Chapter Text
“Maybe we could start a band.”
Beavis’ eyes scrunched. “Uh, I dunno, Butt-Head. Aren’t boy bands kinda lame?”
“It is a small price to pay for scoring.” His voice slithered, as it usually did when he thought he was being smart.
“Oh yeah, heh-heh-meh. Boy bands… rule. Wait, no, boy bands suck!” Beavis’ arms tensed and, buzzing, he nearly shot off of the couch. “Why do they get to score all the time when they’re constantly embarrassing themselves w-with their stupid tight pants and their stupid… singing, voices?!”
“It is a mystery, Beavis.” Butt-Head gazed longingly towards the windows, but the warm glow from the setting sun made him jerk his head down in response. Rubbing his eyes, he murmured, “Chicks just don’t dig the sophisticated type anymore.”
“Yeah! If this was, like, back in the day, where chicks were still in their right mind, we would be scoring so much, we’d probably get bored of it.”
“Ah, I remember those days. It was the day I did your mom that I realized those chicks had gone extinct.”
“Shut up, butthole!” He gripped the edge of the couch. “Stop talking about my mom!”
“She couldn’t stop talking about me… when I was doing her, uh-huh-huh.”
“I told you to shut up!”
Butt-Head chuckled for a moment longer while Beavis’ temper sizzled. He down at the ground, grumbling under his breath and twitching his scraggly eyebrows. Lost in the void of his black shoes and the scattered napkins and crumbs, he blinked a few times.
“Hey, Butt-Head?”
“Uh… Yeah?”
“This is…” His shoes brushed hard against the carpet as he slumped back into the couch. “Cool.” His mouth strewn up in a smile, he eyed Butt-Head and hoarsely giggled. “We, like, don’t have to go to school anymore.”
“Uh-huh-huh, yeah.” Butt-Head’s eyes closed briefly as he laughed. “Mr. Van Driessen was all crying and stuff. It was stupid.”
“Yeah yeah, he was like, ‘Oh, my god, my babies, all grown up!’ Like, shut up!” During this recollection, Butt-Head also sunk into the couch beside Beavis. “Nobody wants to hear that. Literally… nobody.” He faltered. “I mean, it does kinda suck he doesn’t have a job anymore though.”
“Uh…” Butt-Head stared upwards at the ceiling, and Beavis followed suite. “I think he, like, just keeps on teaching the juniors.”
“Oh, yeah.” His grin faded. “But then who will be the seniors? If we’re not there?”
They both proceeded to phone Van Driessen, who advised them to never ask that question again unless they wanted their diplomas revoked.
“Does that mean we would have to go back to school?”
“Yes.”
Beavis slammed the phone back on its receiver.
The pair stared at the phone, as if it would come to life baring teeth and a hunger for two pieces of paper with their names on it. At last, Butt-Head sighed, “Some mysteries are just better left unsolved.”
“Heh-heh, yeah. O-Oh yeah! Unsolved Mysteries!”
“Oh my god.”
“They’re premiering a new episode!” Beavis practically launched himself from the kitchen straight to a living room and gave himself rug burn on his knee when he tripped over himself. “Yes, yes!” He stuck his arm deep within the couch cushions to grab the remote that Butt-Head’s stupid fat ass had pushed down. “Who gives a shit about graduating when you have good ol’ Robert Stack.”
“Can we do something else? That’s not dumb and stupid?” Despite himself, Butt-Head sat down beside Beavis, one leg across the other.
“Shut up, Butt-Head!” He swung the remote towards Butt-Head’s face, nearly whacking him with it. “You know, you make fun of my mom, and-and now, you’re making fun of Unsolved Mysteries. Is it impossible for you to not be a butthole?”
“I don’t know. Is it impossible for you to not be a dumbass? Uh-huh-huh.”
“Shut up, Butt-Head,” Beavis repeated himself as he turned the television on. He grit his teeth together with a glimmer in his yellow-green eyes. “Just in time. This kicks ass.”
“I should kick your ass.”
This time, Beavis ignored him, hastily tossing the remote onto the floor as he leaned forwards with anticipation. For the first time in his life, he spoke coherently, but only to follow along with the all-too-familiar title card, “This program is about unsolved mysteries. Whenever possible, the actual family members and police officials have participated in recreating the events. What you are about to see is not a news broadcast. Heh-heh-meh.”
Butt-Head waited until Beavis was finished, then he began speaking over the show’s intro, “Four hundred and sixty years ago, some douchebag took a shit in a gas station, and we have never been able to catch him.” He deepened his voice as part of a poor Robert Stack impression, “Join me. You may be able to help solve a mystery.”
“That would be a great episode, heh-heh-meh.” Beavis paused. “But, uh, Butt-Head? I don’t think they had gas stations four hundred years ago.”
Butt-Head suddenly sighed and flopped down onto his side, swinging his legs onto the couch as he did so. “God bless you, Beavis,” his voice sounded even weirder with his cheek pinned against the couch’s armrest.
“Get your feet off of me, assmunch!” Beavis shoved Butt-Heads legs back to the floor. “Hey!” he retaliated when Butt-Head started kicking him in the chest and stomach. “Butt-Head, you butthole, that hurts, stop!” Beavis shrieked as he tumbled onto the ground, smacking the back of his head on the corner of the table in the process. “Ow,” he mumbled, but his attention was quickly taken by the diseased rat on his couch, who was yawning and stretching his limbs. “You don’t even fit on the couch anymore. Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum bitch.”
“Now now, Beavis,”—Butt-Head, remote in hand, began flipping through the channels—“I know you’re depressed you’ve stopped, like, getting taller and stuff, but the world needs more leprechauns at the end of all those rainbows. Somebody’s gotta do it, uh-huh-huh.”
“Whatever. Shut up.” Beavis stared at the television screen, then glared at Butt-Head. “I’m gonna go get ice for this thing. So much for my show, I guess,” he grumbled quietly as he trudged towards the kitchen, hearing Butt-Head’s laughter get drowned out by some boxing match he decided to watch. “Stupid, stupid,” he continued to talk to himself as he dug through the freezer filled with expired TV dinners, their cardboard wrinkled and squished. Handful of ice in hand, Beavis wrapped it with the last paper towel roll they had left and pressed it to the back of his head with a wince.
“Hey, dumbass! Get back in here! There’s a blonde chick in the crowd, and her boobs are spilling out of her shirt.”
“Oh, hell yeah!” he forgave. As he made his way back to the living room, he forgot about his DIY ice pack and tossed it to the side. The blur of red in his peripheral vision distracted him once more. He eyed the paper towel and the ice scattered across the countertop, noting the blood mixing in with the melted water. “Uh.” Beavis turned his injured head towards the living room. “Hey, Butt-Head, uh,—“
“Yeah?”
“I’m, like, bleeding and stuff.”
Butt-Head chuckled. “Cool.”
“Yeah, heh-heh-meh. Cool, heh-heh-meh.” He skipped to the couch and jumped onto it, for Butt-Head had finally decided to sit up. “Where is she— There she is!” Beavis gawked at the bodacious blonde babe while Butt-Head bit his lip and raised his eyebrows as if he could seduce her through the screen. “Our Father, who art in Heaven, I just want to thank you today for all the women you have graced this planet with, but especially this beautiful, beautiful slut.”
“Yes. Jesus Christ Father Almighty Lord Above, I, too, am thankful for sluts, especially Beavis’ mom.”
“Butt-Ow!” Beavis had jerked his head towards Butt-Head, but a deep, stinging pulsation halted him in his tracks. “God damnit,” he rasped as he held his wound.
“Beavis! Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain. He might, like, strike this chick down as punishment for our sins. Uh-huh-huh. Down.” When he received no acknowledgment, he prodded Beavis’ arm with his hand. “Did you hear that? Down, uh-huh-huh.”
“Hold on. Hold on a second.” Beavis breathed in deep, then exhaled slowly.
“Ugh. Are you actually hurt?” When Beavis’ silence and slight rocking continued, Butt-head pushed himself up with a huff. “Come on. Let’s go find you a bandaid or something.”
“Okay, yeah,” Beavis agreed, as he usually did, and began trailing Butt-Head up the stairs. “I-I did hear you, by the way, heh-heh-meh. Down. That’s pretty funny.”
“Okay… Bandaids, uh, bandaids.” Butt-Head paid no mind to Beavis as he flipped on the bathroom light switch, hands briefly on his hips. He kneeled down and began rummaging through the maze of trash in the cabinet.
“Uh, Butt-Head?” Beavis said as he stared at his blood-painted hand. “I think we may need something stronger than a bandaid. Like… one of those big bandaids, you know?”
“No shit, dumbass. That’s what I was talking about this whole time.” Impatient, he used his arm to sweep everything out of the cabinet at once. “Do you see a big bandaid?”
“Uh…” Beavis squinted. “No.”
Butt-Head groaned as he stood and kicked some of the empty canisters and decade-old hairbrushes to the side. “If we can’t find anything here, we can go to the store or something.”
“I, uh, I don’t think it’s that big of a deal, Butt-Head.”
“Uh, yeah, it is, because you’re being really annoying right now.” He swung open the mirror. “Found it.” He brought out an unopened roll of beige tape and began scrutinizing it in the harsh, cold bathroom light. “G… Gau-Whatever.” He ripped the package open and dropped it onto the floor to become lost amongst the sea of the other garbage.
“Oh, thanks,” Beavis said as Butt-Head held the big bandaid out to him. He held it in his bloody hands for a moment, then looked up. “Can you, like, put it on for me? I can’t see back there and stuff.”
“Fine.” Butt-Head snatched the beige tape from him and began unrolling it. “How does this even work?”
“I think I’ve seen it in movies. Just, like, wrap it around my head a few times or something.”
“Uh-huh-huh, you know what we should do?”
Beavis felt Butt-Head’s hands part his damp, reddened hair. “What?”
“We should buy a bunch of these big bandaids, go to Stewart’s house, and wrap him up like a mummy, uh-huh-huh.”
Beavis’ laughter was interrupted by another exclamation of pain as the big bandaid pressed firmly against the wound. “Yeah!” He watched in the mirror as Butt-Head began wrapping the big bandaid around his head. “Then-then, we can roll him down a hill! And we can watch him roll, and roll, and roll, and we’ll laugh, and we’ll drag him back up, and we’ll roll him back down again, and it’ll kick ass.”
“Stop moving, asswipe,” Butt-Head instructed, but he was still laughing nonetheless. “It’s enough work to navigate your stupid, giant head as it is.”
“Shut up, butthole, heh-heh-meh.”
After a second of silence, Butt-Head added, “You need to get a haircut.”
“You need to get a haircut! Your hair makes you look like a girl!”
Butt-Head’s wide eyes were partially visible behind Beavis’ head. “Shut up, dumbass! That’s like, in now. Chicks dig long hair. You’re just mad I score more than you do. Dumbass.” Butt-Head pinched the big bandaid and ripped it. “There. You’re all healed.”
“Thanks, Butt-Head. Hey, while you were, like, going on that rant, I was thinking, ‘Hey, what else do chicks dig?’ and that made me think about what we were talking about earlier. You know, any possible scoring methods, now that we’re done with school and stuff and we got all of that time on our hands. Anyways, uh, I just remembered. I play the guitar.” He stared at the tape wrapped around his head in the mirror. It was so cool. “Chicks go crazy over guitar players, heh-heh-meh.”
“Uh… what?” Butt-Head’s eyebrows twisted in confusion. “You play the guitar? Since when?”
“Oh yeah, uh, it was before, you know, uh, our moms left and stuff. She came into my room one day, and she was like, ‘Beavis, you’re gonna have at least one thing you’re good at!’ and she threw this guitar on my bed. It hit my ankle, it actually kinda hurt. Uh, heh-heh-meh, anyways, I started playing it, and, uh… yeah. I can play guitar, heh-heh-meh.” He made some electric sounds with his mouth as he played an air-riff.
“Woah! You can play electric?”
Beavis stopped. “Uh, no. I mean, I could. It’s like, done the same way. But I’ve only practiced on those wood guitars. You know, the one Mr. Van Driessen likes to play when he feels like making people want to kill themselves.”
Butt-Head chuckled, sidetracked. “Yeah, uh-huh-huh. He sucks, uh-huh-huh.”
“I actually still got the guitar,” reverted Butt-Head’s focus. “It’s under our bed. We should, like, practice some sick tunes, and go out in the street and play it, and see if we end up scoring.”
Butt-Head gazed upwards, pondering, then he nodded. “Beavis, this might actually be the smartest thing you have ever done.”
“Woah, really?”
“Yeah,” Butt-Head continued as he squeezed past Beavis back into the hallway, “and also the stupidest,” he angrily added over his shoulder. “You’ve had these chick-magnet abilities this whole time and you never said anything? I should be kicking your ass right now.”
“Uh, I’m sorry, Butt-Head, I just… It’s just that after our mo-“
“You said it was under the bed?” Butt-Head interrupted as he opened the bedroom door. Not waiting for an answer, he lowered himself onto the mildew-infested carpet and tried to squeeze himself beneath the bed. He pushed himself back out and shoved his hair out of his eyes. “I can see it, but I can’t reach it. Go grab it.” When Beavis was able to fully crawl under the bed with ease, Butt-Head whispered quietly to himself, “God, I’m such a fatass.”
“Wuzzat?”
“Do you have the guitar or not?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah! I got it.” Beavis chuckled as he inched himself back into the open, guitar in hand. It played a few awkward notes as he accidentally banged it against the rim of the bed. “I think it needs… what’s it called, tuning, yeah, tuning.”
Butt-Head inspected the instrument, noting the lost pair of boxers hanging halfway out of the soundhole. “Jesus, when’s the last time you touched this thing? Do you even know how to do that still? That nerd word you just used?”
“I’m gonna have to think about it, but I’ve done it before, for sure.” Beavis tilted the guitar and shook it, letting the mysterious boxers fall to the floor. He hopped onto the edge of the bed and held the guitar in his lap as his hands attempted to navigate to old positions. He played an open chord and reveled in its sin. “Uh… hold on.” He reached over to the tuning pegs, and the gears in his skull began to turn as he tried to remember.
“Hurry up and play something cool,” Butt-Head said, who was standing a few feet away.
“Yeah yeah, cool, heh-heh-meh. But, uh, It’s just that it won’t be cool if it’s out of tune and stuff.”
“Uh… I don’t care. Just play the damn thing. We can handle all of the boring, technical shit later.”
“Okay, okay.” He readjusted himself on the bed, scooting further back. Something “cool” would not be the song on his mind, but, tried as he might, no other memorized tune sprung to mind. “Uh, I hope I remember this correctly.” He went through the motions without strumming, and sure enough, the muscle memory began to awaken. He started with the open chord section: the easy part. Then, with a deep breath, Beavis began his attempt to play the intro to a song that he hadn’t listened to in years.
“Is this that one song you said sucked?”
“Damnit,” Beavis cursed as his fingers slipped and messed up a chord. He shook his hand vigorously; the callouses had died a long time ago. “Yeah, it sucks.” He realigned his fingers and pinned his bottom lip between his teeth. “Oh my god.” His body tensed as he made yet another mistake. “Just give me a minute, okay. It’s been a while.”
Butt-Head placed a hand across his forehead as he stared out the window. “I see them all, Beavis. Every slut in this town is running away screaming.”
“Shut up, Butt-Head!” He tried again. He messed up again. He tried again. He messed up again.
Butt-Head began to tap his foot, taunting Beavis with his nasally singing, “So close, no matter how far… Couldn’t be much more from the heart…”
“Shut up, Butt-Head!” Beavis tried yet again. He messed up yet again. He tried yet again. He messed up yet again.
“Forever trusting who we are…” Butt-Head began to sway around in a circle. Dramatically clutching his heart, he extended his other arm to Beavis with a grin he could barely hide, “And nothing else matters…”
“Shut up, shut up! I hate you, I hate this stupid song, I hate this guitar!” He shoved it forwards and gave it a kick as it toppled down. Harsh, shallow breaths hissed in and out of his nostrils as his face and hands trembled and quivered. “Augh!” He threw himself forwards and kicked the instrument all the way to the other side of the room. Hunched over, fists tightened, he whisked towards Butt-Head. “How the hell do you know the words?! You don’t even listen to Metallica!”
“It is your least favorite song, Beavis. Of course I know every single word.” He smirked. “Never opened myself this way…”
“God, shut up! You suck!” Beavis struck him with his shoulder on his way past.
“Life is ours, we live it our way!” Butt-Head wasn’t singing anymore, but rather yelling alongside the backup vocals of stinging cackles. “All these words I don’t just say! A-And, oh my god, uh-huh-huh. And nothing else matters!”
“Oh my god!” The word drew into a gargled shriek to drown out Butt-Head’s uncontrollable laughter echoing from upstairs. Beavis suddenly froze and dug his nails into his head, fighting the urge to give himself bald patches. His eyes snapped towards the lamp, and, without hesitation, he grasped it and blindly threw it across the room. He stared at the object, which was seemingly unharmed. With another cry, he hurled himself on top of the lamp and began flailing his fists against its shade, ignoring the hard parts beneath that began to ache his knuckles. He snatched the rim of the shade and pulled as hard as he could. When it finally ripped, it threw him onto his ass, leaving him stunned, breathless, and a deep shade of red.
A familiar chuckle made Beavis’ head turn towards the stairway. “Uh-huh-huh, we don’t have a lamp anymore.“
“Yeah.” Beavis stared at the lamp, and even though his heart was still kicking and screaming in his chest, he began to laugh. “Yeah, we don’t! Die! Die! Stupid lamp. Always pissing me off.”
Butt-Head had made his way over to the crime scene. “Lamps are stupid.”
“Yeah!” Beavis sniffed, and used the table beside him to stand. “Who do you think you are?!” He kicked the corpse. “Thinking you’re all better than me?! Laughing at me?! You had it coming the way you were just… standing there, staring! You’re a lamp! A stupid lamp! Yeah! You suck!” He brought his foot high in the air and stomped it on the center of the lamp’s rod. With a loud pop, the final blow was delivered, and the lamp was dead.
Butt-Head stared. “That was cool, uh-huh-huh.”
“Thanks, heh-heh-meh.”
They both stared. However, it was short-lived. An uproar of applause from the television made both of them turn around.
“Oh, yeah. The boxing match. Come on, Beavis. Let’s see if that chick is still there.”
“She better be,” Beavis said as he stepped over the lamp. “Boi-yoin-yoin-yoing, heh-heh-meh.” He sat down beside Butt-Head and immediately yawned, a deep one that made him cover his mouth with his hand.
“You’re not tired, are you?”
“No, no, ‘course not.” Beavis shook his head, but the adrenaline had begun to wear off, and he was reminded of his condition. He gently sunk his head into the pillow behind him. “Just had a big day today, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. I was there, dumbass.”
There was silence between them for a moment. “Daria gave a pretty good speech.”
“Uh… yeah, she did.”
They continued to scan the crowd.
“Hey, Butt-Head?”
“Mhm?”
“Do you think we’re gonna see Daria again? Cause I heard, like… I heard stories of people falling apart after high school.”
“Uh… I don’t know.”
Admittedly confused, Beavis tried to face him, but Butt-Head was back to unraveling the crowd. “Um… I-I’m saying that it would suck, you know. She’s pretty cool.” Knowing he wasn’t going to catch Butt-Head’s eye, Beavis turned back towards the television. “Do you, like, not think she’s cool? I thought you did.”
“Uh, what?” Beavis could see Butt-Head look at him in the corner of his vision, but he didn’t return it. “I didn’t say anything like that, dude. I just said I don’t know if we’re gonna see her. All I did was answer your question. What else is there to say, dumbass?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” For once, a brutal series of punches from the match didn’t have Beavis’ complete devotion. “You just… sounded like you didn’t care when you said it.”
“Beavis.” He paused as the weaker boxer suddenly struck the other in the jaw. “I think you need to, like, shut up and go to sleep.”
“Shut up, butthole, I said I’m not tired!”
Beavis awoke to gargled snoring.
It was a recent habit, and its occurrence was random, but when it did happen, it was loud and grating. The room was completely dark when he opened his eyes, but he recognized the warmth on the sides of his face. He was slumped up against Butt-Head, drooling onto his arm. With a grunt, Beavis eased himself up, feeling Butt-Head’s hair slide off of him as he did so. With the help of the street lamps sneaking in through the curtains, Beavis’ eyes began to adjust. A quick glance to the kitchen told him the time: 4:13 AM.
“Butt-Head,” he murmured quietly, and was met with a shuddering snore in response. “Butt-Head,” he repeated firmer, and seemed to be met with a louder snore, as if Butt-Head was retaliating in his sleep. “Butt-Head, come on.” he shook his shoulder, and heard a sudden snort of surprise. “Come on,” Beavis repeated himself. “We gotta…” He yawned ferociously. “We gotta get to bed. We got work tomorrow. Alarm and stuff.”
Butt-Head groaned, shuffling on the couch as he buried his face into the cushion.
“Butt-Head, come on.” He tugged his arm and felt the drool encase his palm.
“Okay, okay. Jesus.” Beavis could see Butt-Head rub his eyes with balled-up fists. The pair arose from the couch, groggy and unbalanced, and began to stumble their way to the stairs.
“Can you see?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Butt-Head yawned.
Beavis scratched an itchy part beneath his big bandaid as he walked inside the bedroom, the door still open from their prior visit. He fell into the bed, then crawled to the other side as far as he could before he collapsed at a diagonal angle. Butt-Head, too weary to verbally retort, simply climbed into bed and pushed Beavis’ legs aside using his own. Their legs stayed touching for a handful of heartbeats before Butt-Head finally pulled away, his final act before falling back asleep.
Beavis was moments away from joining him, but then, he didn’t. He opened his eyes, and he stared. Across from him, lying on the floor, was the guitar.
Beavis closed his eyes, only to open them again. He stared.
The guitar stared back.
Beavis refused to blink.
Butt-Head began to snore.