Chapter Text
Summer 2004
Orange County, California
CC’s POV:
The last meet-up between them was Frank’s idea.
Just a year ago, after being discharged from the Hell hole together — the hell hole that is better known as Eating Disorder Treatment — Frank brought CC to his first ever punk show, and CC is convinced that he will remember that night forever. To say it was quite the adventure would be an understatement but with CC, life ain’t worth living if there isn’t some kind of chaos going on.
So, to him, it was the perfect way to reunite.
Now, CC figured that since Frank planned a crazy reunion last time, that this time he should be in charge, and what better time to do it than now? When he has his place to himself where there will be no disruptions, nagging, or someone up his goddamn ass?
Lord knows the last few weeks have been full of people getting on CC’s case. For what reason? He isn’t completely sure, considering that most people have seen more than enough crazy, outlandish antics from him, but apparently some people just can’t handle the extravagant energy that the guitarist emulates.
And to CC that is pure blasphemy! He doesn’t understand why and how people react so strongly to his personality when they should know by now that it’s just how he is! He can’t help but do anything he can to stand out, make a scene, and put on an elaborate performance wherever he goes.
Maybe he takes it too far sometimes, but what does that matter?! In CC’s mind, the crazier, the better! But unfortunately, he isn’t given the benefit of the doubt these days by anyone, especially his girl, Shannon.
CC can’t lie. He knows he’s a real pain in the ass when it comes to his behavior around her, but he’s sure that by now the chick should succumb to the fact that he won’t change any time soon.
Apparently not.
To say the two haven’t been getting along would be the biggest understatement on Planet Earth. Every other day, the two break up and have a blowout over some idiotic shit; something completely unnecessary, at least according to CC. He’s getting sick of the woman complaining about his drinking habits, especially when he knows for a damn fact that she’s snorted more than a few lines of blow while around him. She’s no angel herself, and CC doesn’t think it’s fair that she’s such a hypocrite.
But oh fucking well, because it’s not like he can do anything about it at this point. He knows that no matter what seems to happen these days, the chick ends up pissed off. And then comes about a hundred phone calls between them, screaming at each other. A rebuttal from CC, a provocation from Shannon, back and forth, never ending.
That’s what led to the most recent fight in the first place, and although CC isn’t happy with Shannon’s view of him being the problem between the two, he can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that he has the place to himself. Because when he’s alone, there’s no one telling him what he can or can’t do! He’s a grown ass man, for God’s sake! No one should be treating him like a kid, anyway. That job is reserved for his Mom and his Mom only!
She is the only person in his life who’s allowed to boss him around, and that’s only ‘cause CC knows if he resists that she’ll kill him.
There are no questions about it.
He knows all too well that there have been many people who’ve wanted to kill him, but they never went along with their intentions. His Mom, though. Forget about it. She’d slaughter that imbecile in a heartbeat and not think twice about it.
The thought sends a shudder through CC’s body but that’s quickly brushed off by the exhilaration shooting through every vein. He couldn’t be any more excited to have Frank come to his place to tear some shit up.
Honestly, as turbulent as their relationship may be at times, the soft spot for Frank embedded in CC’s heart hasn’t faltered a bit since the two met in treatment practically two years ago. And CC has a hard time believing it’s even been that long, but then again…he hasn’t been the best at remembering things these days.
His half a second attention span is hard enough to deal with on a normal day, but when you add in all the booze and blow he’s been ingesting…It would be no surprise if he’s lost half of his goddamn brain cells by now. Permanently.
Every day is a blur, but CC would rather have it that way than be completely sober and forced into feelin’ the misery that comes with life. And sure, he’s used to the universe fucking him over but he still thinks it’s nice to have the good shit to make living a little more worth it.
Especially since in a week from today, he’ll be back out touring with Poison, opening for KISS, and he will use any opportunity he has to cherish the last few days to do whatever the fuck he wants when he wants.
Because he sure as hell knows that once the first day of touring comes, he’ll be expected to ditch his balls to the wall party attitude , and transform into a clean cut, goody two shoes, regimented soldier.
Hilarious!
It’s just how the cycle goes each and every time a tour comes around.
He doesn’t need to have himself together in one piece until the gigs start, so for now he can get as blasted and screwed up as he desires, and why shouldn’t he?!
This is his last chance to soak in every last ounce of booze, blow, or whatever other kind of chemical substance that exists on the face of the Earth without being penalized or belittled for it!
It’s his last hurrah!
CC likes being fucked up, after all.
It’s just who he is.
And now, he has the perfect reason to be.
~*~
Frank’s POV
Never in a million years did Frank think he’d be willing to visit Los Angeles for reasons other than touring with his band.
That would be an insane enough thought to have, but visiting Los Angeles to meet up with a certain colorful guitarist that butted heads with the kid the moment the two met is even more-so.
But, what can Frank say? Things change, and over the last two years he can certainly conclude that the saying has never felt any more true to his life.
Especially right now.
Sitting in CC’s huge house in a neighborhood in Orange County is definitely not what Frank ever thought he’d be doing on a random Friday in the middle of summer, but alas, he is! When the kid thinks about it, he and CC have definitely had some good moments together and clearly they’ve grown unnaturally close with each-other.
Maybe it’s just the drugs that are convincing him of that, but deep inside he can acknowledge that CC really isn’t that bad of a person to be around. Frank thinks that if he took away all the health-nut bullshit from the guy that he’d be a lot more willing to hang out with him, but today that really doesn’t matter.
Frank is stoned outta his mind, and it’s not like he didn’t plan this or anything, because he surely did. If he knows anything, it’s that CC is a lot more susceptible to acting halfway normal around food if he’s fucked up…Believe it or not.
It’s possible.
Frank never knew something like that was possible until he discovered the truth the last time the two met up back in Jersey. Seeing CC buzzed and willing to chomp out on a boatload of crap that the kid insisted on buying was nothing short of a trip . And if Frank wasn’t sober that night, he would have thought he was hallucinating.
Surreal is really the only way he can describe the experience…in the best possible way.
Despite not seeing the blonde guitarist in a while, Frank is pretty wise enough to figure out that the guy hasn’t necessarily stayed sober. How does he know? Gut instincts, maybe?
Some things just speak for themselves, and Frank has always considered himself a pretty intuitive, emotionally in-tune person, and with someone like CC who has no problem expressing his mental state and surrounding feelings loud and clear, it’s even easier for Frank’s intuition to sense things.
He sensed all of this without coming in contact with CC, but when the kid showed up at CC’s door and the lunatic greeted him in the most discombobulated, bombastic, fashion, with his hair sticking up in every direction possible and eyes half-open, adorned with wonderfully smudged eyeliner that replicated the personification of pure sleep deprivation, he knew for a fact that his predictions were spot-on.
CC was, indeed, a mess.
Frank knows the stories of CC’s drugged-up days in Poison; he’s heard more than enough of them from the guy himself while the two were stuck in treatment, but he’s never actually witnessed the man drunk off his ass in real time…in person . Sure, he was buzzed in the mosh pit last January, but that was nothing. Nothing compared to the state that the guy is in now.
But Frank is stoned himself, so he doesn’t necessarily see an issue with any of this. Especially since he walked into this meet-up with the narrative that CC would most-likely want to chunk out on some good food with him, again.
He truly hopes that’s the case.
It better be.
In the few short minutes that he’s been inside the house, all the kid has done is watch CC wander around his living room like he hasn’t seen his own living space before, and Frank can’t necessarily complain about that since he hasn’t taken it upon himself to get any sort of ball rolling.
CC’s couch is comfy, after all, and the punk doesn’t see anything wrong with letting his stoned as hell body sink into the cushions like a dazed vegetable.
If he really thinks about it, he could probably doze off on the thing.
But he won’t.
That would just be a waste.
“So, kid!” CC snaps Frank out of his half-dazed thoughts with an enthusiastic but partly slurred bellow that makes the kid’s arm hairs stand up, “Whaddaya wanna do?!”
The wide, toothy smile that the psycho’s lips are spread into makes Frank think that either the alcohol is working enough wonders on the guy to make him appear this excited…or maybe he really is genuinely happy to see Frank.
When the kid thinks of it, CC did greet him with a freaking bear hug before Frank even managed to make it through the door. So, he thinks it’s safe to assume the blonde is truly thrilled.
Frank can’t say he’s not.
He kinda knows the two of them are gonna tear some shit down.
Taking a long pause, feigning the emulation of thinking long and hard about how he wants to spend his time with CC, Frank places a hand on his chin. With a crooked grin that slowly shifts into a shit-eating smirk, he eyes the New Yorker with mischievousness.
“I don’t know about you, but I could go for some good shit right now.”
The words slide off of Frank’s tongue with an immense level of mesmerization.
Surprisingly, CC doesn’t bat an eye at the remark and instead immediately jumps to the chase as his grin widens.
“Ya talkin’ about all that crap like we inhaled that otha’ time?!”
He throws his hands in the air, waving them around in some erratic kinda CC fashion that Frank has seen one too many times over the course of knowing the guy, and all the kid can do is roll his eyes.
“Like all that suga—“
And Frank doesn’t let the loudmouth say another word before he cuts him off with a dry but adamant, “Well I’m sure as fuck not talking about a bundle of tasteless kale.”
He tops the remark with a cheesy, overly satisfied grin, just to bust CC’s balls more than he already has with the comment itself.
As expected, CC only waves his hands around more and Frank can almost feel the blonde’s temptation to start babbling on about how there’s nothing wrong with eating fiber-filled cruciferous vegetables, but to Frank’s delight, nothing of that sort escapes CC’s mouth.
Frank will blame it on the liquor for now.
He’s not gonna question a damn thing today.
Or for however long he’ll be staying here, for that matter, because the truth is that he’s not sure.
There really weren’t any concrete plans put into place for this spontaneous meet-up.
In fact, Frank doesn’t remember the last time he ventured out into something as impulsive as this, because yeah, the whole journey getting to Los Angeles truly felt impulsive.
The kid woke up at the crack of dawn, threw wherever crap he could think of bringing into a ratty backpack, despite knowing a few days ahead of time that he was coming here, chugged a few energy drinks and called a cab to the nearest airport. He made sure to roll a few good joints before he got on the plane, and he thinks he did a pretty decent job at smuggling a hearty amount of weed in his backpack to bring on the journey with him.
Before he knew it, he was hopping on a plane from Newark to LA, and he somehow made it to CC’s place, in one stoned-off-his-ass piece.
And now, he’s here, swimming in dazed anticipation of what’s to come for him and the psycho Brooklyn shredder.
The two guitarists bullshit about nonsensical crap for the next little bit, while conjuring up some fun ideas on how to spend their time together, since, as Frank has concluded, there weren’t any to begin with.
Eventually, after hanging around the living room for god knows how long, chatting it up like two long-time friends, Frank and CC settle on somewhat of a plan.
And to Frank’s delight and utter excitement, stuffing themselves with some good quality chunk food is definitely part of that plan. He wouldn’t have wanted the ideas to flow in any other direction than that, so to say the kid is feeling nothing less how a pig in shit would is a damn understatement.
“There’s this real good chocolate shop down on Broad Street, kid!” CC pipes up, breaking Frank from his elated haze with a huge childlike grin spread across his face, “I already know you’ll love the place! They got all kinds of crap there! I’m talkin’ decadence like you’d neva’ imagine—“
“Fuck it,” Frank immediately cuts him off with adamance, his body already filling up with uncontrollable anticipation of the creations inside the place, “Let’s go, then.”
He’s just about to hop off the couch and make his way to CC’s front door, but CC stops him with a squeeze to his shoulder before he can make any further moves.
Frank narrows his eyes at the blonde shredder and shakes his head, “Bruh…”
“We gotta get ready first, ya stinker!” is all that flies out of CC’s mouth, in a highly dramatic manner, as if the guy hasn’t ever walked out of his house looking like a fucking mess before, “It’s hot as balls out there, kid! We gotta make sure we still look good while we’re sweatin’ our asses off!”
He releases his hand from Frank’s shoulder, freeing the raven-haired punk, but all Frank has it in him to do is roll his eyes.
CC’s behavior shouldn’t surprise him—it shouldn’t —especially while being this stoned.
Usually if Frank’s this high, he could care less about anything, and that would include CC acting like this. But then again, it’s not necessarily bothering Frank. He’s just constantly perplexed at the blonde’s way of going about life, even though he really shouldn’t question anything when it comes to the eccentric guitarist anymore.
But, some things just can’t be helped, clearly, because Frank is still here wondering why CC is so adamant about looking like a dolled up museum artifact on display just to leave the house.
Frank doesn’t see anything wrong with his own clothing choices: black jeans, black T-shirt, converse and a hoodie— although he knows he won’t be needing the hoodie in the hot weather—but still. Nothing out of the ordinary here. Nothing that needs desperate tweaking.
Through his mindless rumination, Frank shrugs his shoulders, not bothering to give CC an answer to anything he’s insinuated. He thinks the guy can handle a little bit of silence, just for this moment.
Unfortunately, and very predictably, the silence only lasts for about half a second before CC breaks it with clear urgency in his screechy voice.
“Well whether or not you’re spicin’ yourself up, I still am!” He announces with his hands thrown in the air, “So if ya wanna join me, ya can! But if not—“
“Nothing screams punk rock like sweaty clothes full of gnarly body odor and unwashed dick,” Frank deadpans dryly, as his lips curl into a smirk, “I’m good, thanks.”
That’s the last sentence that comes out of Frank’s mouth before CC practically bolts—well, stumbles—up out of the room and up the staircase.
Typical.
“Guy’s acting like we’re about to trudge through the middle of a desert,” Frank mutters to himself with an eye roll, “And why am I surprised…”
Despite the familiar bewilderment surrounding CC, Frank settles on his own opinion; that there’s nothing he can’t get through, even if that includes a little humidity.
He’s from Jersey, for God’s sake!
He knows humidity.
It’s CC that’s just being dramatic about it , he thinks as a grin spreads across his face, We’ll be fine.
~*~
CC’s POV:
Despite being drunk as a fucking skunk, CC can’t help but feel vividly aware of how disorganized this so-called meet-up really is.
The truth is that when he decided to invite Frank over to his place, it was a completely impulsive decision; one that was made immediately after a brutal argument with Shannon.
CC hardly remembers what the fight entailed since they all happen to revolve around the same exact shit anyway.
After a while all the freaking tiffs end up becoming a huge blur so at this point, CC can’t distinguish them from one another.
What he does knows for sure, though, is that this particular debacle was bad enough to send his fuck everything, let’s party mindset into overdrive, where nothing would have been able to get him to flip the switch the other way.
Which, there isn’t anything wrong with, according to the blonde. Hell, he lives to wreak havoc on every situation he walks into!
He doesn’t think there’s any better solution for drowning in woes than guzzling all of the sorrows away with booze and partying his fucking ass off like his life depends on it.
He swears by that philosophy and he’s been swearing by it for more than half his life.
Why would he stop now?
Proposing an unplanned, chaotic, spur of the moment, completely spontaneous and erratic meetup at the last possible minute is the ultimate adrenaline rush.
However, right now, CC is beginning to wonder if maaaaybe he should have tried conjuring up something more than a quick ‘Hey kid! Why don’t ya fly your ass ova’ to my place to fuck shit up with me for a few days?!’
That’s really all it was — a simple, two and a half minute phone call, post blowout with Shannon — and CC still believes it was a great way to go about inviting the kid here.
And clearly Frank thought the same since he actually decided to show up!
But, now that the blonde is standing in his trashed bedroom right in front of his full length mirror, which truth be told hasn’t been sprayed with Windex in months , he’s kinda being hit with the reality — he looks like a real mess — not that he hasn’t known that since the moment he woke up today, but there’s just something about the concrete evidence smacking him right in the blasted face.
And you’re surprised that Shan picks a fight with ya every goddamn day?! He asks himself in a mocking manner, but quickly waves that silly thought away because it’s a ridiculous one.
He isn’t doing a damn thing wrong here!
It’s that woman who’s being the dramatic , obnoxious one!
She’s the one who blames him for every little fucking thing that goes wrong in life.
Hell, he needs more booze.
Just as that desire flies through his mind and body, CC’s eyes land on the heaping collection of empty mini liquor bottles sprawled out in the far corner of the room – possibly the most filthy, decrepit corner, but why does that matter?!
It’s booze!
His lips swifty curl into a smirk.
That’s at least one thing he did have planned when he made the call to Frank for this elaborate get together.
Booze.
Lots and lots of fucking booze.
Sure, those bottles are empty but he’s got a helluva lot more where that stash came from, and he’s not only taking hard liquor. He’s got wine, beer, hard seltzers, sangria, and champagne.
Fuck, he’s got it all!
Satisfied at his newfound realization that maybe he isn’t as horrible of a planner as he initially thought, CC takes another glance in the grungy mirror, gives his disarrayed rat’s nest a nice fluff, and smiles proudly.
And without an ounce of hesitation, he seeks out one of the full mini liquor bottles, somewhere in the middle of his dumpster of a bedroom, and chugs it in a single shot.
He figures if he’s gonna be fucked up, he’s gonna be fucked up.
He’d never half-ass a fucked up time.
The only problem CC may or may not be left with is the fact that he kiiiinda lied to Frank.
He’s never actually been to the chocolate shop that he mentioned. He knows of the place and has heard nothing but good things about it, but he honestly has only seen it in passing while walking around Downtown Los Angeles or cruising around. He’s come across it countless times but never found it in him to step into the place once.
And if he’s being really honest with himself, he isn’t entirely sure if he remembers how to get there.
But, CC lives for spontaneity so he’s sure he’ll figure something out. He’s confident that between him and Frank, they’ll find their way over to the dessert palace in no time!
They will have to trudge through the ungodly heat, though, and that’s exactly why CC wanted to make that very clear to Frank, but as usual the kid doesn’t seem to want to take the blonde’s concern seriously.
He’ll realize I’m right sooner or later , CC thinks to himself as his own body fills up with a subtle sensation of dread at the anticipation of braving the humidity, and fuck me ‘cause I’ll be sufferin’ right by him!
Typically, CC isn’t the kind of guy to run warm, unless he’s got a good amount of alcohol swimming through him, so the combination of the brutal humidity and the fact that he is, indeed, very buzzed, just screams disaster for him.
But, he’ll brave it.
He’ll get through it.
Somehow, he always finds a way to survive the unbearable.
As if on cue, the ringing of his cell phone blares through CC’s eardrums just as that very thought runs through his head. And fuck him because of course the number that’s popping up on the damn screen is the last person on the face of the Earth that he wants to talk to right now.
“‘Cause that bitch hasn’t given me enough shit!” he screeches aloud with a snarl, “What in the world does she wanna give me crap for now?!?!”
Without thinking, and despite the intense annoyance eating away at him, CC flips the cell phone open with a clenched jaw.
“Ya callin’ to provoke me, eh?!” is immediately what shoots out of his mouth before Shannon can even get a word in, because screw her for trying to make his special time to himself miserable , “Well that’s great, Shan, ‘cause I ain’t listenin’ to any of it—“
[Well I’m just calling to let you know that I’m with this guy right now and he has a really big cock—]
“Oh gimme a goddamn break!” CC retaliates with snarkiness at Shannon’s blatant provocation, “Ya use the same friggin’ line every time! Find somethin’ new!”
[And I’m gonna fuck the shit out of him tonight! You know why?! Because he’s not some fucking piece of shit LOSER—]
And CC doesn’t hesitate to cut the chick off with a dramatic wave of his hand, intensifying the rowdy mocking tone of his voice, “ Yeah yeah, fuck you! Tell me somethin’ new, Shan! Say it again! Friggin’ say it again—“
[Mhmmm… oh yeah that’s right… That’s right, that’s how a GOOD fucker feels…]
It’s the ultra sensual and orgasmic noises emulating from the chick that send CC into a complete rage of fury and he knows that’s probably exactly what Shannon wants, but he doesn’t care!
Fuck her!
He hangs the phone up after that, and doesn’t waste a second in throwing it across the room, letting the contraption land right next to the pile of booze on the ground, while letting out a piercing, vexed screech to the heavens.
There are nothing but huffs, puffs, and profanity spurting out of CC’s mouth for the next few minutes, as he releases all of his pent up anger, feeling nothing short of a lunatic who just escaped the goddamn loony bin.
Eventually, he chills the fuck out and finds himself doing absolutely nothing worthwhile but wandering around his room like a pathetic, discombobulated mess, before he realizes that he needs to put a foot down.
There is important business to tend to.
Shannon and her bullshit can wait, CC tells himself with a burst of newfound zest, this goddamn palooza can’t!
“Frick gettin’ ready!” he bellows to no one as he shoots his hands in the air only to smack them down by his sides, “We’re goin’ like this, baby! ”
And with that — well, including another hearty glug of another mini liquor bottle — CC darts out of his room, flies down the stairs, and slides back into the kitchen, meeting Frank immediately upon arrival, leaving any last remnants of the cat fight behind.
“Alright kiddo!” he screeches bombastically, with a wide toothy, liquor laced smile, “Let’s get the hell outta town!”