Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They’re five and it starts, as most things will, in the middle of their street. It starts, as many things will, with an insult. It starts, as a lot of things will, with Lauren Simmons and Dexter Grif.

Lauren is on her 3DS- okay, it’s her neighbour’s 3DS, but he left it at her house and then moved out, so it’s hers now. She doesn’t know what the game is called, but it’s pretty fun. If she would stop losing.

“Hey, nerd!” Lauren looks up. There’s a chubby boy across the street holding a toddler in his arms. “Do you have any band-aids?” Lauren nods. The boy looks at her expectantly. “Can you go get them? My dumb little brother fell over again.” Lauren huffs. “I don’t know you.”

The boy walks into the middle of the street. And he doesn’t look both ways. What kind of reckless idiot is he? “Call me Dex.” Lauren, like a sane human being, looks both ways before meeting him in the middle and shaking his hand like she’s seen her father doing. “Lauren Simmons. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Dex raises an eyebrow. “What?” She sighs. “It’s what Dad does whenever he meets someone new.” Dex snorts. “You’re weird.”

The toddler babbles something. “Yeah, yeah. Lauren whatever it is, this is my baby brother Donny. Say ‘sup, Donny.” Donny babbles some more. Lauren takes his hand. “Nice to meet you, Donny.” He giggles and tugs Lauren’s hair. “Ow!” Dex laughs.

Lauren decides she doesn’t like Dex.

(She gets him the band-aids anyways.)

°•°•°

They’re eight (and four and a half, and twenty-seven) and it starts, as most things will, in the middle of their street. It starts, as many things will, with an insult. It starts, as a lot of things will, with Lauren Simmons, Dexter Grif, Donovan Grif, and the Sergeant.

“Oh, please, nerd,” Dex is saying, “you couldn’t throw that ball over the house if your life depended on it.” Lauren shoulders him aside and draws her arm back, baseball held tightly in her fist.

She throws it right through the first-floor window of the creepy house.

She and Dex share a look.
“Run?”
“Run.”

But before they can go anywhere, they hear a gruff voice shout, “Hold it right there, dirtbags!” and the door opens. It’s a relatively young man, but to the kids, he’s ancient. “Now, which one of you good-for-nothin’s broke my window?”

Lauren steps forward. “I’m really sorry, sir. He bet me I couldn’t throw a baseball over your house, and I told him I could, but it was heavier than I expected, so it went through your window, and-“ The man holds up a hand and Lauren flinches back. “I’ve heard enough. It’s not your fault, young lady. It’s his!” He points at Dex, who stands up straighter. Donny hides behind Lauren’s leg.

The man stomps over to Dex, hands on his hips. “Son, hold out your hand.” Dex leans away, turns his head, clenches his eyes closed and holds out his hand, palm down.

He feels the man turning his hand over, and placing something in it. He peeks through one eye.

It’s his baseball.

“Don’t do it again. And if you have to break someone’s window, aim for The Director’s!” He chuckles to himself. “No good, dirty rotten blue. You kids run along. Try not to ruin any more windows.”

He goes back inside.

Dex stares at the baseball.
Lauren stares at the baseball.
Donny doesn’t really seem to care.

(Lauren thinks she might like the sergeant more than her dad. Dex thinks the sergeant is crazy. But maybe the good kind. Donny thinks he might be a cop, but Donny thinks everyone is a cop.)

(Sarge thinks the kids are probably going to pop up once or twice more in his lifetime. He invests in extra window panes.)

•°•°•

They’re nine and it starts, as most things will, in the middle of their street. It starts, as many things will, with an insult. It starts, as a lot of things will, with Lauren Simmons, Dexter Grif, and Franklin Delano Donut.

“Get the fag!” Lauren’s head jerks up. It’s some of the older kids-(Omen? O’Malley? And what’s his face, that Gary kid) - and a little kid who looks like he’s maybe, what, six? O’Malley’s got him pinned down, and Gary is standing above them, laughing. O’Malley’s saying something, and the little kid is struggling to get up, but O’Malley is in eighth grade, and this kid can’t be above the second.

“Hey!” Before she can stop herself, she’s set down her brand-new phone and is storming into the middle of the street. She looks both ways, and Gary laughs. “Knock knock!” O’Malley punches the kid in the face. “Who’s there?” Gary snickers. “A chicken.” O’Malley laughs deep down in his chest. Lauren doesn’t like that sound. “A chicken who?” Gary leans on the bigger boy’s back. “A chick can’t save the little fag without looking both ways first!”

She feels her face burning the colour of her hair, but she marches right up to the big kids and sticks her pointer finger right in Gary’s stupid face. “That’s a slur! A-And even if he was gay, you shouldn’t use it! Just because some kid looks different doesn’t mean you can beat him up! I mean-“ O’Malley sits up, decks her, and goes back to beating up the little kid.

Lauren hears rapid footsteps and then, “Yo! Fuckfaces!” Gary turns, and Dex jumps on him, effectively pinning the tenth grader down. He’s tall, but thin as a toothpick. Gary lets out a pained noise. “Omega!” O’Malley- Omega? - turns around, but the little kid managed to get a handful of gravel and smashes it into Omega’s face. Omega grunts and Lauren sits up, rubbing the cheek where Omega punched her.

“Is little Dexy-Wexy trying to save his girlfriend?” Gary mocks, and Dex punches him in his dumb face. The new kid announces, “Just because I was under you doesn’t mean I can’t top!” and Lauren is pretty sure he means ‘come out on top’ but she’s a little too busy trying not to get hurt to correct him.

Lauren goes home with more (visible) bruises and cuts than she’s had in years. Dex goes home with split knuckles and a story to tell. Frankie goes home with two new friends and a thousand-watt smile.

(Mr Simmons doesn’t ask what happened. He doesn’t really care what his daughter gets up to. He wanted a son, anyways. Someone who could carry on the business. Lauren already knows where the medical stuff is, anyway. She has to patch herself up semi-regularly.)

(Miss Grif coos over her son’s injuries and helps him with the antiseptic. “You can’t go getting into fights, honey! What’ll Donny think?” Dex shrugs. He’s seen Donny give a third grader a black eye when she tried to make fun of his weight. Donny’s good.)

(Mrs and Mrs Donut are less than enthused. “I thought this was a good neighbourhood!” Mommy sighs. “I did too, sweetheart. I did, too.” Frankie tugs on one of his Mama’s bracelets. “But there were a couple of kids who saved me! I don’t know their names, but they sure got those boys off!” His mommy winces. Mama snorts. "I can't believe he does it in English, too." Mommy, who has been teaching him Dutch, says some words in Dutch that Frankie knows not to repeat.)

°•°•°

They’re ten (and twenty-nine) and it starts, as most things will, in the middle of their street. It starts, as many things will, with an insult. It starts, as a lot of things will, with Lauren Simmons, Dexter Grif, Franklin Delano Donut, and the Sergeant.

“Tell you what, dirtbag, if you can chuck that baseball over my house without breaking a window, I’ll ask your moms if I can take you out for ice cream tomorrow.” Frankie draws back, sticks his tongue out, closes one eye, and hurls it.

It sails over the roof.

“Damn, son. You got a good arm on your tiny shoulders.”

Simmons pouts. “I- I’d like to try too, sir!” Frankie claps her on the shoulder, nails painted more delicately than Simmons could ever manage. (Dex could count the times Lauren’s showed up at his door with a bottle of nail polish and an expectant face, but he's too lazy. It’s a pretty high number.) “I believe in you, Lauren! Sure, I got Sarge’s excitement going, but I’m sure you can finish him off!” Sarge grimaces, and Dex shoots Frankie a side eye, but Simmons is busy. She mimics Frankie’s throwing pose exactly and throws as hard as she can.

The ball crashes through the second-floor window.

Sarge pats her on the shoulder. “It’s better than it was two years ago! Back then, you only made it through the first floor.” Simmons looks up at him, eyes shining. “You really think I’ve gotten better, sir?”

Dex mumbles, “Suck up.”
Frankie starts to say something, but Dex, (knowing that if it’s Frankie and it involves the word “suck”, it can not be good) puts a hand over his mouth.

Sarge grins. “Of course I think so!”

Simmons beams.

(Dex rolls his eyes. She’s such a goddamn nerd.)

Chapter Text

They’re fourteen and it starts, as most things do, in the middle of their street. It starts, as many things do, with an insult. It starts, as a lot of things do, with Lauren Simmons and Dexter Grif.

“I’m just saying, she didn’t have to be that much of a bitch about it.” Simmons, tapping at her phone, grunts noncommittally. ”Simmons.”
Tap, tap-tap.
”Siiimmmooonns.”
Tap tap tap, tap, tap-tap.
”Simmons!”

She jolts, dropping the phone. ”Oh, shit! Grif, you made me drop my phone!” As she mutters pity and apologies to her phone, Dex rolls his eyes. ”l think we've been talking to Sarge too much. I mean, why the hell are we using our last names?” She laughs, off-key and off-cadence and strained. The way she laughs when she's lying. ”Yeah, yeah, we probably have been spending too much time with him, huh? I don't even know why we talk to him so much! He’s just a weird old guy who lives on our street! Why do we-” ”Simmons.”

She flinches away. ”What’s wrong?” She laughs again. ”Wrong? Nothing’s-” Dex grabs her phone away. ”Hey! Grif, give it back! Grif- hey!” He puts it in his back pocket, using his weight as an advantage. ”Not until you tell me what's wrong!” She pushed at him, but he doesn't budge. ”Jesus, Simmons, you have the upper body strength of a four-year-old girl.” She shoves him again, shrieking something at a pitch only Mariah Carey could hear.

”I’m not a girl!”

And then she freezes.

And then Dex freezes.

”Um.”
”Uh.”

Dex stares, stunned.
Simmons looks a little like they're crying.
”Fuck. Shit, you weren't supposed to- I didn't want you to- fuck!”

Simmons starts to run away, but Grif grabs their arm. ”Dude.” They flinch, badly, arm coming up to protect their face. ”Simmons, I’m not gonna hurt you.” They stay exactly how they are.

”You're not a girl.” They yank their arm out of Dex’s grasp. ”I meant- I meant I’m not a girl the way you said it. Of course, I’m a girl. What the fuck else would I be?” Grif raises an eyebrow before doing one of the stupidest things he's done recently. In the most sarcastic tone he can manage without his voice cracking, he says, ”Yeah, you’re a girl. And I’m as straight as the stick you have shoved up your ass.” Simmons blinks at him dumbly. And now he’s going to come out to this brown noser in the middle of the street because they don’t know what a hint is. Awesome, cool, this is great. ”Because I’m pan. So.” Simmons swallows hard. Voice cracking like it did when they asked Katie Carlson to be their chess partner, Simmons stammers, “I mean, that makes sense. You are too lazy to only pick one gender.”

Dex laughs, feeling like Simmons just pulled the weight of the world off his shoulders. He can stop checking everything he texts them for any signs of non-straightness. “Fuck off, kiss-ass.” Simmons grins cautiously. “Give me my phone back and I’ll consider it, fatass.” Dex hands them the phone. “It’s okay if you’re not a girl, man. You’ll still be as much of a nerd as ever.” Simmons shrugs. “I mean. I think...I think I’m a guy.” Dex nods. “Alright. I’m pretty sure I like guys. And now we both have something that we can’t tell our parents about.” Simmons grins. “Yeah.”

Tap,tap-tap-tap, tap tap.
“Okay, but seriously, what the fuck kind of game is that?
“Oh, it’s a digital lockpicking-”
“Whoops, I forgot. I don’t give a shit.”

°•°•°
It starts, but Donut has never really gone in for the whole, “fate” thing. Or “routine”. Or “decency”. So instead, he swims straight up to the guy at the pool and says, “Heya, hot stuff! How come you aren’t all wet yet? It’s a pool party, you know!” The guy stares at him before muttering, “¿Que carajo?” [What the fuck?] in such a monotone voice Donut has to wonder if he has one of those voice things that smokers have in all the anti-drug PSAs. “Oh! ¿Tu hablas Espanol? ¡Todavia estoy aprendiendo! Sin embargo, ¡domino Holandés!” [You speak Spanish? I’m still learning! However, I dominate Dutch!] The cute guy stares at him. And… keeps staring at him. “What’s wrong? ¿Tiene gato tu lengua?” [Cat got your tongue?] The guy shakes his head before mumbling, “No creía que nadie más hablara español en esta mierda ciudad.” [I didn’t think anyone else spoke spanish in this shit town.] Donut giggles, because he knows he’s pretty when he giggles. “Well, Sarge is teaching me! So that’s at least two people in this town who know! Something about his nephew not being very good in English. I’m Donut, by the way.”

He puts an arm on the side of the pool to hold himself up and sticks out his other hand, an invitation for the cute guy to shake it. There’s a beat of silence while Donut wiggles his fingers invitingly. He knows how to use his hands, what can he say? The cute guy sighs, before shaking his hand. “Soy Lopez.” Lopez snorts, before adding, “la pesado.” Donut’s grin vanishes. “The heavy?” Lopez nods. He grins sheepishly down at Donut. “Es lo que mi abuelo me llama. Eso, o 'regordete'.” [It's what my grandfather calls me. That, or 'chubby'.] Donut, who frankly does not give a hoot if this makes him look weird, looks Lopez up and down.

“Well, you seem a little more heavyset than I am, but Grif is way bigger than you are. And you know what? Even if he wasn’t, you’re still steamy!” Lopez chokes on the soda he’s drinking. In a monotone that somehow conveys shock and being incredibly flustered, he asks, “¿Lleno de vapor?” Donut frowns. “Er. Is steamy, not right? Oh, no, that means, like, water. What’s, um, fire steam?” Lopez looks like he’s making the Windows startup sound on the inside. Donut goes back to his usual thousand-watt smile and shrugs. “No se. I’m ESL, so sometimes I get words a little turned around.” After Lopez is done rebooting, the pair has a lovely conversation about Dutch, Spanish, and how English is weird.

(Every now and again, Lopez chokes and starts stuttering. Maybe his soda is just bad. Poor guy, this is why you always read the ingredients first.)

(El chico bonita con el pelo largo y rubio sigue diciendo mierda que no es buena para el corazón bisexual de López. Seriamente. Nunca se sabe cuántas eufemismos que significa "vamos a joder" hay hasta que alguien las usa todas en el lapso de dos minutos y varias volteadas del cabello.)

•°•°•
They’re fifteen (and thirty-four) and it starts, as most things will, in the middle of their stree. It stars, as many things will, with an insult. It starts, as a lot of things will, with Franklin Delado Donut, Leandro Lopez, and the Sergeant.

“¿Cómo se dice ‘suck’ en español?”
“Oh, sí, esa es una palabra en la que se puede confiar. Y ‘chupar’.”
[How do you say ‘suck’ in Spanish?]
[Oh, yeah, that’s a word you can be trusted with. And ‘chupar’.]

“LEANDRO! DONUT! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DIRTBAGS DOING THAT CLOSE TOGETHER?”
“Mierda.”

Donut grins wide, turning around to look at the man. “Sarge? You know Lopez?”
Sarge scoffs.
Lopez sighs.
“Know him? I damn near raised the boy!”
“Chorradas.” [Bullshit.]
“His momma and I served in the war together! She was my CO, and I hated her damn guts!”
“Más chorradas.” [More bullshit.]
“But when she went MIA, I had to step up to fill the plate! And Leandro here wasn’t getting the love and care he needed from his grandaddy, so I came once a week to help out!”
“Esto es todo un chorradas.” [This is all bullshit.]
“But-”

Donut takes Lopez’s hand in his and turns to look him in the face. (Sarge can go on for years by himself, anyways.) “Your mom’s MIA?” Lopez suddenly looks very uncomfortable. He rubs at the back of his neck. “Sí. Como, hace siete años. Ella solo ... se alejó de su publicación y nunca regresó.” [Yeah. Like, seven years ago. She just… wandered away from her post and never came back.] Donut sighs in shock and pity. “Oh, Lopez… I’m so sorry.” Lopez shrugs. “No es la gran cosa. Tienes dos madres, yo no tengo ninguna. El mundo es así a veces.” [It’s no big deal. You have two moms, I don’t have any. The world is like that sometimes.] Donut squeezes his friend’s hand. Lopez seems to notice that Donut is holding his hand and makes the wait-hold-on-what-the-heck face that Donut usually only sees after he mixes some words up. “Lopez? Are you okay?”

“What the hell are you two talking about instead of listening to me?” Lopez stops blue-screening and says, “Que jodidamente estúpido eres.” [How fucking stupid you are.] Sarge, who has always been a little hard of hearing, responds, “Leandro, that’s not appropriate. Donut, stop corrupting my nephew!” Donut giggles and says, “Of course, sir!” Lopez, whose hand is still being held, goes back to blue-screening.

When Donut waves goodbye and runs back home, Sarge puts a proud arm around his nephew’s shoulders. “You're already a man-eater, huh?”
“Asqueroso, no, no quiero hablar de esto.” [Disgusting, no, I don’t want to talk about this.]
“So there’s something to talk about?”
“Absolutamente no, viejo.” [Absolutely not, old man.]
“I’m thirty-four!”
“Sí. Antiguo.” [Yeah. Ancient.]

Sarge laughs and ruffles is nephew’s hair in an affectionate noogie. “You’re too much of a smartass for your own good, Leandro.” Lopez grins.

That night, he dreams of long blond hair, innuendos, a hand holding tight to his own, and badly translated Dutch love poems.