Author: Regala Electra
Pairing: Assistant Coach Roth/Creepy Janitor (AKA Dean and Sam)
Spoilers: S4 After School Special
Summary: Wherein our narrator is a dodgeball idiot savant, heavy on the idiot.
Word Count: 1,241
Author’s Notes: I don't warn for Chad Michael Murray but if I did, it would be here. Oh my GOD it has been a long time since I've posted fic. I apologize in advance for the crack. ignited beta'd this and I am indebted to her.
Once upon a time there was us, the worst dodgeball team in the county. The best player on our team was terrified of a ball hitting him in the nuts because he was scared he wouldn’t be able to have kids one day. His name was Pete Wentz. No relation.
I was benched on a “time out”. Man, you set fire to a couple of gym mats and people start thinking you’re a firestarter.
(If only. That would be badass. I did it for a bet.)
Then one day out of nowhere, our coach up and left to go get gay married or whatever and this new coach showed up.
Assistant Coach Roth.
Nobody knows what’s with the guy and his tight short-shorts but the girls and a few of the guys (and not me, okay, whatever anyone said, it's a damn lie) all agree that he’s kind of hot.
He played by different rules. Like, my stupid time out probation was over. Maybe because no one told him otherwise or ‘cause I bribed everyone to keep their mouths shut by promising I’d eat the Wednesday deep-fried mystery meat for free. Suckers. Everything tastes good deep-fried.
Assistant Coach Roth would make us run drills. Sometimes we’d wind up doing more running around the gym than getting hit in the head with soft squishy practice balls.
Oh man, those balls. Everyone got at least knocked flat on their asses. It was dangerous around Coach Roth. Except for me.
I got these dodging skills, you see.
But then he did wonderful stuff. He made the super annoying Pete Wentz sit on the bench, saying he had no talent and he should do something else with his life, “You like music? Great, don’t ever start a band. How about tax accountant? Go with that.”
Assistant Coach Roth was smart. He realized how awesome I was and called me over one practice. “Chad Michael Murray, stop hitting on Trang Pak and get in my office.”
“You’re kind of a weird kid, you know that?” Assistant Coach Roth pushed his sunglasses over his headband as he looked down at me. No one had ever complimented me before. “What’s up with the finger puppets?”
”I don’t have anything to say,” I said, since I didn’t. Raising my finger puppets in front of Coach’s face, I added, “But they do.”
”Huh,” Coach said after he’d moved my hands away. “I think you’re gonna be my front line of defense. You up for it?”
Well at least seven of my fingers were ready for it so I agreed. That’s how I became team captain. Me and the Couch started using the finger puppets to figure out all these super cool strategies.
Sometimes it didn't make sense, 'cause it was like Coach was teaching us how to duck stuff that if it touched us we’d be dead, muerte, all over, finito. Okay I didn’t come up with that, that’s all Assistant Coach Roth. Every time he blew the whistle to start the game it was Life or Death time. Dodge or be ghost food.
Uh, we never got what that was all about. Or what the whole salt circle line of defense was supposed to do other than staying in one place when dodging.
It made us stronger though. But I don’t think Pete Wentz is ever going to have kids now. I might have hit him in the nuts a few too many times.
But then it happened. We made it to the Dodgeball finals. There we were, in the big leagues, up against the best team in the county and Assistant Coach Roth was telling us that if we lost it was on our own because he'd sweat and bled for us.
“Gross,” said Trang Pak but that’s only because Coach isn’t into her. Bitch. If she’d only give in to the Chad in the back of my mom’s station wagon, then she’d realize we were meant to be. Aww, yeah.
”I love you kids like you’re my own,” Coach said, his voice sounding kind of like Batman when he said he wasn’t wearing hockey pads. “Who knows, maybe some of you are…”
He'd looked at us all funny then. Like he was making sure. I bet he was real sorry I wasn’t his kid. Sometimes my parents fought about that, saying he’s YOUR kid and stuff like that. It’s hard being so awesome.
Anyway the game was tough and then like time flew by and before anyone realized what was going on, we were down to one player.
I laughed. Laughed at the other team and their five attackers with the balls ready to strike.
Coach called a time out, the last one left, and asked me if I could do this.
I told him that it was fine. After all, I wasn't alone.
I gave two double fingers to the other team. I call them TOM and WELLING.
The game? Oh, it was on.
"That's my oh-god-please-don't-be-my-kid," Coach Roth said from the sidelines, a single perfect tear rolling beneath his aviator sunglasses.
Then magic happened. I caught the first ball coming my way. After screaming “got your balls now, bitch!” I used it to bounce the other attacks away and bobbed and weaved like Coach Roth was always talking about, saying how you had to be flexible or you'd regret it when you were older and learned that there was this thing called the Karma Sutra.
Some of the older kids on the team had Googled it to find out what that was all about but I already knew about it. Karma Sutra for Dummies is awesome. It would be better if I could try that stuff out with another person.
Wait, where was I?
Oh yeah. So then it was down to one on one, the epic battle of badassery and I had one shot to make it...
And there was all this noise and shouting and time slowed down...
I raised the dodgeball and I knew what people were saying, that it couldn't happen, we couldn't win, we were supposed to lose...
I did it. Hit the other kid right in the groin.
Coach raised his arms up and—
But it didn't matter. We were champions. The Queen song blasted out of the boom box Assistant Coach Roth had stolen from the music department said it all. We were champions and we believed it. I believed.
And we stole the trophy, too. Groin hits totally count.
After things settled down, Assistant Coach Roth said he'd done his work and this guy who looked like a tax accountant walked over and asked Coach if they could get back to more important matters.
Assistant Coach Roth said, “Cas, there’s nothing more important than dodgeball.”
And that would have been the end of this, but surprise epilogue, motherfuckers! Oh man, you gotta hear this. So then he called over the creepy janitor who’d always hung out behind the bleachers watching us practice.
Then Coach started making out with the janitor (take that, Trang Pak) and like, they all took off, maybe to get married in Massachusetts, although the tax accountant guy looked sad. Love triangle? Maybe.
But the important thing is this: we’re winners. And Assistant Coach Roth taught us that aviator sunglasses were badass.
I’m wearing them now. And Trang Pak? I got to second-and-a-half base with her.