Work Text:
Summer 2002
Mr. Wood, who owned the Eerie Cinema, was perpetually dealing with money troubles and hence hadn’t been able to cover Teller, Holmes, and Associates’ usual fees after he’d hired them to deal with the problem of why what seemed to be the murderous ghost of Marlene Dietrich was suddenly haunting the ladies room next to Theater 6. But the deal they’d worked out instead had been even better. Free movie tickets plus free popcorn for a year.
At least, it had seemed like a great deal to Dash at first. They’d gotten to see all the latest new releases and the place had a popcorn bar that included, at any given time, at least twenty different kinds of shake-on popcorn flavoring. If it was classic cheesy monster movie night—and at the Eerie Cinema, it was frequently classic cheesy monster movie night—the three of them could sit in the back of the theater and mock the film mercilessly. And if it was a night Simon was busy, or had asked the apartment to himself for a night to bring a date over, then Dash and Marshall could get tickets for whatever was playing in the emptiest theater they could find and spend the next couple of hours or so failing to pay the slightest bit of attention to it.
But then Simon had insisted on going to see that stupid new Disney cartoon.
“It’s okay, Dash,” said Simon, as they stepped out of the theater into the sunlight. “Lots of people cry at the movies. And it was sad. I think I even teared up a bit in there.”
“I was not crying,” Dash said. “It’s just that somebody insisted on trying jalapeno-wasabi flavored popcorn, and I somehow got some in my eyes at the end. That’s all.”
“Yep, it’s probably that,” said Marshal. “All the fault of my continuing quest for popcorn spiced at the perfect balance between pain and deliciousness.”
Dash was surprised that he was actually getting backup here instead of additional grief.
Then Marshall wrapped one arm around his shoulders, the other around Simon’s, pulled them both closer, and quoted, “’This is my family. I found it all on my own. It’s little, and broken, but still good…’”
And Dash lost it, well beyond the point of plausible deniability.
“Oh, goddammit! Shut the hell up, Teller!” he said, completely failing to fight off what he would continue to insist until the very end of time itself were definitely not tears.