Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The more clones Doctor Venture ran through, the colder the boys seemed to run, temperature-wise that is. It was a subtle difference at first, every few clones having a dropped average internal temperature of around a degree and a half. But now on clone 26, and the boys have dropped as far as 15 degrees. Most of the time, this didn't seem to affect their performance as successful human beings, although to Rusty's credit, he was “looking into a solution” for the next set. 

However, when the winter months came creeping in, they seemed abnormally fatigued. By the time night fell, Hank and Dean would be off to bed voluntarily. In the event they'd be forced to be up late when the outside temperature significantly dropped, they just always seemed to need one of their dad's sweaters or one of their bodyguard’s hoodies. 

If Rusty Venture were to be awake at a time like this, and not locked up in the lab, he might suggest a movie night. Originally, he started doing movie nights just to bond with Brock once he moved in. But at some point, the boys were old enough to know what a movie was and to want in. OSI trained Samson immediately learned when Hank and later Dean would sneak onto the stairs and watch from a distance. So he suggested inviting the twins to movie night, a whole family affair. Well, a whole family plus their bodyguard affair. He wasn't their family. There was nothing that could make him forget that.

…Well almost.

The boys were active. Apparently, that was a good sign, a fact Rusty told him offhandedly one day, recited directly from some parenting book. They'd crawl and grab onto anything! Including Brock… 

“Boys get off of him! He's your bodyguard, not a toy!” Hank and Dean, no older than 4 at the time, only laughed.

“Don't sweat it doc, they gotta burn off some steam. Better now than tonight.” Rusty sighed, occasionally batting a glance toward the sickly domestic scene to his right. Eventually, the boys settled down, falling asleep on Brock’s chest.

“Do you want me to put them to bed?” Rusty asked once the movie ended.

“Nah…” Brock whispered back, before quickly adding. “They are safer here.”

“Suit yourself.” Brock Samson wondered about a lot of things in his life. But a prominent one was just how that one incident when the boys were toddlers turned into a nearly weekly event. 12 years later, Hank and Dean still made sure movie night always ended the same way. Two lanky, kinda gross teens dead asleep on his chest, keeping him pinned to the couch. Objectively speaking, it was less safe to let the boys sleep like that. If danger came, he'd have to shove them off of him. And yet… These cold, cold clones still went to him for comfort. Not their dad, not one of his inventions, him , just like those original toddlers from all those years ago. On one of those nights, he did his best to hide a light smile as Rusty stood up and stretched. Instead, he opted to ask the question he always did when he planned on letting the boys stay asleep on top of him.

“Doc, you ever getting around to fixing the boy's temperatures?”

“Yes Brock I am, I'm just busy you know!” A lie. A blatant one at that. Brock could see the affection in his eyes. As always, Rusty wouldn't stay. A childhood spent starved of love made the idea of jumping right into a cuddle pile abhorrent and terrifying to him. He'd take his leave back to his own room, all the while Brock would lay down more comfortably on the couch. With Dean sprawled out across his chest, snoring lightly, and Hank's head curled up near Brock’s neck (where he'd inevitably wake up with a spot of drool, great…), he ensured both boys wouldn't fall off the couch before letting his eyes droop close. It was an unspoken routine, soon forgotten by the morning. 

Rusty would never find and fix the error in the clones, and Brock would always end up being the pillow and heater for the two Venture Twins who always ran cold. And yet… Brock Samson didn't mind that at all.

Chapter Text

~~~

“Hey, can we watch a movie?” Well, those were six words Hank didn't think would come out of his mouth again. 

Henry Allen Venture hadn't asked for a movie night in years. Not since Brock left anyway. At the behest of his dad, he did try movie night with their new bodyguard; Sergeant Hatred. But he just couldn't get a tense anxiety to leave his muscles. Hank would just end up sitting between Serg and Dean, unable to let himself relax. Logically he knew nothing would happen. Serg was on his meds, and his dad was literally like five feet away. And yet, fears from a time that seemed so long ago lingered. How come he had to remember what Sergeant Hatred did all those years ago? Why not Dean too? Was it because he was stronger, older, better? Then again how much did a four-minute difference make in maturity? He was a clone, wasn't he? How come the memory hasn't been wiped yet? Maybe he should ask Pop about that… Questions like these circulated through his mind as he spent the evening watching Serg out of the corner of his eye, keeping an arm over Dean's shoulder.

Needless to say, Hank didn't remember anything about La-La-Land the next day. Family movie nights quickly became just an occasional Hank and Dean only activity. The brothers would watch old classics and their favorites most of the time. A few new releases mixed in. He remembered one night, while shoveling down piping hot microwave popcorn Dean had spoken up.

“Why not movie night with Sergeant Hatred? He knows a lot of Western film trivia!” Briefly, Hank wondered if he should try to explain it again. Not like telling Dean really got through to him…

“It just isn't the same without Brock…” He chose instead, not the exact reason but certainly not a lie.

 So when those six words came tumbling out of him, like a flood of water through a broken dam, Hank wasn't surprised at himself per se. It was just weird to be able to do this again after so long. 

“I'm not busy… sure why not.” Not quite true, Brock’s finger was just hovering over the send button on a text to Warriana. But he found himself backspacing instead. “Want some popcorn and soda?”

“Heck ya I do! What'd you wanna watch Brock-O?”

“Up to you kid, I'm down with anything.” 

“Aw sweet!” As Hank began pulling up Weird Science on the J-Station system hooked up to Brock’s TV, the bodyguard returned shortly with a bowl to share and some soda in Hank’s favorite fancy glass (aka Brock’s favorite way to trick Hank into drinking less caffeine.) 

“Haven't you seen this like 80 times already?”

“Mhm, it just gets better every time!” When the glass fell empty, and the popcorn disappeared, Hank slowly began to lean against his new-old bodyguard. “I missed you, Brock…”

“Missed you too Hank.” 

“What the… you still have that metal plate!?” Hank exclaimed as he readjusted to lean on his shoulder.

“Yes? It’s not like my heart just got better or anything.”

“I thought it acted more like a cast or something.”

“Ya no…”

“Hm… you should get a cushion for it!” Brock couldn’t help but let out a light chuckle at Hank’s idea.

“Maybe Hank… just maybe.”

Chapter Text

~~~

Goddammit, Dean felt like his stomach had exploded. After passing whatever those little bot things were, the younger Venture twin promptly collapsed into his bed and tried to find the best position to lay in to subside the pain. Hopefully since they were gone the nausea would go away, but he could already tell that the pain was lingering. 

Maybe he could go raid his dad's pills. No… since Brock came back, any prescription pills in the house were now kept locked in some safe. Perhaps a bit too caught up in his world, Dean hardly noticed how much more his old Pop was “popping” pills when their bodyguard left. It was Hank that felt the consequences of that way more than he ever did as Dean was lost in his worries about being a clone. Sure it shouldn't have to be his responsibility to keep an eye on his addict dad, but a quiet guilt was still present. 

“Hey Dean, can I come in?” Speak of the devil. Of course, that low voice on the other side of the door wasn't Rusty. When would it ever be unless it was about science or legacy or something. Instead it was Brock, a twinge of concern in his voice if you listened close.

“Sure…” Brock closed the door behind him, letting his expression soften at the sight.

“How are you holding up?”

“Um to be completely honest, not great! Everything hurts…” 

“Hmm… I think I got a good solution for this. You like ginger?”

“Brock, Ginger Ale doesn't help with your stomach, that's a common misconception. The carbonation makes you feel worse, not to mention how little ginger you're actually getting.”

“Nah, I got something else in mind. You sit tight, I'll be right back.” Normally, Dean might ponder what Brock was going to bring him. But with the severe pain, he paid little mind to the time. So some few minutes later, Brock suddenly reappeared. 

“Geez you brought a lot with you.”

“In this mug is some ginger tea. Classic home remedy, it's always worked for me. In the cup are some pills that will make you feel better.”

“Did you remember to lock the pill safe once you got it?”

“Yes I did. Now move over I'm gonna get your bed readjusted so you sit up straight. Keep everything moving down, it'll make you feel better. The saltines are for when you wake up. You haven't actually been sick but to your stomach, you might as well have been. So you're gonna eat light the next couple of days you got that Dean?”

“Aye aye captain.” Dean responded much more weakly than he wanted too. “Why is that pill so small, there's barely anything to it?” 

“It's a piece cut off of an OSI grade sleeping drug. I can only take a half of one, and considering our differences in weight well…”

“Ok then why did you give me two of these big ones?”

“Those are just Tylenol’s.”

“Oh.” Slightly embarrassed, Dean took them with a swig of the tea. Having thrown up earlier, the hot drink did wonders on his acid coated throat. Looking up from his mug, Dean realized Brock was just leaving. Selfishly, he didn't want to be left alone and called out to him before he could reach the door. “Wait! Stay… please… um we could watch No Country For Old Men!” Unbeknownst to him, Dean didn't need to appeal to Brock with one of his favorite movies. A small, never to be spoken part of him wanted to stay by Dean's side regardless and do everything in his power to make the pain go away. Dean began shuffling for the remote as Brock answered.

“I'll queue it up Dean, you just focus on drinking that tea before you conk out.”

“M’kay…” Brock plopped down by Dean, observing the boy a little closer up.

“You're looking healthier.” Dean raised an eyebrow in turn. “I don't mean right now, just like in general you know. You looked stuffy in black. What was with that anyway? All the dye and the emo stuff? Is that just a teen phase or something else?” Blinking a few times, Dean noticed the drug was already getting to him. Wow, guess that stuff was strong…

“I'll tell you about it soon.”

“You promise?”

“On Grandpa's grave.” 

“Alright kid I believe you.” Brock ruffled Dean's hair a bit as he pulled up No Country For Old Men. While the intro rolled, Brock realized Dean was already closing his eyes. He made sure to get the half dranken mug out of his hands before letting Dean lean over.

“Get some rest Dean, you'll feel better later.” The Venture twin despite practically being asleep already couldn't stop a small smile from forming on his face.

“Thanks Brock…”

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long for a young Thaddeus ‘Rusty’ Venture to realize his presence wasn’t welcome at a certain point in the night. By the time the boy adventurer was sent to bed, he wasn’t good ol’ Jonas Venture’s problem! On the few occasions, Rusty had tried to receive comfort from his dad in the aftermath of a nightmare, he was always shooed off. Often in the company of women, he had simply assumed that once you get older it was nice women who would make you feel better after nightmares. After all, waking up practically screaming was all he had ever known.

So a sheltered 16-year-old Rusty had gotten himself a hooker way too old for him, had some mediocre sex and was met with the whole-hearted comfort of an orange bottle with a name he couldn’t pronounce. His dad was pissed with a capital P. No son of his would become some free-loading addict with a taste for trashy prostitutes old enough to be his mom and then some. 

Eh didn’t really matter what Pop thought now huh? He could only bet he was rolling in his own grave! Or in the PROBLEM? Or in whatever OSI lab his head is in now? Rusty couldn’t keep track. Now on late nights, much like this one, he’d wake up with his heart racing and reach out for whatever Doc-Tail he had on his bedside table. At that point, it was already room temperature but the bitter flavor shook him out of his head for the moment. Then he could go hunting for some sort of pill to lull him back to a kinder sleep.

As he wandered into his bathroom, he felt for the medicine cabinet only to remember it had recently been locked up. Technically, Rusty could just go grab a bottle of whatever alcohol he had. But nothing cried “Look at me I’m pathetic!” more than needing alcohol to sleep. Alcohol was loud, pills were quiet, gone in a flash. Now think! Where would Brock keep the keys? Of course! Brock always kept things that he didn’t want to be stolen from him on his person. His knife never left his side, so of course, the keys had to be in a pocket or something. Sure he wasn’t known for his stealth, but he was small, and Brock would be dead asleep. 

“You're not getting the keys off me Doc.”

Oh who was he kidding, of course this didn't work! He was light on his feet, but Brock still heard him somehow, before he even reached into his pocket.

“No… you're just dreaming!” He whispered back.

“My dreams don't tell me I'm dreaming. I'm going to turn around and-”

“I'm going to turn around and you better be out of MY room.” Rusty stepped back violently fast as if he had just been burned. Brock met his gaze, still in a sleepy daze, and took in the Doc’s panicked expression. 

“Sorry Brock, I’ll just go.” In that moment, Brock felt like kind of an asshole. He didn’t know what moment in particular his boss had flashed back to, but there was a familiar pain in his eyes… With a deep sigh, he sobered up from his restful state and spoke up.

“No Doc, you can stay if you want. I’m already awake anyway. We could throw on a movie or something?”

“Sure, just make it something I’ve seen already.” Despite the attempt at an annoyed tone, Brock could hear an underlying layer of relief, perhaps even gratitude or a sense of longing. Rusty gently placed himself on the bed, on the complete opposite end of where Brock lay. A cold distance was placed between the two of them as Brock pulled up Casablanca on the TV. The movie was a surprising comfort film for Rusty, a fact he had learned over the years of living with him. Brock never pried for the story as to how Rusty found it, just as he avoided many topics of familiarity. But he knew the film would set the Doc at ease. This time, it led him to inch closer to the center of the bed where Brock could swing an arm over his shoulders. Perhaps it was being forced apart from the family for so long, but the bodyguard couldn’t help but want to extend the same comfort he offered the boys to Rusty. 

“Did you know this movie would’ve been called Everybody Comes to Rick’s ?” Brock muttered quietly, remembering a trivia page he saw about Casablanca some few months back.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Apparently it was a play these guys sold to Warner Bros, that’s what became Casablanca. Writing-wise, it wasn’t an in-house production.”

“Interesting…” 

So, a traumatized 50-year-old Rusty had gotten himself a bodyguard way too kind for him, took in the details of a movie he had seen more times than he had ever seen his own mother, and was met with the whole-hearted comfort of not just his bodyguard, not even just his friend, but someone he couldn’t begin to describe. His dad would be pissed with a capital P if he knew anything about the complex relationship Rusty and Brock shared. No son of his would become “some sort of half queer” with a taste for men strong enough to defeat a thousand others.

He was more certain than ever that his dad was rolling in wherever he was, but for once it didn’t phase him a bit…