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2024-08-09
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2024-09-13
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5/?
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Under One Sky

Summary:

"I'll say this about Alvin," she says reluctantly. "He stands up for his little brother."

Or: A collection of one-shots of Alvin being a good older brother, 'cause you can't have enough of family fluff. And I need this nostalgia wave so I can procrastinate even more.

[Requests are open!]

Notes:

All it took was a glimpse—a flash of white fur and a glint of gold from a pocket watch—to spark a curiosity so fierce that you tumbled headfirst into the unknown, chasing after a rabbit in a waistcoat, only to find that once you step into the wonderland, you're stuck there for better, or for the worse.

You run to check the rabbit, you get more than you wish for, and now I'm here. It's honestly quite ridiculous and predictable how I got here, and it all started on YouTube.

1. Was hit with the random urge to listen to "Monster Out In You" since the song had been stuck in my head for days. Came across "Munks On A Mission" and finally found the song that had been bugging me for years, but I could only remember the tune and thus couldn't search it up.

2. While doing this, YouTube very generously recommended me some amazing covers of these two songs by Thomas Straiton Creations who are really talented; here are the links, so you can check out their covers of the songs: Monster Out In You and Munks On A Mission.

3. Then YouTube started posting essay videos about people talking about the animated movies about the Chipmunks—which is incredible, because I remember searching them up years ago, and the only thing that would pop up was the live action movies, which honestly, while not bad, don't really have the same charm.

4. Ended up watching the movie Alvin and the Chipmunks: Meet the Wolfman and came across the gem of the line that started all of this—"I will say this for Alvin. He sticks up for his little brother." It got the gears churning, but it didn't actually do anything until the next stage.

5. I searched up fanfics for this, hoping that I'd get some Gen family fics and I found some on Fanfiction.net by @Stormy1x2 who is such a great writer and all of their three fics — here, here and here — are bangers; managing to keep them in character and exploring different sides. It's brilliant. And what I particularly love about it is the fact about how they write Alvin - in character as his snarky, scheming self - but also as the caring, protective brother than he is. It reminded me of an episode — which I cannot find for the life of me — of where Simon and Theodore sing about how such a good older brother Alvin is.

And that's that. That's why I'm here. You have all of the reasons above to blame for this.

 

Side Notes: 

 

a) I'm sort of mixing the personalities of 90's Chipmunks and 2015 Chipmunks, 'cause I like 'em both.

b) I'm keeping Alvin as the middle child in this one, as while I do like the subversive Older-Brother-Doesn't-Always-Mean-Book-Smart-Nerd, I somehow seem to get Middle Child vibes with Alvin? I dunno why. Probably the childish feeling I've had ever since I found out Alvin was the oldest one. 

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun spilled its golden light into the Seville household, casting long, amber shadows that seemed to stretch and yawn, as if mirroring the slow, tired rhythm of the day. The universe seemed to be taking it's leisurely time, stretching out like a cat after a great nap. Everyone was at peace. 

Well, almost everybody. 

Theodore shuffled into the living room, his steps soft and uncertain, much like Bambi taking his first steps except without the added grace of tripping over his own feet — though, on second thought, he did feel like he was going to collapse from worry. This was a day for baking cookies, for drinking hot chocolate with a nice feel-good move and pastries. Instead, here he was, trying to muster the courage to talk to his brother of all people. 

Both his brothers were intimidating, sure. With their glares, sharp wit, and occasional threats, they were more similar than they'd like to admit. But he, out of all people, shouldn’t be afraid! At least, that's what he kept telling himself. So far, it wasn’t working. His resolve felt as flimsy as a cookie crumbling under pressure, and the thought of facing them made his stomach twist like a pretzel.

(He should really stop with the food metaphors, they were making him hungry.)

He hesitated at the doorway, peeking in to find Alvin sprawled out on the couch, headphones on, jamming to the latest pop hit. Alvin’s head bobbed slightly to the beat, his fingers drumming against the armrest in time with the melody. He looked at peace like the rest of the universe — so content that it nearly threw Theodore off guard. It was rare to find Alvin in such a good mood, like ever. More rarer than the red velvet and chocolate cake that they had eaten in a gala once, the one he could never find the recipe to. 

Alvin was in a good mood for what seemed like a long time ever since they were baby chipmunks. Should Theodore really bother him with this? Ruin his good mood? Then again, Theodore thought, better tell him when he's in a good mood than in a bad one. 

Theodore took a deep breath. This wasn’t something he did often—Simon was the brother he usually turned to, the one who always had the answers. (And wasn't that part of the problem?) But today was...different. Today, he needed Alvin.

He cleared his throat, trying to get Alvin's attention. “Alvin?”

No response. Theodore’s hands twisted together as he tried again, louder this time. “Alvin!”

It seems he had managed to break through the sound barrier this time, because Alvin's eyes flicked open. and he pulled off his headphones, his brows rising in surprise. “Teddy? What’s up? Thought you were supposed to be hanging out with Eleanor today.” 

“I was,” he said, touched that Alvin remembered. He had made an off-hand comment about it a week ago. He honestly wasn't expecting Alvin to remember. “But they had a last minute fashion emergency. Something about purple socks with burgundy dress.” 

“No wonder it was an emergency,” Alvin said, looking haunted. “Purple and Burgundy? That's terrifying." At Theodore blank face, Alvin's eyes widened further. "They're from the same color family, Theo. THE SAME COLOR FAMILY!” His face was white with horror. 

“Right, well,” Theodore shuffled his feet, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sweater like a small animal burrowing into its nest. “Can I...can I talk to you about something?”

Alvin’s expression shifted from curiosity to something more serious, though a smirk still played at the corners of his mouth. He swung his legs off the couch and patted the spot next to him with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Uh-oh, this must be serious if you’re coming to me instead of Simon. Spill the beans, little bro.”

“Can't go to Simon.” Theodore sat down, his small frame sinking into the cushions. “It’s about Simon.”

Alvin’s smirk widened into a grin, mischief dancing in his eyes like sparks from a firecracker. “Ah, the plot thickens. What did Mr. Know-It-All do this time? Correct your grammar? Organize your sock drawer without asking?”

Theodore hesitated, before letting out a sigh. "It’s just...he’s been really bossy lately. I know he’s trying to help, but sometimes it feels like he doesn’t listen to me at all. He just assumes he knows what’s best.”

Alvin’s grin faded into something more understanding, his eyes softening as he leaned back, crossing his arms. “Yeah, that’s Simon for you. Brain like a supercomputer, but sometimes he forgets we’re not all running on the same software.”

Theodore groaned, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt his feelings or anything. I just...I wish he’d listen more. Like, really listen.”

Alvin's draped an arm around Theodore’s shoulders, pulling him closer in a way he hadn't for a long time. At least, not when he was trying to sell a story. You know what you need, Teddy? A good old-fashioned dose of ‘Alvin Intervention.’”

Theodore blinked, his head tilting to the side like a curious puppy. “Alvin Intervention?”

“Yup!” Alvin said, hopping off the couch with the energy of a spring-loaded toy, striking a pose that was half superhero, half showman. “You let me handle this. I’ll make Simon realize he’s being a bossy pants without you even having to lift a finger.”

Theodore’s eyes widened, his hands wringing together as if trying to squeeze the worry out of them. “But, Alvin, I don’t want to make things worse...”

Alvin waved off the concern with a casual flick of his hand. “Trust me, Theo, I’ve got this. A little sass, a little subtlety—Simon won’t know what hit him. And best of all, he’ll think it was his idea to lighten up.”

Theodore couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face, a warmth spreading through his chest that chased away the shadows of doubt. There was something about Alvin, a kind of confidence and charm that was as infectious as it was comforting. “You always know how to make me feel better.” 

Alvin ruffled Theodore’s hair with a rough affection that was all his own, his grin widening into a full-blown smile. “That’s what big brothers are for, right? Simon might be the brain, but I’m the brawn—and the charm, and the style, and the—”

Theodore laughed, a genuine, bright sound that filled the room like sunlight breaking through the clouds. He swatted Alvin’s hand away, his heart feeling lighter than it had in days. “Okay, okay, I get it!”

The truth is, he hadn't been afraid of Alvin getting mad at him. Maybe it was a bragging point, but Alvin got mad at him the least, more willing to brush aside whatever he did. He didn't even get mad all that often. If anything, Simon was the one to have a temper that was on a short fuse. Alvin, being the poster child for the band, was usually forced to bite down his aggression or immediate reactions. So, Theodore had known from the beginning that Alvin wouldn't get furious with him. That hadn't been the problem.

The problem, the worry — that seemed incredibly stupid now — was that Alvin would brush him off. Simon and Alvin were familiar in so many ways, and they were also familiar with the ways of each other. Simon had brushed him off multiple times when he had complained to him about Alvin saying, “It's Alvin being Alvin” or “Welcome to the club” - or anything that just implied that Simon had dealt with and was used to it, so Theodore should be as well. It sucked. 

So, he had been expecting, had worried over Alvin looking at him, soft and coddling but tired. Looking at him and speaking the dreaded words "It's just Simon being Simon" and to "brush it off" or something along the lines. He should have known better. After facing so many moments of being brushed aside, Alvin probably knew what it was like. (And well, Theodore had always been Alvin's favorite. Even if it felt selfish to say.)

As though sensing his thoughts, Alvin tilted his chin up to look at him, his eyes locking onto Theodore’s with a seriousness that was rare for him, but unmistakable in its sincerity. “Seriously, though, Teddy, don’t let Simon boss you around too much. You’ve got a voice too, and it’s just as important as his.”

He smiled, already making plans on baking Alvin's favorite cookies—double chocolate chunk and snickerdoodles with a hint of cinnamon and a dash of cayenne pepper—he'd  need to go grocery shopping. “Thanks, Alvin. I’m really glad I talked to you.”

Alvin gave a playful wink, his usual swagger returning as he leaned back against the couch. “Anytime, little bro. And remember, if Simon ever gives you grief, you just come to me. I’ll set him straight. It's what I'm known for, after all.”

As Theodore headed back to his room, a small, contented smile playing on his lips. He'd been worried about this, but honestly, it felt nice to talk to Alvin. He should do it more often. Like back when they were kids. 

Yeah, that sounded nice.

 

Chapter 2

Summary:

If Theodore was more hurt, and Alvin less patient.

Chapter Text

Simon knew all too well the power of the brain, how it processed information at lightning speed, weaving together memories, experiences, and patterns into the tornado of thoughts that kept him up at night. But there was something almost primal about the gut feeling—a sensation that bypassed the meticulous pathways of logic and struck right at the core.

When he felt it, it wasn’t just a vague sense of unease; it was his autonomic nervous system firing up, the ancient circuitry of his brain reacting to a perceived threat before his conscious mind could even catch up. The amygdala, that small almond-shaped cluster deep within his brain, was on high alert, processing stimuli at a speed that defied reason. It sent signals down his spine, igniting the sympathetic nervous system, preparing his body for fight or flight before he could even form a coherent thought.

His heart would beat just a little faster, his stomach would tighten as if anticipating a blow, and his muscles would coil with the faintest hint of tension. The feeling was visceral, embedded in his very biology, a testament to the survival instincts honed over millennia. It was the brain’s way of saying, Trust me, something’s not right here, even if he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. It set him on edge, though he reasoned a portion of that anxiety would be because of the fact that he had listened in on Jeanette's True Crime documentaries — they'd kept him up for weeks — he'd always feel on edge. 

But despite that, despite the frustration he felt for it, for his stupid animal brain, he did respect it. Because sometimes, the most profound truths were felt in the gut before they could ever be understood by the mind.

And boy, how right he was, though maybe not for the exact situation. But, honestly, for the first time, he wished he wasn't. 

The household was quiet. Too quiet, in fact. It was the type of silence that was tense, that made you jump at every little click and where you can feel your mind breaking with every rhythmic tick of the clock. The Seville household was many things, but quiet was not one of them. The only time it was this silent was when nobody was at home. 

Simon sat in the kitchen, methodically arranging his books on the table. It was a mindless action, because as he stacked his textbooks, he was too busy straining his ears for every little sound. His instincts going off, something was wrong. And it made him suspicious over everything. Mainly, he wondered by Alvin and Theodore were so quiet. Alvin usually played video games, so there should be sounds of frustration of proclamations of greatness. 

But there was no such thing. Just think, dense silence that covered everything like a shroud. He hadn't realized how empty the house was until he was faced with this silence. Too often dreaming about it to actually live through it. What the heck were they doing?

Speak of the devil—he looked up just in time to see Theodore shuffle into the kitchen, his expression crushed and crumpled. Behind him, Alvin followed, his face unreadable. There was something in the way Alvin moved—calm, deliberate—that made Simon’s stomach twist. This wasn’t the usual Alvin, full of bravado and snark and ways to mess with Simon six ways to Sunday. This was something different.

He didn't like it. 

“Theodore,” Simon began, but before he could say anything more, Alvin stepped forward, placing a hand on Theodore’s shoulder in a motion that was so entirely Dave that he couldn't unsee it. 

“Simon,” Alvin said, his voice unusually calm, almost too calm. It was a tone that once again reminded him eerily of Dave when he was about to lay down the law. “We need to talk.”

That was a phrase no one wanted to hear. Especially not from Alvin, of all people. 

Simon frowned, his analytical mind trying to piece together what was happening. It was moving a mile a minute, trying to figure it out. First the uneasiness, now this? Simon was on the verge of a hysterical breakdown. “About what?”

Alvin’s eyes flicked to Theodore, who was staring down at the floor, his hands clasped tightly together. The sight of his younger brother looking so small, so defeated, confused him. But before he could even open his mouth, Alvin spoke again.

“About the way you’ve been treating Theodore,” Alvin said, his voice steady but with an edge that Simon had never heard before.

Simon blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean? I haven't done anything—”

"Really? You haven't done anything?” Alvin cut him off, disapproval pouring off of him in waves. It crashed into Simon like a tsunami. “You can't think of anything?”

“What do you mean? I've just been trying to help...” He trailed off at the look on Alvin's face. It was one of cold, hard, fury. Simon had never seen anything like it. And to be honest, he never wanted to ever again. 

“Help?” Alvin said bitingly, his tone still eerily calm. “Simon, you’re not helping. You’re making him feel like he doesn’t have a say in anything. Like he’s not capable of making his own decisions.”

Simon’s mouth opened to protest, but the words died on his lips as Alvin glared at him, cutting him off before he could even start. Simon had never felt this small before. Especially not by his a-head-shorter-than-him-brother, but now, Alvin seemed to almost tower over him. 

Alvin took a step closer, his voice dropping lower, more intense. “You don’t get to make Theodore feel small, Simon. Not ever.”

Simon was speechless. He had always been the responsible one, the one who knew best. But standing there, confronted by Alvin’s uncharacteristic seriousness, it through him for a loop—had he been so focused on being right that he hadn’t noticed the damage he was causing? He looked at Theodore's tearful expression and felt a pang of guilt strike through him. 

Before Simon could respond, Alvin’s voice cut through the silence, sharper this time. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Simon stared blankly at Alvin, confused. “Forgetting what?”

Alvin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in a gesture that was again strikingly reminiscent of Dave when he was at his wit’s end. Had Alvin always mirrored Dave this much? “Apologize,” Alvin said, his voice firm. “And you’re baking him cookies for a week and taking him out for ice cream.”

Simon’s eyes widened, the authority in Alvin’s tone leaving him momentarily stunned. This was Alvin—his younger brother, the one who usually needed reigning in, the one who was always getting into trouble. But right now, Alvin was the one in control, and Simon found himself both proud and mostly terrified.

“I...I’m sorry, Theodore,” Simon finally said, his voice thick with an emotion he couldn't quite place. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I just wanted to help, but I see now that I’ve been too overbearing.” The words tumbled out on autopilot as his brain still tried to catch up with whatever the hell was happening.

Theodore looked up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “It’s okay, Simon. I know you didn’t mean to...but it still hurt.”

Simon nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Alvin watched the exchange with the air of a sergeant watching their troops set out for war. “And don’t forget the cookies,” he added, his tone still stern. “Chocolate chip. None of that oatmeal nonsense.”

“Right,” Simon chuckled nervously. “When did you grow up, Alvin?”

Alvin shrugged, expression still annoyed. “Someone had to keep you in check, Mr. Know-It-All.”

It was a deflection, but Simon couldn't help but marvel at it. At times, he forgot that Alvin was a big brother, too. So used to seeing him as terrors of wreckage that he had forgotten that they weren't babies anymore, needing to survive in the wilderness. Alvin had grown, and Simon hadn't noticed. No one had ever called him out like that before—certainly not Alvin. And, yet...

Simon smiled at Alvin, something heavy tugging his heart and he blinked back the tears. “Thanks, Alvin. You’re a good brother.” He had a new respect for this wild child.

Alvin grinned, the familiar cocky expression returning. “Don’t get all mushy on me, Simon. You got cookies to bake.” He ruffled Theodore's hair, “Grab the popcorn Teddy, this is is going to be one hell of a show.”

Chapter 3

Summary:

Yeah, Alvin and Simon fight again. Don't look at me like that! 90% of the show is just them fighting all the damn time. The other 10% is just them fighting with other people. Poor Theodore got dragged into this again, though. Poor Baby needs all the marshmallows he can get. He doesn't get paid enough for this.

Chapter Text

Theodore winced as they walked through the door of the house, the tension between his brothers crackling like static in the air. Both Alvin and Simon wore identical scowls, and Theodore knew it was only a matter of time before the fuse blew—again.

"Alvin," Simon began, adjusting his glasses in that all-too-familiar way that signaled a lecture was approaching, "you can't just keep doing whatever you want without thinking about the consequences. I know you mean well, but sometimes your actions affect all of us, and you need to take that into consideration."

Alvin shot him a sideways glance, rolling his eyes as he headed straight for the couch, flopping onto it with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. “And what exactly am I doing now, Simon, that’s so reckless and dangerous? I’m sitting on a couch.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it,” Simon replied, frustration seeping into his voice as he followed Alvin into the living room. “You’ve been taking risks lately—jumping into things without thinking them through. Like last week when you decided to take Theodore to that new skate park without even checking if it was safe.”

Alvin snatched the remote and began flipping through channels as if the conversation was already over. “We were fine, Simon. I was with him the entire time. Besides, it’s not like we were doing anything crazy. It was just skating," he said, tone flippant.

Simon’s hands clenched at his sides, his patience wearing thin. “That’s not the point! You don’t always think things through, and one day it’s going to catch up with you. Or worse, it’s going to catch up with Theodore.”

Alvin’s brow furrowed as he finally stopped on a channel, the volume on the TV going up as if to drown out Simon’s words. “You’re being dramatic. Theo had fun, and I made sure he was safe. You really need to chill, Simon.”

“Chill?” Simon screeched, his voice rising slightly, whether to be heard over the Sports News or from genuine anger, Theodore wasn’t sure. “Alvin, this isn’t about being ‘chill.’ It’s about being responsible! You can’t just fly by the seat of your pants and hope everything works out! You know, not everyone is as lucky as you.”

Alvin arched an eyebrow, finally sitting up to look at Simon. “Lucky? Oh, I’m sorry, Simon. I didn’t realize you thought my entire life was just one big stroke of luck. How interesting. And for the record, I do more than just ‘hope everything works out.’ I plan, I strategize—I just don’t obsess over every little detail like you do.”

Simon scoffed, crossing his arms. “Oh really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you just wing it 99% of the time. You don’t even stop to think about how your actions might affect those around you. Like how they affect Theodore.”

Theodore shifted uncomfortably, as both of their eyes shot to him. He could feel the tension, it was thick like syrup on pancakes. Oh, he should really not think about food. It made him feel queasy. He just didn’t want to be the cause of another fight, but one look at Alvin told him it was too late to stop it—there was a storm brewing in those blue eyes.

Alvin’s voice dropped a notch, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone. “I care about Theodore just as much as you do, Simon. Maybe more. At least I actually spend time with him instead of burying myself in books or experiments.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed, his tone defensive. “I’m trying to make a better future for all of us! I’m sorry if that means I can’t always be there for every little thing, but at least I’m thinking ahead. You’re just living in the moment, not considering what happens next.”

Alvin scoffed, leaning back on the couch with a bitter smirk. “You think you’re the only one who cares about the future? You’re so busy planning it that you’re missing out on the present! Maybe if you took a step back from your ‘projects,’ you’d actually see what’s going on right in front of you.”

Simon threw up his hands, exasperation etched across his face. “I can’t believe you, Alvin! You act like nothing matters, like everything is just one big game!”

Alvin snapped the remote down on the couch, his voice rising to match Simon’s. “You know what, Simon? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t always think things through like you do. But at least I’m not so caught up in overthinking that I miss out on living.”

Simon blinked, taken aback. Clearly, even he hadn't expected Alvin to take this route of conversation. Usually their fights just ended with name calling and a lot of tussling. After which, Dave would drag them apart and ground them. This had never happened before. 

“What do you mean?” Simon asked, trying to regain control of the conversation.

Alvin leaned forward, his tone bristling with barely contained anger. “I mean, you spend so much time analyzing and planning every little detail that you forget there’s more to life than being right. Yeah, maybe I don’t always have a plan, but at least I’m there for Theodore, making memories with him, showing him that it’s okay to take risks sometimes.”

Simon opened his mouth to counter, but Alvin didn’t give him the chance.

“Remember that time you spent all week planning a perfect picnic for us?” Alvin continued, his voice gaining momentum. “You checked the weather, mapped out the location, packed every possible thing we could need. But by the time we got there, you were so stressed about everything going perfectly that you didn’t even enjoy it. Meanwhile, Theodore and I were having the time of our lives just running around and being goofy. That’s what he remembers, Simon, not the plan, but the fun.”

Simon sat back, stunned. The words echoed in his mind, bouncing around like marbles on a tile floor. Theodore could see the gears turning in his head, processing Alvin's uncharacteristic outburst. Alvin had never talked to Simon like this before—calm, deliberate, cutting through the usual snark with something deeper. The only time Theodore had seen Alvin speak with this much conviction was when he was trying to convince Simon to lend him one of his gadgets. But this…this was different.

It seemed like Alvin had been keeping this in for a while, like a storm building on the horizon, waiting for the right moment to unleash. He wasn’t just throwing out his usual rage. No, this time Alvin was taking Simon’s route—cataloging examples, presenting proof, attacking Simon’s points with a precision that Theodore had never associated with his elder brother.

Simon had always seen himself as the voice of reason, the one who kept everything on track. But now, Alvin was challenging that, and it was throwing Simon off balance, and Theodore could see the doubt creeping into his brother’s eyes.

“But what if something goes wrong?” Simon asked, his voice softer now, almost uncertain.

Alvin shrugged. “Then we deal with it. Together. That’s what being a family is about, right? Not just planning for the worst, but living through the best moments too. I know I’m not perfect, Simon, and I know you worry about me and Theodore. But you’ve gotta trust that I’m not as reckless as you think I am. I love Theo just as much as you do, and I’d never let anything happen to him.”

Simon was silent for once in an argument. It was like he had actually listened to what Alvin had said. 

Alvin watched Simon with a look Theodore had never seen before. He wasn't sure how to explain it, it just looked calculating and calm at the same time. Alvin leaned back, his infamous smirk returning, but softer this time, more affectionate. “You don’t have to have everything figured out all the time, Simon. Sometimes it’s okay to just...let go a little. You might actually enjoy it.”

“You know,” Simon finally said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and Theodore let out a sigh of relief. “You actually make a good point, Alvin.”

Alvin grinned. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not planning on making a habit of it.”

Simon chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Still, it’s something to think about. Maybe I do need to let go a little more.”

“Atta boy,” Alvin said, standing up and clapping Simon on the shoulder. “Now, how about all three of us go out for some ice cream? No plans, no schedules—just a spontaneous ice cream run. What do you say?”

Simon paused for a moment, then nodded, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Why not? Let’s go.”

Theodore’s face brightened, relief washing over him like a warm breeze. For the first time in a while, he felt the weight on his chest lift just a little. Maybe, just maybe, things would get easier. They weren’t perfect, and they probably never would be, but as long as they had moments like this—where everything clicked, and they were just three brothers enjoying each other’s company—then maybe that was enough.

Chapter 4

Summary:

I actually had a different idea for this chapter, but then we had an annoying neighbor and this baby dethroned the previous idea. (The previous idea, if you're curious, was Brittany getting chewed out by Protective Big Brother Alvin, because I feel like if anyone can knock each other down a couple of pegs, it's these two. I love Brittany, but she can come off strong.)

Anyway, not the point. This is just a cathartic writing spiel and then I'm back to Isomerism. I feel like it's a running gag joke, at this point, that I'm always (supposed to be) doing Chemistry whenever I write one of these. I have severe procrastination, what can I say?

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The Seville household had a problem, and its name was Mr. Dinkins. The next-door menace proved that everybody had some kind of skill and his was borrowing things and returning them either in tragic condition or not at all. A lawnmower that came back resembling an abstract art piece, a garden hose mysteriously resembling Swiss cheese, and Dave’s beloved hammer, now bent like a question mark, were just the greatest highlights of Mr. Dinkins’ career.

Now, it was the family ladder’s turn. Two weeks had passed since it left the Seville premises, and unsurprisingly, Mr. Dinkins had vanished as well. Dave, meanwhile, was hovering dangerously close to crossing the line between “mildly annoyed neighbor” and “full-blown vigilante.” He'd already suggested putting up “Missing” flyers around the neighborhood, complete with a last-seen date and a reward — though what kind of reward one offers for the safe return of a ladder was anyone’s guess — and the boys weren't sure he was joking. 

(Simon calculated that Dave was infinitesimally small moment away allying the neighborhood for a search party, flashlights in hand and combing the area like a cheap detective from those shows Alvin liked to watch.)

It wasn’t just the ladder; it was the principle of the thing. You could overlook a garden hose or a hammer, but ladders were a different breed. What else were you supposed to use to knock someone out? A wrench? No, ladders had purpose, integrity—things Mr. Dinkins clearly lacked.

And so, the basics were laid out: Dave was frustrated, Simon was annoyed, and Theodore was quietly wringing his hands, wondering what state the ladder would come back in—if it came back at all. Every worst-case scenario had already played out in his mind, from missing rungs to the ladder inexplicably catching fire.

Alvin, however, was blissfully unaware of the escalating household drama. He lay sprawled on the couch, snoring softly with a blanket half-draped over his face. He’d pulled a late-night shift, working on something he claimed was “top secret,” so not even the bright morning sun dared disturb him. Alvin’s concerns on Mr. Dinkins had been a series of casual threats—vaguely muttered between yawns—as he had far too many other schemes and projects brewing to get caught up in the latest episode of Dinkins-induced chaos. So, he couldn't really care less, at this point. 

So, when the doorbell rang with a gruff “Seville” on the other side, Dave let out a weary sigh. Mr. Dinkins had a habit of bulldozing over, well, everybody. Mr. Dinkins had an uncanny knack for bulldozing over everyone, leaving little room for objections. Dave would barely open the door and Mr. Dinkins would already be steamrolling through, and before Dave knew it, he found himself agreeing to something he had no intention of agreeing to. He liked to think he could stand his ground, but Mr. Dinkins had a way of making even the most resolute person question their approach. The man’s relentless persistence was like an unstoppable force, and Dave was beginning to wonder if he needed a new strategy—or perhaps a barricade.

He headed toward the door but paused midway, a thoughtful expression crossing his face as he glanced at the couch. Then a positively grinch-ish smile overtook it, fearful in it's intensity. For years, scientists have wondered if it was possible to catch The Dave Seville make an expression that was all Alvin, and  I’m here to tell you it is—just find a Mr. Dinkins and a sleepy Alvin, and you'll get to witness this rare phenomenon. 

Dave stared at the couch as the doorbell rang again, the idea that had formed accepted by his inner jury. He could answer the door, himself, sure. But a far more efficient strategy had hit him. Alvin, when groggy and half-awake, had a knack for being brutally honest, without the slightest hint of a filter. Never Poke A Sleeping Alvin was the family motto they all followed religiously. If there was ever a prime moment to let Alvin handle Mr. Dinkins, this was it.

“Alvin,” Dave called, not too loud, but just enough to stir him from his slumber. “Can you get the door?”

Simon and Theodore, hearing Dave’s tone, instantly perked up. Simon looked confused, unable to piece together what would become the master plan of a century, whispered to children in bedtime stories and regaled in soft, hushed voices filled with awe. Theodore, however, understood immediately. Without a word, he yanked Simon from his spot at the dining table, dragging him to the living room. Theodore wasn’t going to miss this—no, this was about to get good.

(He would later become one of the people who recounted the tale to future generations. So, it was a good call.)

Alvin muttered something unintelligible, still caught in the haze of sleep, but slowly hauled himself off the couch, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. His hair stuck up in odd directions, and his shirt clung to him in a lopsided mess, one sleeve half rolled up and the other barely hanging on.

The doorbell rang yet again, this time with more impatience. Dave, Simon, and Theodore watched from the hallway, peeking around the corner with barely concealed grins. Anticipation was written across their faces like permanent marker as Alvin, still half-dazed, stumbled toward the door like a sleepwalking hurricane.

They knew what was coming. Mr. Dinkins had no idea.

Alvin yawned as he opened the door, revealing Mr. Dinkins standing there with a broad, fake smile. “Morning, Alvin! I was just—”

“What do you want?” Alvin interrupted, his voice flat and groggy, but carrying an edge that made Mr. Dinkins hesitate.

“I, uh, I was hoping to borrow your rake,” Mr. Dinkins said, shifting nervously under Alvin’s half-lidded gaze. “You see, mine broke and—”

Alvin leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as he blinked slowly, his brain finally catching up to the situation. “A rake, huh? Just like you borrowed our ladder? Or Dave’s hammer? Or the lawnmower? Or the...what was it last month? The drill?”

Mr. Dinkins chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Oh, well, you know how it is... just need it for a little while. I’ll bring it right back, I swear.”

Alvin’s expression didn’t change, but something about his posture shifted, becoming more tensed, angrier. He just wanted to go back to sleep. To cuddle under the covers and pretend the world didn't exist for another couple of hours. And he was being deprived of that opportunity by Mr. Dinkins or all people? Oh, this simply would not do. “Right back, huh? Like the ladder that’s been gone for two weeks? Or the lawnmower that came back missing parts? You have a real interesting definition of ‘right back,’ Mr. Dinkins.”

Mr. Dinkins shifted uncomfortably, the smile faltering with every word. “Well, you know how these things happen, sometimes you just—”

“No, I don’t,” Alvin cut him off again, his voice low but firm. “Because when we borrow something, we return it in the same condition—or better. You, on the other hand...you seem to think that we’re your personal hardware store.”

“Now, hold on—” Mr. Dinkins started, but Alvin wasn’t done.

“Do you know what’s going to happen if you don’t return that ladder?” Alvin asked, his tone chipper. “Dave’s gonna have to buy a new one, which isn’t cheap. And guess who’s going to be getting a bill for it? That’s right, you. And trust me, Dave isn’t the type to let something like this slide. He’s a fair guy, but even he’s got his limits.” 

“That's—”

“Even if he did let it slide,” Alvin said, crossing his arms. “I wouldn't. And I'm not going to be as nice as Dave.” He turned around and stared at Mr. Dinkins car, still gleaming from it's time at the store. “Nice car, Mr. Dinkins. New, isn't it?” At Mr. Dinkins nod, he smiled. “Would be a real shame if that car were to, let's say, get disintegrated. Wouldn't it, Mr. Dinkins?”

Mr. Dinkins’ face froze. “Is that a threat?”

“It's a promise,” Alvin hissed. “You can't possibly blame me, can you? My brother makes such cool gadgets and I just wanted to know what they do,” he made his eyes wide and pouted his lips. “Oh, officer. I didn't know it would set the car on fire. It was an accident. Whose side do you think they're going to take? The side of a platinum singer who is recognized worldwide, or of an alcoholic old man who has a history of theft and is on poor terms with his neighbors?”

Mr. Dinkins’ face turned bone-white. “How do you know about that?” He whispered, looking terrified. 

“I have my ways,” Alvin shrugged casually. “And as for that rake you wanted to borrow,” Alvin continued, his eyes narrowing, “I don’t think that’s going to happen. Not until we get everything back in one piece. In fact, if you’re not careful, we might have to start charging interest on these ‘loans’ you keep taking out. I’m sure the homeowners’ association would love to hear all about it.”

Mr. Dinkins swallowed hard, his bravado completely deflated. “Uh, well, I didn’t mean any harm, Alvin. I’ll just... I’ll get that ladder back to you today, okay? And the other stuff too.”

“Great,” Alvin said, his tone suddenly lighter, but with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You do that. And next time you think about borrowing something, maybe remember that we’re neighbors, not your storage unit.”

Mr. Dinkins nodded rapidly, backing away from the door. “Absolutely. I’ll get right on it. Thanks, Alvin. Really, I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, sure,” Alvin replied, already closing the door. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

As the door clicked shut, Alvin turned around, his sleepy demeanor returning as if the confrontation had taken more out of him than he let on. He shuffled back toward the couch, barely acknowledging the stunned looks on Dave’s, Simon’s, and Theodore’s faces. They gawked at him, looking at him like they had never seen him before.

Dave was the first to speak. “That was...impressive, Alvin.” Behind him, Simon and Theodore nodded so hard it put bobblehead figures to shame. 

Alvin shrugged, collapsing back onto the couch and pulling the blanket over his head. “No big deal. Just handling things... like always.”

What do we learn from this lesson, children? Never piss off a sleepy Alvin. And for the love of god, don't borrow ladders, they're more trouble than they're worth. 

Notes:

I apologize for the rusty writing, I felt lazy writing it. I usually go ham over making it perfect, but I just don't have the energy for that today. I'm really sorry. I hope it wasn't that bad, though.

Chapter 5

Summary:

Some Brittany Smackdown. Feat. Protective and Dramatic Alvin.

Notes:

I was in a mood when I wrote this chapter and you can tell. Please pretend that you can't.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The sun was beginning to set outside the Seville household, painting the sky in colors so dramatic it looked like the universe had spilled its art supplies. Shadows stretched across the walls like lazy cats who couldn’t be bothered to move. The Chipmunks were gathered in the living room, because as statistics show, that is where most theatrical stories take place. 

Simon and Theodore both sat on the couch, faces scrunched up like they'd just swallowed a lemon-flavored sock. Alvin, on the other hand, was stationed by the window, his back to them, staring out at the fading light with the intensity of a moody supervillain. His reflection in the glass was as faint as a sneeze in a hurricane, adding to the odd foreboding that clung to the scene, looks like someone had forgot to turn off the dramatic tension machine, again. 

Brittany strutted in, though her usual runway-ready confidence had dialed itself down a notch. The usual strut subdued as she made her way to the boys. The poor Chipette had expected the usual—some harmless teasing, maybe a witty back-and-forth (courtesy of herself, of course). What she hadn’t expected was the icy, steel-coated laser beams Alvin shot at her with his eyes. It was the kind of look you’d give if someone stole your last slice of pizza and ate it in front of you. 

“Alvin,” Brittany started, her voice laced with confusion. “What’s going on? Why did you ask me to come over?”

Alvin turned slowly, truly like a villain in one of those overly dramatic soap operas, his face was impossible to read. There was something off about the way he looked at her—something dark and unsettling, like the eerie calm before a really bad thunderstorm. Brittany’s heart gave a nervous flutter. She’d seen Alvin in every mood imaginable—arrogant, bratty, even full-blown hysterical—but this...this was different.  It was like seeing a clown without the makeup—it made no sense, but it was still unnerving.

“We need to talk, Brittany,” Alvin said, his voice low and calm—too calm. It was the kind of calm that crawls up your spine and makes the hair on the back of your neck do a little dance.

Brittany glanced at Simon and Theodore, silently begging for some kind of reassurance. But Simon was unnervingly quiet, his hands clasped together in his lap like he was deep in thought, while Theodore stared at the floor, looking hurt. Seeing Theodore like that sent a pang of guilt through Brittany, like her subconscious had tripped over something important. Before she could open her mouth to say anything, Alvin’s voice sliced through the silence like a cold wind.

“What did you say to Theodore?” Alvin asked, his tone measured, but there was an edge to it—a sharpness that Brittany had never heard before. A tip of a knife just brushing against skin.

Brittany froze, her mind racing through the conversation she’d had with Theodore earlier. Desperately trying to remember, to find a reason to whatever could eb the reason for this type of response. It had been casual, or at least she’d thought it was—she’d made a few offhand comments about how he could look better if he just put in a little more effort, maybe lost a few pounds, dressed more like Alvin—and then it hit her. Oh. t was all meant to be lighthearted, just a bit of teasing, but the look on Theodore’s face now made her realize that it hadn’t been taken that way.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Brittany said, her voice trembling slightly. “It was just a joke, Alvin.”

Alvin’s eyes narrowed, and Brittany could practically feel the barely contained storm brewing. It would boil over if she wasn't careful. “A joke?” Alvin repeated, with a crazed smile, though his voice sounded anything but amused. “You think it’s funny to make Theodore feel bad about himself?”

Brittany took a step back, feeling as small as a mouse under Alvin’s intense gaze. “Alvin, I... I didn’t realize he’d take it so seriously. I was just trying to help.”

“Help?” Alvin’s voice turned icy, slicing through the room like a frozen dagger. “You weren’t helping, Brittany. You were tearing him down. Do you have any idea how much that hurt him?”

Brittany opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat as she saw the way Alvin was looking at her—like she was a stranger, someone who had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. The words died on her tongue, never escaping the gap beneath her teeth.

“You know, Brittany,” Alvin continued, his tone still disturbingly even, it would have been better if he was shouting, “I’ve seen you at your worst—when you’re throwing a fit because you didn’t get your way, when your ego’s so big it can barely fit in the room, when you're just being an overall bitch. But this...this is something else.”

If this was anybody else, Brittany would have argued. Actually, screw that, if this had been any other situation, Brittany would have bristled like a hedgehog and ripped them a new one. She was used to arguments with Alvin, but not this kind of Alvin. In that particular moment, she understood why the kids at school were afraid of pissing off Alvin. Because, and she'd swear on it up and down, she would have no doubt believing that Alvin could kill her, and probably would if it weren't for the fact that Theodore was in the room. (She knew Simon. For all that they bickered, Simon put family first, no matter what. Helping his brother hide a body would probably be just a normal Thursday to him. No questions asked. Alibis perfect.)

“You’re not allowed back into this house until you make it up to Theo,” Alvin said, his voice steely and final, like a judge delivering a sentence. “I don’t care how long it takes, but until you’ve apologized—really apologized—and done something to show you actually mean it, you’re not welcome here.”

No, surely he couldn't do that. But looking at his face, it was clear he wasn’t going to budge. She glanced at Simon, he wasn't going to contradict it. They'd probably make an excuse to Dave. Or maybe they'd tell him the truth, she wasn't sure what was worse. Dave was an overprotective Dad to the extreme, and it was a wonder the world wasn't on fire yet.

“Alvin, please,” Brittany begged, her voice trembling like a leaf in the wind. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, I swear. I’ll apologize, I’ll do whatever it takes—just please, don’t shut me out like this.”

Alvin’s expression softened just a bit, but the steeliness in his eyes stayed put. “This isn’t about me, Brittany. It’s about Theodore. You don’t get to walk all over him and then act like it’s no big deal. If you want to walk into this house, you need to start treating him with the same respect you’d show anyone else.”

Brittany felt her chest tighten, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She glanced at Theodore, who was still looking down, face hurt. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks—she had done that. She had made him feel that way.

“I’m so sorry, Theodore,” Brittany said, her voice cracking like thin ice. “I didn’t mean any of it, I promise. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

Theodore looked up, his eyes meeting hers, and she could see the pain there, the doubt. But there was also something else—something hopeful, something that made her believe she could make things right.

Alvin watched the exchange, his stance relaxing just a bit. “You better mean it, Brittany,” he said, his voice quieter now but still firm. “Because if you don’t, you’re going to lose a lot more than just a free entry in this house.”

Her heart froze at the threat, but she nodded frantically. “I mean it, Alvin. I’ll make it right.”

Alvin gave a curt nod. "Good," he pointed to the door. "Now, get out."

As Brittany fled away, Alvin turned to Theodore, gaze softening.

“You okay, buddy?”

Theodore nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, I think so.”

Simon, who'd been quiet since then well before this thing had started, finally spoke up. “Alvin...that was incredible.” Despite the choice of words, there was a hint of fear there. Something that Alvin chose to ignore.

Alvin shrugged, the familiar cocky grin returning to his face. “What can I say? I’m just full of surprises.”

Back outside, Brittany rushed up the stairs of her house, taking them two at a time. She couldn't shake the feeling of Alvin's cold gaze. She had never known that this side of Alvin existed, and it scared her to her core, because if she hadn't known this? What else did she not know? What else was Alvin hiding?

Notes:

I feel like this came off darker than expected. I'm not sure, because, I wrote half of this last week and then the other half now. But, I did end up feeling more sympathy for Brittany at the end. I dunno, tell me what you think. If it did end up darker...well then, let's pretend it's early Halloween, please.

Notes:

If you have any requests, let me know!