex at the drive-in in 1x03 I’m pretty sure his hands are behind his back the entire time but the way Trevor was carrying himself and the way he looked at Tyler was without question a threat. And when he enters the shed in 1x06 it’s the same. It’s not rage it’s disappointment on his face, it’s “look what you made me do”. It’s the implication that Jesse fully believes this is a reasonable and necessary reaction to have, Alex knew the rules and he broke them anyway. This is what happens now. This is the only way Alex will learn.

And that’s scary as fuck.

tl;dr The hammer scene in Roswell is extremely nuanced and very carefully done; it’s one of the best depictions of its kind I’ve ever seen. And if I have my way about it, I will never watch it again.

#roswell new mexcio #rnm #jesse manes #tw abuse #tw gay bashing #tw homophobia #trevor st john #ask

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