Work Text:
“Tron, got the popcorn?”
Tron held up a plastic bowl, asked, “This?”
“Yeah, that’s it. CLU, you have the Pepsi?”
CLU scowled, didn’t appreciate being micromanaged, shook the box of cans furiously as he stared Sam straight in the eye.
“…Alright then.”
“I am ready to experience this X…porn box,” Tron ventured, feeling his chances of correctly identifying the acronym were strong.
“Oh, no, Xs don’t always stand for porn, not…not like on the internet.”
CLU raised an eyebrow, curious as to what he’d missed.
“The Xbox plays games. We’re going to play games…because it’s Game Night.”
CLU added, “So two of us will be derezzed,” like it was a fact of life and bothered him not.
Sam’s expression twisted into one of disbelief as he responded, “Nobody’s going to die - what is wrong with you?” but his father’s Program simply shrugged in response. He walked past the two men, gave another look to CLU, went over to an old beat up chest sitting flush against the back wall. Beneath the lid was an impressive stock of video games. “Here, look through and find something that interests you.”
CLU flipped the cases in his hand like he found their mere existence offensive, then threw them into the middle of the room. Sam winced each time, told him to stop but was ignored, and finally took to catching each like frisbees.
Tron studied the boxes more carefully, read through the information on the back, compared the artwork with the in-game screenshots. He held up Grand Theft Auto, asked, “Are these women prostitutes?”
Sam looked away long enough to answer with an amused, “Yes.”
“Does your father know you play this game?”
“Uh, yeah, he doesn’t care.”
“I feel you’re lying to me.”
Sam groaned, “You’re not my mom, Tron!” and snatched the case away. A sharp smack rang out from behind as Mass Effect met its fate on the concrete floor. Sam’s head whipped around, his jaw clenched and he snarled, “Choose something, CLU.”
The older man gave a small huff. “Do you have anything like that movie we watched a few days ago, WarGames? Do you have anything like that?”
“Do I have any games that hack military computers and convince the government of imminent nuclear war? No. I do not.” He could probably acquire one of the movie-inspired games but wasn’t going to. CLU familiarizing himself with real world military operations was the last thing he needed. “I have a ROM of Q*bert. That’s similar.”
CLU crossed his arms, muttered, “What are you good for?” He locked eyes with the boy again, dangled a silver coated box between his thumb and forefinger, threatening to drop it. Sam pursed his lips but said nothing and once CLU decided he’d unnerved him enough, flipped the box into the safety of his palm.
“This looks ominous,” he remarked vaguely.
“Resident Evil - you guys can play that.”
“Do a lot of people die?”
“They’re monsters and zombies but yeah, you kill a lot of stuff.”
“You cleanse the world of undesirables. Excellent.” CLU gave a smirk as if plotting and Sam frowned, wasn’t sure whether the game would get those urges out of his system or serve as encouragement.
CLU gave up the disc and went to the couch where Tron was already waiting in youthful excitement. The Security Program asked politely for a drink, held out his hand to accept, but CLU rolled the Pepsi in his palm before opening the can for himself. He took a gulp, immediately jumped in shock and threw it on the floor where it exploded into a sticky, fizzy mess. “This is poison!” he screeched. “It’s burning my throat!”
Sam yelled, “That’s carbonation, you dumbass!” leaping to his feet to make sure the entertainment center wasn’t damaged.
The room was quiet, CLU looking from the Pepsi to Sam as if they were clues to unlocking a mystery, said finally, “You don’t have to yell, kiddo,” as he grabbed another and sipped delightedly. “And you, Tron, are supposed to check everything before me in case of such an incident.”
“No,” the other man spat. “I don’t do that anymore.” He crawled over CLU to reach for the drinks, knocking the man’s arm into his face and causing him to dribble down his chest. Tron grabbed the popcorn as well, placing it next to him like a new best friend, just out of CLU’s reach.
Sam started the game, came to the character screen when Tron piped up, “I want to be the woman. She looks agile.” He selected Sheva, encouraged, “Live your dreams, Tron,” and handed the controllers over.
CLU was instantly fascinated and started running around haphazardly, climbing up ladders and falling off buildings, jumping back and forth over fences for no obvious reason, shooting zombies once or twice before running away again. Tron insisted on being more precise, pressed every button, quickly memorizing their purpose. He clicked the D-pad and cycled through his arsenal.
“What is this?”
“It’s a shotgun.”
“What is this?”
“That’s a rifle.”
“What is this?”
“Tron, just pick a gun and start shooting things.”
Tron hit a gas can and promptly blew himself up. Sam nodded slowly, said, “Okay.”
CLU sat up straighter, brow wrinkled and expression intense. “Why did the game stop? I’m still alive.”
Sam replied simply, “Your partner’s dead so you lost,” and it wasn’t a big deal, but had he known that actually, yes, it was a big deal, he would have broken the news more gently.
CLU’s head snapped towards Tron and he yelled, “You’re always getting in the way of my success!” He lunged for the other man who fell over on the couch like a dead animal, tried to defend himself before he was forced to react more violently. CLU was grabbing at his face and Tron wrapped legs around his torso, twisting his body to throw him onto the floor. He fell on top - pinned his wrists above his head.
“Hey hey hey, whoa!” Sam pulled Tron off, outstretched an arm to keep CLU at bay though he knew if they wanted to go at it he would be helpless. He barked, “CLU, that is called nerd rage and you need to keep it under control.” The older man grunted and lifted himself on his forearms, still glaring at Tron who stood battle-ready, waiting for any offensive movement.
No one stirred, each taking time to recollect, and Sam wondered if he should just pull out Yahtzee or UNO, or maybe the bright happy colors in Candy Land would be more calming. Either way, the best idea would be to play a game in which death was impossible.
“We’re going to try this again. We’re going to play a racing game. You guys like vehicles and speed don’t you?”
Tron nodded his agreement. “That sounds fun.”
“If there’s nothing else.”
Sam seethed, “I know you like going fast, CLU, don’t even act like you don’t,” and CLU rolled eyes to the ceiling, defiantly gave him attitude because yeah, he secretly did like going fast.
Sam replaced the game disc with another, sighed contentedly when the Xbox beeped and a list of friends popped up. “Thank God Dillinger’s online.” He paused, snuck a glance at CLU. “Wow, I never thought I’d say that.” Sam invited Ed to the group, excited he’d now have someone to challenge him and balance out the crazy.
“Hey, jackass.”
“What’s up, asshole?”
Tron turned slowly, shocked yet intrigued by the greeting. “That was uncalled for.”
“People say stuff like that when they play online.” Sam pulled his headpiece off and held the microphone up to Tron’s face. “Try it, tell him he’s a dirty skank.”
“That seems rude.”
“Go on, it’s how people communicate.”
Tron was quiet a moment, said mildly, “You’re a dirty skank.”
Ed chuckled, “Oh really?”
“Sam claims that is affirmative.”
“Well tell Sam he can go -”
Tron pushed the headphones away, threw them on the couch like they were a snake. “I am still learning User etiquette,” he claimed, flustered. Sam laughed, didn’t stress it was not proper etiquette for real life situations which would come back to bite him a few days later.
After a quick overview of the controls which included “go,” “forward,” and “stop,” the race began. The learning curve was small and both Programs quickly became immersed. Tron sped ahead, dodging cars and hugging curves, was overly infatuated with his horn which he honked incessantly. It didn’t seem to affect his person in any way and so he kept at it, determined to understand its purpose, much to Sam’s chagrin.
CLU fell back, sought out Sam’s car specifically. He had it out for him, swerved into him every chance he got, bringing him dangerously close to hitting walls. They crossed a bridge and CLU turned suddenly, slammed into Sam and sent his vehicle head-first into the ravine. Sam threw his hands up, almost flinging the controller behind him.
"I killed you!"
Sam gritted his teeth, corrected, "You can't kill people in this game, they just respawn."
"I killed you, Sam Flynn!"
"You can't kill people, CLU!"
“Who is that?”
Sam took a deep breath, responded bluntly, “My friend.”
“He sounds like an idiot.”
Sam shrugged. He wasn’t going to argue that.
Ed asked, “Where’s he from?” as he smoothly maneuvered into first.
“Oh, God, I dunno. Wyoming?”
“Do you really not know, or..?”
“Does it matter, Ed? You want his number or something?” Sam stayed behind CLU who was successfully defending his 9th place position, yet CLU was still bumping into cars, took to pushing his own vehicle into walls.
His controller shook endlessly – man, he sucked – and finally he spoke in a small voice, “Is this meant to be stimulating?”
Sam closed his eyes; didn’t really wish to know. “Why, CLU? Are you stimulated?”
“The vibrations…” He got the impression from the User’s intonation this was perhaps not normal and wasn’t sure he should be embarrassed by it. “…It’s a bit arousing.”
“Hold the controller away from your crotch, for the love of God!”
CLU blinked, said simply, “But then my erection will be exposed.”
Sam pursed his lips, glued his attention to the TV. He wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. Tron shifted his weight awkwardly before moving his controller down further to his knees.
Ed snorted in amusement. “Let me talk to your horny friend.”
“You’ve said a lot of things to me I wish you hadn’t, and this is one of them.” Sam hesitated, knew this was probably a bad judgment call but also knew the potential for hilarity was great. He handed his headpiece to CLU who promptly put it on.
“Greetings, User.”
“Hey, hornball. You got a name?”
“CLU.”
“Clue?”
“CLU.”
“What nationality is that?”
“It’s an acronym for Codified Likeness Utility.”
“Your parents sound like cyber hippies. Sam says you’re from Wyoming.”
“Sam is a simpleton.”
Sam looked over at the Program like he couldn’t believe he expressed that openly in front of him.
“So you’re not from Wyoming?”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
Ed raised his eyebrows, drawled, “I guess you and Sam get along great then.”
“I try to tolerate him.”
Sam sped past the finish line and dropped the controller in his lap. He scowled, didn’t need to be ripped apart. “You guys want to get a room? What is this?”
“Are you Sam’s cousin or something?”
“What?”
“You kind of…” Ed paused, wasn’t sure he heard right – wasn’t sure he should go there. “You kind of sound like Kevin Flynn.”
“I’m a million times the man Kevin Flynn is!” he roared and Ed had to pull the speaker away from his ear. “Kevin Flynn is a liar and a coward and I will rebuild the Grid through my vision – it will reach perfection!” Sam waved angrily, berated in silence, and CLU regarded him like he was the crazy one.
Ed didn’t know how to respond so he didn’t. Sam surrounded himself with some bizarre people - people who hated his father yet sounded just like him. It was becoming more obvious he had severe issues.
Sam snatched the headpiece away, said, “Sorry,” like that was good enough - like it would explain everything. He changed the subject swiftly, acted like nothing happened because that usually worked; people were idiots.
“What other games do you have?”
“I’ve got Street Fighter, Marvel vs. Cap -”
“Yeah…they don’t understand racing, so…”
“I don’t know what you want. Your friends are like the Amish. They can button mash, I don’t give a shit.”
With that kind of passion and enthusiasm Sam thought it best to play Street Fighter. The Programs would at least be occupied trying to figure out all the combos.
“Here, Tron, you play this one. You need strategy to win.” Sam set him up with Chun-Li and Tron accepted the controller with glee, because oh gosh, he freaking loved strategy and he loved kicking people and she looked like she was great at kicking people.
The first round served as practice, but Tron quickly caught on, gave Ed a run for his money in the following fights. He didn’t win but he came close and Sam exclaimed, “Wow, you’re actually pretty good at this.”
He attacked viciously in the next game, finally comfortable in the workings of the system. He paralyzed Ed in a corner, pissed him off until he was shouting expletives and making threats which riled Tron up enough to yell, “Your mother was a woman of the night!” Then it was on; Tron was an old pro with his smack talk that sometimes made sense and sometimes didn’t, but Ed regarded each as a hit to his pride and shot right back at him.
Sam was impressed the first several fights but now he needed another way to occupy himself while Tron repeatedly embarrassed Dillinger. He caught a glimpse of CLU sprawled out on his side of the couch, head back and eyes closed, drool dripping down his chin.
It was juvenile but he’d always wanted to try it, and the excitement got him, made him disregard the obvious consequences. Sam grabbed a glass and filled it with warm water, went straight over to an unsuspecting CLU.
The second his fingers touched liquid CLU jumped in shock, flung his arms like a madman, hitting the glass out of Sam’s hand and making it shatter across the floor. He stood with eyes wild, looking around the room in case there were other things that needed to be destroyed, and all Sam could do was stew silently. He puffed through his nose like a raging bull but held his tongue because though the joke didn’t turn out the way he planned it was still his fault for trying at all.
“Now you’re trying to drown me!” CLU bellowed.
Sam wasn’t going to bother explaining he couldn’t drown with only fingertips submerged, responded dryly, “I was trying to make you piss yourself.”
CLU’s eyes narrowed and he regarded the young man with disgust. “You have odd fetishes.”
Sam didn’t even turn to assess the damage on the floor, only walked back to his place on the couch and slumped into his seat. Tron was jerking left and right, mimicking the movements of the woman on screen, bouncing up and down to the point where Sam thought he’d get motion sickness.
He yelled, “Suck my dick!” out of nowhere, and Sam’s mouth flew open in amazement.
“Who-oa, where did that come from? Did my dad teach you that?” There was no response, the Program refusing to acknowledge the question and Sam’s brow furrowed as realization hit. “Did my dad…did my dad say that? Tron,” he called again, tone light and cautious because he wasn’t sure why he insisted on knowing at all. “…Did my dad say that?”
“I’m concentrating, Sam.” One more kick and Ryu was unconscious and Chun-Li was jumping in joy and Tron leapt up, arms to the sky in victory.
“Motherfucker! You’re cheating - there’s no freaking way!” Twenty-five rounds was Ed’s limit – enough to let him cycle through each character, fail miserably, and question his existence. The rage and frustration burned within him and he announced, “I’m done, this is ridiculous.”
Sam took the headpiece from Tron, managed, “See you at wo-” but Ed snarled, “No, fuck you,” and signed out.
“Is that nerd rage?”
“That’s little bitch rage.”
Tron perked up, asked demurely, “So I won?”
“You…yes,” he confirmed. “You won. A lot.”
“Can I play again?”
Sam bit his tongue, didn’t have the heart to say, I don’t really want to play with you. “Not tonight. Tomorrow you can play with random strangers online and piss them off, then I’ll send you to Japan to compete in a tournament and you can piss off the Japanese too.”
Tron set the controller down gently, disappointed yet understanding. Sam was about to announce it was time they turned in, but CLU beat him to it, sat on Sam’s bed as he stripped.
“CLU, we go over this every damn night: You cannot sleep in the nude. Tron doesn’t want to see it, I sure as hell don’t need that burned into my corneas - put your pants on.”
“Your pants,” the Program corrected, grabbing old sweats thrown over a wooden chair.
“I don’t like to be reminded of that, but yeah.” Sam turned suddenly, caught the other man slyly making his way towards his own bed. “And Tron, you need to take more clothes off. You can’t keep sleeping in those jeans, they’re starting to smell like wet cats.”
Tron craned his neck to regard him, knit blanket clenched in his hand. “I like them.”
“I know you do, but it’s been weeks and they need to be washed. Your underwear, too.”
Tron’s face sunk and he undid his pants with the same enthusiasm as one headed to the electric chair. He pulled his boxers down a few inches before Sam yelled, “No, it’s fine, it’s fine, not right now!” He hid his face in his hand as the Program smiled in delight and pulled his favorite – and only – pair of jeans back up.
“Go to bed and we’ll have a big breakfast tomorrow and -”
CLU interjected, “Will we?”
Sam replied flatly, “Yeah, we’re going to have breakfast.”
“As long as we all wake up,” the Program finished cryptically, drawing a confused yet wary look from Sam.
He shook his head, wasn’t in the mood, grunted, “I don’t know what that means, CLU. I really don’t know what that means.”
A cunning grin graced CLU’s lips as he stepped backwards towards his makeshift bed, eyes boring into the User. Tron gave the boy a pitying look; one of complete understanding and compassion as he had to deal with CLU’s psychotic bullshit all the time.
Sam turned off the lights but was convinced he wouldn’t sleep, and though the evening had been trying, the sheer annoyance CLU was forced to endure and the look of complete joy on Tron’s face convinced him this wouldn’t be the last Game Night either.