DISCLAIMER: I am the owner of The Rebel Unforetold and Just Another Test. Not. Maximum Ride. Unfortunately.
AN: I changed all the Fangs to Maxes and vice versa. And changed the necessary details obviously; Max does not have long black hair, etc. It was way too clichéd. All the fan fix start to blur together…
"Fang? Fang, wake up." Fang opened his eyes to see Jeb Batchelder standing above him, shaking his shoulder. "Breakfast in five minutes."
Fang groaned, rolling over to look at the clock next to his bed. Six o'clock already. "Why didn't you wake me earlier?" he asked with expressionless eyes, sitting up.
"You need to get your sleep," Jeb said, handing Fang the cold cup of coffee he was reaching for blindly with eyes closed. "I saw you and Max sneaking back inside at one o'clock last night. You can't hide things from me." He smiled and ruffled Fang's hair, but was interrupted by the harsh shriek of an oven timer. "Alright, I'll go finish breakfast. Will you wake the others?"
By now, Fang had downed the cold coffee with minimal gagging, then jumped nimbly to his feet as if he hadn't been blinking stupidly in the light a moment ago. He strode over through the open door to the bathroom, and submerged his head under the faucet. "Sure," he said, the sound garbled by the spluttering as he inhaled water.
With a chuckle, Jeb left the room to finish cooking. Meanwhile, Fang dried off his face, leaving his hair to drip dry around his shoulders, feeling sufficiently more awake due to the cold water. He pulled a nondescript black hoodie over his black t-shirt and shivered; the hardwood floors of his room were cold in the mornings. Sitting down on the bed, he pulled on a pair of uncharacteristically fuzzy socks (black) over his feet and went to wake the others.
Iggy and Gazzy, in their room, awoke with groans, pulling their pillows over their heads. The corners of Fang's mouth twitched—after a year of bunking in the same room, they had developed many of the same routines. He pulled the pillows away from his friends, flipped on the lights, and left them to deal with the morning.
Next, Fang pulled open Max's door, poking his head in tentatively. However, there was no sneak attack this morning; it was oddly silent. Normally, Max was up before dawn, flying or reading or just thinking, but tonight it was oddly silent in her dark room. Creeping in silently—after years trapped in the School, the flock woke easily, ready to fight—Fang stepped carefully around piles of books toward the bed.
Reaching Max's bed, Fang put out a hand and shook Max on the shoulder. Her long dirty-blonde hair was covering her face, the blankets pushed down by her feet. Fang shook her gently on the shoulder—Max was a light sleeper. However, she didn't move, and kept on sleeping. Puzzled, Fang shook her harder, saying tiredly, "Wake up, Max."
Hearing a noise in the hall, Fang looked up from his task towards the open doorframe. A small boy stood there, looking in, but his face was far from its normal youthfulness. Rather, it carried a look of malevolence, his eyes bright with malice. "She won't wake up," he said, his voice haughty.
"What are you talking about, Ari?" Fang asked irritably, with a rare show of emotion. "She's just tired, that's all. We were up late flying." He rolled the light teenaged girl over, then inhaled a breath sharply when he saw a dark crimson stain surrounding a small hole in the shoulder of Max's shirt.
"Max!" But she didn't wake up.