Chapter Text
Rodrick Heffley had stared down some pretty terrifying things in life.
Being chased out of Walmart by security because he couldn’t stop drumming on literally every surface he passed.
Failing eighth grade.
His mum’s reaction to him failing eighth grade.
But nothing — nothing — could've prepared him for the glacial, soul-piercing stare of Regina’s father.
The man opened the door like Rodrick was a sales rep selling exploding blenders. No words. No smile. Just a slow, up-and-down glance like he was assessing structural damage.
He was tall. Unnecessarily tall. Taller than Rodrick — as if the situation required any extra intimidation.
Rodrick tried to smile back, even though it felt like his face was made of wet cardboard. He was holding a pie. A shop-bought one. Susan had insisted he bring “something polite,” and reminded him that table manners and making a good first impression were important — especially when meeting a girlfriend’s parents.
He even wore the only white button-up shirt he owned — the one reserved for funerals, court dates, that first time he lunched with the Plastics, and now apparently dinners with Regina's parents. He’d even tucked it in. Well… tucked-ish.
His hair was less chaotic than usual. He’d actually brushed it. With two hands. And he ditched the eyeliner after staring at himself in the mirror and realising it screamed juvenile delinquent.
“Uh… hi, Mr George.” Rodrick lifted the pie slightly, like it was a peace offering. “I brought dessert. Hope you like cherry pie.”
No response.
Not even a grunt.
Just more quiet judgement.
Regina stepped into the doorway behind her father, her smile easing some of Rodrick’s panic — though it had no effect on Mr George.
"Hey cutie." She kissed Rodrick on the cheek, leaving a gloss mark he didn’t dare wipe off in front of her dad. “Dinner's almost ready. Come on in. Mum’s in the kitchen.”
Rodrick had met Mrs George once before, briefly, when picking Regina up for a date.
She also looked noticeably younger than Mr George — at least a fifteen-year gap, the kind that made people whisper “second marriage?” or “midlife crisis?” at neighbourhood barbecues.
She’d been surprisingly friendly, and had insisted he call her June. She even offered him sparkling water and complimented his “edgy aesthetic.”
He didn’t think Mr George would be that type.
And now, standing in the polished white foyer under the weight of that stare, he was sure of it.
Rodrick followed Regina and her father into the living room, feeling like he was entering a museum where everything was breakable, beige, and silently judging him.
He lowered himself onto the couch with the delicacy of someone diffusing a bomb, careful not to squish the cushions or leave any Rodrick-shaped dents. Once he was seated, he set the pie down on the glass coffee table — slowly, carefully — making sure it stayed perfectly level, like the fate of his relationship depended on it.
Regina leaned close and brushed his shoulder, her voice warm.
“I’m gonna go change. Back in a minute. You two… mingle.”
She shot her father a warning look, mouthing “be nice”.
Mr George did not react.
Rodrick flashed her a desperate look, silently begging her not to leave him.
Regina gave him a tiny, apologetic wince… and then disappeared down the hallway.
The room instantly felt colder.
Rodrick sat stiffly, hands clasped together, while Mr George settled into the armchair opposite him with perfect posture and the expression of a man preparing to endure something unpleasant.
And then — unhelpfully — Rodrick heard Drew’s voice in his head.
“Compliment something boring in the house. Rich people LOVE when you notice boring crap.”
Rodrick decided to trust him.
He cleared his throat. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” Rodrick said, nodding like he was approving interior design choices on a home-reno show.
Mr George stared. Unblinking. Emotionless. A human granite slab.
Rodrick panicked and kept talking.
“At my house it’s kinda different. We put up Christmas decorations on November first.”
He paused. “Okay — sometimes October thirty-first. My mum gets excited. And unhinged. Festively unhinged.”
Mr George did not move.
“So yeah, we’re that family. We have this inflatable reindeer that’s supposed to light up, except the wiring’s messed up, so it flickers like it’s trying to Morse-code a warning. Ben says it’s haunted. Honestly, he might be right.”
Rodrick laughed. Alone.
“And uh… one time it deflated overnight and I walked outside and thought it was a body.”
He winced. “Not a real body. Just a… very flat, very festive corpse. Which sounds worse. Wow. Sorry.”
A thick, painful silence.
Rodrick swallowed hard, then attempted a recovery that looked suspiciously like giving up.
“Anyway,” he finished weakly, gesturing at the tasteful décor for the third time,
“Yours is better. For sure. Very classy.”
For a moment, nothing moved.
Nothing breathed.
Even the air seemed to hesitate.
Then Mr George made a sound.
Not a word.
Not even a grunt.
Just a low, unmistakable groan — the kind that carried centuries of disappointment, the kind fathers made when taxes increased or someone scuffed hardwood floors. It rumbled out of him like he was physically pained by Rodrick’s existence.
Before Rodrick could melt into the couch and die quietly, June’s voice floated in from the kitchen.
“Dinner’s ready!”
Rodrick exhaled so sharply his lungs nearly left his body. “Thank —” He clamped his mouth shut. “Thanks. Cool. Love dinner.”
Mr George stood with the stiffness of a man attending a mandatory seminar. Rodrick followed him to the dining room like a frightened exchange student on his first day.
The table was elegant — candles, crystal glasses, napkins folded into shapes Rodrick didn’t know napkins could be. He sat down carefully, as though anything he touched might explode.
Regina slipped into the seat beside him, freshly changed, smelling expensive, and radiating “I hope you didn’t die while I was gone.” She nudged his knee under the table.
Before Rodrick could whisper "I think your father hates me", Regina’s little sister Kylie hopped into the chair directly across from him.
She didn’t smile.
She didn’t blink.
She just stared at him — wary, suspicious, like he was a substitute teacher she did not trust.
Rodrick offered a tiny wave. “Hey.”
Kylie continued to stare for a solid three seconds.
Then, without looking away from him, she asked loudly, “where’s Aaron?”
Regina froze.
“I told you, Kylie,” she said, already annoyed. “Aaron and I are no longer together.”
She gestured pointedly at Rodrick. “This is Rodrick.”
Kylie’s eyes finally shifted from Rodrick to Regina, then back to Rodrick again — slower this time, like she was recalibrating all known data.
“Oh,” she said flatly.
Rodrick wasn’t sure if she meant oh, okay or oh, tragic downgrade, but either way, it didn’t feel amazing.
June set down a dish of roasted chicken in the centre of the table, smiling warmly at Rodrick like he wasn’t currently being psychologically waterboarded by her husband and youngest daughter.
“So, Rodrick,” June said brightly as she took her seat. “How’s your band? …Loaded… Dipper?”
Rodrick just nodded like that was definitely what it was called.
“Yeah, the band’s doing pretty good, actually,” he said, sitting up a little, grateful someone was engaging him like a person rather than a suspicious object. “We’ve been getting more gigs lately. Birthday parties, school events, Ben’s friend’s cousin’s garage opening — but like, legit gigs too. Last week we played at a real venue with lights and everything.” He paused. “Well, one light. But it worked.”
Regina chimed in immediately, leaning forward. “They were great. I went. The crowd loved them. People were literally shouting for an encore.”
Rodrick glowed for half a second.
Then Mr George — who had so far expressed himself solely through glowering — finally spoke.
“Hm.” He didn’t look up as he spooned vegetables onto his plate. “Music is fine… as a hobby.”
The word hobby landed like a brick.
Rodrick’s smile wobbled. “Uh… well, yeah, it’s — I mean, it’s like… kind of more than a hobby to me.”
“Mm.” Mr George chewed, unimpressed. “Just make sure you have a real plan. Hobbies don’t pay bills.”
Regina’s head snapped toward her father. “DAD.”
He raised an eyebrow, fully committed to his role as dream-crusher-in-chief. “What? I’m simply saying young people should prioritise stability.”
Rodrick tried to laugh it off, but it came out thin and wounded. “Totally. Stability’s great. Love stability. Big fan.”
Kylie spoke again, stabbing a carrot with the energy of someone who’d already judged his entire future.
“Aaron has a plan,” she said casually.
Regina whipped around, with an almost murderous expression. “KYLIE.”
The girl shrugged, wide-eyed and innocent. “I’m just saying.”
Conversation limped on after that — awkward small talk, the occasional clink of cutlery, and Kylie continuing to loudly list every quality Aaron had that Rodrick didn’t, as if she were reading from a prepared presentation.
Rodrick focused very hard on chewing.
June watched the whole thing unfold for another minute.
Then she clapped her hands lightly, like someone calling a timeout.
“Alright,” she said pleasantly. “I think that’s quite enough dinner table interrogation for one evening.”
“Rodrick, sweetheart,” she said gently, “you want to stretch your legs before dessert? Come, I’ll show you around.”
Rodrick stood with the enthusiasm of a man being released from captivity.
“Go ahead. I’ll catch up.” Regina said, smiling sweetly.
The smile stayed perfectly in place, but her eyes very clearly promised Kylie a private education in consequences.
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June led Rodrick through the house with the enthusiasm of someone showing off a museum she personally curated.
Rodrick trailed behind her, nodding at everything like he was trying to look smart during a school field trip.
“And down here,” she said, pointing toward a turn in the corridor, “… Is the closet. Where we keep all our skeletons...”
Rodrick stiffened.
June burst into laughter. “Oh! Sweetheart, I’m joking.”
Rodrick laughed too — a little too loudly — hoping it covered the fact that he'd almost believed her.
“And then right at the end is the cellar —”
“MUM!” Kylie’s voice exploded from the kitchen, sharp enough to rattle the crystalware.
June jumped. “Oh — coming!”
She gave Rodrick an apologetic smile. “Sorry, dear. Duty calls. Don't go anywhere. I’ll be back in a jiffy!”
With that, she briskly disappeared around the corner, leaving Rodrick alone in the hallway.
He stood there for a moment.
Shifted his weight.
Considered staying put like a well-trained guest.
Then wandered off anyway.
He opened a door on his left.
Laundry room.
He opened the next one.
Cellar.
He opened one more.
This one opened onto a staircase descending into a darker, cooler space.
Storage? Maybe.
He stepped inside and groped along the wall for a switch.
The room blinked awake to reveal a space that was nothing like the rest of the George house. No beige, no crystal, no curated perfection.
This was lived-in. Dark leather couch. Mini-fridge. A wall of shelves cluttered with vinyl records and old concert posters. A massive flat-screen. A dartboard.
Not storage.
A full-blown man cave.
Rodrick’s first instinct was to turn right back around before Mr George caught him trespassing.
But then he saw it.
A drum set — gleaming, polished, clearly loved — tucked perfectly into the corner.
Rodrick hesitated at first, but gave in quickly. He took a few steps closer, drawn to it like it had its own gravitational pull.
On a nearby shelf sat an old photograph of some old band.
Rodrick picked it up, scanned the faces… and paused.
Wait.
No.
That couldn’t be right.
He looked again.
Slower this time. Like his brain was edging toward the truth, hoping it might trip and fall before getting there.
The jawline.
The eyebrows.
That infuriatingly confident half-smile.
That wasn’t just some guy who vaguely resembled Regina’s dad.
That was Regina’s dad.
Well — a much younger version. Hair long, leather jacket on, drumsticks gripped loosely in his hands like they were an extension of him. He stood at the centre of the photo, flanked by a band that radiated sweat, volume, and extremely questionable life choices.
The vibe was unmistakable.
Full rockstar energy.
Rodrick’s jaw fell.
He was still staring at the photo when a voice materialised behind him.
“Who let you down here?”
Rodrick whirled around, finger already lifted at the photo like it was incriminating evidence. “Mr George… you were a drummer?!”
Mr George sighed and grabbed the frame out of Rodrick’s hands. He looked at the photo for a long beat before muttering, “It was a long time ago.”
Rodrick swallowed, eyes still glued to the photo.
“What was your band called?”
Mr George let out a very dignified sniff.
“We were called Midnight Riot. Best in the North Ridge circuit. Played everywhere.”
Rodrick gasped so violently he nearly inhaled his own tongue.
“DID YOU SAY MIDNIGHT RIOT?!” His voice cracked. “Mr George, sir, with all due respect — SHUT UP. I listen to your music every day. I have your whole discography. Even the remastered anniversary edition with the ugly cover art.”
Mr George squinted. “It wasn’t ugly.”
“Respectfully, sir, it was SO ugly!” Rodrick said, reverent, like this was a compliment. “The neon lightning bolt? The font that looked like it was bleeding? Iconic.”
He paced in a tight circle, hands tangled in his hair.
“Oh my god. Oh my god. Wait — WAIT. The drum solo in Steel Heart Riot? The one at 2:03? THAT WAS YOU?!”
Mr George tried — and failed — not to look pleased. “Hmph. Maybe.”
Rodrick staggered toward the drum set like he was approaching a sacred artefact.
“Do you… still have it in you?”
Mr George scoffed, rolling his shoulders like a man preparing to reclaim his youth.
“Please,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “I never lost it.”
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Regina finished lecturing Kylie and dusted off her hands like she’d just restored order to the universe.
“Alright. You know what you have to do.”
Kylie sighed.
“Apologise to Rodrick for being mean… and start being nice to him.”
“Good girl,” June said with a smile.
Regina nodded. “Wait… where is Rodrick?”
June blinked, then pressed a hand to her forehead.
“Oh no. Kylie called me over just now and I got distracted. I left him in the hallway.”
Regina gave her a look. “How long ago?”
“Just a few minutes,” June said quickly.
They checked the hallway: empty.
Bathroom: empty.
Guest room: nothing.
Study: nothing.
Pantry — Kylie insisted — still nothing.
Regina blew out a breath. “Okay… maybe Dad’s seen him? He’s probably in his man cave.”
Kylie immediately shook her head. “But Dad hates being disturbed when he’s in there.”
Regina shrugged, already heading toward the door at the end of the hall.
She knocked. “Dad? You in there?”
Silence.
She tried again, louder. “Dad?”
Still no response.
Regina exchanged a look with June, then opened the door.
The moment it swung wide, a blast of drumming exploded up the stairwell — loud, wild, chaotic — the soundproofing having completely buried it until now.
They descended down the stairs, and found Mr George was absolutely tearing it up on the drum kit like he was headlining a tour.
Rodrick stood beside him, starstruck, cheering with the energy of someone witnessing history. “YES, MR GEORGE! YOU ARE SO SICK!”
Regina, Kylie and June froze in the doorway.
Regina blinked once. “…Well. We found him.”
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Rodrick plopped down on Regina’s bed, still riding the high of watching Mr George absolutely demolish a drum solo.
Regina closed the door halfway — as much as her dad would allow — and sat beside him.
“Sugar bear, you didn’t tell me your dad was a drummer too?!” Rodrick said, still stunned. “And not just any old drummer — the drummer from Midnight Riot!”
Regina smirked. “I thought it’d be a fun surprise.”
Rodrick stared at her, betrayed. “That’s not a fun surprise. That’s a life-altering reveal. I needed emotional preparation.”
She shrugged, amused. “Relax, hun. You handled it pretty well. At least you didn’t faint.”
Rodrick snorted. “Barely!”
He glanced at her. “You think he likes me a little better now?”
“Oh for sure.”
“Think he might like me more than Aaron?”
Regina leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
“Wanna know a secret? Dad never liked him.”
Rodrick’s face lit up like he’d just won the lottery.
It was the best news he’d heard since the first time Regina had introduced him as her boyfriend — a whole week ago, which still didn’t feel real.