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said_scarlett) wrote2008-10-26 11:46 pm
said_scarlett) wrote2008-10-26 11:46 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Sgt Venture's Lonely Hearts Club Band; R
Title: Sgt Venture's Lonely Hearts Club Band
Fandom: Venture Bros
Rating: R for language
Characters: Hank, Dermott
Pairings: N/A, but vague mention of Hank/Dean
Word Count: 1347
Spoilers: For all seasons
Summary: Growing up on the compound with no one but dean to confide in, Hank hadn't realized how much he was missing out on. Now, he was beginning to wonder if ignorance really was bliss after all.
“…and I was totally about to get to third base, but my fucking mom walked in on us!”
Out in the yard, the soft glow of jack o lanterns and shielded flashlights the only light, Hank Venture and Dermott Fictel sat in Hank’s old tent. Dead leaves blanketed the lawn outside and a full moon hung overhead. It was just passed eleven, and Hank was feeling decidedly out of his element.
Halloween nights with Dean were predictable in their unpredictability. They’d eat a lot of candy, try telling ghost stories until Dean got scared, then everything would go to hell. Ghosts, werewolves, mummies, vampires… it was always something. Some kind of crazy adventure followed, fraught with mortal peril and danger and all those cool things that being a boy adventurer were all about. Then Brock would make them cocoa and send them to bed.
He wasn’t used to talking about Grown Up Things. And as far as he was concerned, talking about drinking and smoking and kissing girls alone in your bedroom was firmly in the category of Grown Up Things.
But he couldn’t look like a baby in front of Dermott. Dermott was his best friend - by virtue of being his only friend - and the last thing he wanted was to lose this. He couldn’t lose this. It was the only normal thing he had in his life, and now that he did have it, he realized how important it was.
“Freaking sucks,” he agreed, nodding his head like he understood. “My dad’s always harshing my groove.”
“Harshing your groove? Who the hell says that anymore?”
Hank shrugged and made a mental note to see if his bed could teach him current slang. He tucked his knees up under his chin, an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He didn’t really know what he was doing. All his life, it had just been him and Dean. And Dad, but he didn’t count. Oh, and H.E.L.P.E.R, but a robot-nanny wasn’t a friend. And Brock…well, Hank wasn’t entirely sure what he’d call Brock, but it wasn’t a friend.
It was funny to realize, at sixteen years old, that you were weird. Other kids went to public school and had lots of friends and went out on Friday nights and had girlfriends…
He had a bed that fed him information when he remembered to load it, a crazy dad, a twin brother who was the only other person his age he’d known for most of his life, and crazy people trying to kill him every Friday night. And that wasn’t normal.
He knew he’d caught on to that long before Dean did. Dean was an okay kid, but really, he didn’t have much when it came to common sense. And besides, he was the one who was going to follow in Dad’s footsteps. He was going to be the next Dr. Venture. It was probably okay for him to be a social retard without any friends.
Hank…well, he didn’t know what he was going to do. Maybe he could join O.S.I, like Brock. Get a gun and go around killing bad guys, instead of the bad guys trying to kill him. Or…something.
Maybe he could still be normal. He had a friend now! And Dermott was totally normal! He could talk to him about stuff he couldn’t talk to Dean about. Like…girls. And stuff.
“So anyway, Candy’s got a friend. She’s a real slut, I could fix you up.”
“Cool.” Hank frowned a little. In a way, this was scarier than sitting under the covers with Dean in the dark telling ghost stories. Because it was new and it was strange and it was so easy to mess up. To mess up really badly.
“I’ve never kissed a girl.”
He hadn’t meant to said it. He knew what a loser it made him sound like. Sixteen years old and he’d never even kissed a girl. How pathetic was that? Super pathetic.
“What, seriously?”
Hank nodded. Even Dean was further along that path than he was. Triana was…kind of Dean’s girlfriend. Or something. They’d held hands. Which was more than Hank could say. It hit him, in a way, just how messed up his life really was. It wasn’t like he was totally innocent. There’d been that stupid crap with Sergeant Hatred, and…well…that time he and Dean had wondered what kissing was like….
It wasn’t like there’d been any other option! They weren’t even allowed off the compound! What did people expect? It had mostly been weird and wet and awkward, and they never talked about it.
He guessed there was the time Miss Cocktease had given him mouth to mouth….
And then Hank realized that Dermott was staring at him like there was something wrong with him. And maybe…maybe a little like he felt bad for him. And that was even worse.
Hank puffed himself up and threw back his shoulders, false bravado filling him.
“I’m just saving myself for the right lady,” he said, as though he meant it and were proud of it. Sometimes if people thought you were brave, it was the same as really being brave. Kind of. “Yup. Not just any old skirt gets to be the one to make the Hankinator a man!”
“If you’re picky, you’re never gonna get laid. Me? I’m beating the bitches off with a stick.”
“Oh, me too man. There was this waitress this one time…. All over me. She was just itching for a shank of Hank. Oh and this one time, I went out with Triana‘s friend…let‘s just say, by the time I left that diner booth, my pants needed changing.” A wink and a nudge, and it wasn’t even a lie.
It just…wasn’t what it sounded like. At all. But Dermott didn’t know. And Hank figured he sounded convincing. After all, he sounded the exact same as when Dermott bragged about all his conquests….
A niggling sensation gnawed at him, but he ignored it. Maybe they were both lying. Both trying to sound cool and impress each other. But Hank didn’t want to think about that. He thought Dermott was cool, and Dermott thought he was cool, and that was how friends worked.
Wasn’t it?
He reached into the bowl of candy he’d brought out, stuffing his mouth full of candy corn and those waxy little pumpkins. Dermott followed suit, popping one after the other into his mouth.
“So, this friend….”
Before Hank could finish his cautious inquiry (because at sixteen he would gladly go out with any girl who would possibly make out with him) the flap of the tent twitched open.
“Hank…Brock kicked me out of his room and it’s not even midnight. He told me to go hang out with you guys.”
“Uh-oh, dork alert. You were hanging out with your dad‘s boy toy all night?” Dermott folded his arms and scowled, rolling his eyes. There was a weird look on his face, one that Hank didn’t understand. Kind of like the way Dad looked when he was talking about Uncle J.J.
But Hank just shrugged, not giving it anymore thought. Dermott just didn’t want Dean cramping their style, that was all. “I guess we could tell ghost stories…. ” he offered. Dean clamored into the tent and happily snatched up the flashlight, holding it under his chin.
“I know a particularly spine-tingling one!” he announced. “That happened one hundred years ago today, to three kids in a tent….”
A scream from somewhere in the distance caught all of their attention. Three teenaged heads turned as alarms went off, and they could hear Dr. Orpheus yelling about something that had gotten loose on the grounds….
Hank grinned and jumped to his feet, flashlight in hand. Dean was right behind him, already saying something about a mystery. Even Dermott got up, hands in the pockets of his army jacket. There was no more talking about girls or drinking or having sex or thinking about how screwed up his life was or anything like that. There was just a super cool Halloween mystery waiting out there, and probably hot cocoa with marshmallows courtesy of Brock when it was over.
Maybe being a socially stunted boy adventurer on a super science compound wasn‘t all that bad, after all.
Fandom: Venture Bros
Rating: R for language
Characters: Hank, Dermott
Pairings: N/A, but vague mention of Hank/Dean
Word Count: 1347
Spoilers: For all seasons
Summary: Growing up on the compound with no one but dean to confide in, Hank hadn't realized how much he was missing out on. Now, he was beginning to wonder if ignorance really was bliss after all.
“…and I was totally about to get to third base, but my fucking mom walked in on us!”
Out in the yard, the soft glow of jack o lanterns and shielded flashlights the only light, Hank Venture and Dermott Fictel sat in Hank’s old tent. Dead leaves blanketed the lawn outside and a full moon hung overhead. It was just passed eleven, and Hank was feeling decidedly out of his element.
Halloween nights with Dean were predictable in their unpredictability. They’d eat a lot of candy, try telling ghost stories until Dean got scared, then everything would go to hell. Ghosts, werewolves, mummies, vampires… it was always something. Some kind of crazy adventure followed, fraught with mortal peril and danger and all those cool things that being a boy adventurer were all about. Then Brock would make them cocoa and send them to bed.
He wasn’t used to talking about Grown Up Things. And as far as he was concerned, talking about drinking and smoking and kissing girls alone in your bedroom was firmly in the category of Grown Up Things.
But he couldn’t look like a baby in front of Dermott. Dermott was his best friend - by virtue of being his only friend - and the last thing he wanted was to lose this. He couldn’t lose this. It was the only normal thing he had in his life, and now that he did have it, he realized how important it was.
“Freaking sucks,” he agreed, nodding his head like he understood. “My dad’s always harshing my groove.”
“Harshing your groove? Who the hell says that anymore?”
Hank shrugged and made a mental note to see if his bed could teach him current slang. He tucked his knees up under his chin, an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He didn’t really know what he was doing. All his life, it had just been him and Dean. And Dad, but he didn’t count. Oh, and H.E.L.P.E.R, but a robot-nanny wasn’t a friend. And Brock…well, Hank wasn’t entirely sure what he’d call Brock, but it wasn’t a friend.
It was funny to realize, at sixteen years old, that you were weird. Other kids went to public school and had lots of friends and went out on Friday nights and had girlfriends…
He had a bed that fed him information when he remembered to load it, a crazy dad, a twin brother who was the only other person his age he’d known for most of his life, and crazy people trying to kill him every Friday night. And that wasn’t normal.
He knew he’d caught on to that long before Dean did. Dean was an okay kid, but really, he didn’t have much when it came to common sense. And besides, he was the one who was going to follow in Dad’s footsteps. He was going to be the next Dr. Venture. It was probably okay for him to be a social retard without any friends.
Hank…well, he didn’t know what he was going to do. Maybe he could join O.S.I, like Brock. Get a gun and go around killing bad guys, instead of the bad guys trying to kill him. Or…something.
Maybe he could still be normal. He had a friend now! And Dermott was totally normal! He could talk to him about stuff he couldn’t talk to Dean about. Like…girls. And stuff.
“So anyway, Candy’s got a friend. She’s a real slut, I could fix you up.”
“Cool.” Hank frowned a little. In a way, this was scarier than sitting under the covers with Dean in the dark telling ghost stories. Because it was new and it was strange and it was so easy to mess up. To mess up really badly.
“I’ve never kissed a girl.”
He hadn’t meant to said it. He knew what a loser it made him sound like. Sixteen years old and he’d never even kissed a girl. How pathetic was that? Super pathetic.
“What, seriously?”
Hank nodded. Even Dean was further along that path than he was. Triana was…kind of Dean’s girlfriend. Or something. They’d held hands. Which was more than Hank could say. It hit him, in a way, just how messed up his life really was. It wasn’t like he was totally innocent. There’d been that stupid crap with Sergeant Hatred, and…well…that time he and Dean had wondered what kissing was like….
It wasn’t like there’d been any other option! They weren’t even allowed off the compound! What did people expect? It had mostly been weird and wet and awkward, and they never talked about it.
He guessed there was the time Miss Cocktease had given him mouth to mouth….
And then Hank realized that Dermott was staring at him like there was something wrong with him. And maybe…maybe a little like he felt bad for him. And that was even worse.
Hank puffed himself up and threw back his shoulders, false bravado filling him.
“I’m just saving myself for the right lady,” he said, as though he meant it and were proud of it. Sometimes if people thought you were brave, it was the same as really being brave. Kind of. “Yup. Not just any old skirt gets to be the one to make the Hankinator a man!”
“If you’re picky, you’re never gonna get laid. Me? I’m beating the bitches off with a stick.”
“Oh, me too man. There was this waitress this one time…. All over me. She was just itching for a shank of Hank. Oh and this one time, I went out with Triana‘s friend…let‘s just say, by the time I left that diner booth, my pants needed changing.” A wink and a nudge, and it wasn’t even a lie.
It just…wasn’t what it sounded like. At all. But Dermott didn’t know. And Hank figured he sounded convincing. After all, he sounded the exact same as when Dermott bragged about all his conquests….
A niggling sensation gnawed at him, but he ignored it. Maybe they were both lying. Both trying to sound cool and impress each other. But Hank didn’t want to think about that. He thought Dermott was cool, and Dermott thought he was cool, and that was how friends worked.
Wasn’t it?
He reached into the bowl of candy he’d brought out, stuffing his mouth full of candy corn and those waxy little pumpkins. Dermott followed suit, popping one after the other into his mouth.
“So, this friend….”
Before Hank could finish his cautious inquiry (because at sixteen he would gladly go out with any girl who would possibly make out with him) the flap of the tent twitched open.
“Hank…Brock kicked me out of his room and it’s not even midnight. He told me to go hang out with you guys.”
“Uh-oh, dork alert. You were hanging out with your dad‘s boy toy all night?” Dermott folded his arms and scowled, rolling his eyes. There was a weird look on his face, one that Hank didn’t understand. Kind of like the way Dad looked when he was talking about Uncle J.J.
But Hank just shrugged, not giving it anymore thought. Dermott just didn’t want Dean cramping their style, that was all. “I guess we could tell ghost stories…. ” he offered. Dean clamored into the tent and happily snatched up the flashlight, holding it under his chin.
“I know a particularly spine-tingling one!” he announced. “That happened one hundred years ago today, to three kids in a tent….”
A scream from somewhere in the distance caught all of their attention. Three teenaged heads turned as alarms went off, and they could hear Dr. Orpheus yelling about something that had gotten loose on the grounds….
Hank grinned and jumped to his feet, flashlight in hand. Dean was right behind him, already saying something about a mystery. Even Dermott got up, hands in the pockets of his army jacket. There was no more talking about girls or drinking or having sex or thinking about how screwed up his life was or anything like that. There was just a super cool Halloween mystery waiting out there, and probably hot cocoa with marshmallows courtesy of Brock when it was over.
Maybe being a socially stunted boy adventurer on a super science compound wasn‘t all that bad, after all.
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