Chapter Text
There he was, that same dorky kid who walked by at the same time everyday. Not like it was much of a coincidence, though, the school, and the students with it, were on a tight schedule, and lunch was the same time everyday. It must not have seemed worth it to him to go out of his way to avoid you and your group. Or maybe he was just stubborn, or was too preoccupied with whatever he was thinking about to care that much. But he was always there, like he’d made some kind of resolution to walk past the same spot at the same time everyday. Same square glasses, same dorky teeth and tolerating the same verbal abuse you guys slung at him everyday. Except you’d stopped a while ago. If someone asked you why, you wouldn’t be able to tell them. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you weren’t sure yourself.
You were branded, like every other student, within your first week of high school. That dorky kid, (you think his name’s Joan or Justin or John, yes, that was it, John.) was stuck in the nerd category. The socially awkward, friendless losers who get straight A’s and become mathletes, then graduate and get a job as an accountant or something. You were put in the category of what you guess could be called the badasses. Masters of badass badassery, the badass band, whatever. You weren’t a huge fan of these idiotic brutes, but they would do well enough until you could get into your own category of unattainably high coolness.
There were three other people you hung out with, not out of friendliness but because it was what was socially acceptable. There was Max, who seemed to be the alpha and omega in this pack, or at least liked to think he was, but all you had to do to defy him was call him Maxie. There was also Chaff, who was big, quiet and probably only in this social group because of his unnatural size and strength. He almost never spoke, even if you asked him a direct question, and was kind of just there to intimidate people with his dismissive grunts. And then there was Cyrus. The tough looking, yet uncannily smart ginger who strongly reminded you of the Cyrus from Con Air. Except he wasn’t half as good at making witty responses. In fact, that seemed like your part in this crew, the witty back and forth banter. If you really dug deep into the complex system of the badass posse, you would see that there was the one who scared people, the one who shouted abuse at them, the one who responded if the victim spoke back and the one who pointed out who they should target next. It was a never ending cycle of pain and you were stuck in the middle, just trying to be cool and untouchable.
“Hey beaver boy, how’s the new dam going?” Max burst into obnoxious laughter and you tried not to let out an exasperated sigh. There were a million things you could pick out with John, but he always went for the teeth. To Max’s disappointment an no one’s surprise, John just kept walking. But he wasn’t planning on letting him get away just yet. “Yo, beaver boy, what would you do for a Klondike Bar?”
Now this was new, Max’s typical approach usually wasn’t asking about Klondike bars. But it still wasn’t enough to overlook how un-original “beaver boy” was after saying it 5000 times.
John stopped this time. He was probably confused too, but he turned to you, looking in your eyes, which disturbed you despite your shades, and he answered.
“Buy into an economic system that promotes gargantuan wage gaps between the rich and poor, I guess.” He shrugged and turned as if to keep walking, but you could tell he was just waiting for the retaliation. Max Chaff and Cyrus turned to you, scowling. But you honestly had no response to that.
“Dave!” Max hissed.
Well, it was either say something or watch John get beaten to a pulp by Chaff. Pretty easy decision. “Well if you’re that smart you think you would’ve found some way to improve your situation.”
“Pray tell?”
“Well, this conversation could’ve been over about a minute ago, and you on your merry way, if only you’d accepted you’re a fucking idiot and shut up for a few seconds. You’re as bad as Katy Perry.”
“Oh, don’t get me started on Katy Perry. She’s like a firework, amusing one night of the year and other than that kind of obnoxious. Honestly, why does she think she’s empowering depressed people by comparing them to dirt cheap, unstable explosives that are always moments away from exploding and disappearing into space? For fuck’s sake, how did we let her track go quadruple-platinum? I mean, she rhymes the word “oh” with the word “sky”! Because, you know, nothing rhymes with sky, except for apply, ally, buy, shy, fly, why…”
You hold up a hand, amused at this nerd’s hidden talent of witty back and forth banter. “I didn’t come here to listen to your rant about Katy Perry, though thank you for the offer.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“Wait a second, jack hole. We’re a team, and you’re just one little nerd, and there’s no way in hell we’re letting you walk away.” And there goes Max, opening his big mouth and ruining everything. Couldn’t stand to be out of the spot light for this long, could he?
“Max.” You turn to him, your responsive reflexes burning with sicknasty comebacks. But you settle for the first one that comes to mind. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s no condescending prick in team.”
“Strider.” Max said it so softly and with so much anger it was almost a growl. “I’m hoping I heard you wrong.”
“Well maybe you should get that checked, because I said there’s no condescending prick in team.”
Max stood up, and you could see Chaff raising his eyebrows and Cyrus shaking his head softly at you. But that wasn’t going to stop you, Max was being a douche bag, and sitting around listening to what he says isn’t going to fix that.
The fight started off like you’d think it would, with Max shoving you lightly and saying stuff that was supposed to sound threatening like “You wanna take it back, punk?” But of course, the person being pushed never takes it back, because if they were weak enough to take it back, they wouldn’t be in a fight in the first place. The next stage is when the offended swings the first punch. You were ready for it, and you bent backwards, feeling his knuckles swish past your nose. He was thrown of balance, staggering forward a few steps, and you made the mistake of hesitating ever so slightly, acknowledging the fact you could probably kill Max if you wanted to, and the trouble you’d be in if you did.
That was your first mistake. Your second was underestimating him. In that second of hesitation, his fist lashed out, connecting solidly with your shoulder and sending you reeling backwards. It could have been a lot worse if he’d hit your face or stomach, but it still shocked you for a moment. And then Max really started to fight.
You tried to compose yourself, sending a punch flying at Max, catching his cheek with a satisfying crack. He yelped, throwing another punch at you. You dodged it this time, dancing lightly around him, jeering and playing defensive. But that just made him try even harder, throwing an endless rain of punches, some of which were bound to hit you. One connected with your arm, your shoulder, another your nose. You felt something warm spread down your face, and you could taste blood. You spat, trying to clear your thoughts and mouth. And then a fist connected with your temple, sending you to the ground. You lifted a hand to your head and it came away red and sticky. But you didn’t even have time to process this thought before Max’s sneaker connected with your collar, just missing your neck and face.
You were vaguely aware of Chaff trying to stop Max, telling him it wasn’t worth it, and Cyrus shaking his head again. John was calling for you guys to stop, and he ran up and grabbed Max’s arm at one point, but he was shaken off roughly as Max advanced towards you.
But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of cowering.
You shakily rose you your feet, adjusting your shades and laughing. You could see Cyrus grimace. You guess you had blood on your teeth. You spat again, narrowly missing Max’s shoe.
“That all you got?”
Max let out a soft laugh, more menacing than you’d ever heard him before.
“You wish, Strider.”
And then he hit you again, faster and stronger than you’d thought he was capable of, and you staggered backwards and tripped, falling to the ground again, your shades sliding off your face. You instinctively covered your eyes. The last thing you needed right now was for them to know what a walking freak show you were. But with your hands over your face you were left with nothing to fight or protect yourself with.
Max’s foot connected with your shin, your knee, your arm. You forgot about your shades, overwhelmed with every human’s natural instinct to survive. You sprung to your feet, throwing a right punch followed by an attempt at a left kick, but your legs gave way underneath you. You were losing, and you didn’t know what would happen when you did. Probably a lot of pain, a lot of trouble from the school and parents, a lot of humiliation.
You rose again, biting your lip to keep from crying out in pain, and looked Max straight in the eye. It was only when you realized his hair looked blonder than usual that you remembered your shades which lay discarded on the ground. Everything fell silent, mouths fell open and someone (you’re not sure who) gasped.
“What’s wrong, Maxie? Never seen someone like me before?”
“You freak.” He hissed.
“Oh, you’re calling me a freak. How cute. Well I’m going to show you something now, and let’s see if you can take a real fight.”
You aren’t sure what came over you, what possessed you to think this was a good idea, but before you knew what was happening your sword materialized in your hand, the all too familiar handle worn down to fit your hand and your hand alone. You ran your finger along the blade, playing it up a bit.
“What the hell, Strider. I didn’t come here for some swordplay.”
But you didn’t respond to him, you just bent down, picked up your shades and nonchalantly slid the on, perching them on the bridge of your nose. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and wiped the blood on your jeans.
“Well life’s just full of surprises, now isn’t it?” You took a step towards him, and he yelped, waving at Chaff and Cyrus and started to walk away. You made no move to stop him, just watched them disappear into the school building, constantly glancing over their shoulders to make sure you weren’t following.
You would have liked to keep up your tough guy appearance, but as soon as they were out of sight your legs gave way beneath you, and you almost didn’t make it to a bench before collapsing.
“Wow.” You tensed. You didn’t know anyone was still there, you guess you’d forgotten about John. “That was… awesome.”
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” You shrugged it off. You hope the little twerp appreciated how much pain you just went through on his half.
You just hoped it was worth it.