bigheadburton (bigheadburton) wrote,
bigheadburton
bigheadburton

MM_Verse - Angstapalooza / Telling the Gusters Aftermath

It didn't go well. No, actually saying it didn't go well was probably the understatement of the year - it was like saying the Nazis were bad or dying isn't a good time. Joy had tried to mediate, Shawn had tried to mediate, but when it came down to it the whole thing boiled down to Gus and his parents staring each other down over a stack of blueberry crepes. When Gus told them, Shawn's hand clasping his under the table - and then on top of it as though it were proof of anything, they didn't believe it. They asked if Shawn had put him up to it or brainwashed him, if he was on drugs.

Then, as they tried to explain and he tried to tell them that no, he hadn't been lying - and if he had it was just because he was lying to himself more than anyone, he broke down. For a few minutes, they seemed to believe him. Then, it came out. "You're a liar, Gus. You know we won't suffer a liar and a sinner in this house."

They tried to argue it out, to explain Gus' stance - but in the end only ended up fleeing to the car and driving home in silence. Shawn sounded like he was trying to start a conversation, but even his voice seemed to be locked up in the combination of anger and frustration filling the Blueberry. They pulled into Gus' reserved spot and then Gus hightailed it up the stairs to their apartment - not bothering to wait for the elevator that Shawn would still take since the stairs still made him ache by the time he got to their floor.

Inside the quiet apartment, Gus went straight for the liquor cabinet above the refridgerator and methodically set out all five of their A-Team shot glasses and filled them with warm tequila.

The van. Face. Murdock. B.A. Baracus. The front door opened again just as he slammed down Hannibal and set the heavy shot glass back on the counter with a loud gasp - the burn of the alcohol seeping down his throat to his gut. 
Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded 

  • 95 comments
He stomps through the living room, pulling off his tie - he'd worn a tie for god's sake, not that anyone had cared - and tossing it on the couch. On any other day, this would have earned him a scolding reminder to take better care of his clothes.

He's rather shocked to see the shot glasses he'd given Gus as a gag gift lined up on the counter.
For a long moment, it doesn't even register that Shawn's standing there as Gus leans over the sink and catches his breath - eyes watering and head swimming from the rapid-fire intake on his pretty much less than alcoholic system. It had really seemed like a good idea at the time.

Slow to turn, he guides himself toward the fridge to snatch a bottle of water - still somehow managing to miss and ending up crumpled on the floor, back to the cabinets with his knees bent and pressed against his face.

"Go away, Shawn." The last thing he needed was to be judged some more, he'd pretty much had his fill of being judged for a whole lifetime in the last three hours.
He steps back from the words, as if he'd been physically attacked. The growing sensation of guilt gnawing at him reminds him that Gus hadn't really eaten much in the past 24 hours. This was going to be all kinds of not pretty.

Wordlessly, he retrieves a bottle of water from the fridge and nudges it into Gus's hand.
Tentatively, his fingers wrap around the cold plastic and barely touch Shawn's. "Thank you." He mutters, without actual feeling behind it.

He just really wants to be alone and wonder why he'd been too stupid to know all along and maybe not been known as the liar as well as the sinner. Not that one was better than the other, but at least keeping the latter meant he got to keep Shawn... which was about the only thing in his life that he actually felt good about at that moment.

The tequila was hitting him hard and fast, body flashing warm and brain swimming behind his closed, wet eyes. Shaking, he fumbled off the cap and managed to spill cold water down the forearm of his shirt before he could even throw the cap across the kitchenette in frustration.
He hesitantly reaches out a hand to steady him, sadly resigned to being pushed away. He's still not saying anything. Everything he wants to say - I'm sorry, you're scaring me, you're going to make yourself sick - would only make things worse.

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

Somehow he ends up in the closet. The irony is not lost on him.

He curls up, arms around his knees, surrounded by suits and sport coats that still smell like Gus's cologne as he contemplates a number on his phone. The last time he made a call like this, the handset still had a cord for him to fidget with.

"Mom?"

Even from the single word, she picks up on his distress immediately. "What's wrong, Goose?"

She sounds tired, and he guiltily remembers the time difference before the whole story spills out of him, from beginning to end of the whole disastrous day. He knows he's talking too fast but he really can't help it.

"He keeps pushing me away. He won't talk to me, and he's probably still drinking out there and I really don't know what to do."
(ooc: Playing her from this acct unless you'd rather I didn't.)

It's a fuzzy line between Mom and Counselor, but it's not the first time Shawn's needed both. She listens quietly as he tells her about coming out to Joy with mostly good results only to get the worst possible reaction from Gus' parents. In a way she understands the Gusters' reaction - she doesn't agree with it but she understands. Unlike Gus, Shawn hadn't spent a lifetime trying to convince everyone he wasn't gay... Even if Gus couldn't consciously accept that his feelings for Shawn weren't entirely platonic (which was clearly the case - not the purposeful deception the Gusters seem to think it is) it had been an unspoken knowledge that nobody should be shocked if things change. Apparently they hadn't gotten the memo & the boys were the ones paying for it.

"First, Shawn, take a deep breath and remember that this is temporary." She responds calmly, "Gus is in a really bad place right now and he doesn't know how to handle it - in his head it makes sense to isolate and medicate."
(ooc: perfect.)

Deep down, he never really expected it to go quite this badly, though with with bitter clarity of hindsight he realizes he should have seen it coming. He'd known there were going to be hurt feelings on all sides, but he'd never imagined them capable of going this far.

"I should have taken the bottle with me."

Not that it would have helped. He knows there's other stuff in the cabinet.

"I'm really scared."

Another dollop of guilt on top of the Sundae of Despair as he wishes he hadn't burdened her with this, but he didn't know where else to turn.
It's a feeling she knows all too well, watching someone you love cope through self destruction. "He's an adult." She wants to tell him something better, more dynamic because in her Mom mind they're still the kids in sleeping bags in the living room watching tv - not grown men with deep problems.

"He doesn't know he's being self destructive..." She paused, considering the level-headed Gus she's always know; "Or he knows but thinks it's the only way to escape."

It's a scary prospect, but the latter is far more likely for him. "Does he drink when he's stressed, normally?" She doesn't want to pry, but its her inner clinician that needs to know.
He shakes his head even though she can't see him. It's easier than talking, and he wishes she was there so he didn't have to do that too.

"He'll have a drink to help him relax every once in a while but I've never seen him deliberately get tanked like this."

He winces at his own words as his voice cracks. IF he can't cry to his mom, he might as well give up now.

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

After he hangs up the phone, he cautiously steps out into the living room. Gus is still at the table, his head on his arms, with the shot glass still in front of him. At least he's apparently sipping rather than gulping this time.

He stops cold until he sees him breathing and then crosses over to the cabinet above the fridge, removing bottles and depositing them directly into the trash.
He's pretty far gone, but not far gone that he doesn't hear the clink of bottles in the small kitchen bin. "I know what you're doing, Shawn." He tilts his head to the side enough for his quiet mumble to be heard. "Stop it."

He's had entirely too long to ponder his life and concluded that he must be crazy and also doomed to fail at everything ever. It's a cheery mood that needs another Mr. T of Cuervo to stomach.
"No."

Some of the nicer bottles get a parting glance, but it's not like they own anything really high-end anyway. Once he's satisfied that the cabinet is taken care of, he takes a seat across from Gus, eyes on the bottle in front of him.

"You should at least eat something. You're gonna get really sick."

And even that hurts to say, because normally Gus would be the one saying it.
"Gonna get sick anyway." He sighs, almost wishing he could curl up into a ball again. It took him a few pathetic minutes, but he pieced together easily enough that Shawn thought he was on some sort of binge. "I'm mostly done here."

After a long moment, he sits up slowly and pours the last of the bottle into the shotglass, filling it most of the way to the top of Mr. T's mohawk. He can't look Shawn in the eyes, if he does the tears are just gonna come again it had taken him long enough to get them under control while he wasn't in the room.
He'd figured he wasn't far gone enough to dig anything out of the trash, but well... he's never seen him like this, so it's hard to say for sure. Despite his worry, he's not quite bold enough to take the glass out of his hand.

"Could you please at least look at me?"

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

bigheadburton

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago

mm_afullmargin

6 years ago

psychyouout

6 years ago