A/N: Just a bit of Good Omens fluff that isn't Crowley/Aziraphale, Famine/Pollution, Pepper/Adam, or Newt/Anathema.
Disclaimer: Not mine, any of it. All the characters and whatnot belong to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman; I'm playing with them, but they'll go back on the shelf when I'm done.

Brian left school feeling quite proud of himself. Despite the seemingly questionable nature of Adam and Pepper's "going out" thing, and the fact that he highly suspected Adam's "godfathers" of having something to do with it, he had managed to go the whole day without making a friendly joke about it… if only because, at fourteen, Pepper could and would still beat him up. Wensley helped out with it some as well, being the smart one and all, but Brian still counts it as a personal victory. And the fact that he got a B on the Biology test he was sure he'd failed, again thanks to Wensley, who seemed to be the only one willing to tolerate tutoring him. It wasn't that he was stupid; he just learned differently.

At least that was what Wensley said to excuse the fact that, while they were trying to talk about cellular respiration, he said something about Adam's "godfathers" and they wound up in a forty-five minute debate about whether or not all the angels had to wear that stupid tartan and what magazines in Hell had to be like. It was only interrupted by Dog reminding them with a knowing glare that they had to work sometime that night – or that they were talking over Adam and Pepper's movie, either way was the same thing, really… – and no one could be declared an official winner. Technically speaking, this was only because each kept trying to concede victory to the other, but that could've been solved with a brotherly scuffle. If they hadn't had to work, it would've been, but some things couldn't be helped, Brian guessed.

Humming pleasantly, he unlocked his bike from the rack and set off down the familiar path. He didn't get far before he heard something coming from the back alley where the older students went to smoke during lunch.

"Oh… bugger, bloody sodding…"

Whoever it was clearly needed some help. Maybe it was some lost little kid… well, no, a kid wouldn't talk like that, but… either way, he'd help out and maybe something cool would happen. That in mind, he leaned his bike up against a nearby tree and went into the alley. He found Wensley, sitting on the dirty concrete, to the side of the dumpsters, with a bruise on one arm and broken glasses in each hand. The glasses looked like they'd been snapped down the middle and, from the looks of it, he was trying to fix them with nothing to hold them together. Watching him and saying nothing, Brian couldn't help but feel like he was looking in on something private and indecent, which was weird. Wensley was his friend, so why did he feel awkward?

Trying to make himself feel better, he coughed loudly. Wensley's head popped up and he squinted a little bit. …Right, Brian reminded himself. He's near-sighted.
"Hey," he sighed, moving to kneel in front of Wensley.
Wensley blinked and squinted slightly, but smiled in recognition. "'lo, Brian."

Why did hearing Wensley say his name make his spine stiffen? At least it relaxed when Wensley's smile expanded to show teeth. …Brian brushed both things off.

"What happened?" he asked simply.
"Nothing, really." Wensley shrugged. "Unless good old Greasy Johnson counts as something important."
"What'd he do?"
"From what he said, I gathered that he saw that you got a good mark on the latest Biology test – congratulations, by the way, knew you could do it – inferred that I had a hand in it, and tried to get me to do his homework for him."
Brian raised his eyebrows, trying to ignore the pit that had formed in his stomach. "And what'd you say?"
Wensley shrugged again, with a lopsided smile. "I told him no. Apparently, he wasn't too keen on my answer, so he roughed me up a little, broke my glasses… well, he broke the glasses first, so I couldn't fight back effectively, but all the same… nothing out of the ordinary, really."
"Are you… okay? He didn't get you too badly, did he?"
"Pepper's done worse, and I 'spect she'll do worse to him when she finds out."

The pit in Brian's stomach informed him that he'd like to do worse even than what Pepper would do, and she could have Greasy Johnson in the hospital – or the nurse's office, at least – if she wanted to. For some reason he didn't really want to think about, he didn't find himself disagreeing with it. He wished that it would kindly go away and leave him alone, but he couldn't find a good reason why it was wrong on this matter, so he could deal with it for a little while.

"Where's your bike?" he asked when he removed his eyes from Wensley long enough to realize that it wasn't anywhere visible.
"…I think he put it in one of the dumpsters," Wensley sighed. "But I couldn't really see, so, for all I know, he might have it."
"Want me to check for you?"
"Would you? I really don't fancy having to walk home…"

Brian nodded and practically jumped to his feet. He stepped carefully around Wensley and opened the first dumpster… nothing. The pit in his stomach really wanted him to be angry, but, somehow, he managed to keep it subdued enough to open the next dumpster. Immediately, he had an internal smirk, just to point out to the increasingly annoying pit that beating up on Greasy, while not completely unnecessary, wouldn't be as bad as it wanted to be. This really wasn't as bad as it wanted him to believe, or he certainly thought so. At the very least, he wouldn't get punished for beating Greasy to a pulp, which meant that Adam wouldn't have to lecture him and Wensley wouldn't have to feel guilty.

"Brian? Is it in there?"

…He must have been taking longer than he thought. Quickly, he got the bike out and scrambled to set it up straight; it was amazing that he managed to get it standing, really, but it cooperated, if he'd let it lean against the dumpster. He did, and so he turned to Wensley. That one took a bit more care, but he came up easily too – both wrists held tight, and he was pretty light, comparatively speaking. But, once Brian had Wensley up, he found himself unable to let go. Wensley struggled slightly, mostly by twisting his wrists a little, and, when he looked up, his eyes were so confused… but he brushed it off with one of his bookish smiles.

"I'm fine, Brian. You can let me go now."
"You… are you sure? Do you need me to… walk you home or something?"
Wensley stood on his toes and lightly pressed his lips to Brian's cheek. Suddenly, everything felt all funny and pink, but when he pulled back, Wensley just smiled like always.
"I'm sure," he said simply. "But I won't say no to being walked home."