#timmy's argument is that Hey that's my long lost brother i just really want to spend time with him

[astrolotte]

Stupid episode idea where RIGHT after Timmy gets his memories back and reunites with Cosmo & Wanda (but not Peri), he and Dev get stranded together in Fairy World. Dev wants to get back to his fairy rather than hang around this stranger, and Timmy wants to meet up with his brother, but the thing is...

Dev keeps talking about getting back to "Peri". Timmy keeps talking about reuniting with "Poof". Neither of them realize that they're talking about the same person, and both keep trying to INSIST that their Person is more important to find first, and they can meet the other afterward.

Upon Peri finding out about this, he just. stares. You can see the years subtracting from his immortal life. Sigh.

[miss-choco-chips]

Young Just us college au

Rent a room, Dick said. It’ll be a nice experience. Don’t just buy a flat, that’s boring and lonely.

Tim had tried to tell his brother that maybe he prefered lonely to crazy, but Dick had insisted. And everyone knew just how difficult dealing with that could be, so he knew better than to resist.

At least, he had tried to comfort himself, he knew the people he’d be rooming with. They were all his friends, an odd assortment of assholes he’d picked up on school, summer camps, vacation trips, scientific events, even comic cons, and just… fell platonically in love with them.

Maybe, as Dick said, it would be fine.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

No, it wasn’t fine.

-Jay -he whispered into the phone, hoping he wouldn't be heard by the others on the other side of the door- Jay, they are crazy. I need extraction asap. We could fake my death and I can go to University somewhere else.

The older man laughed in the other end of the receiver, the sound of pages rustling indicating Tim had caught him during his daily grading paper sesion. That was the sound of crying students dying over carefully demolished arguments.

-They are all your friends, Timbo. If you fake your death, you’ll need to start over again and meet new people.

Tim hissed.

-Exactly, babybird. Also, this is day one of sharing a house, how bad can it possibly be?

-Jay, they left the kitchen lights on. It’s daytime! Why the hell do they need the lights on? Aren’t they aware of how big the bill is gonna be if they are like this?

-...Timmy, you… you are a billionaire. I think that should be the last of your concerns.

-That’s not the only thing. It’s so noisy, Jay. I choose the attic room hoping it’ll be nice and quiet. It’s not. I can hear everything. What do I do if some of them pair up? I’ll be stuck here listening to them having sex forever!

-...I don’t know where to begin.

-You can start by contacting B for me. He was right when he said it wasn’t a good idea for me to live with other people. But I can’t call him to help me out of this, because I think Dick blocked my number in his phone, and my emails don’t seem to be reaching him.

-He said it because you are the purest of his children, and he knew college was corruptive enough without adding dorm sharing to it; that was his version of helicopter parenting. But Timbo, it’s moving day. You’ve been there for less than five hours. And you already emailed B?

-The first thing Slobo did when he came in was to fart. In the middle of the living room. I can’t live with them, they are animals!

-They are your best friends, you’ve known them forever.

-But I never had to deal with them in a closed space for an unlimited amount of time!!! I’m trapped here.

-...

-...!

-...Are you hiding in a closet?

-...no. That would be stupid, in a three story house where I have my own/

-You are, ain’tcha?

-I am. Please help me?

Long sigh- I’ll meet you for coffee on the place near the Economics building so you have an excuse to be out for the evening while the others finish their moving. You’re done with your part, right?

-Yes! Thank you!

-You owe me.

-Next time Dick wants bonding time, I’ll sacrifice myself volunteering so you can run.

-And this is why you’re my favorite. Be there in ten.

-.-.-.-.-.-

-Tim? Tim! Here you are!

Blinking was a thing Tim suddenly remembered he needed to do, and he did it a few times as his eyes were dragged away from his book by a pair of hands on his cheeks.

-Kon? What are you doing in the library?

The other boy was panting slightly, flushed from what Tim guessed was a desperate run there.

-I was looking for you! You never came back after classes were done for the day, and you didn’t pick up your phone. We were very worried, dude. 

-I was just studying, chill.

-It’s almost midnight.

No, it couldn’t be.

-No, it isn’t.  I haven’t been here that long.

Serious and slightly worried, Conner thrusted his own phone in Tim’s face and… uh. Look at that. It was nearly midnight.

-Oh. Got distracted with research, sorry.

-It’s been barely two weeks, how much can you possibly need to study?

Unprompted, Kon started to help him pack his books and papers. He seemed utterly amazed by the almost illegible graphs and charts.

-No, this isn’t homework. I’m working on a thing for WE…

The rest of the way home was spent with Tim talking Conner’s ear off about shit he had absolutely no idea about, but didn’t complain, just holding Tim’s backpack with one hand while steering his sleep deprived friend back home with the other.

-.-.-.-.-.

-Bart? -Tim yawned, getting into the kitchen and raising a confused eyebrow at his friend- It’s… three am. What are you doing awake?

-Stress baking -the smaller boy replied, never stopping stirring the bowl- You?

-Papers and presentations.

-Classes or WE?

-Bit of both. What are you making?

-Cupcakes. Want some?

-They’ll go great with coffee, thanks.

They spent the next half hour waiting for the oven to do its magic talking about video games, classes and evil teachers.

-Your brother is the worst. TA. Ever. He always grades my papers and he’s a bitch about them.

-He relishes in the pain. It’s what keeps him young. I swear he never grew  past fifteen.

-It’s scary, and honestly so annoying. Like, I get pointing out mistakes, but he doesn’t need to be a passive aggressive ass about it.

-I’ll let him know what you think.

-Please don’t. I’m afraid of him, and the power he holds in his hands. The power to make me fail Creative Writing.

-Why are you even taking that class? Actually, what even is your major?

A shrug, and before Bart could open his mouth to reply, the timer let them know the cupcakes where done.

-You can have one before bedtime, dude. The circles under your eyes look like make up at this point. 

-You are one to talk, mister Stress Baking at Three in the Morning.

-But unlike you, I don’t have to be up at the ass of dawn. C’mon, have one of these and back up you go.

-Bite me.

-I’d rather bite this peanut butter miracle, but if you insist…

-No! Bart, get away from me!

-Then go to bed!

-Go to hell!

-I AM in hell! I have Jason Fucking Todd as my TA!

-IF YOU DON’T GO BACK TO BED RIGHT NOW, I’LL KICK YOU BOTH ALL THE WAY THERE! -Cassie’s voice echoed in the walls, and they both blanched at the reminder that her room was, in fact, in ground floor.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A part of college Tim had never considered, let alone readied himself for, was the… party bit. 

-What do you mean, of course you’re coming -laughed Anita, clutches firm on Tim’s sleeve as she dragged him into hers and Cassie’s room.

-No, I have to study for…

-You don’t have any midterm or final this week. I know, because I checked. No papers due either. This is literally the perfect time for you to party. 

-I can’t, I…

-Suck at socializing? Yeah, cher, I’m aware. That’s why awesome me is taking you as my plus one for this party. No need to thank me, glad to be your social buffer whenever you need me.

Tim started to resist in earnest when they got into the room and he caught a glimpse of the clothing Anita had apparently chosen for him.

-There’s no way I’m fitting into those pants! Let me go!

-I’ve seen you squeezing your butt into the vent that one time when Kon threw the key to the coffee maker cabinet inside it. If you could get in there, these pants are a piece of cake.

-No!

-Don’t make me hurt you, Drake.

-Anita…!

-Ugh! -she stopped, dropping Tim on her bed and crossing her arms. She averted her eyes- My ex is gonna be at the party. I might have been exaggerating a bit when I said I was over him, but I already promised my friends I was gonna be there. I… could really use your help here. I know it’s not your scene, but Kon and Bart have midterms, Slobo would straight up punch my ex with his astounding lack of subtlety, Miguel is away dealing with family stuff, and the girls are awesome but not really what I need right now.

A pause.

-Okay, but I’m absolutely not putting on that crop top. And we better not end up wasted, I have a reputation to uphold.

Spoiler alert: he did put on the crop top. And they had to call Conner to walk them home after the third time Tim walked into a lamp post and Anita fell into the campus’ pond.

-.-.-.-.-

They were walking back home late on a Friday when they were approached by a group of stupid, drunk dudebros. Tim was already dreading the moments to come before they even spoke, just by the way they kept eyeing Cassie’s legs and Anita’s rack. Cissie herself was wearing loose pants and a sweater, so she was safe from their disgusting examination. Not that it kept her from crossing her arms and looking down at the assholes.

-Heyyyyy, ladies. Wanna go clubbing with us?

Tim shrugged- He’s talking to you, girls. I’m out. Have fun.

Cassie caught him by his hoodie before he could take a single step. He heard her warning clear as day and sighed, defeated.

-Yess, you can go -slurred Dudebro number two, waving him away- There’ three of us, and three of those pretty things. You can get lost. 

-See, Cass? Hear the gentlemen. You don’t need me here.

Anita kicked him in the shin.

-No. We just got our nails done. You either solve this peacefully, or take care of it if it turns dirty. Why do you even walk us home if not to protect us from creepers like these?

A loud ‘hey’ came from the dudebros, but Tim ignored them. Silently, he pointed at Cassie’s legs (he had seen her crushing a watermelon between them once), Cissie’s arms (a thing of beauty that made multiple lesbians all around campus cry) and Anita’s katana (that she wasn’t supposed to keep on her person around other students, but who was gonna enforce any rules on the girl with the giant knife?).

-Excuse me? You three should be protecting me. I’m a rich, sheltered boy.

Apparently done being ignored, the three idiots decided this was a good time to throw the first punch. Which Tim dodged, without breaking eye contact with Cassie. She raised her eyebrow, not moving an inch. Cissie was examining her nails. Anita’s eyes promised hell.

He sighed, turned around, caught the second coming punch, and used the hand under his palm to force the dudebro to his knees. A knee to the face and then he turned to the other two. 

Next time, Slobo was walking with them.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Flip side:  the attic room had its own bathroom. Significantly smaller than the ones on the other two floors, but hey, no sharing. 

The downside: apparently, the bathroom vents all connected with one another, and because of their aligning schedules, he often took showers at the same time Miguel did.

Flip side: Miguel had the singing voice of an angel, and the acoustic was fantastic. Showers were rarely boring now.

Downside again: Tim often forgot himself and sang along, but his voice… wasn’t as pretty.

Flip side again: at least, judging by Miguel’s smile, he found it adorable rather than pathetic.

Downside number three: Greta and Cissie’s room, by some unsolved mystery, also had connecting vents to the bathroom, and the archer girl was… less charitable about Tim’s inability to sing.

Flip side: Greta liked him better than most of their house mates, and she had more than enough dirt on Cissie to keep her from sharing the secret of Tim’s awful voice. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

-Hey, baby bird. Sorry I’m calling just now, it’s been a while.

-Hey Jay. Don’t worry, you’re busy grading papers.

-How do you know?

-Bart was crying in the tub this morning. Completely clothed and eating nachos with whipped cream, I might add.

-What is that boy even studying? I know he has Chem classes, Roy is his TA, and Kory saw him in the designer’s building. 

-That is an unsolved mystery for the ages. 

-Hey, speaking of your housemates, how’s it going?

Tim stopped on his way out of the kitchen, eyes growing fond as he examined the group on the living room. They were fighting over that night’s movie choice. He didn’t know why they tried, Greta was gonna win. Nobody could resist her and Miguel’s puppy eyes. 

-It’s… it’s been great, actually.

-Uh huh.

-But don’t tell Dick. He’ll be unbearably smug.

-Of course I won’t. You still have that time I crashed B’s favorite car on me.

-Oh, Oh fuck! -came Slobo’s voice- TIM, BRING THE FIRE EXTINGUISHER!

A loud crash. Tim winced, eyes leaving his friend in favor of the wall. If he didn’t see it, it wasn’t happening.

-TIM, BUD, WE NEED SOME HELP HERE!

-...what was that, Timbo?

-Nothing.

-TIM, TIM, THE TV IS ON FIRE!!! COME QUICKLY BEFORE IT REACHES THE XBOX OR SO HELP ME GOD I’M MURDERING EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM!

-...Tim?

-Don’t tell B.

-Gotcha. Going to save their lives?

-More like hiding in my room until they sort themselves out or die. Good luck on those papers.

-Good luck on surviving.

[hollerace]

Mrs. Wahlstrom--Feb 5, 2021

How do you get into a fight the first time you see someone? When you’re the ripe old age of six? That’s the way it happened with Lloyd Tichey and me. We had just moved in to Midfield Avenue. I saw a kid across the street, playing between the two garages that took up the block. I crossed the street to inspect and got pelted with a clod of dirt for my trouble. I found a hiding spot and armed myself. After a brief fusillade, I poked my head out; so did Lloyd, who said, “My mom’s got iced tea.” Within first sips, our friendship was cemented. Lloyd was younger than I, not by much. He was a bit taller (who wasn't?) and better at sports and games. The surrounding streets were our arena, with plenty of kids and fewer cars. Were moms really allowed to drive? Not in our neighborhood. It didn’t take us long to confront a common enemy. Mrs. Wahlstrom lived next to me and anointed herself the personal enemy of kids having fun. She appeared regularly in attempts to quelch our enjoyment. Some of the games could attain high volume levels, particularly kickball. The sport was similar to baseball. An inflated ball would be rolled to the “batter.” You can figure out the rest. Four bases, hits, runs, enjoyment. Wacky Wahlstrom, as we called her, used her porch as her pulpit. Fortunately for us, she was a native Swedish (we guessed) speaker. Diatribes, accompanied by boney, croney finger-points, began with, “You keeds,” followed by screechy, unintelligible syllables, accented with various avian screeches, hoots and gabbling. Since she was a grownup, we didn’t sass her back, nor did we listen to her admonitions. Occasionally, a ball would find its way onto her porch. The nearest kid would race up there to retrieve the precious piece before she could confiscate it. Lloyd Tichey (pronounced “Ticky”) feared her least. He would march right up to Mrs. Wahlstrom and face her down until she surrendered whatever she had just nicked from us. One time, during a game break, I opined, “I wonder if there was ever a Mister Wahlstrom?” Several theories ensued. Lloyd’s stance was, “There was a guy, once. He musta killed himself.” We howled. Lloyd had an older brother, Barry, who was in my grade. He was quiet, virtually tacit, forever riding his bike down to Birch Creek to fish. An even older brother (Jimmy, I think) lived elsewhere. He was wild-eyed with bushy uneven hair and given to loud forms of addressing anyone. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING, TIMMY?” he would shriek as he raced from his car to the house. I never knew how to answer him. Mr. Tichey was a dapper, tanned, mustachioed man who travelled for work. His wife always looked furrowed; she seemed to worry a weathered washcloth in her hands as she walked about the neighborhood. She was followed everywhere by Baby Myra, a rotund little girl whose face needed constant swipes by her mom’s accessory. Their house smelled of cabbage. All the kids looked to Lloyd for leadership. He was a skilled organizer of games--a natural arbiter. If there was ever a problem, Lloyd seemed to rule. For a time, Dark Mark Longuiel, who lived down by The Field, started hanging around our street. He readily disagreed with anyone, and always seemed champing for a dispute. He even got mad at Ellen Botsford, who was far and away the prettiest girl who played with us. (Yes, we needed no Title IX; we just naturally went co-ed.). Lloyd Tichey got in his face. Harsh words, no blows, no Mark. As we grew, street play lost its popularity. We rarely saw Mrs. Wahlstrom. Once, when she was inching her ancient DeSoto down the driveway at a glacier’s pace, little Martin Botsford yelled, “Hey, Wacky Wahlstrom!” Lloyd immediately shut him down. “Leave her be,” he said sharply. Little Martin was already growing into quite the pain. But the little old lady seemed to fade into her dun, once-burgundy house. “She must have eighty Wiffle Balls in there,” remarked Lloyd one time. He remained an untitled leader in the ‘hood, but I was his consigliere, so to speak. Lloyd would ask me Big Questions. Many of these were about the aforementioned Ellen Botsford.

We were approaching the age where kickball dimmed in intergender activities. Most summer evenings, we played a game of Chase. This was a sort of an offshoot of the classic pastime, but much more hiding was effected as opposed to any seeking. I was just emerging from one of my favorite lairs, behind Crabby Creiner’s shed. I just happened to spy Lloyd Tichey and Ellen Botsford sneaking out of Muldoon’s lot, which provided excellent leafy cover. They were holding hands.

Wait! What? Suddenly, the rules of every game changed. Such manual interlocking was a brave, new world to a pre-shaving Catholic boy, at once exciting and terrifying. But Lloyd and Ellen? No way! No wonder all the questions.

I guess I liked some girls. There was a brief crush on Lisa Longborg, who was our eighth-grade lunch monitor. A veritable amazon at five-seven, she would camp at Sister’s desk while we ate on days too wet for recess. I would invent reasons to approach the desk while she sat there, imperious over her bologna-on-Wonder (pencil-sharpening was a good one), managing to sneak glances at her ever-burgeoning mammarial development. I wasn’t the only boy to attempt this ruse.

There was also the exotic, raven-tressed Ann Marie Pandolfo, whose glamour faded for me when she ironed a Paul Anka image on the back of her coat. This also garnered the disapproval of The Good Sisters.

I barely had the chance to recover from this tectonic shift in my life-views when another tremor hit. Lloyd announced that his family was moving up to Northfield, a suburb some ten miles north of town.

It seems Mr. Tichey had earned some sort of promotion at work, enabling his brood to improve their lifestyles. I was forlorn at first, then resigned.

The school year was bearable (Lloyd went to the public school), but that first summer loomed dusty, empty and stifling. There was the LAG (Lark Avenue Gang) for fun, just a couple of blocks away. Games of Chase still took place. Again I hid alone, noticing that more and more couples were pairing off.

My father even drove me up to Northford once to visit. The streets had no sidewalks or phone poles, with names like Chipshot Road or Rolling Mews Lane.

The Ticheys had a big, split-level ranch, a bigger yard. As neat as it was to see Lloyd, the entire scenario loomed disjoint, foreign. Even Baby Myra seemed clean, and the  house didn’t smell of cabbage

.I didn’t realize our city was slowly draining. People, stores and services were migrating. And a friendship faded, tattered pages of memories from a book hidden away on a musty shelf.

Not long after, I went off to Campion Prep; Lloyd ended up at Northfield High. I found the drums and Lloyd did the same for basketball. Our teams never played each other, for my school kept  an urban schedule. But the Despatch would cover Lloyd’s games, where his star would shine brighter as we neared graduation.

No sports legend, I even took Ellen Botsford to the movies once. She later ditched me for a Campion U. guy who had a sleek Honda bike. Who could blame her?

When I returned home after my freshman year at Sacre Coeur College, I fielded an odd phone call. It was from Mrs. Tichey. Her voice trembled as she told me how Lloyd had joined the Marines right after graduation. This unnerved me. I had thought for sure that a hoops scholarship awaited him. I asked for a way to get in touch. She gave me an FPO address. I wrote to him in vain.

Two summers later, I was rehearsing nightly with a local band, awaiting our maiden visit to a recording studio. One evening, a long Cadillac convertible pulled up to the house. Inside was Lloyd Tichey, in civilian clothes, but looking every bit the cut-and-pressed Marine.

Surprised, I hopped in, and we drove down to Lady’s, the seawall where Park Terrace met the Sound. It was his father’s ride, but Lloyd produced some cold Schaefers.

“I’m sick of this Honor Guard, shit, Timmy,” he began. An influential state senator from Northfield had arranged for Lloyd to secure this light-duty post at the governor’s mansion in Hartford.

“But, Lloyd,” I said, “this keeps you out of the war. Easy going.”

“Bullshit. Anyone can carry a flag. I’m a Marine; I want to fight.” I saw this was no time to voice my concerns over the Viet mess we had gotten into. His anger blossomed: sharp eyes, tightened features. I felt the tension.

We drank in silence. We both knew an argument was futile. As he dropped me off, we shared a brief hug, something we had never done as kids.

Our lives, like two opposing streams, changed courses, each divining its own path, surging forward in separate worlds.The ne

xt May, I read in the paper about Operation Georgia in Viet Nam. What made me notice was that the 9th Marines were involved. Lloyd’s unit.

I didn’t get a phone call. Reading the article in the Despatch galvanized my spine. I didn’t care about the heroes in Quang Nam province. But the article did include that a Lloyd Tichey of Northford wouldn’t be returning home. His remains, however, would.

I gleaned that there would be full military honors at Quantico, but not until a viewing was scheduled here in the city.My mom had sold the house by then, but on the day of the wake, I drove down Midfield Avenue. Why? An unseen force directed me down our old street. Maybe I wasn’t that surprised to see a cab pulled up next door to my old house.

I parked and walked over to the cabbie. “What’s the fare?”

“Some Mrs. Wallstorm. Goin’ ta Wolke’s funeral parlor. Sposta wait.”

I tipped him and told him to grab a better fare. Soon, she appeared on her porch. Hunched over like a question mark, she made for the stairs. I hustled over to help her. How old could she be? She seemed ancient when we were kids. I cradled her elbow as she descended.

“I gotcha, Mrs. Wahlstrom,” I said. She finally looked up, peering at me through veiled, powdery crinkles. I was afraid her arm, impossibly frail, would collapse under my grip.

“Oh,” she said, “leetle Teemy. We go see Lloyd, no?”

We drove the mile or so in silence. Every other time I had listened to her, she was yelling at me. This, somehow, seemed more appropriate.

My buddy, Juice Staley, worked at Wolke’s, so he procured a wheelchair for my passenger, who seemed grateful. We briefly stood beside the closed casket, bedecked with Old Glory. We were greeted by a forlorn Mrs. Tichey, looking uncomfortable in a dress. No husband in sight. She was propped up by Myra, now a young woman. I could see Mrs. Tichey’s washcloth lingering on a nearby chair. Jimmy, no longer wild-eyed, comforted Barry. The scene was fraught with an uncomfortable confusion.

 No one seemed to recognize Mrs. Whalstrom, and I saw no fruit in explaining who she was. Some folks, obviously from the suburbs, entered to pay respects. This eased my tautness. Mrs. Wahlstrom gave me a look that said, “Enough,” and we made our way out.

We passed a Marine officer, all gussied up in his dress blues. He said, “Folks, you might want to stay. We are having a color guard, and an armed salute…”

Mrs. Wahlstrom, still in her wheelchair, was having none of this. “YOU GO TO HELL, MEESTER! ALL YOU KNOW IS FIGHT! FOR WHAT? TO KEEL YOUNG BOYS LIKE LLOYD!”

The man bristled and said, “You best get her out of here, you damned hippie,” he said. I answered with a mock, left-handed salute.

All Mrs. W. could manage on the drive home was, “I guess I told heem!”

At her house, she said, “You come in for tea, Teemy. You must.” How could I refuse this?I had never dared to venture through the door before this moment. I was a bit frightened as I did so. “You seet, Teemy,” she said, leading me into a living room. I rested, cradled in comfy cushions bedecked with lace antimacassars. I could smell the furniture polish and soak in the patina of age that seemed to settle on everything.

Then, I shot out of my seat, drawn to an opposite wall. It was covered with decorations, almost a shrine. There were dreamed newspaper clippings (“Tichey Scores 38 in Tourney Win”); pictures of Lloyd as an All-Stater. Handshakes, trophies: a celebration of Lloyd’s career. Looking further, I could see clips from my Who’s Who in American Colleges honors. Even that shot from an old Billboard when they handed out those Sesame Street gold records.

I stood there, in awe (was it joy? terror?) as she brought in the tea. She sensed my questions as we sat.“

I had no keeds, Teemy. You and Lloyd--good boys. Noisy but good. So I follow you, like you was my own boys.”

As the murky, late-afternoon sun slithered through the blinds, I could hear the thump of a ball and the shouts of youth. I fought tears mightily.

Somehow, it all made sense.

[curiousdamage]

Drabble Post ? Lost count

#94: “I Won’t Lose You Too.”

Fandom: Karate Kid - Becca-verse

Pairing: John Kreese/ Terry Silver (Platonic)

Life in the war is hard.  It’s even harder when you lose those you love.

Warning: Death mentioned.

1966

Cara read the name on the chart. Twice. She smiled as she walked over to the bed. She'd seen the picture that John kept in his pocket of a smiling boy standing next to a horse. He was older, for sure. Taller and more filled out, but those eyes were the same.

"Hi, Soldier," she said, softly, so as not to wake the other soldiers around him.

"Hi," he whispered hoarsely, putting a hand to his throat, confused.

"It's a side effect of surgery," she explained. "It's from the breathing tube we use during the procedure. The bad news is that the sore throat lasts a few days, the good news is that you're going to be fine. The doctors were able to remove all the shell fragments and fix your leg. A few weeks of taking it easy and you'll be right as rain.”

"That sounds good," he smiled, those dimples creasing his cheeks. "Too bad I had to get shot to get a break.” 

"Let me know how it works out," she returned his smile. "I might consider it. Here. Have some water." She helped him sit up and held a cup to his lips.

"Thank you, ma'am."

“Do you have a brother named, John, Private Kreese?"

"Yes, ma'am," he smiled, with pride. "He's a Green Beret." His smile faded. "Wait, he hasn't been here, has he?"

"Not in your position, no," she answered. "Some of his men were wounded. He came in to visit them a few times."

“And Johnny Ray made an impression, I see,"

"Johnny Ray?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, no," he groaned. "You didn't know that was his name, did you? He thinks 'John' makes him sound more grown-up. He always had to be more grown-up. I guess he needed a name to match."

"Get some rest, Soldier," she smiled, helping him lay down. "We'll talk more in the morning."

As soon as her shift was over, she raced to the Cobra Kai’s tent.

"Oh, hush," she replied to the groans and complaints. "I've helped operate on most of you. There's nothing here that I haven't seen before." She held out her hand. "Come with me, Johnny Ray, I have a surprise for you."

"Oooh!"

"Don't make me hurt you all," he glared around the tent, then looked at Cara. "What did you just call me?"

"Come with me, Johnny Ray," she grinned, again.

"Been reading medical charts?" he questioned.

"Just put your boots on and follow me, huh?" She rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest.

“Okay, okay. Damn, you're bossy," he said, lacing up his boots.

"Good thing you like that," she smirked. She led him over to the hospital.

He stopped short seeing the boy in the third bed. His mouth went dry and his breathing became barely discernable.

"Relax," Cara said, taking his hand. "He's going to be okay. He took some shell fragments to his leg. We were able to remove them. A few weeks in bed, some antibiotics, he will be just fine and have an awesome scar to show the girls back home."

"Will he get to go home?"

"It's not serious enough for that, unfortunately," she replied.

"Damn." He kissed the top of her head. "Thanks, Babe." He walked over to the bed and held the younger man's hand. "Hey, Twerp. Thought I told you to quit following me. You always get hurt and I always get blamed," he grinned.

"What I never understood was, if you knew I was just gonna try to follow you and get hurt, why you didn't just take me with you, to begin with?" the boy smiled as he opened his eyes. "Johnny Ray!"

For just a moment, Cara saw the boy that John had been before the Army and war had forced him to grow up too fast as the brothers grabbed each other in a hug.

"Well, the good news is, I don't think they can blame this one on you," Timmy laughed as they pulled apart.

"Oh, don't worry, they'll find a way," John smiled in return. "Damn, it's good to see you. I've missed you, kid."

----

1968

"So, where's that pretty nurse this time?" Timmy asked, lifting his beer to his lips.

"She's stateside," John replied.

"That's too bad," he lamented. "She seemed crazy about you.”

“You think?"

He nodded. "Like you didn't know that. You keep in touch?”

"Kind of have to," he smirked.

“Yeah? Why's that? You knock her up or something?”

"Well, yeah," he said, again, smirking.

"What?! No way," Timmy laughed.

"Yep," he grinned. "She traded her boots for booties.”

“You're pulling my leg again, aren't you? Trying to see what you can get your gullible baby bro to believe?"

"Not this time, Timmy," He reached for his pocket pulling out a photograph.

“Are you serious? I'm an Uncle? Get out of here!” 

"A little girl. Rebecca Anne. She's four months old now," he smiled, turning the picture around proudly.

"Damn!" He laughed, taking the photo. "Can't deny this one. She looks just like you."

"I think so, too."

"Man, you are someone's Daddy," he laughed, then pushed him playfully. "You're really a dad! How weird is that?"

John laughed, “It's pretty cool. I mean, I haven't actually seen her and I don't know when or if I ever will, but just something about…, knowing she and the hot nurse are waiting for me back home, it makes it easier to get through the days."

Tim nodded solemnly, squeezing his brother's shoulder.

"You'll make it home to your girls and if the hot nurse…,"

“Cara."

"What?"

"The hot nurse. Her name is Cara," he explained.

"Okay, if Cara still wants your stubborn ass, you two will have a whole houseful of kids. And Uncle Timmy will move in next door and teach them the important things in life. Like how to annoy you. I'll keep them hopped up on ice cream and soda. I'll be the best Uncle ever!" He looked at the picture again. “She is…, she’s beautiful, Johnny Ray.”  He sobered a bit.  “Have you told the folks?”

“I wrote them a letter,” he shrugged.  

“Oh, that should go over well,” Tim scoffed.  “You didn’t call them?”

“Like that’s an argument I want to have while having to scream ‘over’ every five words,” he retorted.  “Besides, I don’t want Dad…, being Dad about it and I’ll get pissed off and I just don’t want that.”

“Hey, it’s a grandbaby and a pretty one at that,” he shrugged.  “All parents want those.  Even Dad.”

“Won’t take that chance,” he shook his head.  

“Yeah, I get it,” Timmy agreed.  “Just think about it. Dad will be an asshole, but Mom will be thrilled. She deserves a call.”

“I’ll think about it,” John replied. “When do you ship out again?”

“Two days, you?” Tim took another sip of his beer and slipped the photo in his pocket.

“Not sure and I saw that.  Give me back my picture,” he grinned, holding out his hand.

“Oh, come on,” Timmy wheedled.  “She’s my niece.  Let me have it.”

“No.  It’s the only one I have. You’re not snaking my only picture of my daughter.”

“She’s my niece.  Your hot nurse will send you another,” Timmy laughed.

“Yeah, in six months, when the mail catches up with me again,” he replied, snatching the picture and putting it in his pocket, fending off Tim’s attempts to get it back.

“You’re still no fun, Johnny Ray,” he pouted.  

“Tell you what, next time the mail catches up to me, if there is another picture of Becca, I’ll give you this one,” John promised.  

“Then I’ll want the newest one,” he smirked.  “But I guess that’ll have to do.”

_________

“Kreese, I need to speak to you,” the base commander approached him as the unit was returning.  

He sighed.  What he really wanted was to sleep.  Not go over endless questions and paperwork with the Commander.  “Can’t it wait until I get a shower and a cup of coffee, Major?”

“Not this time, Son,” he shook his head.  

“Just go ahead then,” he sighed again.

The Major looked down and seemed to be having a hard time finding his words.  “Your brother, Private Timothy Kreese was brought into the hospital…, his wounds were too serious.  I’m sorry, John.  He didn’t make it.” He held out a set of dog tags.

John took them in a daze, still not believing it, as his soldiers crowded around to show their sympathy and support.

“His body is still in processing, if you’d like to pay your respects.”

“Thank you, Major,” John said, barely above a whisper. He swallowed hard, then turned to his men.  “Go ahead and get cleaned up, get some grub, you know what to do. I’ll…, um…, I’ll check in in a bit.”

“You want someone to go with you, Captain?” Racine asked.

“No,” he shook his head.  “You all need to rest.  They’ll probably send us back out first thing in the morning.  Take the time while you can.”

“Cap, we don’t mind,” another spoke up.  

“That’s an order,” Kreese replied.  “Racine, you’re in charge.”

“Yes, sir.”

He walked towards the makeshift morgue.  

“Oh, Timmy,” he sighed, finding the right table.  He pulled the sheet back.  He looked so young.  Too young to be there.  Too young to be gone.  “You weren’t supposed to be here.  I’m sorry. I was supposed to protect you.  I…, I’m sorry I left.  I’m sorry I wasn’t there.  I’m sorry I wasn’t here…,” he wiped his eyes.  “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better brother.  Maybe if I had…, let you take care of yourself more…, you…, well, it’s too late now.”

He fell silent, standing next to his brother.  At some point, he became aware of a tall figure standing guard in the doorway.  He should have known that Silver wouldn’t listen, even to direct orders.  He’d deal with that later.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, but when the light started showing through the door, he finally said goodbye.  

“I’ll call Mom. You were right.  She deserves a call.” He leaned down, putting his head against his brother’s forehead. “I love you, kid.” Just before pulling the sheet back up, he took the picture of Becca from his pocket and slipped it in Timmy’s pocket. “You would have been the greatest Uncle.”

He was surprised to see Silver still standing guard, though now he was more leaning against the doorway than standing in it. He hadn’t said a word all night.  That had to be some type of record.

“Come on, Silver,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder.  “Let’s get back to training.  I won’t lose you too.”

[iphoenixrising]

hi, can you expand on a prompt I've been musing about: something happens where tim snaps or is extra exhausted and takes it out on dick (by accident or on purpose idk) and "I would have thought you'd care a bit more that Damian cut my line, Dick. Too many people dying because of snapped wires and all that"

i just noticed prompts are closed disregard that ask im sorry

**

Hi babe. No worries. 

I’m not writing long things on here lol because I’m working on other stuff when I can, and it gets a little much when I try to do both? So, I’m still answering Asks sometimes and such but just not writing like long pieces, you know? Just like short things I can do in an hour or a few, things that strike the muse.

But like, I’m terrible about angst and the many, many ways fucked up things happened during the ‘transition’ of Robin from Tim and Dami in pre-52. Because yes, Dami did cut Tim’s zip line and was pretty much stand-offish a majority of the series (not to mention the douchy way he just walked out in his own Robin costume and was a complete dick, grinding that knife a little deeper). 

And I dunno, maybe Tim is mostly with the Titans, spans in Gotham short and sweet, without turning to Dick in particular because really, the message is pretty fucking clear. 

When B is back and Dick is in Nightwing again, he might catch up to his former partner and just wanna hang out while they bust some criminal heads. 

The reception is colder than he expected, Tim giving him no banter, no team work, just getting the job done. Dick isn’t used to the cold shoulder, but it does make him wonder about the last time he’d really interacted with Tim to get the attitude.

(The realization that it’s been a while is jarring once it hits later.)

So when the baddies are done and Dick stops him from leaving, tries to play a little big brother, he get a face full of fuck you and the zip line you swung in on.

The ensuing argument is hot, passionate Nightwing with flailing arms with cold, angry Red Robin. There’s so much repressed bitterness and betrayal that Dick is shocked, completely unprepared for any of it. 

“Tim, Dami needed it. You have to understand how that feels. I needed it, Jay needed it, and you needed Robin too. You won’t say you did, you’ll say it was all because Batman is the one that needed a Robin, but the kid in you? That’s who needed the tunic, and Dami was no different.”

“He didn’t need the tunic to cut my fucking zip line, asshole. He could have done that before and save all of us a lot of fucking pain.” Is out of Red’s mouth before he can even hope to pull it back.

But really babe. It could go one of two ways from there. Dick could immediately be shocked and angry, wanting to know why Tim never told him this, why he couldn’t have come to Dick back then? 

Or.

Dick could completely gloss right over it, “he was just a kid Tim!” and completely downplay everything because how many times have they almost died in the cape and cowl crew, Timmy? It was a few years ago, Dami’s better now! And just missing everything Tim needs to hear, playing into his fears instead.

It could be so heartbreaking babe, when Tim Drake inside the chest of Red Robin dies a little inside when he realizes this is way things are going to go. All the abandonment issues, all the never really part of the family, all the taunts of replacement and pretender are just so solidified at that moment. 

Dick pauses his light admonishment of holding Damian accountable when he’d also just lost his dad and the low, bitter laugh gives him some pause.

“Tim?”

“All that history and for what?” It’s said to himself, a sad musing. “Well, nice knowing you Dick. See you at the never-happening Robin reunion.”

“Wait, what? Tim! I didn’t mean–”

“Yeah, yeah you did. But hey, no problem. It was nice working with you, at least mostly. Say good-bye to B for me,” and he’s firing the grapple, is off into the night, ready to pack it up and step the other foot right the fuck out of Gotham.

Phone calls are re-routed, emails never answered, even the occasional world-ending kerfuffle is business as usual. When Red doesn’t bother with pretenses, just fights the good fight and fucking leaves, when it’s when was the last time? When all his efforts over the span of a months are utterly rebuffed does Dick finally get how deep those wounds really go.

It might just be a case of another lost Robin, or it might be the time Dick starts getting serious about getting both Jason and Tim back to the Bats.

But ah, that’s just a ‘what-if,’ isn’t it?

[ellana-ravenwood]

Pierced - Batmom x Batfam

I guess this somehow inspired me to write a very, very VERY short story about it ? I never wrote anything short so like...Here. Why not. So I wrote this thing in about 5 minutes for fun really. Hum. Oh and thought I’d get Tim for once, cause he has so few moments with his mom in my fics, so here ! Hope you’ll like my silly little story :

You can find my masterlist here : @ella-ravenwood-archives

_________________________________________________

It’s early in the evening when Tim enters the kitchen for a good cup of coffee, a well deserved one after a long and boring day at school. 

You’re already there, reading a book while sipping slowly on a warm cup of tea. You’re too focused on your book to really realize that your son entered the room, and Tim can’t help but smile at himself about this. 

He was pretty sure that, if a earthquake ever happened at the same time you were reading, you wouldn’t even notice it. 

He walks around the kitchen counter and goes to you to plant a soft kiss on your cheek and...That makes you react. 

You turn your head towards him at the speed of light, startled, and you can see your son is trying to hold his laughter in. Little rascal. 

He knows how engrossed in a book you can get, and he knows how it always scares you when someone touches you while you’re that focused on it. It’s like someone suddenly came into the World you locked yourself in, and pulled you out by force. Uh. You hated jump scares. 

But oh, it’s your boy, and you can’t be mad at him for something that small really, and so you smile back, ruffle his hair and kiss his cheek too. 

-Coffee’s ready, my maternal intuition told me you’d be here around that time, seeking caffeine, and I made a pot when I arrived. It’s still warm. 

He smiles some more, and chuckles a bit at your “maternal intuition” thing. It was an inside joke you had with your boys. 

They were often impressed that you’d just know things. Sometimes it was a skill they had no idea you had, and if they asked you where you learned how to do “that thing that just blew their mind”, you’d tell them : “I read it in a book” (though the day you told them you learned how to do backflips and such by reading from a book, they realized you were just messing with them). 

But sometimes, they were completely stunned that you’d know something about them, like the exact time they would wake up, what they needed in that moment to feel better, or the fact that they skipped school that same afternoon and made sure no one could call you or their dad...Then you’d tell them : “It’s my maternal intuition...And you’re grounded for skipping school”). 

Looking over at the coffee pot, Tim smiles at you and goes to...Take the pot. He knew he was going to drink more than one cup, so why bother getting a mug out ? Drinking straight from the pot will do just fine. 

You look at him as he comes to sit in front of you and roll your eyes. He just shrugs his shoulder at you, and raise an eyebrow. 

You probably should tell him something about drinking too much coffee, but then, that ridiculously smart boy would find perfect arguments about why he needs that much coffee to survive, and you’d just get frustrated...So you just smile at him knowingly. 

Besides, he wasn’t as smart as he thought, and probably should have wondered more why you weren’t fighting THAT much about his coffee consumption...There were a reason really, you always made sure to be the one that made his pot of coffee. 

It was decaffeinated. 

You smiled at the thought of your son being completely oblivious to that, as you look at him drinking his coffee, eyes lost somewhere behind you. 

It was a talent, really, how Tim could disconnect from reality and just stare blankly at something without really looking at it...however, he wasn’t completely like you and your books on that subject. If someone talked to him (and he wanted to answer, or he’d just ignore and stare some more), or if someone, like right now, was looking at him intently like you were doing it, then he would snap out of his haze and react. 

-What is it mom ? 

-Oh nothing my boy, I was just...Admiring you. 

-Admiring ? 

-What ? I’m not allowed to look at my beautiful son ?

-Errr, mom...

-Oh come on Timmy, it’s just the two of us right now, we’re not in public, let me tell you out loud how much I love you.

Tim couldn’t help but smile. 

It was a regular occurrence, you almost “fangirling” over him and his brothers (and his dad, and even Alfred). Telling them how great you thought they were, how much you loved them and all. 

Of course you exaggerated things on purpose, acting like a proper groupie...And sometimes, the worst of them all, you’d do it publicly. Right before dropping them to school for example, just to embarrass them. 

But hey, all of your sons would be lying if they said it didn’t make them feel better about themselves, and they would actually be sad if you ever stopped telling them such things...Besides, they loved you a lot too, and would fanboy over you more often than not, without even noticing they were doing it (though the worst of them all would be their father...Oh my God your Broosh would fanboy over you so bad that sometimes, even you would blush). 

To be honest in this family, everyone was impressed with each other, and though some would never admit it (*cough* Damian and Tim *cough*), it was what made your family so close to each other, what made you all know that you’d never be alone, even in your hardest time. And all because of you. All because of your support and your openness to tell them what you feel about them, making them feel like it’s ok to talk about their emotions openly too and etc etc. 

Tim was thinking about that when something caught his attention. You were about to go back to your book but before, you needed to stretch and yawn. Loudly. With your mouth completely opened. And...

Something new that he never noticed before. He was SURE that if it wasn’t there before, at least a few months ago. He clearly remembers seeing you laugh with your mouth open and this wasn’t there (oh Tim and his incredible and a bit creepy memory). He raises an eyebrow and before you start reading again says : 

-Really ? A tongue piercing ? 

You raise your head once more to look at him and shrug, not even bothering answering him. Yes. You have a tongue piercing. You got it two months ago. You always wanted one when you were younger, but never had the money to actually do...And when you talked about it to Bruce he encouraged you to get one like, “do whatever you want my love”. 

And that’s what you did, because yes, you still wanted a tongue piercing. Why not ? You still loved them. So you just shrug at your son and take your book, but of course, as you suspected, he isn’t done. Though you’re pretty sure he’ll regret ever talking more very soon. He says : 

-Mom, like, how old are you ? Tongue piercing are for teenagers...

-Excuse me Tim but I don’t think teenagers do what I do to your father with my tongue piercing.

-They d...Wait what ? ...Oh...OH ! ...Gross...

-You asked for it boy.

And here it was. He tried to be witty with his mom and it came right back in his face. He should know though, that he could never win against you. Suddenly, his pot of coffee didn’t seem that appetizing, and with a last “Ew” look to you, he left. Besides, you’re smug expression was infuriating and the way you childishly stick your tongue out at him ? Oh when you wanted, you could get under his skin just fine. 

************

-Did you know mom has a tongue piercing ? 

Tim asks his brother, that same night, as they’re all getting ready before their night patrol. It’s their father’s night off, and he and you already came to “kiss them good night” and tell them to be careful...and that’s good. That it’s Bruce’s night off. It means Tim can talk about your piercing without fearing any comments from their dad trying to gross them out. 

Jason turns to Tim and, his eyebrows raised and his mouth curled down, says : 

-I didn’t know, but, cool. 

Dick nods in agreement as he laces his boots, and even Damian doesn’t seem to care much. Tim continues : 

-Are you serious guys ? Mom got her tongue pierced and you don’t even care ! 

Damian turns to his older brother and just says : 

-I just hope it didn’t hurt her too much. But really, it would explain why she only ate soup for a while a few months ago. 

Tim facepalms himself and...but of course, why did he not notice that ?! 

-So all of you are cool with this ? 

They all shrug, and Dick says : 

-I mean, she’s a grown up, she can choose for herself, if she wanted a tongue piercing, why wouldn’t she get one ? 

-Yeah no I agree with that, I don’t mean like I...I’m...Ok honesty time. I don’t care about the piercing. I don’t mind. But I tried to tease her about it and...

His brothers burst out in laughter before he can finish his sentence and, yes, but of course. Trying to be witty with their mom, to tease her, was very dangerous. You had quite the reputation to be the “Queen of wits and sarcasms” so of course, he should have known what was coming. Just thinking about what you might have told him send them reeling in laughter. 

After a while, they finally stop and Tim, not even able to be vexed though he wants to, smiles and chuckles with them. Dick asks : 

-So, what did she tell you ? 

-Oh believe me my dear older brother, you don’t wanna know...You don’t wanna know...

But his words are enough to give them a hint at what you might have possibly told them and...”EWWWWWWWWWWWW”. 

Fin. 

________________________

It’s stupid and bad , I don’t know why I wrote that haha. But I guess the idea made me laugh. Anyway. Here. The end. 

[simplyadorkable-blog1]

Season 6, Episode 14 - “The Hike”

Jess and Robby make an unexpected discovery about their relationship while on a hike; Winston plans a party for Aly; Schmidt and Cece fall short of impressing their new neighbors.

“The Hike” opens with Robby at the loft preparing for a hike with Jess, Schmidt continually comparing himself to Andie MacDowell as he eats pasta out of something Jess and Robby made in a clay class—seriously, what the hell is that compartment for?—and Winston announcing that Aly will finally be moving back to LA. Since the loft is falling apart, Cece and Schmidt offer to host a welcome home party at their house. Queue the short intro that makes me wish they would reshoot the original with the expanded cast.

“Hike, hike, baby,” Jess and Robby sing as they make their way to a fork in the trail. Of course they choose the road Jess-traveled because, “Uh, waterfall!” Every sentence that comes out of Robby’s mouth is pure gold. This is pure, unadulterated Robby, straight from the tap. I will not let that line go.

The rest of the gang are getting ready for the party at Cece and Schmidt’s house. In the dining room, Cece and Schmidt set their table and discuss how they are going to handle house rules. Cece suggests that they not have any because all of the cool houses growing up didn’t have rules. I’m going to take a wild guess that Jess’ house was not one of the cool houses. Then again, they grew up in Portland, right? I can’t imagine it being that cool. Chill out, Portlandians, I’m only judging your city based on Portlandia like the rest of America. Schmidt argues that he never went to the cool houses growing up because his only friend was his high school math teacher who ditched him for a guy with a Trans Am. That was probably for the best. Cece feels bad for young Schmidt and he ruins the moment by having an immediate collapse in orgasm.

Meanwhile Nick is helping Winston work out his nerves in another room. Winston is not having any luck. His hands are dripping and his mock greeting for Aly’s mom is a little too comfortable. “Hmm, hmm, not today, honey,” accompanied with double cheek kisses. My brother does the double cheek kiss sometimes and let me tell you it is not the move. His second attempt does not go much better with, “Hey, how are you? I’m Winston, it’s uh, pleasure to do it,” and finally tries, “You’d do well to be friends with me.” I think I’ll start using that last one. Nick encourages him to shake it out and offers to mill about and tell his stories, but not the one about the time he fell asleep in the tub because that’s not a story, even if he did wake up wet. Their second attempted handshake is just as bizarre as the first. Nick describes Winston’s hands as, “dripping wet and now they are piping hot.”

Aly’s sister, Leslie, is the first to show up and she brought the entire family with her. And I truly mean entire, there are so many of them. Did they all drive separately? How much street parking is available in Cece and Schmidt's neighborhood? I assume none now. The sudden influx of guests takes Schmidt by surprise and he starts freaking out, “We don’t have enough china! Or forks! Or prawns! You can’t ask someone to split a prawn.” Cece attempts to get him to chill out to no avail, “We’ll just come in tomorrow with a power washer and hose this whole friggin’ place down!” I haven’t laughed at someone saying friggin’ since middle school, but my Lord, Schmidt cracks me up every friggin’ time. Thankfully Aly arrives shortly after and Winston leads her inside, eyes covering her eyes, to reveal her entire family, not Furguson in a tuxedo. Lowkey upset we didn’t get to see that, that would have been so cute. Aly is of course pissed, not even Winston’s impression of her surprised face can cheer her up.

Back on the trail, Jess and Robby are lost. “Why did you let me chase a waterfall, you know what TLC says!” Jess yells at Robby. She is upset, lost, and hungry and doesn’t even have anything to eat because they both ate the peanuts and chocolate out of their trail mix and are left with the gross raisins. Jess, exhausted, wants to head back before it gets dark. When the pair turn to leave, Robby runs into a tree, knocks off his glasses, steps on them, kneels down to search for them, and knocks Jess over causing her to hurt her ankle, all in one swift move.

Aly tells Winston that her family drives her crazy. He reassures her that she has back up now, even though he let her down in that mix-double tournament. He asks her for what he needs to know to deal with her family so he can write it down in his phone. Too bad his touch ID keeps messing up which is all too real so I’m glad we are switched to Nick and his attempt to tell the bathtub story to one of Aly’s relatives. Cece and Schmidt are holed up in the kitchen, worried about the state of their house. It’s clear they are losing control since someone took a shower in the bathroom without soap or towels, and they are forced to boil up barley to feed their guests.

Nick’s storytelling quickly derails. “And I saw with my own eyes, one day Winston saved those kids from a burning building including a little boy. A little boy who’s dad left when he was young, named Wheelchair Timmy. Wheelchair Timmy was a heavy set boy, ginger, black eyes. He grabs the kid and the chair, lifts him up above his head so that the fire doesn’t burn this little heavyset boy. That’s the power of adrenalin.” A relative asks, “What happened to Timmy?” “Timmy, he’s dead.” “What?” Another guest questions. “He’s alive. I’m Timmy. Look at me now. Because of Winston, I’m telling you this story.” Nick crashes and burns before our very eyes. When the relative points out that he’s Nick, he immediately flees the situation. As Nick struggles, Aly and Leslie’s conversation turns into a full-out sibling argument complete with teasing and a mean robot impression. Aly notices that Winston saw their fight and runs off in embarrassment.

Unfortunately for Jess and Robby, it begins to thunder, spooking Robby. They quickly hobble to a nearby cave for shelter. Nothing good happens in a cave, I cannot emphasize that enough. Jess asks Robby if he thinks it’s not good how similar they are to which Robby responds, “I don’t know. My great uncle, Shep Wallingford, used to say if you buy the horse, you see in the mirror.” In a weird way this makes sense. Jess nods in agreement and tells Robby that she has Wallingford’s in her family as well, out near Boston. Robby’s Wallingford relatives are from Newburyport and known for making women’s watches. Though he doesn’t even need to tell Jess that part because she finishes that sentence for him and the pair sing the jingle, “Wallingford’s watches, cause the time is now, and the look is wow!” Jess puts together that they are related. I wasn’t completely blown away, but I think it’s hilarious that being related was the way the writers chose to break these two up. May as well go all in. They compare their families and figure out that they share an Uncle Tony—the one with long fingernails and always wears a whistle around his neck—making them third cousins. Robby pointing out that at least they’re not second cousins is so Karen making out with her cousin at Cady Heron’s Halloween party.

Fortunately Cece and Schmidt are not cousins, but unfortunately they have retreated to their garage to escape their out of control party. Before they can make their time worth their while, Winston interrupts them as he searches for Aly and asks if they’ve seen a kid in a wheelchair. “It was me,” Nick startles the trio, suddenly appearing in the car. Enter Aly with the line we’ve been thinking for six seasons, “Are you guys ever not together?” Schmidt simply answers, “Rarely,” in a put-off tone, but didn’t get just make the guys get a scrotum waxing? Anyways, Cece and Schmidt get into the car in the garage of their own home to give Winston and Aly a moment alone to talk. Aly explains that she’s embarrassed he saw that side of her and if he wants to run for the hill, she understands. She returns inside the house before he can respond. Meanwhile inside the car, Schmidt notices that the car’s running and asks Nick how long he’s been in there. In Nick’s defense, he was cold. But really, how long?

“Did you ever go to one of those big Wallingford family cookouts?” Jess continues to question Robby in the cave. “Just one, in ’92. I remember they had a really competitive three legged race. They paired me up with a little boy who had a helmet on, his skin was so translucent, it was like he was a jellyfish.” “Did he play an imaginary trombone?” She asks, knowing the answer. “Yeah, he kept saying, “it’s better to be safe than speedy.”” Robby’s impression is hands down one of the funniest parts of this episode. And of course that little boy was Jess. Yeah, Jess’ house was definitely not one of the cool ones. Jess wishes to be excluded from this, “I don’t want to die with my cousin-lover in a cave,” narrative and tells Robby she’s going to get on his back so they can get back to his car. She gives him her glasses since he still can’t see and of course they have the same prescription. Not to mention, their glasses are identical.

We near the dramatic conclusion back at Aly’s welcome home party. Aly apologizes to her sister and Winston gets on a table. He tells everyone how weird he is including the fact he has inside jokes with his cat, he is a member of the Puzzling Guild of North America, how he shaves his face cold and brushes his teeth hot, and how on one very late and very desperate night he used Furguson’s cat box as his own box, and of course that he once fell asleep in a bathtub. This draws raucous laughter from himself and Aly only. Nick mentions that maybe he needs to hear it again. Winston finishes his speech with, “So who cares if you’re crazy? I don’t care. I’m crazy too. Watch this. I’m going to put a carrot behind my ear like a bunny reporter and I’m gonna do this dance I’ve been working on for five years.” It’s at this time that Aly’s parents make themselves known. Thankfully they are appreciative of how much he loves their daughter and leave Winston and Aly to have a sweet kiss.

Their moment is interrupted by the police knocking at the door. Cece and Schmidt play dumb and Nick asks why they’re acting like they’re in a porno. The couple clearly did not take into account that Winston and Aly are police officers. They notice Winston and Aly right away and are invited to join the party causing Schmidt to take the law into his own hands. “Shoes off, coasters down!” He shouts to the room.

Robby drops off Jess at the party. He makes sure that they are definitely broken up and tries to give Jess her glasses back. She lets him keep them and says a final, “I’ll see you around.” Robby tries to get in one last awkward joke with, “Maybe at the next family reu—” Jess cuts him off with a “too soon” and heads inside. Schmidt answers the door to see a filthy Jessica Day. She tells them him and Cece that she and Robby broke up in a cave. Cece hugs her and goes to get her wine while Schmidt goes to get her paper towels. As they leave, Nick approaches her. Jess reminds us that she’s still starving and all she has is a bag of gross raisins. “Gross raisins? Are you kidding me? Raisins are the best. I love raisins.” There’s a Raisin joke here somewhere. “Of course you do.” Jess laughs. “Yeah, sometimes I just tuck ’em in my cheek, and I go about my day, so if I ever need the flavor of raisins, I already got it.” Jess can’t imagine what it’s like to need the flavor of raisins, but she gives him her bag and tells him to go nuts anyways. “Go raisins. You said, “Go nuts,” I said, “Go raisins.”” This moment is just too innocent and endearing. They are made for each other.

Originally Aired 1/24/2017