Chapter Text
The judge tried to comfort Waylon and tell him that everything was okay; that the verdict could’ve been much worse. That he could’ve gotten a much harsher penalty. That he was alright.
Waylon was not alright. Not in the slightest.
The courtroom was already empty; had been for almost ten minutes. Two officers waited to escort him out, one on each side. Waylon was too busy running his twitchy fingers through blonde locks. This was not happening.
‘Oh god,’ Waylon thought uneasily, a wave of nausea threatening to make him keel over and release the contents of his stomach. ‘How the hell did I get here…?’
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Waylon groaned loudly as he sat up in bed, pages upon pages of homework shifting and falling to the floor. He peeled off his large, circular reading glasses to rub at his tired eyes. What the hell was making that annoying clinking sound?
THUD.
Growling, Waylon glared daggers at his bedroom window. He stomped over to the glass, about to fling it open and confront whoever stood below when someone started screaming down the hall from his room.
“Waylon! Are you the one stomping all over the place you useless little shit?!” He heard an angry male voice shout in his general direction. The house was completely silent for a split second before Waylon decided to respond.
Gulping, Waylon moved for the door and slowly cracked it open, “Sorry Uncle, I didn’t mean to.” He practically squeaked out.
He heard his aunt shouting something at his uncle. Waylon couldn’t make out much, but he did hear the words ‘sick’ and ‘orphan’ tossed around. The blonde shook his head and closed the door, moving back over to his bed and picking up his homework.
Waylon wasn’t sick. He just had a twitching problem and it wasn’t his fault that he got scared so easily. But that’s what his aunt always thought, and there was no way of changing her mind.
THUD.
‘Oh, right.’ Waylon thought as he opened up the window and glared down at two boys standing on the front lawn of his house. One had a few scars across one half of his face and dark black hair. The other was bald with small eyes and a thin stature. The latter waved up at Waylon, grinning like an idiot while the other kicked him.
“What are you guys doing here?” Waylon practically hissed down at the two idiots standing below. “You’re gonna get me in a lot of trouble if you don’t leave.”
“Well, Silk here decided to be a dipshit,” The black-haired boy stated, glaring at his comrade, “And left his phone in his locker at school. He needs it for an appointment tomorrow afternoon and we wanted to know if you could give us a ride tomorrow morning to go get it.”
Waylon rolled his eyes, beginning to feel his fingers twitch, “Ugh, fine—Fine, but be here by seven. And I’m only doing this if you get out of here right now before my uncle blows a fuse. Got it?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll stay at Pyro’s tonight so he can wake me up.” Silk nudged the boy standing next to him before they both started walking back down the street. “See you tomorrow!”
The blonde closed his bedroom window slowly, sighing as he sealed the locks. The whole situation seemed a bit odd to him. They needed a ride to school, and they didn’t call one of their better friends? Waylon hardly knew them; they just talked to him occasionally in anatomy and physiology. Well, Waylon did live down the road from them, so the closeness was probably their convenience.
“Waylon! Get down here!” Waylon’s uncle shouted from the floor below. The blonde groaned, moving over to his bedroom drawer. He pulled out a small first-aid kit and an extra roll of gauze, tossing it onto his bed. His fingers and legs began to twitch rapidly as he opened the door to go downstairs and see what his uncle wanted.
The next morning, woken up by his alarm and an ache in his cheek, Waylon crawled out of his bed and got dressed. He made it a point to be very quiet when moving around the house as to not disturb his sleeping relatives.
Just as he had said, Waylon was outside at 7:08 AM with the two boys from the night before waiting in his driveway. The blonde glared tiredly at them before gesturing to his beat-down car. The clambered into the back eagerly as Waylon started the engine, driving for ten minutes to their local high school.
When they arrived, Waylon waited in the car while the two made their way to the front entrance of the school. Using Pyro’s student I.D. to unlock the door, Waylon expected them to be in and out in a matter of a few minutes.
A few minutes passed. Then another few. Twenty minutes.
Waylon paid no attention to the time it was taking for the duo to get in and out until he began to smell smoke through the window of his car. The blonde jolted up from his half-asleep state, glancing over towards the clock in his car. Twenty-three minutes had passed.
The blonde was about to get out of the car when he noticed trails of smoke rising from all different sides of the building. Pyro and Silk ran out of the building hardly a minute later, panting heavily as they jumped into the back of Waylon’s car.
“What--” Waylon began to ask nervously, but was cut off by Pyro screaming at him.
“Drive!” The black-haired boy shouted, banging on the ceiling of the car and laughing wildly along with his friend. Waylon didn’t think about the situation for a second longer; he put the car into drive and pulled out of the parking lot as fast as possible.
It took Waylon a moment to orient himself with the situation enough to speak, “What the hell did you guys do?” He breathed heavily, taking a left wildly as a red jeep honked.
“What did it look like, dumbass? We set the building on fire.” Pyro stated matter-of-factly. Silk laughed, slapping his friend on the back while clutching his stomach.
As soon as the words came out Waylon swerved to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes. Everyone jerked forward, hard enough to wipe the smirks off of the duo’s faces. Waylon spun around in his seat, eyes alight with fire.
“Do you even realize what you just did?! You’ll be arrested and have to go to prison or, or something like it!” Waylon yelled, slamming his fist on the passenger seat. “Get the fuck out of my car!”
“Psh.” Pyro sneered, grabbing Silk by the collar of his shirt and tossing him out of the car. “Not if we don’t get caught. And by the way,” The smirk replaced itself quickly on the boy’s face, gripping the car door tightly. “You will too. Security cameras are good at picking up license plate numbers. You think I can’t drive?”
Waylon froze in place as the door slammed shut. The blonde watched in his rearview mirror as the two ran down the road and further away from the crime scene. He sat in place, putting the car’s brakes on and shutting off the engine before burying his face in his hands. He was technically guilty of helping a crime, Pyro was right. But how could he have known that they weren’t going to the school just to get Silk’s phone?
He could smell smoke even from the drive away from the school. Waylon let out another wet sob, collapsing in on himself. He passed out, waking up every now and then to different things. Fire truck sirens racing down the road. Loud trucks passing by. Police sirens going off. Car doors slamming shut. Someone’s arms wrapped tightly around him.
At the last one, Waylon tried to wake himself up from his hazy state in order to see who was carrying him. He could faintly feel the scratchy material of a police uniform against his cheek, cursing lowly before falling back into pure nothingness.
Oh, right. That was why Waylon was sitting in a courtroom, about to vomit all over the polished floor.
Pyro and Silk had disappeared to god knows where. Police searched their homes, frequent hangouts, even questioned relatives and friends. No one knew where they’d gone.
But Pyro had been right. Soon after police had arrived at the school, they checked out the security cameras and had discovered Waylon’s license plate number as he’d zoomed in and out of the parking lot. They’d taken him into custody and, after a month, finally decided what his fate would be.
He was being sent to Mount Massive Reform. Better than flat-out jail time.
They allowed Waylon to pick three belongings to take with him to the school/prison. Within reason, of course. His reading glasses were a must, so they weren’t counted.
He made careful work of choosing what to take. First was his old varsity-style hoodie. It was white with dark-blue arms, pockets and hood. Next was his computer equipment. He called his laptop Parker, named after his last name Park. People constantly teased him for it, but the name had just kinda stuck.
Last was a photograph of Waylon and his parents from when he was three years old. It was taken at restaurant he couldn’t remember the name of, but he remembered them going to it a lot. That was a year before their accident.
Waylon was sitting in the back of a police car, his wrists cuffed behind his back uncomfortably. His items were apparently already in the room he was sharing with another- inmate? That didn’t sound right. Maybe convict was a better word? Mount Massive worked a lot like a jail, if the security and wire fencing outside the front gates were any indication.
“Alright, kid.” The officer said, stepping outside of the car and opening the door for him. “Time to move out.”
It was nighttime, Waylon realized as he stepped out of the car. Probably for the best; Waylon wouldn’t have to worry about any detainees with a lust for blood at this hour. The officer escorted him through the plentiful amount of security gates and into the main office of the building.
The officer nudged Waylon towards a man standing behind the front desk, “Here’s the kid, Frank. I’m off for the rest of the night.” He murmured before making his way to the exit.
Waylon gulped down his fear as the gangly man turned towards him, long hair and beard giving off a somewhat frightening first-impression. The man moved out from behind the counter and took a step towards him, crouching down to his height.
“I’d say…” The man named Frank mumbled, holding his hand just above Waylon’s head, “Five foot three.” He scribbled the information onto a notepad before placing it into his back pocket. “Hi there Mr. Waylon Park, I’m Officer Frank Manera. This’ll be your new home for… How long is your sentence…?”
The blonde tried to avoid eye contact as Frank pulled out his notepad again. He looked back up, “Two years. You look pretty young, not counting that scruff growin’ on your face. You sure you’re seventeen?” He joked.
Waylon finally met the man’s eyes and nodded nervously. Frank clapped him on the back, gesturing to a door at the other end of the office, “Well, we got people here from sixteen to twenty-five, so lots of kids your age. Follow me, I’ll get you all of the stuff you’ll need and show you to your new room.”
Frank brought Waylon through the door and past a set of security locks before they were in a long hallway with a few officers roaming around. Some glanced curiously at Waylon as Frank brought him into a large supply room.
“Alright,” Frank said, cracking his knuckles and pulling a key out of his pocket. He held it before Waylon and gave him a cold stare, “You gonna behave, or do we need to keep the cuffs on? …I need you to tell me with your words.”
“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” Waylon mumbled, beginning to feel his fingers twitch. It seemed to be enough for Frank; a moment later his cuffs were removed. The blonde rubbed his wrists and stretched out his arms as Frank pulled a few uniforms off of a high shelf.
“Whelp, this is what you’re gonna be wearin’ while you’re here. Unless you brought clothes…?” Frank asked, handing Waylon the small pile.
“Uh, a sweatshirt, yeah.” He sighed, thinking about the fluffy garment and how much better he’ll feel when he’s back into it again. “M-My stuff is in my r-room, right?”
Frank chuckled, handing Waylon a few notebooks along with the pile, “Yeah, all of it’s there. Don’t worry; the first week or so here is tough. But the better you are and more privileges you earn, you can start requesting stuff like certain clothing items and trinkets and whatever you kids like. We got timed wifi, be happy you’re not in a real jail.”
Frank nodded with approval as Waylon hefted up his pile, “So I guess I should show you to your room.” He opened the storage room door again and held it open for Waylon, leading him down the hall, “There are three floors of rooms here. You’re on level one. The rooms are pretty small, two twin beds and a desk with a little bit of moving room, but that’s all there is to it. Your storage areas are these little compartments under your beds, they’re actually pretty neat.”
Waylon nodded along with the man, feeling more comfortable in Mount Massive already. If all of the guards were this nice, his time shouldn’t be too bad—hopefully.
Frank continued, “Everyone gets up at seven. Eat in the cafeteria, go to class until one with lunch in between, yard time until four, everyone back inside for dinner, and then you’re free to hang around on your floor until curfew at eight. As long as you don’t start any fights or get hostile with guards, no harm done. We check on you guys every two hours at night, usually never wakes anyone up, and full room checks Mondays once a week.
“We usually have two of you kids per room. You’re roomie’s name is Miles Upshur. Great kid, a little fanatical but not in a bad way.” Waylon noticed that sometime during their conversation they started climbing a set of stairs, and soon enough Frank was unlocking a door at the top step.
As soon as the door opened, Frank patted Waylon’s back and gestured him into the small hallway. There were about ten doors in total, Waylon calculated, five on each side. Some of them were open, some closed, but all of them had security locks on the frames. Waylon assumed it was for curfew.
“Here ya go kiddo.” Frank said, getting Waylon’s attention again. He was halfway down the hall already and standing in front of an open door.
Waylon approached him cautiously, glancing around for any sort of threat. There wasn’t anyone else in the hall itself besides one large man at the end sitting on the floor reading a book. He glanced up from the pages to look Waylon up and down. He gave him a small smile before looking back down.
The blonde glanced inside of the small room and saw a boy not much taller than him but certainly older lying asleep on the bed furthest from the door. His skin was much darker than Waylon’s pasty white, and even darker brown locks of hair were pulled back into a small ponytail. Waylon walked in, glancing over at his items lying pristine on the desk across the room.
“Hey, Miles!” Frank shouted from the doorway, startling the man awake, “This is your new roommate, Waylon Park! Why don’t ya introduce him to some of the other kids here, hm?” Frank grinned, hitting the doorframe twice and nodding at Waylon before departing.
Waylon was in complete panic at his only safe-haven leaving as the man across the room cleared his throat, “Park, huh? Miles Upshur.” He held out his hand for Waylon to shake.
It took him a moment, but somehow Waylon returned the handshake. Miles scratched the back of his head before looking around the room. He picked up a notebook and pen at one end of his bed, quickly scribbling down on the paper and looking back up at Waylon every few seconds.
“Uh… What’re you doing?” Waylon asked nervously, standing on his tippy toes to see what Miles was writing so furiously onto the lined paper.
“It’s an impulse thing, I write down a lot of the stuff I see. So how old are you Park, thirteen?” Miles asked, finally plopping his pen and notebook down on his lap.
“I uh, I’m seventeen, actually.” The blonde muttered embarrassedly. What was with everyone mistaking him as a twelve-year-old?
Miles’s eyebrows shot up immediately, going back to scribbling down in his notebook, “Wow, you sure look a lot younger than that. I’m nineteen. Heh,” Miles held up his notebook and pointed to a small doodle of a dot-eyed, diamond-nosed version of Waylon. “That’s you.”
Waylon chuckled, taking the notebook into his hands and tracing over the scribble. It sure looked cute. But Waylon himself was not cute. At least he didn’t think he was. He handed the notebook back to Miles and glanced down at all of the items on his bed.
“You’re probably gonna wanna change into your P.J’s before I show you around. They should be on the bottom of the pile Frank gave you… Aha,” Miles mumbled, pulling out a plain white t-shirt and brown flannel pants. “There we go.”
“Uh, thanks.” Waylon said quickly, grabbing the clothes with a reddened face. He closed the door and ducked under the side of his bed, slipping on the clothes as fast as possible. When he was done Waylon grabbed the hoodie he brought and pulled it over his head, standing up once more to a grinning Miles.
“Wow,” The brunette clapped slowly, hopping off of his bed and opening the door. He raised an eyebrow at Waylon. “It’s only seven-forty, we still got twenty minutes. I’ll show you to the people that I know.”
Waylon nodded, following Miles out the door and into the hall. Miles glanced around for a moment before his eyes locked on the man sitting on the floor at the other end of the hall, “Hey, Chris! Chris, we got a new guy! His name’s Wayland Park- That’s your name, right?” Miles asked for conformation.
“Uh, Waylon, but almost r-right.” Waylon stuttered, shoving his hands into his hoodie’s pockets to conceal his fingers, which began to twitch once more.
The man closed his book and stood, his height towering more than a foot above Waylon. He was very intimidating. But instead of beating him up, Chris took Waylon’s hand and shook it gently. “Chris Walker. Nice you meet you, Waylon. I see you’re Miles’s new roommate. Have fun with him, he’s definitely… Something.” He teased, earning a light punch to the arm and a ‘Hey!’ from Miles.
Miles shook his head, tilting his head towards the door cracked open next to Chris. “Chris has a roommate, too. Very much on the dramatic side though, and he has a tendency to be-”
“I can hear all of you, you know. You did leave the door open.”
Chris peeked into the room before opening the door the rest of the way to reveal a very tired-looking man sitting crisscross on the furthest bed, a pencil and sketchbook in hand. His jet-black hair was slicked back into a severe undercut, and he had an amazingly sculpted jawline. Waylon was amused; the whole image was a little ridiculous. The man was clearly way too big for the bed.
Waylon hadn’t realized he’d been chuckling until the man glared him down and stood from his perch. That certainly shut him up; he was nearly the same height as Chris, and the muscle definition showing through his navy-blue sweatshirt looked like he could pack a punch, “What are you laughing at?” He demanded.
As soon as the man cleared the doorway Chris held his shoulder back, chuckling softly. “Ed, this is Waylon Park, the new guy. Waylon, this is my roommate Eddie Gluskin. Which sucks because we hardly fit into the room together as you can see.” He laughed again, letting go of Eddie’s shoulder.
Eddie looked Waylon up and down with tired eyes before glancing down at Waylon’s face. Waylon was short; Eddie was very, very tall. “So what, is he twelve or something?” He asked Miles and Chris.
Waylon hissed. “Goddammit.”
“Nah Eddie, he’s seventeen.” Miles laughed, “I know, a shocker. If his voice wasn’t so deep and he didn’t have all that scruff I don’t think anything would be able to convince me he wasn’t.”
Waylon silently glared at Miles as the brunette held up his hands in defense, “Hey man, its cool. Chris here’s 20, and Ed’s 21. Smart of Mount Massive, putting the two biggest guys in one room. Watching them trying to fit into that room is funnier than your age Park, trust me.”
Eddie stared coldly at Miles, about to retort when an alarm bell went off. Chris retreated into his room while Waylon yelped, accidentally tripping over Miles’s leg and falling straight into Eddie’s chest.
Waylon froze on the spot, not even daring to look up at the most likely seething man above him. He felt his entire body go into some sort of shock, his head down to his toes consumed in furious twitching.
Suddenly Waylon felt two very large gloved hands on his shoulders pulling him off and back into a standing position. Eddie looked Waylon up and down before walking back into his room and slamming the door shut angrily.
It was dead silent in the hall for less than a fraction of a second before Miles slapped Waylon’s still-twitching back, “Oh-ho-ho-ho, you’ve done it now, Park.” He laughed, grabbing Waylon’s arm and pulling him back towards their room.
“Oh god, what the hell was that.” Waylon chocked out, flopping down onto his bed and curling up into a ball. All he wanted to do was disappear into the sheets.
Miles, still laughing, closed the door and flopped onto his bed. A loud metallic click of the security door could be heard, and the lights in the room flickered off. Miles let out one last giggle before speaking. “That was the curfew bell, dummy.”
Waylon made an ‘o’ shape with his mouth. Miles continued, “Like I was saying before Eddie interrupted me, he’s here because of his anger issues. Nearly killed a man; it’s only a rumor, but I’m convinced he actually killed someone once. He hates being touched, you know. And you fell right into him.” Miles laughed once more, flopping down into the sheets of his own bed.
“Goddammit, not even my first day and I already fucked myself over. Like usual.” Waylon groaned, rubbing his eyes.
“Aw, cheer up Park,” Miles comforted, yawning. “You’ll get used to the place. And I’m sure you probably won’t even be around Eddie Gluskin most of the day, anyway.”
Waylon nodded, trying his best to fall asleep. But for the rest of the night, he worried the security door would unlock and a tall, scary man would come in and slit his throat while he was asleep.
He never did.