Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The silence in the kitchen is absolute. Bitty can hear the soft swish swish of the neighbors sweeping their deck.

“You’re what.” It's patently not a question. Coach’s voice has never been flatter; never been more monotone. God, just once Bitty wishes he could understand what his father is thinking.

“I - gay. I’m gay.”

“I have to go lay down,” his mother says, voice faint. “Or maybe go be sick.” Bitty watches her disappear down the hallway, his heart sinking further with every step she takes. Why did I decide to tell them at all?

“Jun -,” Coach clears his throat and tries again, “Eric.” His mouth opens and closes a couple of times, but no words make it past his lips. Bitty wants to fall through the floor. Or rewind two minutes to before he opened his big, fat, stupid mouth. Why did I think this was a good idea?

“I’m just, ah, goin’ to check on Suzanne, then.” His dad walks as quickly as possible without actually running, following his wife back to their bedroom. Bitty thinks he hears his mama crying before Coach closes the door.

Mind carefully blank, Bitty methodically cleans the kitchen. Oven off. Half baked pie in the trash. Wash the pie plate. Wipe down counters. Store the bowls.

He climbs the stairs to his room in a haze, closes his door carefully behind himself, and sinks down shakily onto his bed. Now what?

His phone is in his hand. Bitty doesn’t remember taking it out. For once, he doesn’t know what to do with it. He certainly can’t tweet about this, not even vaguely. The choice is taken out of his hands when it starts ringing - a closeup of Shitty’s mustache on the screen.

Shitty’s muffled voice fills his ear when he answers, like Shitty’s got the phone pressed to his shoulder as he talks to someone else.

“- a friend from the hockey team, Dad , he got a concussion at the end of the season. I was just calling to check on him, if that’s allowed ?” Bitty has never heard him sound so pissed off before - not even when yelling at the LAX bros - Shitty’s practically growling. “Thank you . I’ll be back down for dinner. Probably.” The last word is muttered. There’s a short rustling and a door closing and then -

“Bits, brah, you there?”

He takes a shaky breath.

“Hi Shitty.”

Chapter Text

“Oh thank god you answered I like, super had to get out of that living room, bro. If I had to listen to one more story about how their club is 'going to the dogs' or some shit because they started letting women in, I was going to do something that would make being pre-law irrelevant. I’m so tired of having to hob-nob with retired and elderly relocated fuckin’ ‘Boston Elite’ that I could puke.”

“That does sound like a bit of a hellscape,” says Bitty, trying valiantly to sound normal.

“Ughhh I feel like I need a shower after every conversation with my dad and everyone else here. But let’s not talk about that. What’s going on with you? How’s your ol' noggin’?”

“Good! Super! It’s um, healin’ up just fine. Should be back on the ice during pre-season no problem. Mama and I made breakfast today and then ran some errands and then -” Bitty chokes a little on his own words, cutting himself off abruptly. Because what happened next -

“‘Scuze me, my throat went all dry there for a sec. Where was I?”

“After errands with your mom,” Shitty prompts. “Do you have water with you? That cough sounded bad, Bits.”

Shitty sounds genuinely concerned, and Bitty isn’t ready to face the events of this evening. Not yet. So he does what he does best: he talks, trying desperately to fill the void of what he’s not capable or ready to say with something, anything else.

“Yeah of course, I’ve got a bottle right here. Anyway, we ran some errands, we went to the farmer’s market to pick up some peaches for a cobbler tomorrow, and Coach said he needed more paint for the fence out back and then, let’s see, we went to Moomaw’s house ‘round lunch time for a visit. We didn’t get back until about an hour ago actually. I just got done, um, having dinner with my parents before coming upstairs. It was a pretty -” he inhales sharply. The lie of omission sits like poison on Bitty’s tongue. But he’s not going to say anything to anyone about what just happened. Not even Shitty. He refuses to burden his friends with his problems. “A pretty good day all in all.”

Shitty is silent on the other end of the phone. He doesn’t say anything for so long that Bitty actually checks to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. Dread starts to pool in Bitty’s stomach.

“Bitty, it’s possible I’m way off base here,” Shitty starts. Bitty holds his breath, mentally bracing against having to make what just happened real. “But you don’t sound fine. You sound kind of the opposite of fine. What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’ Shitty. I had a perfectly lovely day with my perfectly lovely parents and now I’m talkin’ to you,” Bitty says through his teeth.

If he opens his mouth any wider the whole damn thing is going to come spilling out. He can’t break apart. Not on the phone with Shitty. Not in this house when everything is still on such tenterhooks with his parents. So he will hold back this river of words and feelings with his very bones if he has to. No one can know. No one will know.

“I can tell when you’re stressed, Bitty, even on the phone. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“ Nothing .”

“What kind of pie did you and your mom make tonight?”

“What?”

“You told me during fall semester that you and your mom make a pie together with your dad in the kitchen every Thursday. It’s Thursday. You never pass up the opportunity to talk about your pies. Plus you normally post the finished product either on twitter or in the group chat and tonight there’s nothing.”

“Why does it matter? So I didn’t share this week’s pie. That doesn’t mean something’s wrong .” He winces at how high and squeaky his voice is by the end of his sentence. There’s no way Shitty is going to buy that.

“What kind of pie, Bitty? Just tell me what kind of pie you made together and I swear I’ll stop pushing.”

“I - we - Shitty -” Bitty can’t form one measly flavor past his lips and his eyes are starting to sting with the pain of barely held back tears.

“What kind of pie did you make, Bitty?“ asks Shitty softly.

The kindness and care in his voice breaks the dam and suddenly Bitty is sobbing - face tucked into his knees that are drawn up to his chest, clutching his phone to his ear like a lifeline.

Chapter Text

“Bits, it’s gonna be alright, just try to breathe through it, in and out, in and out.”

Bitty can barely hear Shitty’s soothing voice over his own sobs, in for three, out for four, but he tries to get a hold of himself. Can’t let Mama and Coach hear, after all. His sobs double down at that thought.

“In for five, out for seven,” Shitty is saying. Bitty forces himself to breathe with Shitty’s instructions and slowly, so slowly, he gets himself calm.

“Aaaand oooouut, five, six, seven. Good. You alright, Bitty?” Shitty asks.

“For now,” Bitty gasps. “Sorry about that.”

“Brah, don’t apologize, glad I could help.” He hesitates. “I know this is going to sound hypocritical, and possibly insincere, but if you really and truly don’t want to talk about what’s going on with you, I’ll drop it right now. But. I’m here. And I’ve got your back. No matter what.”

Bitty actually takes a few moments to think about what he wants to do.

Not telling Shitty, not telling anyone is his instinct. Just put on a happy face and pretend with all his might - shove down anything negative into a box and it’ll go away. He could go down to breakfast the next morning and make breakfast - show his parents that nothing really has to change. That he’s still the same person, the same son they raised. He can see it so clearly: he’d pretend he hadn’t come out and his parents would pretend they weren’t relieved by his act and it would be - fine .

Telling Shitty would make it real. Telling Shitty would mean he’d have to face what happened - would force him to acknowledge that his parents’ love might be conditional after all. To re-evaluate the arc of his life. Bitty would always know that when confronted with the truth of himself, his parents had balked. But telling Shitty -

Telling Shitty would also mean acceptance, friendship, support, love . Telling Shitty would mean that he wouldn’t have to face this alone. That he wouldn’t have to suffer in silence until the end of summer break. And there’s no one Bitty would rather have in his corner when the chips are down. Shitty would know what to say to make the situation, not merely fine, but better. 

It’s that thought that settles it. That thought that lets him control his lingering ragged breaths. He feels himself uncurling, sitting straighter, jaw setting.

“I came out to my parents.”

Chapter Text

“Oh, wow, Bitty, I don’t want to assume here, bro, but -”

“It didn’t go well,” Bitty interrupts. He may be resolved to tell Shitty what happened, but if he’s interrupted too much he'll never get it out from between his teeth.

“Coach just looked at me like I’d grown a second head and Mama left in a rush and I’m pretty sure she was cryin’ and then Coach left too and I just stood there. Just, one second they were in the kitchen and the next - gone.' He's rambling now, words spilling out like tea staining MooMaw's fine white linen tablecloth, powerless to stem the tide. "And we were in the middle of a pie. I took it out of the oven and threw it away and cleaned all the dishes and came up here and then you called. And - and how am I ever going to make a blueberry pie ever again, Shitty? I feel like all I’ll remember is Coach calling me Eric instead of Junior and Mama telling me she had to go lie down. I just.”

“Oh, Bits,” says Shitty. “I wish I had more words other than that fucking sucks .”

Bitty chuckles wetly. “Thanks, Shitty. You always know what to say.”

“Fuck. I can’t believe I’m in fucking Florida right now. Wish I could hug you.”

“Rain check on that for sure. I have a feeling I’m gonna need a bunch.”

“Got your back.” There’s a distant banging on Shitty’s end of the line, and the sound takes on a muffled quality that means Shitty covered his mic, and then the unmistakable sound of Shitty yelling, some more rustling and then -

“Shit , Bitty I have to go. I’m being called down to dinner by my father. Apparently I’ve ‘been antisocial and selfish’ for too long.” Bitty can hear the air-quotes in Shitty’s voice.

“You go on and scoot, then. I don’t want you to get into it with him on my account.”

“I’ve gotten into it with him for way less important things than you, Bits,” Shitty mutters. 

Bitty tears up a bit at that, but remains firm. “Go on. I’ll be fine for a couple hours, and I’ll still be here when you get done, you can rant all about what happens at dinner to me. It’ll be a good distraction from - well a distraction, at any rate.”

“That’s a fuckin’ deal, bro. Hang in there, Bits.”

“Bye, Shitty.”

They hang up and Bitty collapses back onto his bed, suddenly boneless and exhausted. But he did it. He came out to his parents and his world imploded. He told Shitty what happened and just a few minutes of conversation healed some of the damage. He’s never been so grateful to Samwell for taking a chance on him. He can’t imagine he’d have gotten this much support if he’d stayed in Georgia like his parents had wanted him to. Thank whoever is listening for hockey scholarships.

Maybe he’ll take a nap, try to feel more like himself before Shitty calls him back tonight. Shitty’s family dinners are, without exception, at least six courses, not including pre-dinner drinks or dessert. The shortest one Bitty heard about was two and a half hours long, and was only him and his father. The fact that they are visiting Shitty’s grandparents means dinner is likely to be much longer.

Bitty’s changes out of jeans and into his coziest sleep shorts and softest tank top. He's reaching for the comforting presence of Señor Bun when a knock on his bedroom door breaks the silence of early evening.

Chapter Text

Maybe if he ignores the knocking hard enough it will go away.

It doesn’t.

Knock knock knock.

“Eric? Open the door, please.”

He can count on one hand the number of times Mama hasn’t added a “sweetheart” or a “honey” to a sentence. Or called him Eric. Bitty braces himself as he trudges across the room, wiping his eyes one more time as he goes. 

He swings his door open to reveal not just Mama’s tear-streaked face, but Coach, too, hovering extremely awkwardly behind her, looking determinedly down at his shoes. 

The tension is thicker than MooMaw’s pea soup; the silence is deafening. Mama’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times before she clears her throat and manages to make a sound.

“Eric. We - I -”

“Y’don’thaftatreatmeanydifrent,” he bursts out in a rush.

“What was that?”

“Y’don’t have to treat me any different,” he says slower. He has to try this, even if all the evidence points to it blowing up in his face. “I’m still the same person. I’m still your son. I’m still me .” He manages to meet her gaze, and has to fight not to recoil when he sees the sorrow etched across her face. His stomach drops through the floor and a chill wracks his body. The last time Mama looked so sad, his grandfather was dead.

She takes a deep, shaky breath, and forces a smile.

“Your father and I - well, that is to say - we’ve found this program.”

What little air was still in the room seems to leave it.

“It’s very promising, excellent results, and mostly outdoors so you’ll get plenty of exercise, and some other stuff. I printed some stuff out for you to look at downstairs - but I guess you could look at that in the morning. And you’ll have to put that school of yours on hold since the program starts in October -”

Mama’s mouth is still talking - Bitty’s sure she is - but the roaring in his ears drowns out whatever words she’s saying. She wants him to go to some sort of a program, wants him to leave Samwell, to go to this program. This program with excellent results, and fuck if he can’t guess what the program promises to parents.

“- and we’ll just, go now, that’s a lot of information for you to process and we can talk about it more in the morning, good night.”

And then Mama is gone, down the stairs, leaving Coach on the landing. His father looks up and this time Bitty does recoil. He’s never seen that kind of suppressed rage on anyone’s face, let alone Coach’s.

“Your mother framed it like it was a choice you had, but you listen here. You’re going to this program thing whether you like it or not. I’ve already uprooted my job and moved for you once. I’m not starting over again just because you thought it was a good idea to share your - your perversions with us. And if other people around here find out about you, your mother and I would have to leave town. Got it?”

“Yes sir,” Bitty says softly. Message received, loud and clear.

Coach leaves and Bitty closes his door, slumping against it.

Now what?

Chapter Text

Shitty is straight up Not Having a Good Time in Florida. Not that he ever does have a good time when forced to interact with his father’s parents.

But.

His dad and his grandparents are paying for college, and eventually law school, so when Dad says pack your stuff for a two week stay - he packs.

Shitty sighs as he looks around the front parlor of his grandparents’ vacation home. Not even the sunshine streaming through the windows can combat the chilly austerity of the room. He debates going outside but the over 100 degree weather makes him change his mind for now. He opens his phone aimlessly, bored, checking Twitter and the group chat, but both are dead right now.

Thinking through what his friends are up to right now, Shitty gets more and more dismayed; Jack’s busy at another training camp, Lardo is working an event for her local library until way late, Holster and Ransom are on their annual Niagara trip, Johnson straight up disappeared before graduation, and Bitty -

He sits up out of his slumped position on the window seat with a jolt.

Bitty, bright and bubbly, savior-of-his-boredom, Bitty is home in Georgia. And, since he’s still taking it easy after his concussion, isn’t working this summer. Score.

He heads up to the room he always stays in when they visit, already dialing, and meets his father on the stairs.

“Where are you going, Byron?” It’s an innocent enough question but Shitty’s dad has always been able to infuse a sense of menace into his words.

“Just upstairs to talk to one of my friends,” he says, trying to remain civil.

“We’re here to visit your grandparents, Byron, it’s extremely rude of you to hole up in your room all the time.”

“They aren’t even here right now,” he protests, “You know they take a walk before dinner.”

“Well, you could have offered to go with them, it would be nice if you showed an interest in their lives.”

“I didn’t want to invite myself on their outing, but I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Who are you calling, anyway, I hope it’s not that girl , that Lenora. She’s not at all appropriate dating material for a Knight.”

Shitty closes his eyes and clenches his jaw. He doesn’t want to have this particular fight with his father right now, on the stairs, when he won’t be able to talk to Lardo for hours at best, tomorrow at worst. He pastes the World’s Fakest Smile on his face and looks up.

“It’s not, Larissa ,” he says. (He can’t help himself from the slight dig; Dad prides himself on remembering everyone’s name.) “I’m calling Eric, a friend from the hockey team, Dad , he got a concussion at the end of the season. I was just calling to check on him, if that’s allowed ?” 

His dad humphs a little, but moves aside on the stairs to let Shitty pass. “Very well, but don’t take too long, dinner is at six thirty.”

“ Thank you . I’ll be back down for dinner,” Shitty says, climbing the stairs. “Probably,” he mutters once he’s out of earshot. He finally gets to the guest room and closes the door firmly behind him. He realizes that the line isn’t ringing anymore, but the silence doesn’t sound like a dead line. He glances down to see that, yup, the call connected one minute and twelve seconds ago. He brings the phone back up to his ear.

“Bits, brah, you there?”

He hears a shaky breath.

“Hi Shitty.”

Chapter Text

Shitty launches into a diatribe as soon as he hears Bitty’s voice.

“That does sound like a bit of a hellscape,” Bitty says as Shitty pauses for breath.

“Ughhh I feel like I need a shower after every conversation with my dad and everyone else here. But let’s not talk about that. What’s going on with you? How’s your noggin’?”

“Good! Super! It’s um, healin’ up just fine. Should be back on the ice during pre-season no problem. Mama and I made breakfast today and then ran some errands and then -” Bitty cuts himself off to clear his throat. “‘Scuze me, my throat went all dry there for a sec. Where was I?”

“After errands with your mom,” Shitty prompts. “Do you have water with you? That cough sounded bad, Bits.”

Shitty is a little concerned - not just with the coughing. Now that he’s listening to Bitty, there’s something off in his voice, in his speech patterns. It makes Shitty sit up and take notice.

“Yeah of course, I’ve got a bottle right here. Anyway, we ran some errands, we went to the farmer’s market to pick up some peaches for a cobbler tomorrow, and Coach said he needed more paint for the fence out back and then, let’s see, we went to Moomaw’s house ‘round lunch time for a visit. We didn’t get back until about an hour ago actually. I just got done, um, having dinner with my parents before coming upstairs. It was a pretty -” he inhales sharply. “A pretty good day all in all.”

Shitty’s mind races. Something is clearly wrong. The words are all normal Bitty-chatter on the surface, but that catch in his voice, the slight pause, something Is Up. Should he say anything, though, or maintain Bitty’s polite fiction? Crap . He’s been quiet too long and decides to just go for it. Worst case scenario, Bitty tells him not to stick his nose in.

“Bitty, it’s possible I’m way off base here,” Shitty says slowly. “But you don’t sound fine. You sound kind of the opposite of fine. What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’ Shitty. I had a perfectly lovely day with my perfectly lovely parents and now I’m talkin’ to you.”

And wow , is that some bullshit. He can practically hear Bitty’s teeth cracking; he's clenching his jaw that hard. Shitty’s had a lot of practice getting overly-stressed hockey players with parental issues to open up. And until Bitty tells him to fuck off, he’s gonna keep trying.

“I can tell when you’re stressed, Bitty, even on the phone. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing .”

Inspiration strikes him out of the blue, and he pulls up the group chat and Bitty’s Twitter on his laptop, searching for the proof in the pie. “What kind of pie did you and your mom make tonight?”

“What?” 

“You told me during fall semester that you and your mom make a pie together with your dad in the kitchen every Thursday. It’s Thursday. You never pass up the opportunity to talk about your pies. Plus you normally post the finished product either on twitter or in the group chat and tonight there’s nothing.”

“Why does it matter? So I didn’t share this week’s pie. That doesn’t mean something’s wrong .” Shitty has to pull his phone a little away from his ear with how high and squeaky Bitty’s voice gets at the end there.

“What kind of pie, Bitty? Just tell me what kind of pie you made together and I swear I’ll stop pushing.”

“I - we - Shitty -” Aw shit. Bitty sounds like he’s about to cry, something really is wrong.

“What kind of pie did you make, Bitty?“ asks Shitty softly.

Suddenly Bitty is sobbing - Shitty can tell even though it's muffled by what sounds like Bitty burying his face in his knees. He closes his laptop and casts it to the side, the better to focus on Bitty.

Shitty makes soothing noises into the phone, repeating that he’s got Bitty’s back and promising to stay on the line. When Bitty calms down enough to hear him, they’re gonna talk for real, but for now Shitty will wait.

Hopefully whatever upset him so much is something Shitty can actually help with from Florida.

Chapter Text

“In for three, out for three,” Shitty says. He can finally hear Bitty’s sobs subsiding ever so slowly. He’s drawing on a lot of what helps Jack with his anxiety attacks, but it seems to be working as Bitty’s breathing changes to match his counting.

“Aaaand out four, five, six, seven. Good. You alright, Bitty?” Shitty asks.

“For now,” Bitty gasps. “Sorry about that.”

“Brah, don’t apologize, glad I could help.” He hesitates. “I know this is going to sound hypocritical, but if you really and truly don’t want to talk about what’s going on with you, I’ll drop it right now. But. I’m here. And I’ve got your back. No matter what.”

Bitty goes quiet for a long while. While he waits, Shitty opens his laptop again, doing a quick search for rental cars. He can probably come up with something to tell his dad if need be. If Bitty needs him, Shitty will be there with bells on. He’s always been firm in the belief that comforting words eventually require action to back them up. What kind of friend would he be if he didn’t somehow get to Georgia?

Shitty notices when it gets even quieter on the other end of the line. Bitty’s still-ragged breathing is now under control. 

Shitty holds his breath, braced for the worst: cancer diagnosis, grandparent death, Bitty hurt -

“I came out to my parents.” 

Oh, shit . Shitty’s never heard him sound so wooden before. And for him to sound so flat talking about coming out to his parents -

“Oh, wow, Bitty, I don’t want to assume here, bro, but -”

“It didn’t go well,” Bitty interrupts Shitty, before plowing on, talking so fast his practically tripping over his own words.

“Coach just looked at me like I’d grown a second head and Mama left in a rush and I’m pretty sure she was cryin’ and then Coach left too and I just stood there. Just, one second they were in the kitchen and the next - gone. And we were in the middle of a pie. ”

Just that once sentence would be enough to tell Shitty how dire the situation is. Because he already knew Bitty’s situation was bad, all the explanation does is make him start throwing things in his suitcase. He’ll get a Lyft to the car rental place. He’ll figure out something to tell his dad. Bitty is still talking, though, and the next bit breaks Shitty’s heart even more.

“I took it out of the oven and threw it away and cleaned all the dishes and came up here and then you called. And - and how am I ever going to make a blueberry pie ever again, Shitty? I feel like all I’ll remember is Coach calling me Eric instead of Junior and Mama telling me she had to go lie down. I just.”

“Oh, Bits,” says Shitty, sitting down and pausing his frantic packing. “I wish I had more words other than that fucking sucks .”

Bitty chuckles wetly. “Thanks, Shitty. You always know what to say.”

“ Fuck . I can’t believe I’m in fucking Florida right now. Wish I could hug you.” He doesn’t tell Bitty that he’s going to come visit. It’s a minimum of eight, more likely ten hours to Madison, Georgia, and who knows how long it’s going to take him to get clear of his grandparents.

“Rain check on that for sure. I have a feeling I’m gonna need a bunch.” 

“Got your back,” he says, trying to infuse as much love as possible over the phone, trying to impress upon Bitty that he’s not alone. 

And then comes a banging on the guest room door. 

“Byron! You’re late for dinner!” It’s his dad, of-fucking-course.

“I’ll be right down!” he calls back, pushing the phone into his shoulder so Bitty can’t hear. “Just let me wrap this up.”

“Get yourself downstairs, immediately , I raised you better than this antisocial and selfish behavior. If you’re not downstairs in two minutes we’ll be having some serious words, young man.” He doesn’t breathe until he hears his father stomping down the staircase. Shakily, he puts the phone back to his ear.

“ Shit , Bitty I have to go. I’m being called down to dinner by my father. Apparently I’ve been ‘antisocial and selfish’ for too long.”

“You go on and scoot, then. I don’t want you to get into it with him on my account.” Even in the middle of an Emotional Hell Hole, Bitty is still trying to take care of other people.

“I’ve gotten into it with him for way less important things than you, Bits,” Shitty mutters back.

“Go on. I’ll be fine for a couple hours, and I’ll still be here when you get done, you can rant all about what happens at dinner to me. It’ll be a good distraction from - well a distraction, at any rate.”

“That’s a fuckin’ deal, bro. Hang in there, Bits.”

“Bye, Shitty.”

Shitty hangs up and sighs. He really doesn’t want to go downstairs. But he doesn’t want an all-out screaming match with his father, either.

He trudges downstairs, holding onto the knowledge that it’s only a few hours, and he’ll call Bitty back as soon as he can.

Hopefully from a car on his way to Georgia.

Chapter Text

“Bryon you’ve been…unusually quiet tonight. Surely you must have some opinion to foist upon us this evening.”

As usual it takes Shitty an extra second or two to remember that ‘Byron’ means himself. He’s only had one ear on the conversation throughout the meal, more focused on clearing his plate for course after course, trying desperately to figure out how to cut the visit short.

“Byron.” Shitty’s head jerks up at the flat tone in his grandmother’s voice. Meals in Florida are always ruled by his grandmother; she doesn’t put up with any lapse in conversation or breach of etiquette. Crap. He hastily puts on what’s hopefully a charmingly sheepish smile.

“Sorry about that, lost in thought. What were you saying, Grandmother?”

“Well you’ve quite proved my point – you’ve been quiet this evening. It’s unlike you.” His grandfather and father make the exact same harumph noise of dissatisfied disdain. Shitty feels himself sink a little further down the seat. He grits his teeth, maybe he can use this to his advantage.

“I’m just worried about one of my hockey teammates, he got checked pretty hard at the end of the season – concussion, you know? – and he’s been having some lingering effects. And uh, his parents are working full time, so he’s been on his own most of the summer so far.”

“I didn’t hear anything about Zimmermann getting checked,” his dad comments.

“I do have other friends on the team besides Jack, dad. There’s twenty two other guys on the team.”

“Whatever you say.”

Shitty bites back the comment that just because the others aren’t celebrities doesn’t mean that they are automatically worthless. He knows antagonizing his father won’t help him get to Bitty.

“What a sweet notion, Byron,” Grandmother says, “Usually all we hear about is Samwell this, Zimmermann that – well, when you aren’t going on and on about that Asian manager of yours.”

“Right, well, Eric, the teammate I’m talking about, he lives in Georgia, and I think he’s lonely and needs a friend.” He holds his breath after that, hoping against hope that he’s played this right. His grandmother is strict as all hell, but she’s still the one most likely to still have a heart. He gave up on his father and grandfather years ago. He’s prepared to sneak out in the dead of night if he has to, but everything gets a thousand percent easier if—

“Georgia you say?”

“Yes, they’re in Madison.” Under the table he’s crossing all his fingers.

“Why, that’s not very far at all. Perfectly drive-able. You should go see your friend.” Shitty can hardly believe it; his ploy worked.

“Mother,” his dad says sharply, “We came to visit you , not go gallivanting off as soon as some hockey player whines about a headache.” His grandfather looks equally put out, but ultimately is more interested in his duck than going after Shitty’s life choices.

“Oh hush, Bertrand. Byron’s a good boy, and he’s been here a week already,” she replies. Pinning Shitty with a penetrating stare she continues, “I expect you to behave while you’re there—”

“Of course, Grandm—”

“Don’t interrupt me, or I’ll change my mind, young man. Manners matter.” Her gaze could freeze the Sahara.

“I apologize, Grandmother.”

“Thank you. Now then, you may go if you behave yourself while there, you meet your father in Boston when he returns, you agree to hmm, I think three luncheons with us throughout the school year without complaint or excuses. And you’ll cut your hair to a respectable style by graduation. No grandson of mine will have graduation pictures looking like a filthy hippie.”

“Deal.”

“And how do you expect Byron will get there, Mother?” his father asks nastily.

“He’ll take your car, of course. Our driver can take you to the airport at the end of your stay.”

“Thank you so much,” Shitty says over the sound of his father sputtering. “I really appreciate you being so understanding.”

She waves him off, unconcerned. “You know my terms. Now finish your duck.”

He tucks in, determinedly not looking at his dad. He knows the smug look that would appear on his face would make his grandmother retract her permission. He’ll deal with the horror of the agreed-to luncheons and haircut when it comes to it. 

He’d put up with a lot more conditions if it meant he could get to Bitty.

Chapter Text

For once, it isn’t Bitty’s alarm or his Mama that wakes him, but instead the sun streaming through his window.

The house is quiet as a mouse in church around him; Coach long gone to preseason practice and Friday means Mama is volunteering at the animal shelter. So Bitty is alone in the house.

He hasn’t woken up past ten since he came home from Samwell – Mama had made sure he was up and doing. The giant 1:30 PM on his alarm clock seems to judge him not even a good enough son to wake for chores anymore.

It’s only when he’s ventured downstairs to find food that the enormity of what happened yesterday hits him.

He came out to his parents.

To say it didn’t go well is like saying Jack Zimmermann has no feelings about hockey.

And now he’s facing an unpleasant future at a "pray the gay away" camp instead of continuing at Samwell.

Bitty blinks and he’s back in his room, clutching Señor Bun as tight as he can, trying to breathe. Did he even eat anything? He’s shaking so hard it takes him a few moments to realize that his phone is vibrating with an incoming call. Bitty can feel his heart lift at the sight of the caller ID, despite the pit in his stomach.

“Shitty, is everything okay, you never called back last night?”

“Ch’yeah brah, everything’s fine. Dinner was…a little surprising, but mostly just me trying to make the whole night go faster as per usual,” Shitty answers. His voice sounds weird, and there’s a background humming or rumbling from his end.

“Where are you? You have better reception at your—”

“What’s your address?” Shitty cuts him off.

“What? Why?” asks Bitty.

“I’m coming to visit, so what’s your address? Plugging in Madison, Georgia is only going to get me so far. It’s not like my GPS recognizes ‘Bitty’s house’,” Shitty points out.

“You – you’re coming here? Here to Madison?” Bitty can hear his voice getting higher and panicked. 

“Yeah man, I had to do some fast talking at dinner last night, but my grandmother of all people let me leave the visit early. There’s some conditions but they are totally worth it if it means I can be there in person to hug you.”

As scared as he is about the idea of Shitty and his parents interacting, Bitty can’t help but grin at the thought of a hug from Shitty right now. Señor Bun is great and all, but Shitty’s hugs are legendary at Samwell for a reason.

“Well, alright, but it might be a real short visit. My parents—”

“We’ll deal with them when the time comes. Now. Address? I’m starting to see exit signs for Madison, so now or never Bits.”

He bites his lip, thinking hard. Shitty is a lot to deal with when his parents aren’t reeling from having a gay son, there’s no way this is going to end well. Shitty doesn’t even know that Bitty’s going to have to leave school for Christ’s sake. Bitty’s still scared out of his mind about his future, but Shitty has always made him feel better, feel hopeful, feel cared for. In the end it’s a no-brainer.

He rattles off his address. And braces himself to tell Shitty that he won’t be coming back to Samwell.

Chapter Text

One stop for gas, two snack breaks, and a bathroom break later and Shitty is finally close enough to Bitty that he can call. He knew he needed to be practically on the doorstep or Bitty would do his whole ‘Oh, it’s not really necessary, I can manage just fine on my own, don’t trouble yourself’ self-sacrificing bullshit. Shitty will suffer Mr. and Mrs. Bittle thinking he’s a bit rude for showing up out of the blue if it means that he will actually be able to lay eyes on his friend, actually be able to give him a fucking hug after the shitstorm of his coming out. It takes a few rings for Bitty to pick up, and he sounds concerned.

“Shitty, is everything okay, you never called back last night?” Right. Because he finished dinner and immediately threw his shit in his suitcase and left before anyone could change their mind. He’s been driving all night, ignoring texts from his father since the sun came up.

“Ch’yeah brah, everything’s fine. Dinner was…a little surprising, but mostly just me trying to make the whole night go faster as per usual,” Shitty tells him. 

“Where are you? You have better reception at your—”

“What’s your address?” Shitty cuts him off. Best to cut right to the chase.

“What? Why?” asks Bitty, slightly warily.

“I’m coming to visit, so what’s your address? Plugging in Madison, Georgia is only going to get me so far. It’s not like my GPS recognizes ‘Bitty’s house’,” he says.

“You – you’re coming here? Here to Madison?” Now Shitty frowns – Bitty sounds downright panicked. He pretends like everything’s fine in the hopes that it will help Bitty calm down again.

“Yeah man, I had to do some fast talking at dinner last night, but my grandmother of all people let me leave the visit early. There’s some conditions but they are totally worth it if it means I can be there in person to hug you.” He’s actively trying not to think about those conditions.

“Well, alright, but it might be a real short visit. My parents—”

Shitty interrupts, “We’ll deal with them when the time comes. Now. Address? I’m starting to see exit signs for Madison, so now or never Bits.”

There’s a pause while Bitty thinks and Shitty grips the steering wheel so hard his fingers turn white. C’mon Bitty, let me come to you. Let me help. Accept the help.

He lets out a huge sigh of relief when Bitty gives his address, and actually fist pumps when he sees he’s only half an hour away.

“Hell yes!” he yells, “Bitty and Shitty Hugapalooza in t-minus half an hour! Get ready brah!”

Bitty laughs at his antics, but it still sounds a little strained.

“I still can’t believe that you got out of family vacation early, Shitty.”

“Ch’yeah, me either.”

“You said there were conditions?”

“Oh, well, never mind that right now, they’ll keep for a while. What happened this morning, was it still just as weird with your parents as last night?”

“I – um. Right, you had already gone to dinner when – well, you see—”

“Bitty, what?” He already knows he came out to his parents, what else could have happened to make Bits so anxious?

“IhavetoleaveSamwell.” Shitty goes cold. He sort of thought that only happened to people in books. 

“Fucking what did you say?” He prays to every god he’s ever heard about that he misheard Bitty. 

It’s not enough.

He can hear how shaky a breath Bitty takes before he launches into the explanation, and Shitty’s stomach drops further with every word he forces out.

“Well I was all worn out from crying so I was gettin’ into bed and there was a knock on my door and there they both were and they looked so serious an’ I tried – I really tried to do the whole ‘I’m still your son, nothing has to change, I’m still the person you raised’ thing but uh, they weren’t having any part of that line of reasoning. Mama just kept going on about how they’ve found this – this program and it starts later in the year so I’ll have to drop out of Samwell to go to it and Coach didn’t say anything until after Mama left and Lord I’ve never seen him so disgusted with anything even the time his football boys hid cartons of milk in his office to spoil – and he just goes ‘Your Mama said it like you had a choice, but you don’t,’ and Shitty what the hell am I going to do it’s not like I have enough money to get to Samwell on my own or a car or – and the brochure is exactly what you think it is and—”

“Oh fuck, Bits. This is not good. Very much not good.” Shitty has no idea what to do, other than get to Bitty as fast as possible. He’s just gotta get there. 

“Understatement of the century I think,” Bitty manages to force out. It sounds like he’s crying again and fuck does Shitty hate Bitty’s parents right now.

“Okay so. Step one, I’m twenty minutes away. Start packing your shit. There’s no way I’m letting you stay in that house. I’m in my dad’s ‘fuck-off-my-penis-is-huge-SUV’ so there’s plenty of room for your stuff. I’ll help you when I get there. We’ll figure out the rest after you’re out.” Shitty has no plan other than getting Bitty out and heading north. But they’re both smart and it’s a long drive to Massachusetts. They’ll have time to figure out the details.

“I—”

“Chop chop, Bittle, clock’s ticking.”

“I can’t just—”

“Yes. You can. Nineteen minutes. Sooner if I break some traffic laws.”

“Don’t do that, the last thing either of us needs today is you gettin’ pulled over,” Bitty says immediately. “Okay. Alright. I’m – I’ll start packing. I’m gonna hang up so I can focus.”

“Good man. See you soon Bits.”

If Shitty is going another few miles above the speed limit, well, what Bitty doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Chapter Text

Looking around his room, Bitty is initially at a loss of what to do when he hangs up with Shitty. 

What to pack? 

Does he have enough suitcases here?

Will he ever be back? 

Will his Mama cry when she comes home to his empty room?

Pushing away the emotional spiral that looms in his future, Bitty pulls out his suitcases and old gym bags and starts with the easy stuff:

Clothes. All of them. 

Thank god he left a lot of his stuff at the Haus this summer.

Beyoncé albums. 

Señor Bun.

Computer. 

Chargers. 

The few books he has physical copies of.

(He skips the Bible his parents gave him at Confirmation.)

Photos.

His Junior Southern Regionals trophy, but not the skating outfits.

Both sets of his skates are already at Faber.

He’s looking around for another suitcase for the last of his clothes when the doorbell rings. Abandoning his search, he takes the stairs at a run and flings the door open so hard he might have damaged the drywall.

“Bits! Oh my god, Bits,” is all Bitty hears as he fully launches himself into Shitty’s arms. 

Coming to Samwell fully closeted and more than a little touch-averse, Shitty’s hugs had taken a lot of getting used to. A full year of hugs got him so used to them, it felt weird when he didn’t get at least one a day. And now he’s spent an agonizing summer without any hugs from his friends. Shitty’s hug is the best thing Bitty’s ever felt right now; a port in a storm, a breath of fresh air, any number of other cliches. Shitty starts to pull away, presumably to come inside properly, but Bitty just breathes deep and clutches Shitty all the tighter.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” he mumbles into Shitty’s chest. Shitty’s arms squeeze tighter, lifting him clear off the ground and he shuffles them both inside and nudges the door closed.

“‘Course I’m here. You needed me. Nowhere else I’d rather be,” says Shitty, uncharacteristically quietly.

A long moment later, Bitty finally pulls back, pleased to note he hasn’t started crying again.

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

Shitty grins. “What still needs doing on your end? More packing? I just need to take a fuckin’ leak and then I can help out.”

Bitty can’t help but chuckle at Shitty’s language as he points out the bathroom. Imagining the look on Mama’s face if she heard him is hilarious enough to outweigh the huge pang of hurtsadnessangerexhaustiongrief in his chest. Oddly enough, Jack’s “Captain Voice” makes itself known in his head and shakes him out of dwelling on the fact that he doesn’t know if his Mama will ever speak to him again. You can break down later, Bittle, right now focus up, you’ll get through this – shift by shift, period by period. It’s just the right mix of gruffness and motivation. Deep breath, Bittle.  

“So, what do you have left then?” Shitty asks from the doorway, looking around at what Bitty’s left unpacked curiously.

“Just the last of my clothes, but I can’t find my other suitcase – I think I left it at Samwell.”

“I’ve got my stuff in a couple suitcases right now, but we can definitely consolidate that stuff into one and you can use the other. Back with that in a bit.” Shitty hugs him again before heading to the car with one of the already packed bags. Bitty starts folding the last bit of clothes as small as he can, mentally going through each room of his childhood home to see if he’s forgetting anything. My room, done; parent’s room, No; kitchen, stuff’s at Samwell; bathroom, packed; living room – grab the movies and the good blanket.

“I have returned victorious! Plop your stuff in there m’dude.”

“Could you actually do that? There’s a couple things from the living room that I forgot earlier.”

“Sure thing, and then I’ll start bringing the rest of the stuff to the car,” Shitty says.

Bitty wanders downstairs again, passing memory after memory; family photos on the walls, Coach’s trophies on the shelves, Mama’s apron hanging on the back of the pantry, Bitty’s kindergarten drawing never removed from the fridge. He didn’t lie to Shitty, there is stuff to grab from the living room, but really, he wants to leave his parents a note. He dashes off a note that he hopes is coherent at least, and leaves it on the kitchen table anchored by the salt shaker where his parents will be sure to see it.

A small weight of his shoulders, he grabs the few movies that he purchased with his own money and the good blanket that they usually fight over. All things considered, he thinks it’s the least his parents could do for him so he doesn’t feel guilty about taking it. It’ll serve them right. In a fit of pique he also takes the copy of The Princess Bride. Bitty didn’t buy that one, but it’s his favorite movie and it’s not like he’ll have a lot of money for luxuries in the upcoming year.

“Got the stuff,” he tells Shitty. “There still room for some movies and a blanket?”

“‘Ch’yeah bro, give ‘em here.”

“I think … I think that’s everything.” Wow.

“Okay. Maybe take another pass through your room and bathroom for toiletries and chargers, stuff like that. I can’t count how many times I’ve forgotten a brush on a roadie. I’ll take this stuff down and meet you in the car?”

“I’ll be down soon,” says Bitty.

He does look through his room one more time, but doesn’t find anything else he wants to keep, and he knows all his toiletries are packed – he keeps them in his roadie travel kit, it’s easier, and already in a bag. He goes down the stairs for the last time and pauses at the doorway to the kitchen. Can’t resist taking a couple ripe peaches for the road. He’ll definitely miss the easy access to fresh peaches up in Massachusetts. His eye snags on his note again, and he finds his keys in his pocket. The Haus front door, the pickup truck, this house, school mailbox, Faber locker room, Johnson’s Bitty’s room at the Haus. He slowly works the truck key and the house front door key off his key ring and leaves them on top of the note. Bitty hitches his backpack more firmly on his shoulder and walks out of the kitchen without looking back. He turns off the lights as he goes, ignoring the echoes of Coach’s energy bill rants. He won’t be able to throw the deadbolt, but he locks the handle and steps through the door, pulling it firmly closed behind him. He blinks hard at the bright sunlight and steps off the porch, down the pathway to the street and into Shitty’s car.

Into an unknown future.

He pulls on his sunglasses.

Deep breath.

Mama and Coach –

I don’t know how to start this other than with the obvious. I’m leaving. I’m not going to the program you found. I’m not staying in Georgia. I’m not quitting Samwell. I’ll be safe there. I’ll be happy there. I’m gay. I’m not broken, or depraved, or sick, or whatever else you think that means. All it means is that when I find the love of my life, they’ll be a man. I don’t expect you to ever understand or to accept me as I am, but I hope that you will. Someday.

I still love you both.

Eric

Chapter Text

It’s been almost two hours since they pulled away from the house, and Bitty still hasn’t said a word. And for once, Shitty doesn’t know how to break the silence.

Finally, finally, he hears a sniff from the passenger seat, hears a shaky breath.

“‘Fair Play,’” Bitty chokes out next to him, “Of-fuckin’-course.”

Shitty’s confused for a second before he notices the signs coming up: South Carolina Welcomes You; South Carolina Welcome Center - Fair Play. He starts talking, hoping something coherent and helpful will come out.

“Bits—”

“Fits, doesn’t it. Couldn’t get a break at home. Had to leave the freakin’ state to get a ‘fair play’. An’ my dad a coach an’ all,” Bitty says, voice getting more and more hysterical. “Don’ that just beat all.”

“Bitty, just—”

“Shitty, you know I love you somethin’ fierce, but bless your goddamn heart if you try to comfort me before I’ve even had my fuckin’ breakdown.”

Shitty shuts up. 

He’s never heard Bitty’s accent so thick, never heard so much ice behind the normally playful phrase. And Bitty’s got a good point, after all. It’s not like Shitty had any idea what he was actually going to say to him.

Silence reigns, broken only by a few sniffles.

“Why don’t they love me?” Bitty asks. Shitty’s own heart breaks at how small Bitty’s voice sounds. “Why couldn’t they just love me the way I am? Why?! Nothing – hic – else changed! I still did figure skatin’ an’ hockey an’ baked pies an’ went to church an’ the only thing that changed was that I said the words ‘I’m gay’ out loud and – and you know I thought it was going to be fine?” Shitty winces at the amount of self-hatred Bitty injects into that last thought. “I actually thought I’d feel better that they knew. That I’d get to stop hidin’ an’ – hic – an’ just be me, ya know? Silly little, – hic – Dicky. Once again massively misreadin’ the situation.”

And there come the sobs. When Shitty manages to glance over, Bitty has his knees tucked up under his chin, arms around his shins, and he’s curled up as much as possible around the seat belt. Crying harder than Shitty’s ever seen someone cry in real life.

Shitty has never felt more out of his element. And he’s fuckin’ great at comfort and hyping his boys up. He’s knocked Lardo out of artist’s block, coaxed Ransom out of coral-reef mode, and got Holster to stop anxiously pacing long enough to hug him into submission. When Jack is upset, he pulls in, just like Bitty, but even further. Often his anxiety doesn’t let Jack make a noise beyond harshly trying to breathe. Shitty’s gotten him to calm down enough to speak again more times that he wants to think about his best friend suffering. But this? This utter unloading of tears and emotion is brand new to Shitty. And he still has to drive the fucking car. Thank god it’s an automatic – it means he can take one hand off the wheel to grab Bitty’s shoulder, rub his thumb in circles. Can offer support, what little comfort his physical touch brings.

It might only be five minutes but it feels like an eternity of listening to Bitty sob when he finally sees the rest stop and pulls in. Shitty’s parks and is out of the car in a blur, wrenching open the passenger side door and squeezing himself into the seat with Bitty, arms as tight as possible around him.

He can hear himself making shushing noises, trying to soothe his friend, as he gently rocks Bitty  in his arms. Somehow the seat belt gets unbuckled and Bitty is clinging to him just as tightly, sobbing even harder if that’s possible. Shitty is utterly helpless – just tries to anchor Bitty as best he can, hoping with all his might that it’ll be enough.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Bitty’s sobs start to peter out, his arms relaxing a fraction.

“There ya go, Bits, that’s it, breathe, in and out, in and out.”

“Sh–shitty, I—”

“You hush, brah, just get your breath back. Nice and easy now.” It takes another few minutes but Bitty eventually pulls back.

“Thanks.”

“Got your back,” Shitty says, putting as much honesty as he can into those three words, willing Bitty to hear them, to hear the promise they represent. But also, “You good to get out of the car? My ass is totally asleep.”

It earns him a wet chuckle and a nod from Bitty, so he carefully unwinds himself from Bitty and out of the car. It’s not graceful or dignified, but he’s on his feet and able to pull Bitty out after him. Shitty can’t resist hugging him fiercely one more time before towing him into the rest stop.

“You’ll feel a little better when you splash some water on your face and get something to eat that’ll make Jack frown.”

“Everything I eat makes Jack frown,” Bitty manages to say. He’s still quieter than normal, but he’s talking, not crying, so Shitty will take his victories no matter how small.

“Well mon capitaine isn’t here to force protein down our throats, so grab whatever you want from the vending machine when you’re done in the bathroom, okay?”

“Okay.”

Shitty heads back out to the sunshine to give Bits some privacy and leans against the brick wall of the building, rubbing his hands over his face. He’s got a little over a week before he has to meet his father in Boston. It’s only a 16 hour drive, and they’re a couple hours in already. It’s more than doable to get Bitty to Samwell and himself back to Boston before the deadline his grandmother set. He bites his lip as he thinks about the timeline; he really doesn’t want to leave Bitty on his own in the Haus, and no one ever felt better after interacting with his father.

His phone buzzes with a text from Johnson: you aren’t alone in this. Check with the others. Fuckin’ psychic shit, he thinks, but dutifully switches to his groupchat with Jack, Ransom, and Holster.

Shitty: when are u guys heading back to the Haus?

Ransom: no set plans yet - Holtzy and I are still in Niagara

Jack: The week before preseason starts, like always.

Holster: BEST FRIEND VACAY BAYBEE

Shitty: any chance any of you could be back sooner? like in a week or so?

Jack: I’ve got training camp.
Jack: Why?

Holster: whats going on shits?

Ransom: your dad being awful again?

Shitty: Bitty’s gonna be in Samwell by the end of the week and I don’t want him to have to be at the Haus alone.

Holster: what?

Ransom: why? I thought he was supposed to take it easy and not fly back until as late as possible?

Jack: What happened to Bittle

Shitty: its not really my place to tell
Shitty: he doesn’t even know i’m texting you guys
Shitty: so i don’t want to say too much
Shitty: but he’s fine physically
Shitty: i’m driving him from his house to Samwell
Shitty: had to negotiate with the czarina but
Shitty: worth it
Shitty: had to have his back ya know?

Jack: Good.
Jack: I can’t get out of training camp, but let me know if you two need anything I CAN give.

Shitty: will do

Ransom: Adam and I will be there by the end of next week.

Holster: We’ve been to Niagara before, Bits is more important. Just gotta clear stuff with our families.

Shitty: THANK YOU
Shitty: I’ll update you when I have a more fixed arrival time for us
Shitty: gonna road trip the shit outta this

Ransom: he couldn’t be in better hands

Holster: let us know if you need us to do anything before you get there
Holster: and let us know what we’re walking into if he gives you permission
Holster: got his back
Holster: and yours

Ransom: ^
Ransom: obviously we’re down to help, but if he lets you tell us, we can be MORE helpful

Jack: Same.

Shitty: of fuckin course

He takes a second to be grateful for his friends before he goes down a googling spiral, looking for some fun attractions to hit on their way back to Samwell. He’s so deep in weird theme restaurants that he jumps when Bitty puts a hand on his arm.

“Fuck!”

“Sorry, Shitty, but I’m ready to head out,” Bitty says. He’s got a Hostess cake in his other hand. And if Shitty didn’t already know Bitty was going through it right now, that would seal the deal. He throws his arm over Bitty’s shoulder and steers him towards the car.

“Now then, Bitty my man, how do you feel about a place called ‘Bucky’s Bar-B-Que’?”

“Uh, fine I suppose,” Bitty says hesitantly.

“Stellar, that’s where we’re heading first. It’s still a couple hours from here so we’ll eat there and find a hotel and do it all again in the morning. Good? Good.”

Bitty’s answering grin is a balm to his soul.

“And get some fuckin’ tunes, brah, it’s depressing as hell driving with no music.”

“Got your back, Shits.”

“Bits and Shits Roadtrip 2k14 is a GO!”

He pulls out of the parking lot as the beat of Single Ladies starts with a wild laugh. Shitty still doesn’t have the right words yet, but he’s got a week with Bitty to figure them out.

Chapter Text

“You’re taking me to a place called Biscuit World?”

“Ch’yeah bro, it’s on the way to the next stop and it seemed appropriate,” Shitty grins at him over the center console.

It’s only Bitty’s second time driving the giant vehicle, and he’s still a little nervous about it – he’s only ever driven the beat up pick up his parents had – but there’s no way he’s making Shitty drive the entirety of the ridiculous route he’s got planned.

“Appropriate?” Bitty lets out a strangled sort of laugh. “Shitty, I’ve been makin’ biscuits since I was tall enough to reach the counter, you really think that this place will have decent ones?”

Shitty beams at him. “Brah, it’s called Biscuit World, they don’t have any internet presence other than a pin and one on google maps which shows the sign outside. It’s a giant biscuit. I think it’s going to be s’wawesome.”

“Well that remains to be seen.” They’re quiet for a while as Bitty weaves through traffic on I-77, Shitty’s playlist in the background.

The two of them got all the way to Charlotte, North Carolina after stopping for barbecue yesterday. Bitty drove then as well, needing something to focus on other than his residual embarrassment at breaking down in front of Shitty again, or the spiral of hurt and sadness and anxiety that threatens to pull him under every time he thinks about his parents. (Did they read the note yet? Have they tried to call him? Are they angry? Are they relieved?)

Actually getting to the hotel was a relief for about three seconds before Bitty froze again.

“Shitty, I don’t have, like, a ton of money. Like I’ve got some from when I worked in high school but—”

“Don’t worry about it, Bits, I’ve got this.”

“But—”

“But nothing, go take a shower. We’ll figure out logistics later.”

The combination of the frankly pathetic hotel breakfast, Shitty walking him through the broad strokes of their route, arguing about taking turns driving, and actually getting on the road means that Bitty’s money situation still hasn’t come up. And he’s not really sure how to start. It’s awkward as all hell and it’s not as if his parents ever had a frank conversation with him about that kind of thing. It just wasn’t done.

Deep breaths.

“Um, Shitty?”

“Bits?”

“What am I going to do about money?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“You keep saying that but my savings are only gonna go so far, and my hockey scholarship doesn’t cover everything, and I don’t know if my parents are gonna boot me off their phone plan, and I’ve never had to do my taxes—”

“Bitty. None of us are gonna let you starve, or get kicked out of school,” Shitty interrupts.

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts. Your tuition is covered, right?”

“Right.”

“So you need books, rent for the Haus, meal plan, and yeah, probably a new phone plan. At least to start.”

“You’re being very calm about more money than I’ve ever had to think about on my own, Shitty,” Bitty says wryly.

Shitty’s answering smile is bitter and sharp. “Benefits of being from a filthy rich family.” He clears his throat.

“So, first of all, between me, Jack, Ransom and Holster, we’ll know someone who will be willing to lend you books for free from past classes. If you get a crap professor who makes you buy the most recent version of their textbook, Jack or I will cover you, we’ve both got more money than we know what to do with, or we’ll talk to Hall and Murray if that makes you uncomfortable, or the school, or fuck, we’ll figure out how to pirate it for you.”

That at least makes Bitty giggle a little.

“As for rent for the Haus - Johnson sent me an email saying that his parents prepaid an extra year already because he was going to stay for a fifth year master’s. But since he changed his mind to hike the Appalachian Trail, his parents said we could either make the rent cheaper for everyone, or let someone live there for free.”

“They what?” Bitty asks faintly.

“And like – I have no idea how he knew, I’ve stopped asking, that whole family is like freakishly prescient – but no one will begrudge you using the money for this year. We can work on next year’s situation when we get there.”

“That’s…that’s a huge deal, Shitty. I can’t just accept that kind of money.”

“You can and you will,” he says firmly. “If you feel weird about it, try not to. Again, Jack and I are stupid amounts of rich, and Holster and Ransom are from pretty well off families themselves. Plus, the amount of pies you bake more than covers your rent.”

“But the ingredients—”

“Are covered by the sin bin. Ollie and Wicks were racking up the fines last semester, we’re good for a while, especially with a new crop of frogs coming in. And as for the phone, you already have the actual phone, which is good – keep using it until the end of the month, that’s probably when it would stop working, and I’m sure someone can add you on a family plan that’ll be decently cheap. Probably Lardo. Or Jack. I'd offer myself, but I know my dad would be a giant bag of dicks about it. There’s options. If you don’t want that, we can probably find you a plan that’s cheap enough for you to afford – at least basic texting and stuff.”

Bitty stays quiet for a while, just processing while Shitty sings along, with a lot of heart but less talent, to a Billy Joel song. Something about Alexa, whoever that is. And you know, trying not to cry since he’s operating a moving vehicle.

“Thank you,” he manages a few minutes later.

“Got your back,” Shitty says easily, like all the help he just offered wouldn’t change Bitty’s entire world, like the unwavering friendship from him and the rest of SMH doesn’t mean everything in light of his parents’ attitudes.

Despite his best efforts, a few tears leak out, but he keeps driving.

“Your destination is on the right.” The GPS interrupts Bitty’s contemplation and he looks around to see—

Well now. That certainly is a giant light up biscuit.

Bitty’s face breaks out into a grin and he looks over at Shitty, who is equally excited.

“Brah, that looks incredible.”

“Let’s go.”

Inside is even better, despite reminding Bitty a little bit of a McDonald’s. There’s a long counter for ordering, with a light up menu overhead that’s seen better days. The vinyl floor is cracked and missing in places, and if there’s a table that isn’t at an angle in this place Bitty will eat his hat. But the smell is incredible.

Bitty used to make buttermilk biscuits from his MooMaw’s Grandmama’s recipe with his MooMaw every other week until Bitty went to college. The smell of the ones in the oven behind the counter take him right back to MooMaw’s kitchen; learning to cut butter into flour, kneading, carefully using the biscuit cutter, singing along with Dolly Parton and Johnny Cash. He sees someone pick up their order and can feel his eyes boggle at how big they are – almost as big as a personal pizza, cut in half and stuffed with toppings.

His stomach rumbles.

“I heard that, Bits. You still think these won’t be decent.”

“I take back everything I said earlier, let’s order.” Shitty just laughs and nudges him forward.

Chapter Text

Shitty’s the one driving away from Biscuit World, and toward the next stop, the one he’s most excited about: The New River Gorge.

The summer after his first year at Andover, right after his parents’ divorce, Shitty got sent to a sleep away camp in Virginia for a month. It was mostly standard camp stuff: hiking, swimming, arts and crafts, but one week they took an out-trip to West Virginia for an overnight white water rafting trip. One day of individual rafts, camping, and then one day of eight-person rafts.

It was the most incredible two days of his life. Sure, he’d been on boats (his father’s yacht) before, and he’d been in the ocean (Gulf of Mexico) before, but white-water rafting was a whole new experience. It took concentration, and effort, to navigate the rapids alone, to stay with his group and their guide, to not capsize. They pulled into a campsite for the night to make dinner before the sun went down completely. And even from the bottom of the gorge, the sunset took his breath away. He’d fallen asleep as soon as he was in his sleeping bag, but still woke up before the sun was up. It was just him and the guide awake that morning, watching the sun come up over the lip of canyon walls.

“Really somethin’ isn’t it?”

“Is there a better word than wow? I’ve seriously never seen anything like this.”

“I’ll let you know if I ever find one.”

The rest of the camp had woken up while they were starting breakfast and then they’d switched to the big rafts for the rest of the day. The teamwork required to steer the rafts reminded him of every team sport he’d ever played (although his arms had never been so tired in his life). There was just something about working together to clear each rapid that made Shitty’s heart sing. They’d had dinner at the top edge of the gorge, with an even better view of the sunset and Shitty was fully in love. It was the best trip he’d ever been on, and being told he wouldn’t be going back was just the latest in a long line of disappointments from his father.

Ever since Shitty figured out he could make it work, he’s been excited to bring Bitty here. Of all his friends, he feels like Bitty will get it the best. (Well, Jack might, he grew up with enough pond shinny and Canadian wilderness, but.) If he can give Bitty this one slice of his experience from that trip he will. The GPS takes them to a different overlook than Shitty remembers, but it’s not like they're going to have a bad view. It’s the fuckin’ sunset. They’re not going to miss it. He parks and helps Bitty pull the extra biscuits they bought out and set up on the picnic table.

“Not that I’m complainin’ or anything, hon, but we aren’t sleeping outside tonight, right?”

“Nah,” he answers around a mouthful of delicious, delicious biscuit. “There’s a hotel I booked about two hours from here over the border in Virginia.”

“Oh good. I like camping, but only when I’m prepared for it. And sleeping in the car isn’t that appealing.”

“Hahaha, no worries, Bitty. I just wanted to bring you here and it was mostly on the way.”

“It’s the New River, right? I saw a sign.”

“Yup.”

“Cool. Looks real pretty.”

“It gets even better. You’ll see.”

They finish eating and take a few selfies and Shitty digs out a pack of cards from his backpack. It’s in the middle of a hand of rummy when Bitty suddenly freezes, looking out over the canyon, dazed. Shitty looks up, already grinning.

The sun is setting. The light is all reds and pinks and oranges, deep golds with hints of purples and blues streaking the clouds while the rest of the sky darkens slowly. The last rays of the sun catch on the trees around them, the tops of the cliffs, lighting everything gold and peaceful and perfect. It’s even better than Shitty remembers.

“Oh. Wow. I – wow.”

Shitty chuckles.

“Don’t you chirp me, Shitty Knight.”

“Wasn’t gonna. That’s what I said the first time I saw it, too. I’ve never come up with a better word.”

“Well, y’all let me know if you do.”

“‘Wow’ ’s pretty good, though.”

“It’ll do.”

There’s a few stars starting to twinkle into view by the time they get back in the car.

Chapter Text

Shitty’s voice isn’t ever going to win awards, but it’s not like you need the best voice in the world to sing Queen songs.

“Buddy, you're a young man, hard man. Shouting in the street, gonna take on the world someday!” Shitty shouts, pointing at Bitty for the next lines.

He grins and shouts back, accelerating just a little bit more in his exhilaration.

“You got blood on your face, you big disgrace. Waving your banner all over the place!”

And they’re both scream-singing as loud as they can for the chorus. And Bitty’s not sure if Shitty’s singing to anyone in particular, or just the universe in general, but he’s not not singing to his parents as they speed toward Harrisonburg and ever further away from Madison.

“We will, we will rock you, sing it! We will, we will rock you, yeah!”

“Shitty, I don’t care what your GPS says. We. Are. Lost.”

“I just don’t understand! It said to get off on Eleven North and then it would be a left turn after a few miles!”

Their trip has been amazing so far, despite the circumstances that began it, so Bitty isn’t surprised that something has gone wrong now. They left the hotel to drive toward interstate 81 and the next hotel this morning but it’s comin' up on two in the afternoon and Bitty is frustrated.

“Well clearly we have done something wrong and now we are in a place with no cell service, less wi-fi and – oh! Turn right! Turn right!” he yells, and braces himself for Shitty’s special brand of turning, all his muscles tense.

“Brah, what the hell, why are we turning?”

“Because I saw a sign for JMU. Where there is a university in the rural south, there is a college town. And those towns tend to have things like restaurants and bathrooms and a Target.”

“Point.”

Shitty’s already looking up food options as he gets back to the car after a Starbucks slash bathroom run. Bitty’s reluctant to get back in the car until he knows where they’re going – his hips are sore from sitting so long already today.

“Fuck, I’m hungry. Luckily, it looks like there’s a lot of options here, surprisingly. Feeling anything specific, Bits?”

“I could murder a burger and fries. Somewhere we can sit down that isn’t in the car or a picnic table at a rest stop.”

“Oh shit, that sounds perfect. Let’s see, um Dave’s Taverna, CookOut, or oooooh, Jack Brown’s looks amazing, they’ve got a burger with mac and cheese on it. I need some of that action.”

Bitty’s mouth is watering just thinking about it.

“That does sound s’wawesome. Let’s go.”

“S’wawesome.”

“Ughhh, I’m so full.”

“Shitty Knight, I told you not to have that third burger. In fact I believe I told you that if you complained about it again I would push you out of the moving vehicle.”

“Sorry brah, it was just so good.”

“Mhmm.”

“Hey Bits?”

“What, Shitty?”

“...Could we get ice cream?” Bitty actually takes his eyes off the road for long enough to stare incredulously at him.

“Are you serious? You think dairy will help you now?”

“I guess not,” Shitty pouts.

Bitty sighs. “Maybe when we get to Philly.”

“You’re the best, bro.”

Part of the way through the Two Towers soundtrack, Bitty sees Shitty sit up all of a sudden out of the corner of his eye.

“Bits. Brah.”

“What?”

“I just realized we’ve been remiss in our road trip tune-age. Severely lacking, today especially, since this is day three of five.”

Bitty racks his brains. “Is it some anniversary I don’t know about? I can’t think of anything we’ve missed off the top of my head.”

Shitty grins, a glint in his eyes, already searching through his iPod. “You’ll know. Ah-ha, got it!”

Woah woah woah woah woah woah woah

Bitty’s already beaming as the first verse kicks in, Bon Jovi’s gravelly voice booming through the car. How could they have forgotten until now? It’s a roadie-bus staple after all. Even Jack joins in.

“Tommy used to work on the docks!” they sing together.

Then Shitty puts on a ridiculous voice and moves in such a way that could generously be termed ‘interpretive dance’ for the verses; Bitty’s laughing too hard to join in singing, even though he knows the song like the back of his hand. He manages to pull it together enough to belt out the last half of the song.

The miles stretch out in front of them as Bitty weaves them through traffic, singing his heart out, oddly peaceful. He’s halfway away from Madison, halfway back to Samwell.

Halfway from his past.

Halfway to a brand new future.

We've got to hold on to what we've got
It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not
We've got each other and that's a lot for love
We'll give it a shot
Woah, we're halfway there
Woah, livin' on a prayer
Take my hand, we'll make it I swear
Woah, livin' on a prayer
Livin' on a prayer

Oh, we've got to hold on, ready or not
You live for the fight when it's all that you've got
Woah, we're halfway there
Woah, livin' on a prayer
Take my hand, we'll make it I swear
Woah, livin' on a prayer
Woah, we're halfway there
Woah, livin' on a prayer
Take my hand, we'll make it I swear
Woah, livin' on a prayer…

Chapter Text

“Bittybittybits! We’re going to see a fuckin’ historic and culturally important location here; be more excited!” Shitty yells, dragging Bitty behind him.

They left Baltimore yesterday, meandering up I-95, and, typically, getting stuck on the New Jersey Turnpike for longer than they wanted, meaning they got to Philly way later than planned and falling asleep immediately. Meaning they had less time to see all the cool shit Philly had to offer. Shitty plans to pack in as much as possible before they have to head up to New York, and that means streamlining.

“I’m not Jack “History is My Passion” Zimmermann, I’ll be more excited after coffee,” Bitty grumbles behind him.

“I said it’s important culturally too, Bitty-boo, just relax. I promise you’ll like it!”

“Ugh fine.” Pre-caffeine Bitty really is adorable.

A few more minutes of fast walking, passing museums and Independence Hall and making Bitty more visibly confused with every building passed, and then their turning into a huge indoor market. Shitty grins as not even the giant neon sign proclaiming Reading Terminal Market seems to register for Bits.

“Oh thank god, I need coffee,” Bitty says, dragging them to the nearest vendor. One latte for himself and a whipped cream and espresso monstrosity for Bitty later, finds the duo wandering aimlessly among what seems like endless food vendors. Post-caffeine, Bitty’s actually engaged, pointing out local specialties and too-loud whispers disparaging some of the pies on offer. Shitty pulls him away from those with an apologetic smile over his shoulder, and steers Bitty by the shoulders toward the point of this visit.

“Shitty B. Knight, do not manhandle me I was being discreet—”

“Yeah, right. I’ve seen Rans and Holster with more subtlety.”

“—Okay so I could have been quieter, but really, that pie crust was just abysmal I could do better with one hand—”

“We’re here!” Shitty cuts in cheerfully, beaming at the proprietor and tugging Bitty to a stop.

“Martin’s Quality Meat and Sausage?” Bitty asks skeptically, brows rising. “This is your location of historic and cultural significance? This better not be, like a scene from a gay porn or—”

“No! Although that would be a cool premise…” He trails off but quickly continues at the dark look on Bitty’s face, “It’s where they filmed one of the most iconic scenes of cinematic history brah!”

“Elaborate. Now.”

“They filmed part of the chase scene in National Treasure here, brah! Plus it’s a s’wawesome market.”

Bitty still looks confused, but looks around more closely, and then it clicks and his face clears with a grin.

“Oh! When Abigail is hiding from the bald bad guy and pretends to be hiding from her ex-husband?”

“Yup! ‘Honey, stay as long as you like’ is such an iconic line! I was planning our trip and remembered that you love that movie as much as I do, especially because Jack, while he is my best friend and I would fuckin’ die for him, he somehow doesn’t care about Nick Cage’s masterpiece—”

“Shitty, focus.”

“Right sorry, anyway I was looking and our route could take us through Philly so I figured, why not? Pretty s’wawesome, right?”

“Shitty, that’s … really sweet, thank you.”

“Course Bits. We really do need to get that anti-National-Treasure stick out of Jack’s ass though.”

“God we really do. Like just loosen up about the historical plausibility of the plot for one second.”

“Believe me, I’ve been fighting that fight since freshman year,” Shitty sighs. “Anyway, I figured we could get something from here and get a cooler or whatever to cook it when we get up to Woodstock.”

“We’re going to Woodstock? Like, actual Woodstock?!”

“Whoops, spoilers, I guess–oomph!” Shitty actually gets the wind knocked out of him with the force of Bitty’s hug. His arms come up automatically to hug Bitty back.

“This is the best trip I’ve ever had. I'm the luckiest person in the whole world and I’m glad you’re my friend, Shitty B. Knight,” Bitty says in a rush, slightly muffled from talking directly into Shitty’s chest.

The sincerity in Bitty’s voice makes him blush and almost cry. He clears his throat enough to choke out, “Got your back, Bits. You deserve an awesome trip, I’m happy to provide.”

“Alright, alright, let’s order,” Bitty says, pulling away with suspiciously bright eyes and going over to the counter.

They order and wander the rest of the market, finding trinkets and books for their friends, only leaving reluctantly an hour later.

Shitty’s pulling into their first rest stop a few hours after that on their way to Woodstock, when Bitty’s phone rings, interrupting the playlist with a shrill alarm. Bitty checks his phone and the color drains from his face.

“It’s Coach.”

“Oh shit,” Shitty says, parking a little more haphazardly than normal and turning the car off.

“What should I do?” Bitty all but whispers, gripping the still-ringing phone in a death grip.

“Do you want to answer it?” asks Shitty.

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Shitty I—”

“Let it go to voicemail,” Shitty says, thinking fast. “If he has something to say, good or bad, he’ll leave a voicemail. Go splash some water on your face and go to the bathroom. We’ll deal with it when we come back.”

“Yeah. Yeah okay. Let’s go,” Bitty says, dropping his phone in the cup holder and half falling out of the car in his haste to get out.

It’s the first time Shitty has ever seen Bitty willingly leave his phone behind anywhere. But he’s sure he’s right about this. It’s been four days since Bitty left home, and this is the first time either of them have contacted him.

They deserve to fuckin’ wait a little longer.

Chapter Text

Bitty doesn’t remember a lot about the rest of their trip up to Woodstock. Well. He remembers driving, listening to the first couple episodes of Welcome to Nightvale based on Shitty’s recommendation. Brah, I can’t believe you haven’t heard of it!

It was a good distraction from the ticking time bomb of the voicemail on his phone, anyway.

He’d gotten back in the car after their first rest stop and checked his phone to see the evidence on the screen.

Missed call - Coach - mobile - 2:39 PM
Voicemail - Coach - mobile - 1:42

Less than two minutes. Less than a fucking minor penalty. What the hell is Bitty supposed to do with that?

“Bitty?”

His head jerks up at Shitty’s cautious voice. “What?”

“How many brats do you want?”

Right. They’re at the campsite in Woodstock. They looked around earlier. They’ve set up the sleeping bags. They’ve built up the fire. Shitty’s about to cook dinner.

“Um, one? I guess?” He’s never been less interested in food in his life.

“You got it, Bits.”

Crap. He’s got to pull it together, he’s sitting right next to an open flame and he’ll have a driving shift in the morning.

What could his father have said to him? More harsh words? An apology, begging Bitty to come home? Ha ha. Threats? A butt dial? More disappointment? Yelling about—

“Bits!”

“Ah! What?” he asks, heart racing.

“Food’s ready,” Shitty says, holding out a plate toward Bitty. Bitty hasn’t seen that much concern on anyone's face since he opened his eyes on the ice after getting checked last season. Fuck.

He takes the plate. Sets it on the table. Picks at the pasta salad with his fork for a moment.

“Sorry Shits, I’m just – stuck in my thoughts.”

“Totally understandable. I just want to make sure you eat and take care of yourself as much as possible. It’s weird having you be so quiet, normally you’re the one carrying conversations on the team,” he says.

Bitty is abruptly, staggeringly furious. The plastic fork in his hand snaps in two.

“Well don’t you think its fucking warranted?" Bitty yells. "Sorry I can’t be all chatty and bright while I’m freaking out about whatever the fuck is waiting for me after dinner. Sorry I’m not being as entertaining for you while I’m stressed. My bad.”

He’s practically panting, he’s breathing so hard. Bitty’s been sad and disappointed and worried off and on during this trip, but he’s never been as angry as just now. How dare Shitty say that?

“Woah, slow down Bitty. I know you’re worried and stressed beyond belief right now, but I don’t deserve you yelling at me,” Shitty says stiffly. He doesn’t look away fast enough to hide the flash of hurt across his face. Bitty’s anger drains away as fast as it came; leaves him with nothing but tiredness and a sick, empty feeling of shame in his stomach.

Bitty takes a deep breath, holding back tears with all his might.

“S-sorry Shitty. I don’t know what came over me. I know you were just – mphff.” Bitty cuts himself off as he’s engulfed in Shitty’s arms.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, Bits. Of course you’re not behaving normally. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

“But I was so mean to you,” he protests.

Shitty just squeezes him tighter. “You’re forgiven, I promise, I didn’t really think about how that would sound. It’s not your job to entertain me or anyone else, especially with what you’ve been through the last few days. Some good experiences with me don’t negate the overall crapiness of your situation. You get to feel however you want.”

Bitty pulls back, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. “Well, you’re forgiven too, and I’ll try not to lash out like that at you – or the rest of the team when they get back. Whenever that is. Oh shit, I’ll have to tell everyone what happened. At the very least Jack, Ransom and Holster since we’re sharing the Haus.”

“Erm, you don’t have to tell them, if you don’t want to.”

“Shitty, come on, I have to tell them, especially because half the reason I would be able to take classes next semester hinges on you and Jack having disposable income.”

“I just meant – that I could tell them for you. So that you don’t have to relive everything again. And if I tell them not to bother you about it, they won’t. They’ll still help however they can,” Shitty rushes to add, “But they wouldn’t bother you with follow up questions or anything if you didn’t want them to.”

And that – that actually sounds great. A relief.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that. Thank you.”

“Got your back. Now then. The elephant in the room. The gorilla in the nursery. The whale in the desert. The snake in the hamster enclosure. The —”

Shitty cuts himself off, grinning at Bitty’s reluctant chuckles.

“The voicemail from my dad?” Bitty asks.

“Yeah. What do you want to do? Listen alone and tell me about it? Listen together? Continue ignoring it? Delete it all together?”

A large part of Bitty is tempted to take the last option. To continue to live in a world where he doesn’t have to confront what may be his last communication from his family. But. There’s a chance, a tiny, infinitesimal chance that it could be good news. And that’s enough for Bitty to want to hear it.

He definitely doesn’t want to face it alone, however.

“I want you to listen with me. And if it's bad, you delete the message so I don’t obsess over it.”

“Deal.” They shake on it. “Eat your dinner first. Gotta keep up that protein intake.”

“Oh lord, somewhere Jack Zimmerman just perked up and doesn’t know why.”

They eat, speculating about Jack’s training camp (Probably showing up all the other rookies, that beaut), filling Bitty in about what Lardo’s been up to (There’s this wicked series of pieces using only discarded library books), some chatting about Derek, one of the new frogs coming in a few weeks (Clumsiest man in any fifty-mile radius, but a hell of a defenseman), half-planning Hazeapalooza (Just a light sweater, maybe? No. A mini pie? No! It’s Hazeapalooza, Bits, not a garden party!)

And then it’s time. Bitty’s been putting it off long enough. He pulls out his phone and puts on the table between them on speaker.

“You’re really okay with me hearing this?” Shitty doublechecks.

“Yes,” Bitty nods.

“Alright then, here we go,” Shitty says, and presses play.

The first fifteen seconds are quiet, no noises other than the incessant buzz of his old fridge. And then—

If your perversions hadn’t already convinced me of your character, your absolute cowardice would have. What an ungrateful child, running away from the house, from those of us who just wanted you to get better, to fix you, to cure you. Clearly you were never the person Suzanne and I thought you were.

Bitty can’t breathe.

Don’t think our position on this matter will change. You’ve left. You won’t ever be able to come back here. You’re off the phone plan starting next month. Don’t expect us to continue to pay for your freakish Northern school. I suppose I should be grateful you remembered to leave your keys and left the house without inconveniencing us.

Bitty is frozen. It can’t possibly be summer, he’s never been colder in his life.

Just because Suzanne isn’t on this call doesn’t mean she disagrees with me, by the way. So don’t go thinking she or I will eventually come around. She’s already getting rid of the rest of the stuff you left behind.

As far as anyone down here is concerned, you decided to move out and live in Godless yankee country full time.

As far as Suzanne and I are concerned, we never had a son. Just an ungrateful, lying, freeloader for twenty years.

The recording ends, and Bitty realizes he’s crying silently. Probably has been since the first sentence.

Shitty reaches out and woodenly deletes the message, clears his voice mailbox altogether. Taps over to Bitty’s contacts. Deletes Coach’s number. Deletes Mama’s number. Deletes the landline. Deletes MooMaw’s landline. Hesitates, then slides Bitty’s phone into his own pocket. He gets up and pulls Bitty to his feet, drags him over to the sleeping bags and bundles him in, cuddling aggressively, making soothing noises the whole time.

Bitty just closes his eyes and sobs, clutching Shitty as close as possible.

He doesn’t remember calming down enough to sleep.

Chapter Text

Shitty has never been more grateful that he made their last stop on this road trip so close to Samwell. An hour away from Woodstock, they’ll be back at the Haust in less than three hours.

He focuses on the road more closely than he has since driver’s ed and his behind the wheel classes. If he’s focusing on the road, he’s not focusing on how badly he wants to punch Bitty’s dad. It’s a perfectly valid impulse after having to listen to that man spout absolute bullshit, but the impulse is neither feasible nor helpful right now.

Two hours to go.

It’s been over twelve hours since Bitty has said a single word – not that he’d been talking much at all since the first ring of his father’s call.

Shitty’s been stealing glances at Bitty the whole morning as they packed up the campsite, ate breakfast, and through the whole of the drive so far. Bitty hasn’t stopped looking out the window. He might even be asleep again, he’s that still.

He hasn’t even wanted his phone back.

One hour to go.

Shitty doesn’t know how to help him with this beyond getting him back to the Haus and surrounding him with friendship from himself and the team as soon as fucking possible. Thank god Rans and Holster will be there by Friday. Shitty’s staying overnight tonight and driving his dad’s car back to Boston, so Bitty only has to make it through one day mostly alone. Hopefully he’ll be stable enough to feed himself by the time Shitty has to leave. He’ll give them and Jack a heads up of what’s happened at some point today when Bitty isn’t paying attention.

Half an hour to go.

Should he try to get Bitty to talk now? Or just wait until they get to the Haus? He decides to let Bitty be silent for now. They’ll have to talk about where Bitty wants stuff when they get inside. Built in conversation. Bitty’ll need help setting up stuff and reaching the top cabinets in the kitchen, and Shitty will be there with bells on. He’s never felt more helpless. He fiddles with the radio, settling on NPR.

Shitty doesn’t start to relax until he starts seeing exit signs for Samwell. Despite his worry, his heart feels lighter as they turn onto Jason Street, pull up to the Haus Sweet Haus. He parks and turns off the car and turns to face Bitty fully.

“Bits? Brah, you awake?”

Bitty nods.

“We’re here, ready to move in?”

“I guess,” Bitty says. His voice is quiet, and all scratchy, but it's there. Shitty relaxes even more at the sound of it.

“Right on, buddy. Let’s get all your stuff upstairs and then we can unpack all your stuff at once and then deck out your room.”

“Can we order pizza? I’m starving.” Shitty silently rejoices at the question. Bitty talking! Asking questions! Being hungry!

“‘Course, brah. You start moving stuff, I’ll call it in and help when I’m done.”

Bitty’s still got a lot to deal with, still has a lot to figure out. Shitty still feels a little over his head trying to help. But.

They’re home.

Ransom and Holster are coming on in two days. Jack in a week. The rest of the boys and Lardo a week after that.

They’ll all have Bitty’s back. Bitty’s biological family may have turned out to be awful, but Shitty’s always been a believer in family being more than blood; it’s the people you choose. The whole team chose Bitty, and Bitty chose them right back.

That isn’t going to change.

Chapter Text

It’s definitely strange being in the Haus alone.

He and Shitty had gotten all of Bitty’s stuff inside and unpacked yesterday. Bitty had been feeling well enough to participate in conversations again. He knows he worried Shitty out of his mind by going silent for that long.

Once they arranged the room to Bitty’s liking and got his stuff put away, the two of them realized there was absolutely no food in the Haus other than Ransom and Holster’s stash of sriracha. They had gotten back into Shitty’s dad’s truck for a trip to Murder Stop & Shop for the necessities.

He’d added ingredients to make an apple pie to the cart without thinking about it. He had blinked down at the flour, sugar, butter, apples. Did he really feel like making a pie this week? Bitty’d never gone so long without making at least one pie before this past week. Maybe part of his funk is because it’s been so long. And it's not like he got to finish baking last week’s pie. So really it'd been two whole weeks. He’d kept the pie ingredients in the cart in the end.

“Are you sure you’re good to stay here by yourself?” Shitty had asked this morning. “You can come with me to drop the truck off, I was planning on coming back on the train tonight anyway.”

“No, you go ahead. It’s not like you’ll be gone that long, and I’ll be fine alone. Maybe listen to some more Night Vale while I prep dinner or something. I’ve got stuff to do, don’t worry.”

“Alright, Bits. See you tonight. I’ll text you when I have a more exact eta.”

Since then it's just been Bitty and the Haus.

He’s spent his afternoon rearranging his closet twice. Scrolled Twitter half-heartedly for a while, but hadn’t tweeted anything (another thing he hadn’t done in over a week). He started and stopped two different movies before giving up on anything holding his attention.

He’s idly thinking about taking a walk before making dinner when his phone chimes with a new email.

His heart stops when he sees the sender: [email protected]

Does he read it? Shitty’s not here to lean on, and the preview of the email doesn’t show enough to indicate what he might find inside. What if it’s more vitriol like Coach sent? Bitty takes a deep breath. Might as well find out. He has to figure out who he is without his parents sooner or later, and Shitty and the team won’t always be around.

He can do this.

He clicks on the email. Takes another breath. And starts reading.

Eric –

Your father came to see me this morning, and told me what had happened last week.

First of all, you are in trouble, young man.

Bitty can feel his heart beating faster in fear.

I can’t believe you didn’t reach out to me immediately. As if I would abandon my grandson while his parents have their heads up their asses. My idiot of a son gave me the note you left, and I’m glad you’re safe and heading back to Samwell. (Are you back yet? How did you get there? You’re not alone are you?)

Bitty half laughs in relief; keeps reading.

Let me know when you get settled in and are ready for a phone call. I want to talk about how I can help from now on. I know you’ve got that fancy hockey scholarship, but I know it doesn’t cover everything. I’m happy to help you out with whatever it doesn’t cover, no need to pay me back. Ever. Also, let me know if there’s anything you left behind at your parents’ house, I’ll try to get it for you. Richard said all the stuff from your room is in the garage for another week or so while they figure out where to get rid of it all.

God bless their fear of the neighbors from just throwing it all away at the city dump!

Anyway I just wanted you to know that you still have one family member who wants to talk to you, who loves you unconditionally.

Let me know when is a good time to call, and I hope you’re happier up at Samwell with your friends.

Love,
MooMaw

PS - Your mom may have the pretty copies of my recipes, but I still have all the originals. Family recipes are important to hold on to and pass down.

Bitty collapses into a chair, slumped in relief and joy. He can feel himself beaming so wide it almost hurts. He’s still got some family. He doesn’t have to worry about his future so much. Between Shitty and the team and MooMaw, he’ll be fine.

Better than fine even.

His phone rings while he’s still sitting there and he answers, still smiling.

“Hey Shitty, what’s up?”

“Long story short, my dad’s even more of a dickbag than normal after not getting to keep me in Florida for the whole week and not having his car until now, so I’m on my way back now. I’ll be there in an hour. That good with you?”

“Absolutely fine, sugar. Dinner should be ready by then. And we can watch a movie or somethin’.”

“Hell yes! Dinner and a show, I am truly spoiled by you Bitty-boo,” Shitty teases.

“Go! Get on the train, the sooner you get here, the sooner you get to eat.”

“You sound happier Bits, I’m glad.”

Bitty smiles again. He’s got the best family in the whole world, actually. It just so happens that only one person is related to him anymore. But he’s got twenty-odd brothers and an amazing sister. He’s gonna get some more family when the new Frogs arrive in two weeks. Bitty’s more happy than he thought he would be two days ago, or even two hours ago.

“I am, I got some good news. But I’ll tell you when you get back.”

“But Bitttttyyyyyyyy I wanna know nowwww,” Shitty whines.

“Shitty B. Knight I know you have better manners than that,” Bitty scolds, “I’ll tell you when you get back.”

Shitty sighs dramatically. “I suppose my curiosity will survive until then.”

“Bye Shits.”

“Love you Bits!” Shitty shouts before hanging up.

Thank god he kept the ingredients in the cart.

He’s got a pie to make.

It’s Thursday after all.