#fast car by bcofl0ve

[bcofl0ve]

fast car | part 1/?

general series tags/warnings: slow burn, mentions of family history of substance use, implied economic disparity in relationship, angst typical of co-workers to lovers stories, family drama

summary: all things considered you don’t have it that bad. your four year old little boy is happy, and you’re happy- finally in a place where getting out of bed in the morning doesn’t feel like a herculean task. but things could be better, which is why you take the PA job on a movie filming down the road. you can work when jack is in school, bring in some extra money- and be able to say you helped make a movie. unlike your mom insists, you didn’t take the job to ‘meet someone’- let alone austin butler. funny how your mom’s intuition is never wrong.

word count: 2152

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“Momma, I don’ wanna go to school.”

You laugh a little at how serious Jackson sounds in contrast with how he looks sitting in his carseat in a Spiderman hoodie with matching velcro shoes. He pushes his eyebrows together, arms crossed lightly over his chest. A few hairs from the top knot you'd thrown his hair into fall out and frame his face- that when he’s being indignant, according to your mother, looks exactly like yours.

“Well,” You start as you park the car, looking at him in the rearview mirror as you unclip your seatbelt. “You don’t have a choice buddy, mommy has to go to work.”

His eyebrows go from furrowed to pushed up, the confusion evident on his face. Which is fair- given that for the past year you've been working nights, a neighbor coming over to stay in the house while he sleeps.

"Nuh-uh," He insists, jabbing his pointer finger out the car window at the sun. "Not nigh' time."

“I’m working somewhere different now- and you wanna know something really cool?” You start as you go around to the passenger side door, opening it and helping him unbuckle his chest clip. “My new job is helping people make a movie.”

The job in question more or less fell into your lap- literally, a job posting for production assistants coming off the community information board at your last gig when you were closing up for the night. You'd applied mostly as a joke with a friend, and when she got a rejection email you accepted you would too.

Except you didn't.

The four year old seems to perk up a little at that, taking your hand to hop down out of the car.

“That’s cool momma,” He says, swinging your hand as you walk towards the building that he looks at through squinted eyes. “But I s'ill don’t wanna go."

Chuckling to yourself, you bend down to kiss his head.

“You’ll live, baby.” You say lightly, squeezing his shoulder before directing him into line with the other kids in his class waiting to go inside. “Love love love you, be good, have fun!” You continue a little louder as he reluctantly ran off, watching him for a second before going back to your car.

- - -

Pulling out of the school parking lot, you let the GPS direct you to the filming location that had been sent in the pre-shoot email the night before, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel as you drive. You feel a little ridiculous for being so nervous. This isn’t a glamorous gig on a Warner Bros lot down the street from Hollywood Boulevard. It’s Ohio.

And yet pulling up to the lot seeing the line of trailers still makes your stomach flip over on itself.

Check in is easy enough, you go through an orientation that feels a little quick with the other PA and tour the lot before being split off. You’re in the office helping make copies off a call list when the woman who had been introduced as a supervisor clears her throat.

Looking up from her phone when you turn your head, her thumbs still linger over the keyboard as she speaks.

“Could you go grab Mr. Butler and bring him to set A?” She says lightly, glancing down to look at the time. “He should just be finishing up in hair and makeup now.”

You nod and finish making the copy you were working on, your chest tightening a little.

There was making copies and there was having to interact with the people in this movie. Which you signed up for, you try to remind yourself as you chew on your lip. And you’re familiar with most of them. Your little sister and self proclaimed theatre nerd had squealed into the phone when she realized you’d be working with Mike Faist, and your mom is a Tom Hardy fan.

Your mother is also an Elvis Presley fan, and saw the recent biopic no short of eight times over the summer. She dragged you with her on round four, and you thought it was alright.

But sitting in a movie theater watching him pretend to be Elvis for three is hours is about the only context you have for the actor you’re walking across the lot to go meet.

The hair and makeup trailer doors are open when you approach, which makes you feel a degree more intimidated. But you step just inside, a girl holding a makeup brush turning to you when she hears the footsteps.

Who you assume to be Austin is in the chair next to her, and follows her gaze as he turns.

The first thing you notice is that he has significantly more facial hair than he did in the movie you saw with your mom.

The second is that you’ve been standing there without saying anything for thirty seconds. Oops.

“Hi!” You exclaim as you clear your throat, standing up a little straighter. “I’m here for Mr. Butler, he’s needed on set?

“Austin is fine.” He says cooly, thanking the makeup and hair team before getting up to follow you. He’s wearing khakis and a leather biker jacket with some patches, the boots he has on putting an extra inch on the height that already has him a bit over your head.

“Sorry, Austin,” You reply and swallow, suddenly so nervous that you have half a mind to be a little embarrassed. “I’ve never worked on a uh- movie set before. Still trying to figure everything out I guess- you know, the etiquette.”

You hear him chuckle as you walk in lockstep, the realization that you’ve been rambling making your face hot, and your gut sink. Way to be Y/N, getting yourself fired on your first day.

“I’m actually probably not supposed to be talking to you at all right now, am I? I’m so sorry-”

“Hey- no,” Austin says he cuts you off, and when you catch a glance at his face you notice his eyes softening. “If I was one of those hard asses that doesn’t want people to look me in the eyes they woulda warned you,” He continues. “And I mean- I’m not. Been doing this for a few years and I still don’t really get those people.”

There's still a hint of a southern drawl leftover from Elvis in his voice, which you find amusing. Alongside finding yourself relieved that he’s being so nice. No getting fired on your first day then after all.

After offering him a quiet thank you, you fall into a comfortable silence until you reach your destination, the parking lot of a rundown bar littered with old cars and motorcycles. It’s quite the sight, and it almost feels like you stepped into a time machine. Out of the corner of your eye you see Austin’s eyebrows go up, the smile his lips are tugged into as he takes it all in childlike. It’s endearing to witness.

You startle when his name being called by Jeff pulls you out of your head.

Austin waves at him from across the parking lot but stops short of running over, turning back to you.

"Thank you,” He says, pausing, and you’re quick to realize you hadn’t actually introduced yourself.

"Oh- it's Y/N." You blurt out, not wanting to keep him too long.

Austin nods, giving you a little mock salute with a “Thanks Y/N, see you around.” before jogging off in the direction of the rest of the cast.

Hanging back, you watch the cast mingle and be directed around to where they’re supposed to be, fascinated by how this whole movie thing actually works. But you can’tt watch for long, recognizing the voice of another PA before you actually see her.

“Hey!” She calls as she comes over, pushing her hair back. Not that you can really pick favorite co-workers on day one, but if you had to it would be her. She introduced herself earlier in the day as Vada, “Yeah like My Girl,”, coming across as an Energizer Bunny of sorts.

And you don’t mind, you actually appreciate her temperament more than the straight edged focus of the others. Though you do find it a little amusing how out of breath she sounds assuming she must’ve run from wherever she was to here “I have to help with extra corralling, they sent me to send you back to the office.”

You give her a nod, more bummed than you want to admit that she gets to do the “cool stuff” and you have to go back to making copies. But it couldn’t all be glamorous escorting of stars all day. There were afterall, other duties listed in your job description.

Thanking her and going to walk away, you scan the set to see if you can see where Austin ended up. Your eyes find him mounting one of the motorcycles, and you let yourself watch for a few seconds as he revs it up, unable to help a smile at the enthused laugh that escapes him as it roars to life.

- - -

“Soooo how was it? My little Hollywood bigshot.”

Your mom croones and you can’t help but roll your eyes a little, holding the phone against your ear with your elbow as you straighten up the living room. It was nice being able to spend the evening with Jack instead of working. But in the interest of not having been able to in a while you wound up letting him run a little wild. And go to bed without having to pick up his mess.

Hence why you were doing it at 10pm.

“I’m a glorified intern- but it was fine.” You say, putting your son’s Hot Wheels cars back in their garage. “Cool to see how the old motorcycles and cars they’re using for different things- Austin was nice,”

The last part flies out before you can stop it, mostly because that interaction was the most interesting part of your day spent mostly in the office. You just about hear your mother’s eyebrows shoot up over the phone.

“Austin? As in Elvis Austin?” She says, and you chuckle. “Yeah, that one. He’s sweet.”

The line falls silent again, and you recognize what this particular pause from your mother is implying quickly. Your face heats up just like it did earlier, a sensation you don’t particularly enjoy.

“Wha-”

“Sweet and single?”

“Mom.”

You groan for emphasis, but it doesn’t sway her from the path she’s already charging down as you plop on the couch.

“C’mon, it wouldn’t be a bad deal if you found someone on this job. I’m sure the guys there are more suitable than the ones at Meijer- bet they’re cuter too,”

“I’m there to work, that’s it.” You try to interject, but she just keeps going.

“And Jackson could use-”

You cut her off more harshly before she can finish that sentence, and start the argument you found yourself having with her at least once a month. Whether she means well or not, it gets under your skin every time.

“Oh don’t even start with that. If Jackson needed a dad his real one wouldn’t have been such a colossal piece of shit.” You punch out, pinching the bridge of your nose.

She tsks on the other end of the line, and you hear a door creak that you can’t identify as happening at your house or hers. “That wasn’t what I was going to say Y/N. I’m your mom- it’s my job to look out for you two and I worry, that’s all.”

Before you can respond you realize the door creak had been from your place, hearing small footsteps padding down the hallway. Jackson emerges soon enough, rubbing his eyes with a little sniffle.

"Hey, mom I gotta go," You rush out and hang up, opening your arms for your son to come to you.

“What's goin' on sweetie, you have a bad dream?" You coo softly as he meanders over, knocking into your knees and letting you lift him onto your lap. A little hiccup escapes him as he nodded.

Mumbling, he presses his face into your neck with a "Scary." so quiet you almost don’t hear it. Rubbing his back, you press a kiss to his tangled bedhead.

This was never part of the plan- not in the slightest.

There was a time where you were certain that you’d leave Ohio the day you graduated high school and never look back. Dropping out of school and moving back into the same neighborhood that you’d lived in since you were little, alone, with a baby in your arms wasn’t on your to-do list.

A quote you saw recently read “Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks in it.”, and how much it resonated made your gut twist.

Because there’s a version of you somewhere in a parallel universe that didn’t have to let go of so much, and you mourn for her a little.

But you love your son to death. That’s your priority. Your only priority.

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