Fandom: Original
Pairing: Camino/Camino's Dad/Camera-head/bits of Brite
Setting: Camino's Dad's Auto Repair Shop
Summary: Camino wants to settle in, but Dad's not having it.
Rating: R for language
Owned By: Me
A/N- This part is a slight fast forward. Stay with me here. It’ll make sense later. I presume that if you own an auto parts place you can also fix cars. My dad was a mechanic with a creative side. But in some ways he never reached his full potential. I'm not articulating my description right. But suffice it to say I saw him for what he was and thought he could do more if he thought his concepts through. Often, he'd toggle things, (including my scooter which never worked right afterwards.) in the interest of improvement and break them. Ha! The technology got ahead of him, I think. He "fixed" my scooter because it was easier than telling me he loved me.
He drew an amazing portrait of my mother after they'd called it quits. I'm pretty sure I was the only 1 he showed it to. So that's where this part came from. And yes, his name was Rick. That and my brother's his namesake. Did I mention the fact there's "Rick's Pawn Shops'' all over the south? They're only real competition is "Waffle House" in terms of sheer number. Heh. Also, Papa Bear as I affectionately called him in my head, really enjoyed going to the flea markets here in Tampa. It's (or perhaps was) a big part of the culture here. I say that because I haven't been to 1 since the economy went to shit. Kind of hard without a car (RIP old girl) or money. Lol. During the last few years of his life, my father helped run a store that was like a pawn shop. He seemed to really enjoy it which was saying something since it seemed hard for him to find joy in anything. We're alike. I gave him the studio I always thought he should have. It's also a commonality in the story between father/son which helps. Actually, he knew I painted and oddly enough, approved. So this is me tipping my hat to him. As fucked up as Camino and his dad's relationship is, it's actually healthier than ours was. But there are similarities and they're there on purpose. Perhaps I'm exercising some demons.
Rainbow Brite And El Camino Part 11a
Rick's Auto was still standing. Camino blinked in surprise and against the cold as he exited the bus. He wore the hoodie with the pink rhinestone skull on the back of it that he tried to pawn off on little miss Brite just days earlier. She wasn't falling for it though. Ha! Even she had standards. That and skinny jeans of the worn black variety, splattered in paint.
She didn't know he painted and if he had his way she never would. He wasn't them. Her. His father. No. They had talent. He had ideas. Thoughts without shape. Nothing concrete. He stared at the faded white corrugated paneling of the rounded top building. The red and white letters blinking on and off. The "u" was missing in "auto" as well as the "R" in "Rick's." And lastly, just to add insult to injury, the "r" in "parts."
So that the sign now read, "ICK'S ATO PATS"
Here we go. Camino thought, as stepped aside for Camera-head.
He walked the short length of the parking lot and up to the door. It was just after dark.
Almost quitting time. Thank god.
He opened the door, heard the bell clink and stepped inside. He took a deep breath.
"Dad?" He called out.
"Be right there." Came the faint voice from the back.
2 days later ...
The old man came up front wiping his hands with a grease rag. Camino was answering phones since his arrival 2 days earlier. The cloth used to be green. it was now soot black. He was beginning to remember why he hated this place. Western NY wasn't a bad place. Sure the weather sucked most of the time, but hey. He mused as he watched icy rain drizzle from the top of the garage door. The leaves were turning already and he couldn't ever remember a time as a kid when it feeling this cold at 55 Degrees. Hell, I used to run around with my shirt off. Six yrs old, running through the corn field across the street up on Jackson Hill. But it never felt right. I always wanted to escape. So I did. Into my head. Sure I hit the 1Oth grade mark and it all changed. I told my friends, or more accurately loyal followers, I didn't want to leave but it wasn't exactly true. I told them that to make them happy. And I was scared. But only of the unknown.
"Your brother ran through the corn field, not you. You were off in your own little universe. In your room with the door shut." “And tell that damn thing to turn on it's invincibility cloak or something, or I'll use him as a fucking coat rack! Jesus! He's there every time I turn my head or look up and I think he's scaring the customers away! And call your girlfriend and mother for Christ sakes! Since you decided to turn off your phone they're calling mine non-stop! And next time you use my studio, clean up your shit, leave me some money for supplies on the table and lock up before you leave!"
Ever since he could remember Dad knew things about him. Could see what he saw. Could read his thoughts. It drove them both nuts. It seemed oppressive and simultaneously destructive because one of them was always mad. They couldn't filter each other out and it made it hard to be around each other. Not without trying to kill each other.
Okay Pops had a point. I left the room a mess. But I was too chicken shit to ask to go in there. Dad was a pretty great artist but had failed to make a name for himself. So the studio was more of a private space now. But not when I was little. It helped us bond. Later on, it pulled us apart. He’d get up my ass about my shitty disposition and equally shitty grades and then I’d throw his failed career in his face. I was in my room and he was in his stupid studio, right?
People never fight fair do they? Why am I answering the fucking phones! I can fix cars! I restored my own!
Camino had sent his dad a Polaroid picture after learning from his mother that he didn’t understand how to use the Internet and E-mail. “Pride and Joy” he’d written on the white outline. Pops never did want to modernize.
“Too new-fangled.” He laughed.
“It’s because you understand the Internet and E-mail, Shawn!” Pops pointed his greasy finger at the young man. “I don’t and I admit it.” “Shell’s off on Paternity leave and I need your help, so stop making fun of me and do it, okay? At least give me that much respect!”
“Why are you standing there talking about invincibility cloaks and shit? You won’t touch this thing!” I lifted the laptop.
“I read, son. Okay?” “You should try it.”
I laughed.
Score, pops. Nice one!
“And I’ll have you know mister,” Pops finger was shaking in Camino’s face now, “I did a pretty good portrait of Gran Wilkins’ poodle last week and she brought me an apple pie, damn it!”
The old man tugged at his beard.
It makes him look old. But I guess he is.
“That’s great, dad.” I smiled at him meekly.
“It is, isn’t it?” He said, shocked at my response.
Hell, so was I. What planet are we on? And when will we be returning to Earth?
“Yup.” I said, reaching out for a fist bump.
“I hate apple pie.” The old man confessed.
“Yeah, but she likes you.” My smile got a little wider.
“I know.” His eyes twinkled.
We both laughed.
Pairing: Camino/Camino's Dad/Camera-head/bits of Brite
Setting: Camino's Dad's Auto Repair Shop
Summary: Camino wants to settle in, but Dad's not having it.
Rating: R for language
Owned By: Me
A/N- This part is a slight fast forward. Stay with me here. It’ll make sense later. I presume that if you own an auto parts place you can also fix cars. My dad was a mechanic with a creative side. But in some ways he never reached his full potential. I'm not articulating my description right. But suffice it to say I saw him for what he was and thought he could do more if he thought his concepts through. Often, he'd toggle things, (including my scooter which never worked right afterwards.) in the interest of improvement and break them. Ha! The technology got ahead of him, I think. He "fixed" my scooter because it was easier than telling me he loved me.
He drew an amazing portrait of my mother after they'd called it quits. I'm pretty sure I was the only 1 he showed it to. So that's where this part came from. And yes, his name was Rick. That and my brother's his namesake. Did I mention the fact there's "Rick's Pawn Shops'' all over the south? They're only real competition is "Waffle House" in terms of sheer number. Heh. Also, Papa Bear as I affectionately called him in my head, really enjoyed going to the flea markets here in Tampa. It's (or perhaps was) a big part of the culture here. I say that because I haven't been to 1 since the economy went to shit. Kind of hard without a car (RIP old girl) or money. Lol. During the last few years of his life, my father helped run a store that was like a pawn shop. He seemed to really enjoy it which was saying something since it seemed hard for him to find joy in anything. We're alike. I gave him the studio I always thought he should have. It's also a commonality in the story between father/son which helps. Actually, he knew I painted and oddly enough, approved. So this is me tipping my hat to him. As fucked up as Camino and his dad's relationship is, it's actually healthier than ours was. But there are similarities and they're there on purpose. Perhaps I'm exercising some demons.
Rainbow Brite And El Camino Part 11a
Rick's Auto was still standing. Camino blinked in surprise and against the cold as he exited the bus. He wore the hoodie with the pink rhinestone skull on the back of it that he tried to pawn off on little miss Brite just days earlier. She wasn't falling for it though. Ha! Even she had standards. That and skinny jeans of the worn black variety, splattered in paint.
She didn't know he painted and if he had his way she never would. He wasn't them. Her. His father. No. They had talent. He had ideas. Thoughts without shape. Nothing concrete. He stared at the faded white corrugated paneling of the rounded top building. The red and white letters blinking on and off. The "u" was missing in "auto" as well as the "R" in "Rick's." And lastly, just to add insult to injury, the "r" in "parts."
So that the sign now read, "ICK'S ATO PATS"
Here we go. Camino thought, as stepped aside for Camera-head.
He walked the short length of the parking lot and up to the door. It was just after dark.
Almost quitting time. Thank god.
He opened the door, heard the bell clink and stepped inside. He took a deep breath.
"Dad?" He called out.
"Be right there." Came the faint voice from the back.
2 days later ...
The old man came up front wiping his hands with a grease rag. Camino was answering phones since his arrival 2 days earlier. The cloth used to be green. it was now soot black. He was beginning to remember why he hated this place. Western NY wasn't a bad place. Sure the weather sucked most of the time, but hey. He mused as he watched icy rain drizzle from the top of the garage door. The leaves were turning already and he couldn't ever remember a time as a kid when it feeling this cold at 55 Degrees. Hell, I used to run around with my shirt off. Six yrs old, running through the corn field across the street up on Jackson Hill. But it never felt right. I always wanted to escape. So I did. Into my head. Sure I hit the 1Oth grade mark and it all changed. I told my friends, or more accurately loyal followers, I didn't want to leave but it wasn't exactly true. I told them that to make them happy. And I was scared. But only of the unknown.
"Your brother ran through the corn field, not you. You were off in your own little universe. In your room with the door shut." “And tell that damn thing to turn on it's invincibility cloak or something, or I'll use him as a fucking coat rack! Jesus! He's there every time I turn my head or look up and I think he's scaring the customers away! And call your girlfriend and mother for Christ sakes! Since you decided to turn off your phone they're calling mine non-stop! And next time you use my studio, clean up your shit, leave me some money for supplies on the table and lock up before you leave!"
Ever since he could remember Dad knew things about him. Could see what he saw. Could read his thoughts. It drove them both nuts. It seemed oppressive and simultaneously destructive because one of them was always mad. They couldn't filter each other out and it made it hard to be around each other. Not without trying to kill each other.
Okay Pops had a point. I left the room a mess. But I was too chicken shit to ask to go in there. Dad was a pretty great artist but had failed to make a name for himself. So the studio was more of a private space now. But not when I was little. It helped us bond. Later on, it pulled us apart. He’d get up my ass about my shitty disposition and equally shitty grades and then I’d throw his failed career in his face. I was in my room and he was in his stupid studio, right?
People never fight fair do they? Why am I answering the fucking phones! I can fix cars! I restored my own!
Camino had sent his dad a Polaroid picture after learning from his mother that he didn’t understand how to use the Internet and E-mail. “Pride and Joy” he’d written on the white outline. Pops never did want to modernize.
“Too new-fangled.” He laughed.
“It’s because you understand the Internet and E-mail, Shawn!” Pops pointed his greasy finger at the young man. “I don’t and I admit it.” “Shell’s off on Paternity leave and I need your help, so stop making fun of me and do it, okay? At least give me that much respect!”
“Why are you standing there talking about invincibility cloaks and shit? You won’t touch this thing!” I lifted the laptop.
“I read, son. Okay?” “You should try it.”
I laughed.
Score, pops. Nice one!
“And I’ll have you know mister,” Pops finger was shaking in Camino’s face now, “I did a pretty good portrait of Gran Wilkins’ poodle last week and she brought me an apple pie, damn it!”
The old man tugged at his beard.
It makes him look old. But I guess he is.
“That’s great, dad.” I smiled at him meekly.
“It is, isn’t it?” He said, shocked at my response.
Hell, so was I. What planet are we on? And when will we be returning to Earth?
“Yup.” I said, reaching out for a fist bump.
“I hate apple pie.” The old man confessed.
“Yeah, but she likes you.” My smile got a little wider.
“I know.” His eyes twinkled.
We both laughed.
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