Time Stamp, an Austin and Ally one-shot
I do not own Austin and Ally. This is to fulfill some prompts. Please enjoy and leave reviews!
What happens when you wake to find life has rewound and all your memories are a dream? All the days you've spent pining over that girl, or those tests that you took are erased at the drop of a hat. It's a blessing and a curse. You can say sayonara to that bad grade from freshman math. That does mean you'll have to relearn, retest, say 'hello again' to that bad grade.
Only you can't say 'again.' Because to the rest of the world, this is the future. They're not trapped in the past.
Question is, how do you escape? Last thing you knew, your lips were hovering over Ally's, and you were both shaking. You blamed it on the cold ocean water. Nerves weren't going to take responsibility for the shudders going down your spine.
Even if you woke up to ninety degrees of your dry, landlocked bed.
You leap out of bed, digging through your closet for that shirt you love so much. The one that you can't find, that must be in the laundry. It has to be around here somewhere.
It's not in the hamper either. You come across a shirt that you donated to the Salvation Army last month, having outgrown it.
You thought you donated it last month.
Out of curiosity you tug it over your head, shocked to find that it fits.
Yanking it off your head, because it reeks of sweat and cologne, you toss it back in the hamper. Another old standby is dangling off the hanger in front of you, so you take it.
It fits perfectly.
Something weird is going on here. You need to find Dez.
He's not at the Sonic Boom, though Ally is, with the highlights of her hair noticeably darkened. You can't see him anywhere, and she's not acknowledging your presence. Scratch that, here she comes.
"Can I help you find anything?" There's no familiarity in her voice. Is everyone playing some sort of prank on you?
"Hey Ally, I'm looking for Dez." Her eyes fall to her name tag, thinking that you've read it. Then they bounce back to meet yours, and she shakes her head.
"I'm sorry, it's just me and my dad. There's no Dez here." Gliding a dust rag over the tubas, she gives a small apologetic smile.
It's like she doesn't even know who you're talking about. Like she doesn't remember how he led Big Mama back to Shiny Money's houseboat, or how he's broken countless banjos because he puts the bad in badminton.
You call him, and he agrees to meet you for smoothies. You want to order your favorite, except it's not on the menu.
It's been there for the past six months.
Conceding to get the strawberry banana, you take a seat across from him. You lean over the table. There's a man sitting at the table next to you, newspaper covering his face.
It may cover the eyes, but unless he's stuffed the pages in his ears, it's doing nothing for his hearing.
"I had the craziest dream last night. I almost kissed Ally."
"Yeah, and then this morning, all my old clothes were in my closet and she was acting like I didn't even know her. And the smoothie cart didn't have my favorite smoothie. What's going on?"
"Are you feeling okay?" Dez takes a sip of his drink, and you bug your eyes at him. No, you're not okay. You're going insane, and the girl of your dreams is ignoring you. That sounded plenty clear on your end.
He isn't the brightest crayon in the box though.
"No. I have no idea what's going on." Your cheek connects with the cool metal of the table. All of this heat is going to your head. From your sideways view you can see her. Lifting your head, you call out. "Ally!"
She turns and politely smiles at you. "Is this the 'Dez' you were looking for?"
Wow, she honestly doesn't know who he is. She's not that good of an actress.
You scratch the back of your neck. Not because it itches, but because you don't know what to say.
"Good." She awkwardly stands there, because you did call her over for something. Then her phone rings, and she excuses herself to go back to the Sonic Boom.
"That's the girl you almost kissed?" Dez raises his eyebrows, surprised that he'd go for her. She's shy, and from what he's seen in school, rather nerdy. There's no logical explanation as to why you'd want to kiss her, let alone be her friend.
"You remember Ally, my partner? She writes, I rock. We performed in Times Square, and I got signed to Jimmy Starr. She overcame her stage fright at her mom's book signing. We-." You stop because his face isn't registering any of this as familiar.
Also because the man set his newspaper down.
He doesn't recognize you.
He tells you this.
Your mind breaks a little further.
You're going back to bed.
(the time lapses here)
You can't sleep, no matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut. The cell phone on your table buzzes. A text from Dez.
That's the wrong date on the time stamp.
Going into the phone settings, you find not only the date is wrong, but the year. There's no way you're back at the beginning. No fame.
That's not a world you care to live in. You had been lost, not that you knew it, without her. She'd set you off in the right direction.
You have to fix things.
Starting with your hair. Bed head is not your best asset. Your voice is, especially when paired with her lyrics. All the songs she hasn't written, if you're really back to the beginning.
You return to the mall that night in hopes of running into her again. She's sitting in the food court, song book on the table. There's a sandwich in her hands.
More importantly, there's a song on those pages. It isn't done yet, nor have you stolen it, yet. She picks up the pen to cross out a line. There's no scribbling, and it's so her that you can't help observing for a few minutes until she notices.
You didn't mean to make her choke on her sandwich. You just wanted to watch her write the hit that would ultimately make you an overnight internet sensation. Last time around you were flirting with a pretty girl, about three tables over. How had you not seen her in the background?
How many times did you pass her by before without seeing her? Really, honestly seeing her and everything she has to offer.
You let the pretty girl stare off into the distance. A new prince will come for her. One that will stick around, because you sure didn't.
Your heart had other plans.
(the time lapses here)
Taking a mental vacation day, you head to the beach. You hardly got any sleep last night. All you need to do is soak up some rays, surf the waves and relax. Those memories aren't memories. They were all a dream. A nice, long dream that you wouldn't mind living out.
Her towel is next to yours. When you settled down, it had been empty. You didn't know who would be sitting there. Now you do. It's a pretty girl, in a modest bikini, one that's more than just strings, eyes peeking out above the thick book that's she brought along. Trish is beside her, sprawled out on a towel.
"Ally, put the book down."
"I'm reading the good part though."
"You said that half an hour ago."
"It's a good book." She sticks the bookmark in it, shutting it. You avert your eyes.
They snap back on their own accord.
She's flaunting her body. Or it could be that it's simply too hot out for her cover up. Thank God for heat waves.
Even if they are messing with your brain, crafting memories out of fantasies. That is what all those memories are, aren't they? Something you've forced upon her, because you must have seen her once and your memory slapped her face up as a motivational poster for happiness.
You know what else you want her face up against.
It's time to shake this feeling. Nothing has happened yet. It's not too late to stop yourself from falling in love with your future best friend.
Are you sure you want to stop that? You both deserve love and happiness. That's something you've both proven you have the capability of doing, for the right person.
She is the right person.
She's the girl you almost kissed. The girl of your dreams.
(the time lapses here)
There's a free concert tonight, and you decide to go. Chances are you'll run into her. You didn't want to make it obvious, stalking her at work. This friendship has to be organic. It needs to be able to blossom into what those dreams entailed.
Maybe this time you can live on fast forward? Your patience has been through the wringer far too long.
Immediately you can spot her in the crowd. She's the one that can't dance.
You kind of want to join her. In good time everyone else will too. They'll be doing it the Ally way.
Today, they laugh.
"She's such a bad dancer," Dez says, busting a move of his own. You join him, breaking out your best moves. It's best to take the attention off of her. She doesn't need this kind of suffering.
The attention is refocused onto you, and a few people pull out their phones.
One way, or another, you're getting your fame back.
But first, you want the girl.
(the time lapses here)
You crumple the paper with her phone number on it. You earned the respect of the wrong girl. The right girl is sitting a couple of tables away, eyes on another boy.
Dallas, the cell phone accessory cart boy.
How's that going to work now? You already know that you're not her secret crush, and you're not going to paint yourself orange, eat that hot pepper, to turn her off. The entire time line is going to be screwed.
Haven't you already monkeyed with fate? There was a line of events that were going to lead you back to her lips, back into her arms.
You're still struggling to believe it was all a dream.
There's a blank piece of paper in front of you, a pencil in your hand. It shouldn't be this hard to write a song. One that doesn't rip her off, even if she technically hasn't written those lyrics yet. She will, and she'll be amazing.
You hope you're there to experience it with her.
The first time around, you had been passing a fight in the shoe store over a pair of size eight wedges. You can remember exactly how it went down. They'd been pulling at the box and a shoe had flown out, conked the store owner on the head. Censoring himself around the children, he'd let out the closest thing to an expletive he could.
"Son of a gun!"
You can hear that same reply floating out of the shoe store. "Artillery doesn't have the ability to reproduce."
This time you don't laugh at the smart aleck child. You keep your eyes on Ally, because she's blushing, biting her hair, and it may be one of the cutest things you've ever seen.
It'd be a lot cuter if she was doing it in your direction.
You write something down, scribble it out.
You need to get that song. There's no way you can do this on your own.
Not that you'd want to if you could.
(the time lapses here)
You awaken to the sounds of birds chirping. It's the first time you've heard them all week, and you hope it's a sign of better things to come. You've been so lost without Ally.
The date. There's something about it that's making you scratch your head, wondering why it sounds so familiar.
Then it hits you, hard enough that you fall out of bed, thump onto the floor.
"Everything alright sweetie?" your mom calls.
You're better than fine.
Today is the day.
(the time lapses here)
Corndogs in hand, you pound on the drums, Dez filming you. She races over, in that yellow shirt and skirt that's been ingrained into your memory, whistles in your ear.
You jolt out of bed.
"What?" you ask. Please say you haven't gone back again. You don't want to hit puberty twice.
"Good, we thought you'd never wake up."
It can't be a dream. Ally's here. Ally, with her highlights, and orange pants, and that smile. You could kiss it off her face.
"What day is it?" Your head is foggy. One moment you were in the Sonic Boom, and now you're back in bed.
"It's Thursday, and you're supposed to be on the set of the Helen Show in an hour. Now come on." Trish yanks you out of bed, and you stumble into your closet.
That shirt is gone. It's not on a hanger, in the hamper, nor on the floor.
Are you back to the future?
"I'll meet you guys downstairs." You need the time to check the date, find your sanity. You're back in the present, the real present. It was all a dream? What about that almost kiss, was that a dream too?
You walk downstairs and approach Ally. She's whispering about something with Dez and Trish. When they see you, they hush up.
Suspicion rises in you.
"We'll go start the car." Trish tugs him out the door, and you two are left alone.
"About last night," she starts. Your days are confused, but she doesn't seem to want to say what exactly happened. "It was a mistake. I should have never done it."
"Which part?" you ask, trying to worm it out of her.
She straightens the napkins in their holder. "All of it, I guess."
Maybe that almost kiss hadn't been a dream. She looks like she could use a hug, so you wrap her in your arms, kiss her cheek as you let her go.
"We should get going, huh?"
"Austin?" Her eyes are boring into yours. Her face is getting closer.
"Hmm?" You're feeling distracted.
She kisses you, and you recognize the feeling. Maybe that almost kiss had been a replay of the best thing to happen to you? You lived it, and you dreamed it, because she's been running through your mind on repeat.
You don't feel lost anymore.