Archive of Our Own

The banging of the chicken coop door is not what wakes Wayne. Rather, Wayne has yet to go to sleep when he hears the door slamming against the side of the building with every change in the wind, the hens ruffled and clucking on account of them being just a hair shy of being full blind in the dark.

So Wayne hops up, pulls on some jeans and a pair of boots, and in just a muscle shirt, stomps down the steps. He gets his tools from the shed and inspects the damage. Latch on the door is busted completely off so he gets to screwing it in, muttering under his breath the whole while, a flashlight clenched between his teeth cuz he don't got a buddy to hold it for him. He figures, since he's out there and already got the tools at the ready, he might as well replace the hinges considering they're looking mighty rusty, so that's what he does.

Wayne goes to the shed and paws through one of the metal carts he uses to house odds and ends, everything a tad greasy and smelling like a garage, hoping two find two matching hinges. It takes a moment, but he finds some that'll do the job. By the guide of his flashlight, he returns to the coop.

See, problem is, Wayne hasn't been getting nary a wink of sleep for pert near a week now and it's working him to be restless and cagey. Something's got his skin twitching, really chomping down at him, and unable to find the source of it, he's gone into overdrive with choring and such, much to the annoyance of those around him.

Wayne's hands are calloused anew from wielding the ax despite it being summer and them not really needing to get a move on for fire wood for a number of months. Hands are splintered and feet are blistered and even that's not slowing him down. Lawn's been trimmed by the push mower just about every day and Wayne's turned to tossing bales of hay that have already been set in their proper place. He'll indulge the cows an extra few scoopings of silage if only because lifting the shovel another couple times gives his arms a happy, distracting burn of strain. Windows washed, truck hosed down (despite there being no need seeing as he hasn't been trying for any sweeties), and the kitchen aptly swept.

Wayne was running out of tasks up until now.

He finishes the bottom hinge and tries the door with a test swing, makes sure it latches proper. No pedestrian effort here. Everything in apple pie order.

But just to be sure… or perhaps because he's not yet tired, Wayne goes into the coop and counts the hens in case any ventured out in the time it took him to notice the door swinging open.

"Rough night, Super Chief?" Darry asks at breakfast, giving him a look from over the rim of his yogurt cup.

"Mmmmmno."

Darry quirks his mouth down. "Sure don't look it by tell of them eyebags."

"Mind your beeswax there, Darry Berry Delight."

Darry, accustomed to Wayne's stubborn inability to admit needing help or having troubles, informs his good buddy, with a smile, that this particular morning, his yogurt is of the banana and strawberry variety.

"Duly noted, Potassium Patrol."

Darry turns around in his seat. "Katy, yer brother here is bein' both a smart ass and a liar."

Wayne grumbles, "No, I never."

Katy sighs and looks the two of them over. "Wayne's been havin' sleepin' problems."

Darry cocks his head curiously, scoops more yogurt into his mouth. "Is that so?"

"Mind your Ps and Qs, Yoplait."

Katy nods in confirmation, ignoring Wayne as though he's not present in the kitchen with them. "Yep. Hear him get up several times a night."

"Ballpark 3 to 4?"

"Not polite to act like the fella yer talkin' bout isn't even in the room, Chobani Chief," Wayne pipes up.

Katy says, "On a good one. Ballpark 5 to 8 if yer lookin' for an average."

Darry turns back around and gives Wayne a look. "Shoulda said somethin', good buddy."

Wayne's face hardens. "Not the type of prick to go cryin' over not bein' able to hit the hay proper."

"Funny thing is," Katy says, coming around to join them at the table, "seems like the less you sleep, the harder you chore."

"Figger if I can't put myself down, I oughta do somethin' worth the while. Idle minds are the devil's playground, that's what I always say." Wayne isn't enjoying his recent bout of insomnia being brought to light right here over breakfast, but now that Katy's spilled the beans to Darry, it seems there's no way out of this pickle.

"Try you know?" Darry pantomimes a crude jerking off motion with his right hand, raising an eyebrow. "Playin' the pink guitar?"

"Punchin' the munchkin will put just about anybody to bed," Katy comments.

"Don't you think I know that pourin' the kool-aid is a remedy old as time for sleepless nights? You two think I don't know that?"

Katy and Darry, despite Wayne's reply, continue with their list of innuendos.

Darry giggles. "Give 'er the ole four knuckle shuffle?"

"Go a round at juicin' the peach?"

Wayne's starting to go a bit pink around the edges. He huffs, begins to say, "I've done the rattlesnake shake and I'm here to tell ya—"

Darry interrupts with, "Shake yer Coke till she blows?"

"Eat any chips after dark?"

"Salute the one handed commander?"

"Whip poor Rick?"

"Participate in a frosting party?"

Before Katy can open her mouth to get in another, Wayne spits, "Yous do pot today? Told ya I gone and snapped the carrot. Grabbed the vacuum. Fuckin' pumped out the batter. Just not doin' it." Wayne stands. "Sides, not exposed to talk bout sex at the table."

And with that, he goes out the door to start in on the day without even waiting for Dan to arrive.

Wayne picks stones. Pulls teats. Moves hay, straw, and barley in one go. He slams a Puppers, smokes a dart, and doesn't stop for lunch. Replaces loose nails in the boards on the porch. Cleans out the crawl space beneath the house. Rinses off carrots and potatoes, then boxes them into crates to be delivered to the church as part of donation toward the homeless.

By sunset, Wayne's body is sore in a very satisfying way, but the purr inside him hasn't lessened. He double checks all the barns again just to give his legs one final putter around the property then resigns to his fate and heads into the house.

Katy is cooking dinner and to Wayne's half surprise, Darry's setting the table. It's a toss up on whether or not Darry plans to stick around to eat.

"Shouldn't be at the table with your barn clothes on," Wayne comments, going to the sink to wash up.

Darry shrugs. "Didn't bring any extra to change into."

Wayne considers letting Darry borrow a plaid, but changes his mind for whatever fucking reason and doesn't offer. He dries his hands on a towel, takes his place at the table, and calls Gus over to love on him.

Katy serves dinner, to which the boys say "Thank you" in unison. Gus is shooed "'Way go" style.

"You know, Wayne…," Darry starts.

"Whatever it is, it's a hard no."

"Was gonna say, sometimes a puff of the Lord's lettuce will put you out easy as a breeze."

Wayne cuts into his steak. "Hard no," he repeats.

Katy says, "Too old fashioned. Gonna crash sooner or later."

"Pot's not my spot."

Darry, through a mush of mashed potatoes, says, "Worth a shot."

"Not like Dad's around," Katy adds. "Won't get caught."

Wayne chews, swallows, says firmly, "Blot the thought. I'm not hot to trot."

Katy, sensing Wayne's frustration, changes the pace to talking about her trip to town today to drop off church donations. Wayne listens best a man can when he's got a head made up from spare parts and not enough sleep. The unnerved fire in him still flames however.

Halfway through the meal, when there's a lull, Darry suggests Wayne try stretching or meditation.

Wayne rejects it on the grounds that it sounds like some shit a skid would try.

Katy sighs. "Just tryin' to help you, Big Brother."

"Not your pig, not your farm."

Darry frowns and sounding defensive, says, "Is fuckin' too."

Wayne blinks and takes a moment to look at his good buddy. They catch eyes, Darry's blue peepers darting down to his plate as though he's embarrassed, maybe ashamed.

He says, "A short term thing, most likely. Will go 'way on its own."

The door of conversation closes at that.

In the private solitude of his bedroom, Wayne tries a few things. He tenses his body in incriments, from toes to shoulders. Imagines himself as a leaf drifting slowly and without direction on the smooth surface of a pond. Takes a warm shower and dresses in loose pajamas. All that sort of bullshit.

None of which work.

Old reliable is still sending the shuttle to space, but even masturbation can get stale after too many pitches that feel closer to a chore than pleasure when you've got a goal in mind. Sides, Wayne doesn't want to risk rubbing himself sore. Then he'll really be out of his mind, agitated as a rabid raccoon backed into a corner.

He dozes lightly for a couple hours, but has no dreams and finds himself awake round 2 am feeling as though he'd only been out for ten minutes at most.

"Fuck a duck."

Wayne throws off his blankets, yanks on his jeans, steps into his boots, and decides to go night fishing.

"Sure gaves us a freights there, Wayne."

Wayne sputters and sits at attention, squaring his shoulders, planting his feet firmly on the ground. "Dan, howareyanow?" he slurs, the greeting a result of muscle memory.

In the morning light, Dan and Darry are looking down at Wayne. He must've dozed off while fixing to bait a line because his rod is knocked over next to his chair and the little tub of worms is by his boot with the lid off. The plaid he's wearing is only half buttoned, leaving most of his chest exposed. He rubs some sleep from his eyes.

"When we said you ought to take up night fishing, this isn't exactly what we meant," Darry teases, but his eyebrows are tight with concern.

Wayne blinks, disoriented, and takes a second to survey the situation, his surroundings. He begins to button up his plaid in an attempt to save grace and stay decent. "Long as I get some shut eye, don't see the problem."

"Problems is it's closer to noon thans morn and we spent a good chunks of that time searchin' for you."

Wayne squints up at the two of them. "Fuck's sake. Put a move on. Great day for hay and I've gone and spoiled it." Wayne stands, turns, folds up his lawn chair.

"We're gettin' a wee bit… worried, Wayne," Darry confesses. His voice is soft and small.

"Body will sort this out, sure as God's got sandals." Wayne slings his fishing pole over his shoulder and marches past Dan and Darry in direction of the farm.

"Professor Tricias, of my women's studies group, she went and dids a unit on stress and psychology and whatnots, mostly to details the societals issue of anxiety related to gender roles assigneds straight from birth—"

"Can get to the point anytime there, bud," Darry urges.

"Anywhos. I'll tell ya, Wayne, suddens fits of insomnia is a sign of unacknowledgeds stress." Keeping a steady pace, Dan gives Wayne a look.

Wayne grumbles and adverts his gaze. "Pups are healthy, crops are good, haven't heard a peep from the skids or those hockey nutsacks. I'd call that pert near paradise." He doesn't mention the stirring that's been brewing a storm in his gut for the last week.

"Well, maybes it's an underlyings issue you don't yet knows how to address."

Wayne huffs out of his mouth and trails off from the boys to put his fishing rod back and hopefully wrangle some chores with what's left of the day.

"Trouble with a sweetie?" Katy suggests.

Wayne crosses his ankles and flexes his bare toes till they crack. "Don't got one."

"Ex-sweetie?" Darry offers.

"Haven't given any a second thought."

Dan hums thoughtfully, scratches his beard. "Financials worries?"

"Farm's doin' swell."

The gang falls silent, turning over what it might be that's keeping Wayne up at night while Wayne wonders when the next time he'll have a rhubarb pie is coming.

Darry snaps his fingers, leaning forward enough his chair squeaks. "Nightmares?"

"Nope."

"Caught feelin's for someone?" Katy tries.

"Mmmmmno." Wayne stands and bends down to the cooler. He goes down the line of "How's yer beer?" till everyone's got a fresh Puppers, and he returns to his chair.

After a good sip, Dan smacks his lips and asks, "So what's left there thats could be botherin's ya, Big Shooter?"

Wayne recrosses his ankles and reclines in his chair. His spits off to his right, says, "Well. Like. Sittin' here wonderin' when the fuck I'm gonna get a slice of rhubarb pie next."

Darry and Dan both furrow their brows, give each other curious looks.

"Yer… concerned withs rhubarb pies?"

Wayne isn't, not really. Itching for it, yes, but the unease making home in his chest is a far cry from a food craving. Wayne plays along, though, because it means a chance at halting the circle of questions they've been running through ever since they finished choring and got to sitting by the produce stand.

"Thinkin' it's never gonna fuckin' come."

And as Wayne predicted, the conversation shifts comfortable as a summer's breeze and the gang starts in on the various food stuffs they've been wanting.

The next morning, Darry surprises Wayne by waltzing right into the kitchen with a whole pie tin filled to the brim with strawberry and rhubarb and warm, flaky crust. He sets it in the middle of the table, sweet aroma of homemade, freshly baked pastry wafting over Wayne.

"Fuck is this, Darry Cherry and Dark Chocolate?"

"Firstly, my yogurt of choice today is mangos and cream and secondly, it's rhubarb pie, like you was fixin' to have yesterday."

Wayne blinks. "Fuck, bud… well. Thank you. Didn't expect no treat like this unasked."

Darry beams and saddles up to the table, pops the top to his yogurt. "No need to thank me there, good buddy. A guy needs help, you help him."

Wayne feels a bit bad having told a little white lie yesterday just for the sake of switching topics, what with Darry serving him an entire goddamn rhubarb pie like this is an Ag Hall charity event.

Katy and Dan filter in and of course, there's an appreciative fuss about the pie sitting square on the table. Everyone gets served a slice and Wayne notices from his peripheral that Darry's watching him with eager eyes to see how he reacts. Wayne humors him and shoots a wink his way, which gets Darry giggling down at his own plate.

"Fuck, that was super, super… super fuckin' good strawberry rhubarb," Katy says, dropping her fork.

"I should fuckin' say," Wayne agrees, folding his hands over his stomach.

"If that don't put you to bed, Super Chief," Darry says, pleased, "I don't know what will."

Strawberry rhubarb pie, unsurprisingly to Wayne, does not put him to bed. He chores the day away and by night, he's stuck staring up at the ceiling, feeling guilty that Darry went and baked him something so special and it hasn't done a damn thing for his sleeping situation.

Wayne ends up on the couch with Gus in his lap, watching whatever shit television he can tolerate at such an ungodly hour, volume kept at a cicada hum for the sake of Katy.

After a shave and a shower, during which, Wayne snuck a glance in the mirror and took note that his face looks beat to hell, Wayne slumps down in his chair and is confronted by Katy.

"Either you take a tranq or I'm hauling you to the clinic, no two ways about it."

Wayne groans, crosses his arms defensively. "Not a bother to you what my sleeping habits are."

"Is fuckin' too, when I can hear you millin' around even when you think you're being sly."

Darry comes in the door and one look at Wayne makes his shoulders sag something awful with glaring disappointment. "Guessin' that pie didn't do the trick?"

"Pie was good, Dar."

"Oh, it was great, Darry," Katy confirms.

"Fuckin' excellent pie there, Darry, but didn't quite get the horse in the stable last night."

Darry, with his cup of yogurt, sits at the table and kind of pouts a minute before peeling the lid off and giving it a lick clean. "'Kay, well. How bout I stick round tonight and show you some of my cool downs? "

"Fuckin' whole world knows you batch yourself to bed, think I can handle that solo."

"I meant like breathin' and stretches, you tit."

Katy shrugs a single shoulder and says, "Darry or the clinic. Your choice."

Darry returns by sundown, having gone home to change out of barn clothes and feed his pups. Wayne has dragged a chair up from the kitchen and Darry sits by his bed, not too close, but not shoved against the wall. Wayne, lying under his single blanket, feels like he's waiting to get a physical. Fuckin' awkward.

Darry guides him through some breathing techniques, urging Wayne to close his eyes to achieve maximum relaxation. Wayne feels like a nutsack, breathing in to the count of five, holding it for four, and exhaling for six, eyelids twitching on account of him being able to feel Darry watching him there in his own bed. Regardless of the foolishness to the situation, Wayne actually notices his shoulders slacken some.

Darry gets quiet and Wayne waits there in silence. He's unsure if he's supposed to be asleep at this point. Knowing Darry's a mere arm's length away is definitely playing a part in keeping him up, despite Wayne's effort to uncoil, to let go, but eventually, he can't take the silence and peeks one eye open.

"Shoot, thought maybe you'd gone out," Darry whispers.

"Bit fuckin' awkward knowin' a grown man is sittin' there in his boots and jeans waitin' on ya to saw logs."

Darry shifts, drops his eyes to the floor. "Spose if this ain't gonna work, I can go on home and Katy'll just take you in for a check up."

Wayne licks his lips, hesitates, then says, "Late nough, can just spend the night here."

"Don't hafta."

"Well. Like. Could make sure I don't go toeing round keepin' Katy up."

Darry breaks into a small smile, giggles bouncing out. "Let me play prison warden?"

"Darry."

"Wayne?"

"Don't spose you've got sleep clothes here, eh?"

"Don't think I do."

"Could borrow some mine."

Darry gives Wayne a flustered look, feathers ruffled, and he shifts in the chair, says, voice low, "Generous gesture there, Wayne."

"No sense in sleepin' in jeans."

Darry smiles. "Won't argue against that, fuck."

"Take some out the drawer and change in the bathroom."

Darry repositions the way his boots are set on the floor before standing and ever so gently opening Wayne's dresser, he pulls out a pair of plaid pants, a muscle shirt. He exits the room and when he returns, he's in Wayne's clothes. Wayne rakes his eyes over his good buddy. Spattering of freckles on his shoulders, his bare arms. Way Wayne's pants are pert near a mile too long on Darry, because despite them being bout the same height, Wayne is more leg.

Wayne's mouth dries. He scoots over in bed and lifts his blanket as an offering.

"Sharin' the bed now, too?"

"Skip the chin waggin' and just get in."

Darry listens and slides in beside Wayne, legs touching in an accidental brush up before Darry's pulling himself back like he's done something sinful.

Darry doesn't mention the spare room, but in case he's thinking of it, Wayne says in a hush, "Sos I don't be gettin' up in the night. Case I wanna make busy with my hands or whatnot, you'll be right here to see to it."

"That's a Texas-sized 10-4."

"G'n'ght, Darry."

"G'n'ght, Wayne."

Wayne's alarm buzzes on the bedside table and both of them reach out to smack it off, Wayne's arm draped heavy over Darry's, and that's when Wayne realizes he'd slept the whole night through, no trouble to it. The memory isn't picture perfect, but Wayne's almost certain he got to slumbering only moments after he'd heard Darry snoring beside him.

Thing is, Darry's no longer beside him. Wayne and Darry are snuggled up like lovebirds.

Darry cuts the rope by asking, "No night fishing this time round?"

"Can confirm. No midnight movie marathons."

Darry hums contently, makes no attempt to pull away from Wayne. And Wayne doesn't particularly mind. Not the first time they've shared a bed. Back when they were boys, Darry would sleep over as often as allowed and they slept together until Wayne's dad scolded them and forbade it for being improper. As adults there have been moments as well, like the two of them passing out after a whiskey night in the back of Wayne's truck while Katy drove them home, shoulder to shoulder.

It's on the edge of being nice, if Wayne's being honest (and a fella should always be honest), but he disturbs the scene and says, "Scoot over there, gotta rock a piss so goddamn bad."

And with that, they go about their morning. Wayne takes a leak and washes up, brushes teeth. Darry pokes his head into the bathroom, says he's gonna run back to his place to check on the pups and change into barn clothes for choring.

Wayne gets downstairs just as Darry's pulling out of the lane way.

"Darry spent the night?" Katy asks.

"Not polite askin' a man for help then forcin' him to drive back at the stroke of midnight."

Katy squints over her cup of coffee, but says nothing more.

It becomes a habit, the sharing a bed. Wayne and Darry say it's to ensure Wayne don't get up to change the hinges on the chicken coop before sunrise, but it's obvious they both know that's a lie if they ever told one. It's an easy fib to live with. Wayne drifts off without much fuss and if Darry's got complaints about the arrangement, it sure don't appear as such considering he looks downright chipper each morning, revving to get out and pick stones.

Whatever was boring holes through Wayne has faded. The nervous energy carbonating his blood has gone flat. Wayne tries not to tie strings to his sudden ease and Darry being his bed partner, but the correlation is fucking glaring.

Wayne puts off talking about it till the tension is smothering.

Darry's pulling tight the drawstrings on Wayne's pants when Wayne says, "Dar…"

"Wayne."

Wayne scoots over some so Darry can slide in next to him, fitting perfect as a puzzle piece there beside him in bed. "Spose we ought to fuck this pig right."

Darry swallows audible enough that Wayne hears his throat give a little click. "Can go, if you figger sleepin's not much an issue no more."

"Not what I'm meaning, Little Shoots, and you fuckin' know it."

Darry stays quiet.

"Now, I think it's obvious as a hard-on in basketball shorts we're both derivin' some sorta pleasure outta the situation."

"Certainly not complainin'."

Wayne's chest tightens some, his heart speeding up to a thumping gallop in his ribcage. His face flushes and he's glad Darry's laid flat on his back so he can't see Wayne getting geared up over just a bit of talk, because Wayne don't wanna be nerving, but his body is reacting like a shook up soda whether or not he wants it to.

"Well. Like. You sweet on me, Darry?"

Darry's breathing comes out funny. He shifts in bed and Wayne worries he's boutta get up and go, but he turns to face Wayne in the dark. "Name one other fella who goes through the trouble of pickin' rhubarb and strawberries for a man less he's sweet as sugar on 'im."

Wayne holds steady to Darry's intense gaze. "Fuckin' can't think of a single solitary example in that field," Wayne whispers.

"Got your answer then."

There's a gap in which silence rushes in to fill. Darry's close enough that Wayne can feel every inhale and exhale.

"You wanna know what I think? Think we're a cock hair shy from bein' foolish enough we should get paid for it, considerin' yer pups are down there in the land of nod probably curled right up to ole Gus on the couch and we're actin' like this is somethin' men round the world do without it meaning anythin'."

Very softly, Darry says, "Didn't wanna spook ya none."

Wayne reaches out and places a palm to Darry's cheek, rubs his thumb back and forth beneath his eye, now that he feels he's allowed to. "What'do'ya wanna do bout it?"

Darry smiles so hard his eyes scrunch shut. "Think we're already doin' it."

"Looks as though we sleuthed out what was keepin' me from them 40 winks."

Taking Wayne's wrist, Darry brings Wayne's hand down to his mouth and kisses the center of his palm. "Had a feelin' it was bigger than just some rhubarb pie rattling the cage."

Wayne's stomach flips. "Ever guess it was you I was needin' so goddamn bad?" he asks, voice hushed.

"Was hopin'..."

So fucking ten-ply, Wayne could weep. He scoots closer and pulls Darry tight to his chest, sticks his nose into Darry's curls and smells a mix of dry hay and the cologne Wayne got him for Christmas. "Been wantin' to get my arms round ya, just didn't know if it was improper or not," he mumbles.

Darry giggles and wiggles in, kissing Wayne's bicep, his cheek, his nose. Any spot he can reach. "Real gentleman there, Wayne."

"Not exposed to go spoonin' yer good buddies less ya mean it."

"Spoonin' me like ya mean it then?"

"Oh, practice makes perfect."

Darry giggles again. "Good. Got all the time in the world to practice now."

"Say, Darry?"

"Yeah?"

"Spose you could make some that strawberry rhubarb pie gain sometime anyway?"

"Got all the time in the world for that, too, Super Chief."

With that established, Wayne relaxes into Darry, blended as seamless as watercolor. And fuck, if it's not the best rest of Wayne's life.