Disclaimer: I don't own Dead Poets Society.

Author's Note: Yikes, I haven't written anything for DPS in forever. All I can really say is that you all should know by now how much I love writing angsty fic, and things are about to get angsty.

Warnings: Character death, murder/suicide, violence, language, and allusions to mental illness

Neil Perry met Todd Anderson at the start of their junior year in August of 1999.

The Anderson family was new to the city of Welton that year, having just relocated across state from Hartford. Todd, who had always been a shy and somewhat awkward kid, hadn't taken the move very well and by the time that fall rolled around, he'd retreated so far into himself that it was nearly impossible to get him to make eye contact or speak more than a few words at a time—until he'd met Neil.

They'd occupied two seats in the very back of the room in their homeroom class, sitting side by side for nearly a month before either one of them spoke to the other. On September 21, Neil came into class with a worn out and dog eared copy of Leaves of Grass under his arm and just before the end of the period, Todd had finally worked up the courage to lean over and inform him that that was his favorite book.

Gerad Pitts, who had been in school with Neil since kindergarten and sat opposite of him in homeroom, remembered thinking that he had never once seen Neil Perry smile as widely as he did that day.

Neil Perry started dating Todd Anderson around the middle of October and by the end of the month, he had fallen in love with him.

They were a happy couple—quiet and low key with a passion for reciting poetry to one another over the telephone at three in the morning when they were supposed to be sleeping. Neil was a little more outgoing, always talking about something and laughing at his own jokes. Todd stayed quiet most of the time but when Neil was around, he smiled more and was often more willing to engage in conversation. They almost always kept to themselves, sitting side by side at an otherwise vacant lunch table or lounging around the library together, and most people let them go about their business.

Most, but not everyone.

On more than one occasion, both Neil and Todd had arrived at school to find derogatory slurs spray painted onto the doors of their lockers. They'd been shoved in the hallways and had doors slammed in their faces. They'd been denied partnership in group projects several times and they were always on the receiving end from a particularly nasty sneer from one person or another.

Most of the time, people left them alone. Most of the time, Neil and Todd didn't mind it when they didn't.

Now, prior to March of 2000, Welton Connecticut was the sort of place where nothing much ever happened. It was home to a few thousand people, mostly rich families with roots as old as the town itself, and it had a reputation for being a tranquil and peaceful community—a place where fresh faced couples could settle down, get married, and raise children who would eventually grow up to do the same. Nothing ever happened there, and everyone thought that nothing ever would.

But in March of 2000, something inside Neil Perry and Todd Anderson had snapped. (Quite literally, in Todd's case, as he had been shoved into a bathroom door with enough force to break his collarbone back at the end of February.)

In March of 2000, ten students were shot and killed at Welton Public High School, and another five were injured.

In March of 2000, Neil Perry and Todd Anderson stood in the hallway with blood on their hands, and Neil put a bullet in each of their heads.

Are you sure about this? Todd had asked just a few days before as he lay in bed beside Neil, just the tips of their fingers touching beneath the blankets.

Neil had turned to him and smiled; had kissed away the worry lines creased into his forehead.

Trust me. They'll get what they deserve.