Chapter Text
It’s late on a Friday night—the party has long since died down, and Buck is left alone to fix the place up. Hank Williams is still blasting from the jukebox, only illuminated by the low lights he had yet to turn off. He’s scrubbing counters, trashing used cups, putting chairs back…it’s simple work, really, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.
He’s scrubbing down the bar, trying desperately to get some Hennessy off of the left half of it. His hand slips, and he knocks teh reguster clean over on its side.
He can’t help but groan, rubbing his knuckles after jostling the harsh metal. He immediately goes to put it back, but pauses.
Theres a decently large stack of slightly crumbled papers underneath, collecting dust. He scoots the papers away and puts the register back down, dropping the cloth he was using in favor of looking them over. It’s easy to lose stuff in this place—his best bet is that they’re one of the licenses he needs to own this place, or maybe a bank statement.
He couldn’t be more wrong.
He recognizes the handwriting quickly, Darrel Curtis’s neat and pristine writing. There’s coffee stains on the paper, including little doodles and his own handwriting alongside Tim Shepards.
At the top, written in thick, black marker, are the words:
“Rules for Handling Johnny Cade (Delicately).”
then, underneath:
“Compiled by D.Curtis, T.Shepard, B.Merril”
He has to stare at it for a beat before he remembers what the hell it even is, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile. “You gotta be kiddin’ me.” He chuckles, cleaning forgotten.
He reaches over the bar and pulls out the phone, dialing Darrel’s number.
Darry answers relatively quickly, his voice sounding groggy. “Darrel Curtis, who is this?” He uses his usual ‘costumer service’ tone. Buck rolls his eyes.
“It’s Buck.” He pauses for a beat. “No ones dead this time.”
Darrel lets out a sigh of relief. “That good.” He chuckles. “So, what’s the occasion? You usually just send Dallas to tell me things.”
“Yeah, well, this don't got much to with him.” He pauses, picking up the paper. “Head over here if you’re looking for something to do—I found something dumb.”
”It’s one in the morning, Buck. Can’t you just tell me?”
“I don’t think you’ll remember unless you see it…” he flips through a few pages, looking down at the crazy things they had written. “Bring Shepard with you.”
Darrel is silent for a while, probably debating if he should take the bait. “Uh—Alright. If he’s even awake.”
“It’s 1am on a Friday, he’s awake.” Buck syas surely, dropping the phone back in its place.
Sure enough, Darry and Tim are walking in just fifteen minutes later. They both look pretty damn tired, but curious nonetheless. Darry’s got his arms crossed, like hes expecting trouble. Tim just looks blank, a cigarette handing from his mouth.
Buck grabs the list off his bar and waves it around like a trophy, both Tim and Darrel only seeming to get more confused. They both sit down at the bar across from him, and he slides the paper to them.
”Gentlemen, I present to you: The only reason Cade survived childhood.”
Darry and Tim both look at the paper for a while, squinting and trying their best to remember. It hits them both at the same time, twin laughs coming out of their mouths.
“I forgot about this.” Darry says, flipping through a few pages. “Where did you find it?”
Buck shrugs. “Shoved under the register.”
“God, when was the last time we even touched this thing.” Tim laughs, blowing out smoke.
“It’s definitely been a while.” Darrel agrees. “Johnny must’ve been… around eight when we started writing this.”
‘This’ being their list of rules on how to properly raise him without too many meltdowns. They’re not sure when it started—the three of them weren’t ever super close, it was kinda odd they all made it together. Darry does remember when they’d swap the list back and forth, writing down things that had happened that…they should probably not let happen again.
Some rules were written by one of them, some were drawn up by a group vote.
At the top we’re a few notes, like ‘keep out of reach of Dallas’ and funnily enough ‘DO NOT LOSE!’ scribbled in red pen. It was written in three sections, each one taking up a page or two. There was the ‘Basic Rules of Survival’, the ‘Tracking the Chaos’, and most importantly ‘Emotional Maintenance’ sections.
“Jesus…What were we thinking.” Buck chuckles, reading over the first few. He still remembers most of the reasons they wrote certain rules, at-least the ones he was a part of. “Can you imagine if he found this?”
Johnny was damn near nineteen at this point, standing on crutches with a new lease on life. None of them has really thought of the repercussions if he ever found it—little Johnny probably would’ve flipped shit and ran off, thinking he was too much for them to handle…Modern Johnny would probably get a good kick out of it.
Tim's the one who finally flips back to the first page, squinting like it’s some kind of ancient scroll. “Jesus,” he mutters, tracing a line with his finger. “I forgot we even started with this one.”
“Don’t let him get a hold of your blade,” Darry reads out loud, already cracking a grin. “That was you, right?”
Tim scoffs, smoke curling out of his nose. “Damn right it was. You remember that? Little guy’s struttin’ around with my old switchblade like he’s king of the whole damn block.”
Buck laughs, pointing at Tim. “You snatched it off him like he stole your wallet. And then what? You gave him a fake onea week later?”
“Hey, it was dulled,” Tim says, mock-defensive. “Still looked tough enough.”
Darry just shakes his head, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth as he flips to the next one. “Keep cigarettes out of reach.” He glances at Buck knowingly.
“Oh, don’t even,” Buck says, holding up his hands. “I panicked, alright? He found one, I thought I’d give him this real serious talk—ended up bribin’ him with candy instead. Jawbreakers. Kid nodded like I’d just told him the secrets of the universe.”
Tim snorts. “Yeah, well. Beats lettin’ Dallas babysit.”
That one gets a real reaction. Darry actually groans, grabbing the bridge of his nose.
“Disaster,” he mutters. “I don’t even remember what happened. I blocked it out.”
“You blocked it out,” Buck says, laughing. “I think Johnny did too.”
Tim just chuckles, looking back at the paper. “Alright, what’s next…”
“If he says ‘Don’t worry about it,’ worry about it,” Darry reads, the smile dropping off his face just a little. “That one… yeah.”
They all fall quiet for a beat. Not a heavy silence, not quite—but definitely an understanding one.
“Yeah,” Buck says finally, softer. “That one stuck.”
Tim nods and turns the page again, not lingering too long.
“Don’t let him see you do something dangerous. He will copy you.”
Buck groans. “That was the lighter thing.”
“You and Dallas were flippin’ fire around like circus clowns,” Darry says. “What did you think he was gonna do?”
“I thought he was asleep!”
Tim barks a laugh, and Buck throws a rag at him half-heartedly. “Whatever. Point is, we were just wingin’ it back then.”
“We still are,” Darry mutters, but he’s smiling again.
They sit there for a while, flipping through the pages slowly. Not reading everything—not yet—but enough to feel the years pressing in.
All those little notes. Scribbled handwriting, doodles in the margins. Some crossed out, some underlined with three pens at once. A lot of them dumb. A few of them serious. All of them kind of ridiculous.
“Can’t believe we made this,” Buck says, not for the first time.
“Can’t believe he turned out alright,” Tim mutters, but there's pride in his voice.
Darry leans back in his chair, arms folded, looking at the mess of paper like it’s a photo album.
“Yeah,” he says. “Me neither.”